#but they properly live in the layer of Violence

[gladoseon]

I made a DnD final boss but I wrote it in the style of a character sheet

It is also my ULTRAKILL oc

Pronouns are it/that

That’s all

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Mouthful of Cum Helps the Medicine Go Down

Male Surgeon DILF Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Nonconsensual oral sex, reader sucking that dick like they are the Gluckgluck 3000, somnophilia, non descriptive surgery, gun violence, blood, recovery, dream sequence, happy ending, mild age gap, dating Word Count: 1.3k (Written as a birthday gift for a friend, all written in a few hours yesterday, so I am sorry for any errors.)

The date you had just finished with Doctor Michael Hayes had gone pretty well. He was handsome and well put together, neat and tidy, and his personality definitely fit with what you had been looking for. In fact, you already set up another one with him at his request. Evidently the older gentleman, an actual surgeon, had felt the date had gone well too.

The evening kept replaying in your head. His rugged but charming demeanor, his eyes full of experience but still flashed with a sense of adventure whenever he stared at you. Maybe he was the one! After a deluge of slobs, bums, and selfish toxic freaks the thought that you may have found the man for you was like a breath of fresh air.

And he was just so handsome! A bit older, maybe mid to late forties, but he was definitely aging gracefully. You had to admit you definitely had some lewd thoughts about where you wanted his dick. In the texts the two of you had shared you had really felt a connection with him and had built a solid friendship but tonight solidified that it would evolve into something more.

You pulled into your driveway, just getting home after sharing your meal with Hayes. You drew your coat close, shivering from the sudden exposure to the chilly night air. You closed your car door with a thud and started walking up the path to your door, the thin layer of snow crunched beneath your steps as you did so.

A dark figure cloaked in shadow jumped out from one of the hedges that hugged the front of your house. A loud bang. Piercing pain. On the ground. You saw your blood leave you as the snow drank it greedily. Then darkness.

////

You were unconscious as the doctors rushed around you, zipping you to the operating room, communicating over your injured body about your condition.

Doctor Hayes was back on duty after your date, that’s why it had been so quick, otherwise he would have liked to spend more time with you. He was already sure the two of you would end up in a long term relationship. You just fit together far too well. It wasn't just one date, the two of you had been chatting for just over a month before meeting. You were a high ranked and well regarded detective and he was a surgeon, you both saved lives and you were both incredibly busy, so it took a while before the two of you could set up a proper date.

He was determined to see you again soon though. Only he didn’t realize that it would be on his very operating table. It certainly was not how he had wanted your next meeting to go.

It was touch and go a couple times, but luckily the bullet had missed your heart. The procedure was a success and full recovery was soon expected. Though a coma was medically induced to give you time to heal properly.

Even though you were pretty much out of the woods Hayes still held your hand and sat by your side during every free moment that he had. He heard from the cops, who were very eager to find the perpetrator, that they suspected you had been shot by an inmate that had been put away thanks to your detective work who had recently escaped. They had already caught the fucker but were just working on gathering evidence and getting a confession.

At any rate you were safe now with him, he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Over the course of a couple days with you out like a light he had taken to just staring at your face, so peaceful in rest. Like an angel. He fantasized about the things the two of you would do while you recovered. The life you might have in the future.

And, occasionally, how it would feel to slip into you. He had played it cool during the chats the two of you shared and during your date but he was terribly obsessed with the thought of being with you, even masturbating more than once to pictures of your face that were available on social media.

One late night after his shift he found himself with you in your room and couldn’t help but stare at your lips. They looked so supple and he couldn’t help but think to himself that they would feel amazing wrapped around his cock. He gently traced your lips with his thumb and actually considered for a moment pulling out his dick and using that instead.

He quickly brushed the fantasy aside though. Until he heard you very quietly, but very clearly, mumble his name in your sleep in a lusty way.

Hayes’s resolve broke in the face of temptation. After that how could he possibly resist? He quickly locked the door and brought his cock to your lips. The best he had hoped for was rubbing it on your lips then jacking off until he came on your mouth.

To his surprise you opened your mouth and began sucking it in a way that could only be described as eager. He had to double check to make sure that you were truly asleep. He moaned involuntarily as you took him in his entirety, expertly twirling your tongue around his cock head as you sucked him off.

The surgeon stroked your hair, letting you go at your own pace as you blew him.

////

In your dreams you had just gone on another outing with Hayes. It had gone even better than the first and he had come back home with you. After some time spent on the couch snuggled up with one another as you streamed some show that neither of you paid much attention to you ended up with your head on his lap and his cock out in front of you.

You sucked it happily, starting on the tip and making your way quickly down the shaft. Normally you would have taken your time, but you were spurred on by his encouraging moans and the sensation of him absently stroking your hair.

You sucked a bit faster in anticipation of your prize. And you were well rewarded with what you sought. His cock throbbed in your mouth as it gushed with cum. You gladly swallowed every drop before smiling and going back to innocently laying your head on his lap as he put away his manhood.

////

This dream had coincided with reality, it wasn’t even necessary for the doctor to clean his cock as you had swallowed every trace of what he had just done. He briefly felt regret but pushed it away, the two of you had chatted about sex before anyway, it was only a matter of time before you would be on his dick anyway. And it didn’t seem like your sleeping self had minded very much at all.

When you woke up a few hours later, groaning from pain and being informed of your situation by none other than Hayes himself who by wild coincidence was your surgeon, you couldn’t help but imagine the taste of cum in your mouth. As if your dream had been reality.

When you found out that Hayes had spent so much time at your side while you were incapacitated you were truly touched. What other man would do that after just a date and a month of chatting online? It went far beyond the duties of a doctor.

That was the tale of how your long lived romance with Hayes started, and you definitely made the dream you had come true many times over the years, never aware of what he had done while you were recovering.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Man over Machine

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: You must understand our line of thinking.

Human: I understand it is stupid beyond measure.

Alien: *Sighs

Alien: It is only logical to use mechanical soldiers in modern warfare.

Alien: Anything less is purely barbaric.

Human: You reduce war to little more than 1’s and 0’s.

Alien: What we do is remove needless bloodshed.

Alien: No longer are brave soldiers dying on forgotten worlds, no longer will families grieve for loved ones who will never return; no longer would we need monuments to the fallen.

Alien: Disagreements could be settled without a drop of blood being shed.

Human: You turn it into a game.

Alien: Exactly.

Human: No; you’d be turning war into a game, and that’s never a good thing.

Human: You can’t reduce war to a simple equation.

Alien: It sounds more like you just wish to continue your carnal desire for violence.

Human: Do you think so little of us?

Alien: Yes.

Human: ……

Human: *Sighs

Human: We’ve tried using machines in war before.

Human: On the surface yes, it did appear better.

Human: Military causalities were but a fraction of what they would have normally been had we used real soldiers, but there were other problems that soon cropped up.

Alien: Such as?

Human: Lack of morality was a large factor in the programs discontinuation.

Alien: Morality?

Alien: What use does a machine have of that?

Human: Because not everything is always black and white; there are shades of grey that only a living breathing person can recognize and handle.

Alien: Absurdity

Human: We used the robot CS95 battle machines during our initial conflicts. When it was deployed it was programmed to treat anyone holding a weapon as an enemy combatant and terminate them immediately.

Human: They cleared out an entire city in a single day before issuing the all clear signal.

Human: When living soldiers arrived to provide relief efforts they were horrified to discover that the entire city’s population had been massacred.

Alien: While tragic it sounds like a faulty programming error.

Human: I would say a big fucking program error.

Human: The programmer had not thought it necessary to properly define the scope of the term “weapon”, and so the machines began their own search on what classified as a weapon.

Human: There isn’t an item in human creation that hasn’t been used to murder another human, and so the machines deemed everyone they encounter a valid target.

Human: Men, women, children, soldier, civilian; it didn’t matter.

Alien: A lapse in programming quality still does not outweigh the benefits of bloodless wars.

Human: That’s what we thought and so we added additional layers of programming to better define combatants. So the next time they were deployed they would not make the same mistake.

Human: Unbeknownst to anyone an additional line of code was slipped in deep within the programming that designated anyone with a specific skin pigment as an active combatant, regardless if they had a weapon or not.

Alien: Why would they do that?

Human: They were what we call a “Nazi”, and thought people of a select orientation only deserved to live.

Alien: That’s horrible.

Human: Yeah.

Human: They kept spouting that shit from their court-martial all the way to the hangman’s gallows.

Human: The point being still that because the machines lacked any sense of morality they followed orders without question, causing untold damage and destruction on innocents.

Alien: Refinements in programming and further oversight can still correct such problems.

Human: So can a living soldier with a conscious.

Alien: Come now; a soldier can just as easily follow orders as the machines did and have the same result.

Human: The difference being that not all of them would.

Human: Some of them would realize what they are doing is wrong and question it, and if needed refuse said orders.

Human: We have even been aware of our short comings and made it the law of the land that if they feel an order is unlawful they can refuse it entirely.

Alien: Yet another contradiction.

Alien: Soldiers are meant to follow orders.  

Human: Wrong.

Human: Machines are meant to follow orders blindly.

Human: Soldiers are meant to follow orders with integrity.

[crxwn-06]

NOSTALGIA

Yandere!Platonic!batfam x f!Hawkeye!reader: your life is all good, in the end. You have a loving father, awesome siblings, excellent grades, a good group of friends and a talent for archery, enough to almost convince your father to let you start being a vigilante. But when your mother tries to get back into said life you start to realise that, maybe, you were just living in a pretty cage.

# chapter 2: drivin’ (me) crazy

prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, …

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A COMMENT <3!

Tw: yandere tendencies, mention of blood, violence

Morning comes slow and golden, seeping through the tall windows of Wayne Manor like honey. The sunlight creeps across polished floors and old wood, brushing against picture frames and casting long, gentle shadows along the halls. Outside your window, birdsong hums through the still air, layered over the rustle of leaves stirred by the lightest morning breeze.

Inside, the manor breathes with a rare kind of quiet—a suspended stillness, like even the ghosts have decided to sleep in. No alarms. No hurried footsteps. No comms buzzing from the Cave.

For just this morning, the world feels soft.

You wander into the kitchen still half-asleep, hair slightly tousled from sleep, collar askew, tie slung around your neck like an afterthought. The uniform is on—barely. You’ve buttoned what’s essential, but it’s clear your body got ahead of your mind.

«Morning» you murmur through a stifled yawn, the word thick with sleep. Alfred, already waiting by the stove, turns with perfect timing and hands you a warm mug without a word. You accept it gratefully. It’s tea, not coffee—coffee makes your hands shake, makes your thoughts race. Tea calms. Alfred always remembers.

You lean against the kitchen counter, cradling the mug between your palms, breathing in the faint steam and sighing. The warmth bleeds into your fingers and pushes some of the sleep away—but not enough.

«Duke! Damian!» you suddenly call toward the hall, your voice louder than necessary, echoing slightly off the tile and high ceiling. «If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving you behind!»

Nothing but the sound of two sets of distinct footsteps stomping somewhere above you.

You sigh again, this time into your mug. It’s far too early for wrangling teenagers who act like they’re elite spies but can’t be bothered to find clean socks.

A quiet chuckle draws your attention, and you glance up.

«Tim» you say, blinking in surprise.

He’s standing in the doorway, already dressed in his school uniform—properly dressed, tie done, blazer neat, hair combed. He looks too polished for 7:00 a.m., which is suspicious in and of itself.

«When was the last time you came to school?» you ask, eyes narrowing in mock scrutiny as you sip your tea.

Tim shrugs, amused. «I haven’t graduated yet, technically. Apparently I have to exist on campus every now and then.»

You raise an eyebrow. «You coming with us today?»

«Just for the show» he replies, stepping forward and casually tugging the undone tie at your neck. «Too many absences. B got a call from the board. Had to prove I’m still alive.»

«Thank you» you say, as he finishes knotting it—fast, but perfectly.

«Anytime, Princess» he says with a small smirk, using the nickname he knows irritates you just enough to count as affection.

You nudge his arm gently with your elbow, a wordless don’t start that he accepts with a grin.

Outside the kitchen door, heavy footsteps—Damian’s, most likely—thunder down the stairs, Duke calling something behind him. The house begins to stir again, the spell of morning broken by the rush of the day ahead.

But for a moment, just before the rush swallows everything, there’s a quiet stillness between you and Tim. The kind that says you’re siblings—no matter how different you all are, no matter how strange this life gets, this kitchen, this morning, this absurd normalcy… is yours.

«I’ll drive» you declare confidently the moment Damian and Duke finally stumble into the kitchen, mid-argument and barely dressed for school.

Both boys freeze.

A beat of silence.

Then, a collective groan erupts like clockwork.

«Oh, come on» Duke mutters, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s just aged five years in ten seconds. «Bruce letting you have a license has to be one of his top five worst decisions. Right up there with letting Damian have internet access unsupervised.»

«It was perfectly earned» you reply, lifting your chin with mock pride as you grab your bag from the counter. «I passed all the tests. Legally. And I didn’t even bribe anyone.»

«You almost ran over a squirrel on the practice run» Damian points out sharply, tugging on his blazer, his mouth set in a flat line. «It was a reckless and irrational maneuver.»

«The squirrel survived» you say, sipping your tea again with faux calm. «Probably became stronger because of it. You’re welcome, nature.»

Tim chuckles behind his mug, clearly enjoying himself. «Well, at least we’ll get to school fast.»

«Or we die in a blaze of glory» Duke adds, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and giving you a pointed look. «Either way, it’ll be memorable.»

«That’s the spirit» you reply cheerfully, already halfway out the kitchen, your keys jingling like a war cry. «Come on, gentlemen. Shotgun goes to whoever insults my driving the least.»

Tim just grins behind you and follows, while Damian sighs dramatically and mutters something in Arabic that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for protection.

As you all head out into the morning light, the manor stands behind you, tall and timeless, watching the chaos it raised with something like quiet amusement.

«It’s Gotham!» you protest more as the four of you head down toward the garage, Duke suggesting that Dick or Alfred could drive you to school, your voice echoing just slightly against the stone walls and polished floors. The early light slants through the manor windows, catching in your hair, casting golden shapes across your uniform as you casually spin your keys around one finger. «People expect a little chaos. Respecting every traffic law is what gets you pulled over around here.»

Tim walks beside you, quiet as always—but not distant. Never distant. He doesn’t laugh like Duke, doesn’t scoff like Damian. He just watches you, tracking every movement with a kind of focus he doesn’t extend to most people. Like he’s storing each second for later, in a corner of his mind only you occupy.

«Yeah» Duke groans, tugging on his bag. «And people also expect not to die on the way to school.»

«You say that like I’ve ever crashed.»

«You say that like that makes us feel better» Damian mutters, arms crossed, jaw tight as he keeps pace beside you. «Your turns defy physics.»

You shrug with a grin. «Physics is just a suggestion. I aced that last test with my own logic.»

You spin your keys around your fingers like a dare, the casual flick of your wrist just dramatic enough to make Duke groan out loud.

«That logic is exactly why none of us trust you behind the wheel» he mutters, already bracing himself for what’s to come.

«Speak for yourself» you shoot back. «I’m the only one who actually knows how to make a left turn in the Crime Alley without getting mugged or hit by a stolen car.»

«You drive like a criminal fleeing a scene» Damian comments coolly, folding his arms. «It’s deeply undisciplined.»

«I drive like someone from here» you say, flashing a grin over your shoulder. «You know, someone who understands that stop signs are suggestions, not commandments.»

Tim, walking a step behind you, doesn’t laugh. But he’s watching you—closely. He always is.

His gaze flicks over your shoulder, tracking the sway of your bag, the cadence of your footsteps, the barely restrained energy in your stride. He’s quiet, but not disinterested. Never disinterested.

He knows exactly how often you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking. How you tap your thumb against your leg in rhythm with your thoughts. How you drive like you fight—instinct first, reason second.

And he knows every route you’ve ever taken. Not because he’s keeping tabs. Not officially. But because every time you leave the Manor, some part of him tenses until he knows you’ve come back.

«Where are you right now, Drake?» you ask, slowing just a step to catch his eye.

He blinks once, a little too slow. Then clears his throat. «Just thinking about how many civilians you’ve traumatized behind the wheel.»

«Only the ones who deserved it» you reply, tossing him the keys like it’s a test he’ll pass without trying. «But go ahead—take the car if you’re that scared.»

He catches the keys in one hand, doesn’t even look at them. Your aim is that good.

Then calmly tosses them back. You get them with two fingers, not taking your eyes away from his.

«No thanks. I’ll take the emotional damage.»

You laugh, already slipping into the driver’s seat. The engine hums to life like a warning, the low growl of barely-contained chaos.

Tim slides into the passenger seat—of course he does—and doesn’t say another word. But his fingers hover near the emergency brake for a second too long before he folds them in his lap.

He tells himself it’s just a precaution.

But deep down, he knows the truth: He doesn’t want to stop you. He just wants to be there when you go.

By the time Duke and Damian catch up, still bickering over the front seat, you’re already sliding behind the wheel, Tim next to you. Duke groans again.

«Why are we letting her drive?» he asks the universe. «I feel like this is one of those moments that gets mentioned in therapy.»

You rev the engine, just enough to make Duke flinch. «Buckle up, gentlemen» you say, smirking as you throw the car into reverse with far too much flair.

Tim watches you in the mirror the whole way out of the garage, a faint smile tugging at his lips—like he’s watching something precious and dangerous all at once.

While laughter echoes faintly from the garage—your voice mingling with Duke’s exasperated sarcasm, Tim’s good-natured teasing, and Damian’s cutting insistence that he always gets the front seat—another, quieter storm is brewing below, in the vast steel heart of the Batcave.

Dick stands across from Bruce, arms folded, the cowl off, hair damp from training. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it. One Bruce recognizes. The Grayson edge. It always shows up when emotion breaks through logic. When the heart refuses to stay quiet.

«Let her come with us on patrol.»

Bruce doesn’t look up from the screen in front of him. «Dick.»

«She’s ready.»

Bruce exhales slowly, not with impatience, but with weight. «She’s not.»

«She’s restless» Dick presses, stepping forward. «You see it too. The way she watches us come and go like a shadow at the door. If we keep shutting her out, Bruce, she’ll find her own way in.»

«I’m preventing that» Bruce says, voice low but firm.

«No» Dick corrects, «I am. By giving her structure. Supervision. Boundaries she’ll actually respect—because we gave her a place instead of pretending she doesn’t belong in the field.»

«She doesn’t belong in the field» Bruce snaps, the edge finally cutting through. «Not yet.»

Dick doesn’t flinch. He just looks at him—calm, steady, unrelenting. «You saw her shot last week. You know her aim better than I do. It’s clean. Reliable. And she’s not like you. She doesn’t lose control. She calculates. She listens.»

Bruce’s eyes narrow. «She’s my daughter, Dick.»

«And that’s exactly why you’re blind to this» Dick fires back, stepping closer now. «You’re afraid. You see her out there and think of everything that could go wrong. Everything you’ve already lost. I get that. But you can’t put her in a glass case and call it protection. She’s not fragile. She’s a Wayne.»

Silence stretches between them—heavy, unresolved.

«She’s stubborn, Bruce» Dick adds, quieter this «You know she is. Just like you. Just like Damian. And if you try to keep her from doing what’s in her blood, you won’t be keeping her safe. You’ll be pushing her away.»

Bruce’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

«Don’t pretend I don’t know what that’s like» Dick continues, voice low now, almost bitter. «I feel it too. Every time she gets on that bike. Every time she tests a new arrow or says she wants to train harder, I feel like my lungs stop working. I know what it would do to me if something happened to her.»

He pauses. His eyes go distant, haunted. «Because she’s not just your daughter, Bruce. She’s mine, too. Not by blood. Not by law. But I helped raise her. I was there before she could even walk. I know her tells. Her tics. I’ve studied the way she breathes. She was mine before she even knew who Robin was.»

Bruce finally speaks. «You think I haven’t studied her too? Watched her train when she didn’t know I was there? Counted every bruise she’s hidden, every fake smile she gives when she wants to convince us she’s fine?»

«She’s not fine» Dick says, sharper now. «She’s restless. Like you were. Like I was. The kind of restless that gets dangerous if it isn’t given purpose.»

«She’s not ready for what’s out there» Bruce says, but there’s a tremor in it now—not uncertainty, but something more vulnerable. «You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child, Dick.»

And just like that, the Bat slips for a moment. The father is left behind.

Dick’s breath hitches. «Don’t talk to me like I haven’t lost people. Like I haven’t had nightmares about her bleeding out in an alley before I could reach her.»

The silence that follows is thick—choking.

«This isn’t about Gotham» Dick says eventually. «Not really. It’s about control. About keeping her where you can see her. Just like you did with me, and with the others. But it’s worse with her, Bruce. You’ve wrapped her in so many layers of protection, she’s going to break just trying to breathe.»

Bruce finally looks up. And for a moment, the weight of being both a father and a general flickers across his face. Conflict. Regret. Fear.

Then, after a long pause:

«…Paired only. No direct combat. Observation and support only.»

Dick exhales—not victory, not relief. Just permission. A small door opening. Just enough to let her in without losing her entirely.

«Good call» he says. «She won’t let you down.»

Bruce doesn’t respond.

But deep down, he knows that wasn’t the question.

«(Name)!»

The call rings out the moment you pull into the school parking lot, the engine barely off before the familiar chorus of your friends’ voices floats across the pavement. You glance through the windshield, and sure enough—there they are. A small group of girls by the school steps, already waving excitedly, backpacks slung carelessly over shoulders, faces lit up at the sight of you.

You smile. Warm, easy, reflexive.

The car doors open. Tim is already reaching into the back to grab your bag, holding it out to you with that usual effortless motion, like it’s second nature to anticipate your needs. His fingers brush yours briefly as you take it, but he says nothing—just watches.

«Bye boys, see you later» you chirp as you step out, your voice light.

You ruffle Damian’s hair on your way past, your hand fond and quick before he can dodge it. «Don’t» he grumbles, glaring up at you as he bats your hand away—but there’s no real anger in it. Just his usual indignation, poorly masking how closely he watches you go.

Tim and Damian stand beside the car, watching as you skip across the lot. Duke, still inside, leans forward between the seats to peer after you, while Tim narrows his eyes, tracking the sway of your ponytail and the bounce in your step.

You’re already halfway to your group, falling into their conversation like you never left—your laughter blending easily with theirs, your face bright in a way that none of them see when you’re home. That freedom, that joy, the way the world seems to open for you here.

Damian scowls, arms folded. «They’re too loud.»

«She fits in with them» Duke offers from inside.

Tim doesn’t respond. He keeps his gaze trained on you, jaw tense, eyes unreadable behind the faint reflection in his lenses.

Damian glances up at him.

«She shouldn’t have to» the younger mutters eventually, almost too quietly to hear.

But Tim does. And he doesn’t disagree.

The first half of the day rolls by with quiet ease. Classes pass in a comfortable rhythm, teachers drone, notes are taken, and the scent of cheap paper and school-issued hand sanitizer hangs in the air.

By the time lunch arrives, the courtyard is already humming with energy. You find yourself sitting at a round table crowded with even more friends than usual, laughter coming in waves as trays are shuffled around and conversations overlap.

You glance across the yard, spotting Duke surrounded by a small group of classmates. He’s already in a heated discussion about something—likely physics, judging by the wild hand gestures—and you wave when he catches your eye. He tips his chin up in acknowledgment, grinning briefly before diving back into the debate.

Your phone buzzes. You check the screen. Just a brief message from Alfred, confirming that Damian’s lunch was delivered to the middle school wing. You text him a quick “Eat your fruit. Yes, all of it.” before slipping the phone back into your bag.

«C’mon» Zana’s voice whines suddenly from across the table, dragging your attention back to the present.

You groan the second you hear the tone. Not this again.

«You’d be amazing as a cheerleader» she says, tossing a grape into her mouth and leaning forward with intent. «You’re a dancer and a great gymnast. Like, why are you not already on the squad?»

«She’s too cool for pom-poms» another girl teases.

«She’s not too cool for Brian from chemistry» Maggie snickers, leaning into your shoulder. You give her a deadpan look and slap your hand gently over her face, pushing her back. The entire table erupts in laughter, Maggie swatting at your wrist half-heartedly.

«I do not care about Brian from chemistry» you say, muffled by your own amusement. «You guys really need new material.»

«Just accept it» Zana sings. «You’d be our secret weapon.»

It’s then that another voice joins the conversation—smooth, low, and unmistakably dry.

«Oh hi, Drake» Zana perks up, suddenly shifting in her seat as Tim approaches the table, his hands in his pockets and his expression as unreadable as ever. Some of the girls go quiet—not because he’s intimidating, but because Tim Drake walking across the quad is rare, and his presence has a weight to it.

«Didn’t know you were tagging along today» one of the girls adds with a grin.

Tim nods politely, eyes only flicking toward them for a second before landing squarely on you. «She said she needed her chem notes at lunch» he says mildly, holding out your notebook.

«Oh my god, I forgot—thank you.» You take it with a grateful smile, but Tim doesn’t move away.

Instead, Zana leans toward him with a teasing grin. «So, any chance you can convince your sister to become a cheerleader?»

Tim’s gaze slides to you first. Not to Zana. Not to the others. Just you.

You’re still laughing a little, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you elbow him gently. «Don’t listen to her.»

But he doesn’t smile back. Instead, he lifts one brow slowly.

«You, cheering for a soccer team?» he says, voice laced with faint, pointed amusement. «That’s a horrifying mental image.»

You blink, mildly offended. «Wow. Rude.»

Zana tilts her head. «So that’s a no?»

«That’s a hell no» he says, eyes still on you.

«Mmhm» Maggie hums, amused. «Right. Sure.»

Zana leans closer to him. «You know, you’re actually kinda cute when you show up at school»

Tim’s eyes don’t leave yours.

«I’m always cute» he replies coolly. «People just don’t pay attention.»

You snort, trying not to choke on your water. «Modest too.»

Tim’s smirk widens, but even as the girls around you start to joke and tease again, you feel it—the way his presence lingers too long, his focus too fixed. Not on them.

Only on you.

«…Is that normal? He always that protective?»

You take a sip of your tea and shrug with a half-smile.

«No» you murmur. «He’s usually worse.»

As Tim finally stands—after a few more pointed comments and one overly long glance at Brian across the quad—he murmurs a quiet, «Don’t forget your bag» and gives your shoulder the briefest tap before walking off, his hands tucked in his pockets again, his posture still a little too stiff to be casual.

You watch him go for half a second too long, then turn back to your table, where Zana raises an eyebrow with a grin.

«What was that about?» she teases.

You exhale through a laugh, shaking your head and picking at your sandwich. «That’s the life with four brothers» you say with a half-smile.

«Five, technically» Maggie reminds, nudging you with her elbow. «Isn’t Duke one too?»

«Yeah. But Duke’s actually chill» you reply, snorting. «The rest of them? Like a walking, talking security team with abandonment issues.»

That earns a round of laughter from the table, but your gaze lingers across the courtyard—where Tim has already met up with Damian, who immediately starts talking animatedly, probably criticizing your social choices from a safe distance.

You turn back to your friends, putting the thought away.

«Duke has extra classes, and Damian’s staying behind in the art room» you say as you step out onto the school steps, spotting Tim perched on the stone railing, phone in hand.

He doesn’t look up immediately, but you see the way his thumb stills on the screen for half a second—like he’d been waiting for your voice. He finally glances up, blinking as the daylight hits his lenses.

You move to sit beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you settle in.

«Just the two of us, then» you add, glancing at the parking lot. «They’ll go back with Alfred later.»

Tim pockets his phone, and for a moment, the silence stretches between you—not uncomfortable, just familiar. You kick your heels lightly against the stone, backpack still slung over one shoulder.

«Want to grab a smoothie?» you offer, turning slightly toward him. «There’s that new place on Sixth. You’ve been over-caffeinated for like three weeks. Maybe fruit could save you.»

Tim huffs a breath—something between a scoff and a laugh—but nods. «Yeah. Sure. Smoothies sound good.»

You smile, pulling him by the sleeve as you hop down onto the pavement. The sun’s still out, casting long shadows and a soft warmth across the sidewalks. Tim walks quietly beside you, hands in his pockets, and every now and then his gaze flickers toward you—but he always looks away before you can meet it.

At the smoothie place, you order something bright and citrusy. He gets something green, predictably. You tease him for it. He tells you it’s for “longevity.” You reply that it’s for “eternal bitterness.” You both laugh.

It’s easy, for a moment. Simple.

When the two of you walk back to the car, drinks in hand, there’s a small stretch of quiet where the only sound is Gotham’s usual low hum: passing cars, distant horns, the occasional shout. But here, on the edges of downtown, it feels softer.

«You really want this?» Tim asks suddenly, not looking at you. «The patrols. The danger.»

You take a sip of your drink. «Yeah» you answer, no hesitation. «I do.»

He nods once, slowly, like he’s known the answer all along—but still needed to hear it from you.

And maybe, he thinks, maybe that’s what scares him most. That you mean it.

The sun starts dipping behind Gotham’s skyline by the time you reach the car. The city doesn’t sleep, not really—not in this family. The shadows always wait, and the night always calls.

But for now, there’s warmth on your skin, a smoothie in your hand, and a boy beside you who can’t quite put into words the way he’s terrified of losing you… but walks beside you anyway.

You glance toward Tim. He’s staring ahead, quiet.

You don’t say anything either.

But somehow, it feels like something has changed. Or maybe just settled into place.

(It hasn’t.)

Literally the last tranquil moment of MC, now we just go downhil- /jk jk, there’s still some happiness

Taglist: @mazixxss @tenshi444 @cynnie @trashlanternfish360 @jsprien213

[annabelle--cane]

I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

[1343401]

echos of the sea - chapter two

pairing: bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 8.1 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, insecurities, mentions of blood

prev | next | m.list

jiah groggily opened her eyes to the blinding glare of sunlight filtering through a cracked window, illuminating the dust swirling lazily in the still air. she blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. the room was hot, cramped, and carried a musty scent that reminded her of damp basements. the sheets beneath her were rough, thin, and faintly sour, as if they hadn't been properly washed in weeks. her fingers brushed against the fraying edges, and a sense of unease settled in her stomach.

all around her, bunk beds were crammed into the narrow space, stacked high with layers of worn blankets and tattered pillows. the walls were bare, the plaster chipped and peeling, exposing the wood beneath. the floor beneath her feet was cold, the chill seeping through her skin, making her shiver despite the warmth in the room. it felt like a scene from some outdated summer camp, a far cry from the life she knew.

the murmur of distant voices filled the air, mingling with the creak of bedsprings and the rustle of fabric. jiah sat up slowly, her head spinning, trying to make sense of the cacophony. it was so loud. she hadn't heard this much noise in a long time, not since she'd been living alone, surrounded by the quiet hum of her apartment and the occasional city sounds outside her window.

"get up! you're going to be late!"

the sharp voice broke through her muddled thoughts, snapping her attention to the foot of her bed. a girl, maybe her age, stood there, holding what looked like a faded tunic. her face was drawn with worry, her hands fidgeting nervously with the fabric. her clothes were simple, worn out, and practical, nothing like the comfortable loungewear jiah would've chosen for herself.

jiah stared at her, confusion clouding her features. "who...?" the word barely escaped her lips before the girl leaned in, her voice a harsh whisper.

"hurry! you'll be in trouble if you don't get moving!" there was an urgency in her tone that jiah couldn't ignore, even if she didn't understand why.

trouble? for what? where was she?

her heart thudded in her chest as she glanced around again, trying to piece together what was happening. the dim, crowded room, the unfamiliar faces, the strange girl urging her to get up, it didn't add up. this wasn't her home. this wasn't her life.

she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold, rough floor. she winced at the chill, momentarily grounding herself in the sensation. it was too real, too vivid to be a dream.

the other girl hovered by the bed, her eyes darting around as if checking to see if anyone else was watching. "you've been acting strange lately," she murmured, her voice softening. "are you feeling okay?"

strange? jiah's mind raced. she didn't recognize this girl or this place. why was she here? how did she get here? her memories were a blur, fragments of her old life barely within reach.

"where..." jiah started, then stopped, unsure how to frame the question without sounding insane. "where am i supposed to be?"

the girl gave her an odd look, a mix of concern and impatience. "you really hit your head, didn't you? come on, let's get you dressed. you don't want to get in trouble again."

again? jiah felt a cold sweat break out on her skin. the girl's words implied a routine, a history that jiah didn't share but was somehow expected to remember. her thoughts spiraled, panic bubbling beneath the surface. she needed to figure this out. now.

the girl pressed the tunic into jiah's hands, giving her a small, encouraging smile. "let's just get through today, okay?"

jiah nodded slowly, though she was far from understanding. the noise around her grew louder, the shuffle of feet and murmurs blending into a dizzying symphony. she clutched the tunic, the coarse fabric scratching her palms, and tried to steady her breathing.

this had to be a mistake, a dream, or a strange, vivid nightmare. yet, the cold floor beneath her feet, the worn sheets, and the girl's anxious expression told her otherwise. somehow, she was here, in this unfamiliar place, expected to play a role she didn't know.

jiah trudged after the girl, her feet dragging slightly as they left the cramped quarters behind. the girl moved with a practiced ease, her steps light but purposeful, while jiah struggled to keep up. the corridor they entered was dimly lit, the stone walls cool and damp to the touch, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the bunk room. the faint scent of mildew lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of baked bread drifting from somewhere in the distance.

"you're really out of it today," the girl remarked, glancing over her shoulder. her tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of genuine concern in her eyes. "did you sleep at all last night?"

jiah forced a weak smile, her mind racing. "yeah... just a weird night, i guess." she hoped the vague response would satisfy the girl, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"well, you'd better snap out of it soon. we don't have time for weird nights," the girl chided gently, though there was no malice in her voice. she gestured ahead, where the corridor opened into a larger space. "come on, we need to hurry. you know how she gets when we're late."

jiah's heart skipped a beat. "she?" the word slipped out before she could stop herself, and the girl raised an eyebrow, her pace slowing.

"you know, her." the girl's eyes widened slightly, as if jiah had just asked the most ridiculous question. "don't tell me you've forgotten about the princess already?"

princess? jiah swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. she couldn't afford to let on how lost she felt. "oh, right," she mumbled, trying to keep her voice steady. "just... foggy this morning."

the girl sighed, offering a sympathetic smile. "maybe you should see the healer later. you're acting really strange today." she didn't press further, thankfully, instead turning her attention back to the path ahead. "let's just get through this morning. the last thing we need is another lecture."

they walked in silence for a few moments, the girl leading the way with a familiarity that jiah envied. every corner they turned, every hallway they passed, seemed like a blur to her, as if she were walking through a dream that wasn't quite her own.

"so," the girl began again, her voice light and conversational, "did you hear about the storm last night? some of the sailors said it was the worst they've seen in years."

"storm?" jiah echoed, struggling to keep up with the casual conversation. "no... i didn't."

"you must've been really out of it." the girl chuckled softly, shaking her head. "it was intense. lightning, thunder, the works. some people say it's a bad omen, but you know how superstitious they can be." she glanced at jiah, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "what do you think?"

jiah hesitated, unsure how to respond. "i guess... storms are just storms. nothing to get worked up about."

the girl laughed, the sound echoing softly off the stone walls. "you're probably right. but it doesn't hurt to be a little cautious, you know?"

jiah nodded, though she felt anything but confident. her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, each step she took only deepening the sense of unease that clung to her like a second skin.

"anyway," the girl continued, her tone brightening, "we'll just have to make sure the princess doesn't catch wind of it. you know how she gets with bad news."

jiah forced another smile, her stomach churning. "yeah... wouldn't want to upset her."

they reached a set of large wooden doors, the intricate carvings on the surface hinting at the importance of what lay beyond. the girl paused, turning to jiah with a knowing look. "this is it. you ready?"

jiah swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers clenching the fabric of her tunic. "ready as i'll ever be."

the girl grinned, patting her on the shoulder. "you'll be fine. just don't forget to curtsy. you know how she is about formalities." with that, she pushed open one of the doors, revealing a grand hallway bathed in the soft glow of morning light streaming through tall, arched windows.

the contrast between the damp, cold corridors and the opulence of this space was jarring. polished marble floors reflected the intricate designs painted on the ceilings, and the air here smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax. jiah felt her breath hitch, the grandeur of the place overwhelming her senses.

the girl motioned for jiah to follow, her steps quickening as they approached another set of doors at the far end of the hall. "let's get this over with," she whispered, casting a sideways glance at jiah. "just follow my lead, and you'll be fine."

jiah nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as they neared the doors. the girl raised a hand to knock, but before she could, she turned to jiah, her expression softening.

"don't worry too much, okay? you've done this a hundred times before. just breathe."

jiah nodded again, her mind a whirl of questions she couldn't ask, fears she couldn't voice. she took a deep breath, steeling herself as the girl knocked lightly on the door, the sound echoing in the stillness of the grand hallway.

the door creaked open, and the girl slipped inside, beckoning jiah to follow. jiah's legs felt like lead, but she forced herself to move, stepping into the room beyond.

the air inside was heavy with the scent of jasmine, and the light was softer here, filtered through gauzy curtains that billowed gently in the morning breeze. the bed was a lavish canopy, draped in silken fabrics that whispered against each other as they moved. it was a room fit for royalty, every detail meticulously crafted to exude luxury and power.

jiah's eyes landed on the figure in the bed, still and serene, the rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life. the girl stepped forward, her voice low and soothing.

"good morning, your highness. it's time to wake up."

jiah held her breath, the reality of the situation crashing down on her like a tidal wave. she was in a novel. a story she had read and despised, a world she never thought she would have to navigate herself. and now, she was standing in the room of the very character who had made her blood boil on countless nights.

she was in whispers of the sea.

yiseo stirred beneath the soft covers, her eyes fluttering open to the sound of the gentle voice calling her. she let out a soft groan, stretching her arms above her head before turning to look at the two figures standing by her bed. her eyes landed on the girl first, and she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "good morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

then her gaze shifted to jiah, and her smile widened, warming significantly. "jiah, you're here."

jiah felt her chest tighten at the familiarity in yiseo's tone, the way her name rolled off the princess's tongue as if they'd shared countless mornings like this. she forced a smile, willing herself to stay calm. "good morning, yiseo. did you sleep well?"

yiseo sat up, pushing her tousled hair back from her face. "as well as one can in this place." she chuckled softly, glancing at the girl. "thank you for waking me, but you can leave us now. i'd like to speak with jiah."

the girl nodded obediently, giving jiah a quick smile before slipping out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

yiseo patted the space beside her on the bed, motioning for jiah to sit. "come on, sit with me. we don't have to rush right away."

jiah hesitated for a moment before moving to sit beside yiseo. the bed was impossibly soft beneath her, a stark contrast to the rough, hand-me-down sheets she'd woken up in.

"you look a bit pale," yiseo observed, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern. "are you feeling alright?"

"just a little tired," jiah admitted, keeping her voice light. "it's been... a strange morning."

yiseo tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "strange? how so?"

jiah paused, considering her words carefully. she couldn't exactly tell yiseo the truth. especially not when she was still grappling with it herself. "i guess i just had some odd dreams last night. they're sticking with me, that's all."

yiseo reached out, taking jiah's hand in hers and squeezing it gently. "you've been working too hard, haven't you? i've noticed how much you've been doing lately. you should rest more."

the genuine concern in yiseo's voice made jiah's heart ache. this wasn't the yiseo she remembered from the book, the spoiled princess who made selfish choices that led to chaos. this yiseo was warm, caring. a true friend.

"i'll try," jiah promised, squeezing yiseo's hand back. "but you know how things are. there's always something that needs doing."

"true," yiseo agreed, a wistful smile playing at her lips. "but you shouldn't have to carry so much alone. i'll speak with the others, see if we can't lighten your load a bit."

jiah blinked, surprised by the offer. "you don't have to do that."

"of course i do." yiseo's tone was firm, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. "you're my friend, jiah. and friends look out for each other."

the word "friend" echoed in jiah's mind, grounding her in the reality of this moment. yiseo saw her as more than just a servant. she saw her as a companion, someone she trusted and cared for. it was a stark contrast to the distant, haughty image jiah had built of her from the pages of the novel.

"thank you," jiah said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

yiseo smiled again, releasing jiah's hand and rising from the bed. "well, let's not dwell on strange dreams and worries. we have a full day ahead of us." she moved toward the wardrobe, pulling it open to reveal an array of finely tailored dresses in a rainbow of colors. "help me choose what to wear?"

jiah stood, moving to join yiseo by the wardrobe. "of course."

as yiseo held up a delicate sky-blue gown with silver embroidery, jiah couldn't help but marvel at how different this version of yiseo was from the one she'd come to despise in the book. maybe things weren't as simple as they seemed on the page. maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to change the story. to steer it toward a better ending.

"this one?" yiseo asked, holding the gown against her body and twirling slightly.

jiah nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "it's perfect."

"great." yiseo beamed, laying the dress on the bed before turning back to jiah. "thank you, jiah. i don't know what i'd do without you."

"you'd manage," jiah said, her tone teasing. "but i'm glad i'm here to help."

as yiseo slipped into the sky-blue gown, her demeanor shifted subtly, a flicker of the entitled princess beginning to surface. she glanced at herself in the ornate mirror, turning this way and that, examining the fit of the dress with a critical eye.

"ugh," she sighed, brushing her hair back with a frustrated flick of her hand. "this dress feels a bit tight. do you think i've gained weight?"

jiah, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone, shook her head quickly. "no, you look perfect, yiseo."

yiseo pouted, smoothing her hands over the fabric. "it doesn't feel perfect. everything should feel perfect." she turned to jiah, her eyes narrowing slightly. "are you sure it looks alright? or are you just saying that because you're my friend?"

"i'm sure," jiah reassured her, though she could sense the shift in the atmosphere. "the dress fits beautifully."

yiseo sighed again, clearly dissatisfied despite jiah's words. "i suppose it will have to do for today. i just hate feeling like things aren't exactly the way they should be. you understand, don't you?"

jiah nodded slowly, though she didn't completely understand. yiseo's world was one of luxury and privilege, where small imperfections felt like monumental issues. it was a stark contrast to jiah's reality, both in her life before and now, where making do with what little she had was the norm.

"maybe you could mention it to the seamstress," jiah offered carefully. "she could make some adjustments."

yiseo perked up at the suggestion, her eyes brightening. "yes, that's a good idea. she needs to understand how important it is for my clothes to fit perfectly. after all, appearances are everything." she turned back to the mirror, adjusting the neckline of the gown. "and if she can't get it right, maybe it's time to find someone who can."

jiah bit her tongue, choosing not to respond to that last comment. she didn't want to argue with yiseo, especially not when the princess's mood could swing so easily. instead, she focused on keeping her expression neutral.

"you're right," yiseo continued, oblivious to jiah's discomfort. "i can't be seen in something that doesn't fit exactly as it should. i have an image to maintain."

jiah offered a tight smile, feeling a pang of frustration. this was the yiseo she recognized from the novel. the one who was so wrapped up in her own world that she couldn't see beyond it. but she reminded herself that this was only a part of yiseo, not the whole.

"shall we go?" jiah suggested, eager to move on from the conversation.

yiseo gave herself one last glance in the mirror before nodding. "yes, let's. i have so much to do today, and we can't waste any more time."

they walked through the hallways of the palace, yiseo leading the way with a grace that came naturally to her. her chin was slightly lifted, and her steps were measured, every movement calculated to exude elegance. jiah followed closely, her mind swirling with thoughts about how to handle yiseo's capricious nature.

"jiah," yiseo called over her shoulder, her voice sweet yet demanding. "do you think the others will notice if i wear this dress again? i can't bear the thought of them thinking i'm repeating outfits."

"i doubt they'll notice," jiah replied, hoping to ease her concerns. "and even if they do, they'll only admire how beautiful you look in it."

yiseo stopped abruptly, turning to face jiah with a dramatic sigh. "but what if they don't? what if they think i'm becoming... ordinary?" her eyes widened at the thought, as if being perceived as ordinary was the greatest tragedy imaginable.

"you could never be ordinary, yiseo," jiah said, her voice firm. "you have a presence that no one else can match. people admire you for more than just your clothes."

yiseo seemed to ponder this for a moment before nodding, though her expression remained doubtful. "you're right. still, it wouldn't hurt to have a few new gowns made. something even more stunning than this one. i'll speak to the seamstress about it."

jiah nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. the extravagance of yiseo's life was overwhelming at times, especially when compared to her own modest existence. but she reminded herself that this was yiseo's reality, a world where appearances and social status were everything.

as they continued down the hall, yiseo's attention shifted to the décor around them. "don't you think these tapestries are a bit dull?" she gestured to the intricately woven fabrics hanging along the walls. "they've been here for ages. we should replace them with something more vibrant, more... now."

"they're beautiful," jiah offered, her voice careful. "but if you feel they need updating, i'm sure the palace decorators would be happy to help."

"exactly," yiseo said, her tone triumphant. "we need to keep things fresh. otherwise, people will think we're stuck in the past."

jiah followed silently, her thoughts racing. yiseo's need for constant change and perfection was exhausting, but it was clear that this was how she coped with the pressures of her position. it was a facade, a way to maintain control in a world where so much was expected of her.

as they reached the grand staircase leading to the lower levels of the palace, yiseo paused, a playful smile spreading across her face. "jiah, do you remember when we used to slide down these stairs as children?"

jiah blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in mood. "slide down the stairs? i... i think i remember."

"we'd get scolded every time," yiseo continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "but it was so much fun. sometimes, i wish we could do it again."

jiah smiled softly, seeing a glimpse of the carefree girl beneath yiseo's polished exterior. "maybe we can, someday."

yiseo laughed, a light, musical sound that echoed through the hallway. "someday, perhaps. but not today. i have too much to do, and you have to help me stay on schedule."

they descended the staircase, yiseo's laughter fading as they approached the bustling heart of the palace. servants moved about, their heads bowed as they carried out their duties. yiseo barely noticed them, her attention already shifting to the day ahead.

"jiah, make sure to remind me about the tea party this afternoon," yiseo instructed. "and we need to go over the guest list for the ball next week. i can't have anyone attending who doesn't meet my standards."

"of course," jiah said, her voice steady, though she felt a pang of sympathy for the people who would inevitably be excluded from yiseo's carefully curated events.

as they walked through the palace, yiseo's gaze flitted from one thing to another, her mind constantly assessing and critiquing. "these flowers are wilting," she noted, frowning at a vase of roses. "replace them with something fresh. and the music in the drawing room is too somber. we need something livelier."

jiah nodded, making mental notes of yiseo's demands. it was a never ending list of perfection, each request a reflection of yiseo's desire to maintain her image and control over her surroundings.

when they finally reached the door to yiseo's study, yiseo turned to jiah with a grateful smile. "thank you for always being here, jiah. i don't know what i'd do without you."

jiah's heart softened at the genuine gratitude in yiseo's eyes. despite her spoiled tendencies, there was a part of yiseo that truly valued their friendship. "you're welcome, yiseo. i'll always be here to help."

yiseo nodded, her expression serious. "good. because i need someone who understands me, someone who can keep me grounded." she reached out, squeezing jiah's hand briefly before letting go. "now, let's get started. go grab my dress for the party and bring it back." yiseo ordered ushering her back to the door.

jiah paused at the door, her fingers lingering on the handle. for a moment, she felt the weight of the task ahead press down on her, fetching the gown for yiseo, the tea party looming in the background, all of it so unfamiliar. the novel had never gone into detail about the intricacies of running a noblewoman's life, only the polished, flawless image of yiseo that the characters saw from a distance. but here, in the confines of the palace, jiah had to fill in the gaps. gaps she realized she didn't know how to navigate.

she walked slowly down the hall, her heart racing in a way she couldn't explain. the lavish tapestries on the walls, the intricate designs of the stone floors beneath her feet. everything screamed a world she didn't belong to. in her modern life, she had been self-sufficient, independent, her daily routine of work and survival leaving no space for extravagant tea parties or high-society duties. how was she supposed to understand all of this?

as she passed by a set of large windows, she caught her reflection in the glass. the sight made her pause. the unfamiliar maid's attire she wore, long, plain skirt and simple top, felt too restrictive, too much a part of a world she didn't know. it was just another reminder that she wasn't in control. her fingers absently twisted the hem of her sleeve as she walked, trying to push down the feeling of inadequacy rising within her.

it wasn't like she hadn't been in the novel's world before, she'd read it countless times, after all. but those were yiseo's stories, those were the pages that described the action and the beauty, the romance and the drama. they didn't show the little moments, the behind-the-scenes of keeping a high-born lady's life running. in the book, jiah had known everything. in real life, she was stumbling her way through it.

by the time jiah reached yiseo's personal chambers, she was mentally exhausted. she had only managed to retrieve the gown from a nearby closet, hands shaking as she folded it carefully in her arms. the lavender gown was beautiful, just as it had been described in the novel, soft, delicate, with intricate embroidery. it wasn't the hard part. the hard part was figuring out what came next.

she stepped into the study again, where yiseo was waiting, seated comfortably in one of the velvet armchairs by the window. yiseo's eyes flicked to the gown in jiah's arms, her gaze appreciative but not overly impressed.

"did you find it?" she asked, her voice calm, cool, and commanding.

jiah hesitated, unsure how to proceed. "yes," she replied softly, holding the dress out to yiseo. "here it is."

yiseo took the gown with a slight smile, examining it for a moment before turning her gaze back to jiah. there was something in the air, an unspoken expectation that had jiah on edge.

"are you sure you can manage this, jiah?" yiseo's voice was smooth, but jiah caught the edge of challenge in her tone.

jiah's heart skipped a beat. was this a test? was she supposed to be an expert in these matters? in the book, jiah had been more than capable. the maids were like family to yiseo, serving her faithfully without question. in the book, jiah would have known what to do. but here? she felt like a stranger in a world of rules and rituals she didn't understand.

"i... i think so," jiah said, forcing a smile, her voice uncertain. "i'll make sure everything is ready for the party."

yiseo raised an eyebrow but didn't press. instead, she stood, smoothing the gown between her fingers before handing it to jiah. "get me ready," she said simply, her tone turning curt again.

jiah nodded, swallowing hard. "of course."

as yiseo began to remove her current attire, jiah stood frozen, unsure where to start. she had no idea what she was doing. in the book, the maids had been described as knowing exactly how to attend to yiseo's every need, from her hair to her makeup to the perfect placement of her accessories. but jiah hadn't learned any of that.

the only thing she could think to do was unceremoniously lay out the gown on a nearby chair, hoping yiseo wouldn't notice her hesitation. yiseo glanced up at her, her expression unreadable as she stood by the mirror, her fingers brushing over her neck absentmindedly.

"i don't think you'll need to fuss over me too much," yiseo murmured, her voice light, almost teasing. "just... make sure it's perfect. i don't have time for mistakes today."

the words stung, even though jiah knew they weren't meant to. there was something about yiseo's perfect, composed exterior that made jiah feel even more out of place. she wasn't meant to be a mere maid. she was supposed to fit in, be an equal, part of this world. but the longer she stayed in it, the more she felt herself crumbling under the weight of it all.

"don't worry," jiah said softly, her voice steadying as she regained her composure. "it will be perfect."

it wasn't a lie. it would be perfect. she would make sure of it. it was just going to take some time for her to figure out how.

jiah moved quickly, helping yiseo slip into the gown with as much grace as she could muster. the fabric was smooth and cool against her skin, the delicate lavender hue accentuating yiseo's beauty in a way that felt almost impossible to achieve. jiah was struck by how flawless yiseo looked, standing in front of the mirror, her posture already impeccable, the gown draping around her like it had been made just for her. which, of course, it had.

"there," jiah said softly, stepping back to take it all in. "perfect."

yiseo turned slightly to face her, the light catching the delicate threads of the gown. her eyes flickered with something close to satisfaction. "you do know how to handle yourself, don't you?"

jiah smiled, though it was tinged with uncertainty. "i'll get better at it."

yiseo nodded approvingly. "good."

jiah stood there for a moment longer, her mind racing with the realization that she was still very much out of her depth. watching yiseo, so poised and confident in the gown, made her feel even more like an outsider. the way yiseo moved, with effortless grace, as though the world was designed to cater to her every need—it was a far cry from jiah's own existence in the real world.

but she couldn't afford to dwell on that. not now.

"are you ready for the tea party?" jiah asked, her voice steadying despite the nervous flutter in her chest. she had a job to do, after all. and she would do it—no matter how unfamiliar it felt.

yiseo turned away from the mirror and gave her a look that was somewhere between approval and mild amusement. "i suppose i am," she said, her tone just a hint warmer than usual. "but i'll need you to make sure everything is perfect. the guests expect nothing less."

jiah nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "i'll see to it, my lady."

the words felt awkward on her tongue, but she pressed on, her determination growing. she had to learn this world, and she had to learn it fast. the pressure of being here, in yiseo's life, made everything feel heightened. every action, every choice she made felt under scrutiny, as if her every step would determine her place in this new reality.

they walked out of the study together, yiseo's steps measured and deliberate, while jiah tried to match her pace, the weight of the gown she'd helped dress yiseo in still hanging in the air between them. the halls were bustling with maids and servants, each one moving with purpose, each knowing exactly what to do. jiah couldn't help but feel like she was an outsider in this world, every servant around her moving with a fluidity she couldn't quite replicate.

the tea party was set in an open area just beyond the stables, where the scent of fresh hay mingled with the light breeze, carrying the faintest trace of horses and nature. the tables were long and elegantly arranged under a canopy of tall, leafy trees that offered shade from the midday sun. the afternoon light filtered through the branches, casting soft shadows on the ground. delicate china teacups were carefully placed at each setting, and colorful pastries were arranged in neat, artful piles, a feast for both the eyes and the stomach. around the tables, noblewomen sat chatting, their voices rising and falling like a gentle melody, while the soft neighing of horses could be heard faintly in the distance.

it was an odd juxtaposition: nobility and rusticity. the horses, the fresh air, the dirt beneath their feet, it was a far cry from the polished grandeur of the palace, yet it suited yiseo's tastes somehow. there was an effortless grace to her as she sat at the head of the table, surrounded by well-wishers and dignitaries, her lavender gown billowing slightly in the breeze. she wore a serene expression, one that suggested both poise and a deep satisfaction, like she belonged to the world around her and the one that existed beyond it.

jiah stood at the far edge of the gathering, attempting to blend in as best she could. her position was one of service, and she felt the weight of it as she moved between the guests, offering refills of tea, replenishing the platters, and maintaining the illusion of being invisible to all but the most observant eyes. she did her best to maintain a quiet composure, though it felt nearly impossible with the buzz of conversation surrounding her and the heady fragrance of flowers in the air.

her gaze occasionally drifted toward the stables, where she could see the horses grazing lazily in their pens. the thought of the open stables had an odd allure to it. an escape from the artifice of the tea party, the pretense of nobility, and the constant clinking of teacups.

and then she saw him.

he stood by the stables, his back turned to her. the man's presence seemed almost otherworldly, a contradiction of softness and strength. his features were delicate, almost ethereal. his tan skin, kissed by the sun, seemed to glow with a quiet warmth, contrasting with the soft, wavy brown hair that fell around his face in perfect disarray. the sunlight glinted off the strands, casting an almost ethereal glow, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw and the subtle softness of his expression. there was something hauntingly beautiful about him, an unspoken allure that seemed to radiate from every movement he made.

his attire was simple, yet striking in its own way. his servant clothes, a muted beige tunic and brown trousers, fit him like a second skin, slightly worn from use but still undeniably well-crafted. the edges of his tunic were frayed just enough to show signs of long hours spent in service, but the way it draped over his frame was elegant, like it belonged on someone of a far higher station. it was as if the man himself refused to be defined by his clothing, his presence transcending any title or role.

there was something arresting about the way he moved. every step was measured, graceful, as though he was tethered to something more ancient than the world around him. but it was his features that truly captured jiah's attention. the way his eyes, dark and deep, seemed to hold a thousand secrets, and how his gaze never lingered too long on any one thing. it was as if he was always somewhere else, in a world where she couldn't follow. he was a man who didn't belong here. he has to be a main character, she thought to herself, her pulse quickening as she tried to make sense of the strange feeling stirring in her chest.

"jiah, are you staring?" a teasing voice broke through her thoughts, and she snapped her head to the side, startled.

minji, a maid who had been serving tea to one of the noblewomen, was standing beside her with an amused smile. "oh, i see what this is," she continued, her voice light and teasing. "you're caught up in taehyung's charm, aren't you?"

jiah blinked, her face flushing a little. "taehyung?" she repeated, her mind struggling to connect the man she had just seen with a name. "he's... a servant?"

minji laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "oh yes, but you should know better than anyone that he's no ordinary stable hand. you'd think he's a nobleman or even a lord with the way he holds himself. honestly, it's a bit ridiculous."

jiah's eyes darted back toward him, her heart skipping a beat as she watched him talk with one of the other stable hands. there was something almost regal in the way he held himself. the mystery, the quiet confidence, it was enough to make her wonder how someone like him could be relegated to such a lowly station. "he can't just be a servant," she muttered to herself, still incredulous. "there's something about him..."

"taehyung?" minji asked, arching an eyebrow. "you and i both know he's been here for years even though barely anyone knows much about him. i'm sure you've heard the rumors that he's got connections to pirates or that he's royalty in disguise, but i know you don't believe any of that nonsense" she gave jiah a sly look. "i wonder how long it'll take before he asks for your hand, hm? he'd have to ask her highness for permission first, of course."

jiah felt the heat rush to her cheeks. asking for my hand? the thought made her heart race with a strange mix of embarrassment and curiosity. "i—i don't think that's going to happen," she said quickly, but the teasing spark in minji's eyes made her second guess her certainty.

before she could say anything else, jiah's attention snapped back to taehyung as he began walking toward her, his gaze catching hers once again. for a moment, time seemed to slow, and her breath caught in her throat as his dark eyes locked onto hers. when he finally reached her, his gaze softened, locking with hers for a moment longer than necessary.

"jiah," he greeted, his voice like velvet, smooth and low. "it seems you're quite the observer. i couldn't help but notice your gaze wandering in my direction earlier."

jiah's breath caught in her throat, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. he noticed? she thought, mortified. "i—i wasn't staring," she stammered, but it came out weaker than she had intended.

taehyung's smile curled into something playful, as if savoring her discomfort. "oh, but i'm certain you were. it's not every day someone as striking as me passes by. i'm sure your eyes couldn't resist a second glance," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"that's... that's not what i—" jiah trailed off, realizing that every attempt to defend herself only seemed to make it worse.

taehyung, seemingly enjoying the flustered effect he had on her, took a step closer, his voice lowering. "careful, jiah. if you keep looking at me like that, i might start to think you're enamored with me." he gave a small wink, though there was something more calculating behind it than simple flirtation.

jiah felt her skin heat even more. she opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words, unsure of what to say without making the situation more awkward.

taehyung didn't wait for an answer. he straightened up, his smile broadening. "well, i suppose i'd better go before you fall completely under my spell. wouldn't want to make things too easy," he added with a teasing tone, as if daring her to say something else.

he turned away with a final glance over his shoulder, his voice drifting back to her in a playful murmur: "and don't worry, jiah. if you're thinking of stealing a glance later, i'll pretend i didn't notice."

jiah stood frozen, her heart thudding in her chest, her mind spinning with everything he'd just said. he has to be teasing, she thought, but the way he said it... it felt like something more. what did he mean by all that?

as taehyung walked away, his presence lingered in the air, and jiah felt the heat rising in her cheeks. her eyes stayed fixed on him, but when he turned the corner, she blinked and quickly looked away, feeling a sharp tug in her chest. he's different, she thought. so different from anyone else here.

"you know, you're not exactly subtle, jiah."

jiah froze, her face going pale at the familiar teasing voice. she turned to find minji standing next to her, a knowing grin on her face. minji didn't need to say more; her expression said it all. caught.

"what? i wasn't staring," jiah protested, trying and failing to keep the blush from staining her cheeks. "i just... i was making sure everything was in place for the party."

minji raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "making sure the stable boy's in place, you mean?" she teased. "you're the worst liar, jiah."

"minji, stop," jiah said, her voice dropping to a whisper, though she was clearly flustered. "it's not what you think."

"oh, it's exactly what i think," minji said with a chuckle. "you've had that crush on him for years now."

"what?" jiah blurted out, her eyes widening. she froze, not sure whether she had heard her correctly. years? she hadn't realized she had been that obvious, especially now that she was in this strange new world. had she really been pining for him this whole time? wait... i didn't even know he was important in the book!

minji crossed her arms, her smile turning into something much more knowing. "oh, come on, jiah. i've seen that look on your face since you were both just children. you think i didn't notice?"

"i didn't think it was so obvious!" jiah stammered, her heart racing. book jiah had a crush on him for years? jiah could hardly wrap her mind around it. she hadn't even known who taehyung was until today.

minji leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "please. every time taehyung walked in the room, i could practically see your heart skip a beat. don't even try to deny it."

"it's not like that," jiah muttered, though her words sounded weak even to her own ears. was it?

"really?" minji asked, her tone dripping with amusement. "then why are you looking at him now, like you're about to faint?"

jiah tried to focus on the ground, doing everything she could to avoid minji's teasing gaze. there's no way this is happening, she thought, trying to steady her breathing. but even as she tried to brush it off, she couldn't stop thinking about taehyung's presence.

before jiah could respond, someone called out from across the courtyard. "oh, hey, taehyung!"

jiah's gaze snapped over to the voice, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw him again, standing tall and effortlessly graceful by the stable doors. he's unreal, jiah thought, her heart beating wildly in her chest. how could anyone look like that?

"he's too beautiful," jiah whispered under her breath without meaning to. "he can't just be a stable boy."

minji's grin grew even wider, clearly enjoying every moment of jiah's discomfort. "he's a lot of things, jiah. but yes, he's definitely not just a stable boy."

as taehyung greeted the other servants, minji shot jiah a sly look. "so, do you think he's going to ask for your hand anytime soon?"

jiah's eyes went wide, and she almost choked on her own breath. "w-what?"

"oh, you know," minji continued, her voice light and teasing. "i've heard rumors. they say he's just waiting for the perfect moment to ask for your hand. but," she added with a wink, "he'll probably have to ask her highness's for permission first. you know, considering who you work for."

jiah's face flamed red at the suggestion. "that's ridiculous!" she sputtered. "he would never—"

"never?" minji interrupted, clearly enjoying every moment of this. "never? jiah, don't be so naive. i've seen the way he looks at you. you're both clearly... entangled in something."

jiah could hardly breathe, let alone respond. taehyung? asking for her hand? that's impossible. isn't it?

before she could collect herself, minji nudged her gently. "don't worry too much. maybe he'll ask. maybe he won't. but i can guarantee, jiah... you're never going to forget how he makes you feel."

jiah didn't know how to reply. the thought of taehyung, of all people, looking at her with anything more than friendly indifference, was... well, it was too much for her to handle right now.

but she couldn't ignore the way her heart fluttered in her chest. not when minji was so right. taehyung wasn't just a stable boy.

jiah couldn't stop thinking about minji's words as the tea party continued, each passing moment making her more aware of taehyung's presence just beyond the stable. she tried to focus on yiseo, on the party, on the sparkling conversation and laughter that surrounded her. but all she could hear was the rhythmic sound of hooves, the clink of bridles, and the occasional low chuckle from taehyung as he interacted with the other stable hands.

she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him again. every time she tried, her heart would race and her mind would cloud with confusion. why does this feel so complicated? she wondered. he's just a stable boy. he can't... he can't be anything more than that.

but the way he'd smiled at her earlier, those eyes full of something unspoken, something intimate... she couldn't shake it.

as the afternoon wore on, the sounds of the tea party around her became muffled, and jiah found herself staring at the stables again. she could see taehyung talking to another maid, a brief exchange of words followed by a soft laugh that made her heart stutter. why does he affect me so much?

"jiah?" yiseo's voice broke through her thoughts, and jiah blinked, realizing she had been staring off into the distance for longer than she intended.

"yes, your highness?" jiah quickly replied, straightening up.

"are you unwell?" yiseo asked, her tone laced with a touch of concern, though it was mostly masked by her usual indifference.

"i'm fine," jiah replied, giving her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. i'm not fine, jiah thought. i can't stop thinking about him. about taehyung.

yiseo didn't seem convinced but didn't press the matter further. instead, she turned her attention to the small group of guests who had gathered around the table, eager to engage in polite conversation. the tea party resumed its elegant rhythm, but jiah couldn't focus. her mind kept drifting back to taehyung, to the sound of his voice, to the way his eyes had lingered on hers for a heartbeat longer than what felt normal.

then, without warning, minji appeared by her side again. "jiah, you're still staring," she teased, her voice light and playful.

jiah's cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, her heart racing as she realized how obvious she must have been. "i'm not staring," she muttered, trying to sound convincing.

minji raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "you're hopeless, you know that?"

jiah opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, taehyung walked by, carrying a bucket of hay over his shoulder. his gaze flickered toward her for a split second, and jiah's breath caught in her throat. he looked at me again. it wasn't just a glance; it was intentional. purposeful.

minji noticed the way jiah stiffened, her eyes widening. "oh, i see," she said with a knowing grin. "he looked at you, didn't he?"

jiah's heart pounded as she tried to hide her flustered reaction. "no," she denied weakly, but it was too late. minji had already caught the change in her demeanor.

taehyung paused for a moment, noticing the way jiah's face had flushed, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and curiosity. he gave her a small, knowing smile before continuing his work. it was a smile that sent warmth flooding through her chest, and for the briefest moment, jiah wondered if maybe—just maybe—he had been aware of her gaze all along.

"he's definitely up to something," minji muttered under her breath, watching taehyung as he moved further into the stable. "that boy's not just going to let you walk away."

"minji—" jiah began, but she didn't know how to finish. she was caught, caught in something she didn't understand, something she wasn't sure she wanted to understand.

minji leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know, you've been caught in this little game of his before. but it seems like he's more serious now."

"what do you mean?" jiah asked, her voice trembling slightly.

minji gave her a sly smile. "he's been around for years, but now... it's different. something's changed. and honestly? i think you're in for a ride, jiah."

before jiah could respond, yiseo called her attention again, and the moment passed. but the weight of minji's words lingered in her chest, mixing with her confusion, her uncertainty, and the strange pull she felt toward taehyung.

authors note: our mc first interact (well kind of) with one of the members !! i know this story is a little slow but trust me it will get more interesting (or at least i hope u guys think that)

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[vodika-vibes]

Hey vodika!

Congrats on your follower milestone!

Could I request f!Jedi reader x Sev

Garnet

Autumn evening

Thank you! Love you! Xx

Forever

Summary: Of all of the things that Sev hates in the universe, watching his Jedi get hurt tops the list.

Pairing: Clone Commando Sev x Reader

Word Count: 777

Warnings: Reader is seriously injured here, though I didn't detail how she was hurt. Reader is described as formerly having long hair.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I tried my best with this, but it's not easy to write when you can't focus for longer than a few minutes at a time. I'm sorry if it's not quite what you wanted. If you don't like it you can send another request and I'll write something when I'm not sick.

Sev knows that he’s not the gentlest of men. He knows that he’s quick to anger and that he enjoys violence just a little too much for most people to want to put up with. Sure, his own batchmates know that sometimes he says those things simply because it gets reactions.

But most of their brothers don’t.

He doesn’t mind it. He gets along better with his batchmates over anyone else anyway. Well, his batchmates and their jedi.

His Jedi.

She was a surprise addition to Delta Squad shortly after the war began. Someone who was supposed to manage their mission loads and help them so they could take more dangerous missions. 

And she quickly integrated herself into Delta Squad. She was careful to not step on Boss’ toes, listened to Scorch’s jokes, redirected Fixer when he was being his most ornery, and was able to temper the worst of his temper.

How could Sev not fall in love with her?

And Sev has never been the type of man to tiptoe around things like feelings, so he told her as soon as he knew that he loved her. He fully expected her to turn him down, but she surprised him by releasing a musical laugh, and agreeing to go on a date with him to see where this leads.

That was nearly a year ago now, and somehow Sev is still able to claim her as his girlfriend. Somehow, because he thought for sure that she would kick him to the curb months ago.

His gaze drifts from his rifle, which he’s been cleaning, to his Jedi.

They’re holed up in a Jedi Safehouse, and his brothers are out trying to find a way off this planet, while Sev chose to remain behind to look after their barely conscious Jedi. 

It’s a shame she hasn’t been able to enjoy the planet properly. His Jedi loves this type of weather, when it’s cool and the leaves have started to change. Sweater weather, she calls it.

Though, she’s not saying much of anything at the moment.

She’s nearly gray-faced, and her layers of robes have been removed and replaced by bandages. Her hair had been shorn into a much shorter style, due to the sheer amount of matting that they hadn’t been able to fix-

And then she stirs, her fingers flexing against the thick blanket granting her some modesty.

Sev swallows hard and sets his rifle to the side, before he stands and walks over to her carefully settling himself on the floor near her cot. Her pretty eyes flutter open and focus on his face, “Sev-” She mumbles his name, and she lifts her hand, which he catches and threads her fingers with his own.

“Hey there, Pretty Girl.” He replies, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“-where?”

“We’re still on the same planet,” He explains as he gently squeezes her hand, “The others are out looking for a way out.”

She tries to sit up, but Sev is quick to push her back prone, “I should be helping them-”

“You need to rest.” Sev insists. 

“But, it’s not safe.” She tries.

“Hey,” He waits until her pretty eyes are locked on him, “No one here is going to hurt them. We’ve already killed anyone who might try.”

She blinks at him.

Sev smiles wryly and he brings his free hand up to rest against her bruised face, “They had you, cyar’ika. They had you and they were hurting you, there was no other option.”

She sighs softly, and she turns her head to kiss the palm of his hand, “I don’t deserve you.” she mumbles.

Sev just laughs, “I think that’s supposed to be my line.” All of the tension has drained from his body now that she’s awake and talking, “You deserve far better than me. It’s a shame that I’m not so good a person to just walk away and let another person have you.”

She lightly squeezes his fingers, “All I want is you, though.”

“You have terrible taste in men.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Slowly, Sev brushes some of her hair out of her face, “No one is ever going to hurt you again, cyar’ika. I promise.”

She smiles at him, soft and warm, and Sev leans in to press his lips lightly against hers, pulling away just as quickly as he leaned in. “Now, get some more rest. As soon as we have a ship, you’re going to take a nap in a bacta tank.”

She just sighs, “Will you stay?”

Sev brings their joined hands to his lips, and presses a light kiss to her knuckles, “Forever.”

[wispforever]

Some thoughts on Itachi

So, I've seen a lot of comments circulating about my tags on this post, and I'm intrigued at the interest. I didn't expect it, as I see much more pigeonholing of Itachi's character than honest to god analysis. No hate- I'm no stranger to Kishimoto's writing. Some of his characters were unfortunately butchered or never given the chance to be developed properly, and Itachi is most certainly no exception. That said, I like to grant him a bit more nuance than I see on most blogs. I think people get a little wrapped up in the supposed "moral implications" of exploring how Itachi was also a victim of the system, as well as someone who victimized many people. But it's silly to equate character analysis and context consideration with condoning genocide.

I have a good laugh every once and a while at the metaphorical gymnastics people do in order to stay in the good graces of a bunch of internet trolls who are just Waiting for any opportunity to tell you you love murder and think it's delicious just because you made a post exploring a character's background. Media is grey; it's layered and wonderfully complex. There are many wrongs and rights in every story, and many wrongs and rights within those wrongs and rights. That's what I love about Naruto. Often times it's really too much like real life. Instead of people being black and white, right or wrong, bad or good- they're usually in a tough situation, trying their best and falling short, don't have all of the information, acting with good intentions or acting on what they believe will bring about a lesser evil, and then end up hurting others.

But it is much easier to assign blame and move on. A so-called bad person will always be the perfect scapegoat for issues bigger than them. In Itachi's case, the fascist government in the Leaf. It's easier to say Itachi could have just refused and decided not to be involved, than to recognize that like almost every other character in the narrative, he was under extreme duress, living in a military state. He was a child whose existence, along with all the other children and adults in the Leaf, was only valuable as long as he could serve as a tool for the war machine in the shinobi world's fucked up political system. And saying this is not the same as saying he was not capable of better decisions or that everything that he did thereafter or in general should not be read critically or subject to hypothetical consequences. It is the same as a saying his actions cannot be fully understood without complete context, and the themes of Naruto will never come through if every villain is just "evil" with no further nuance. And it would be boring too LOL

That said, I love to think about Itachi's situation back then. The ages in Naruto are a bit muddled, a little inconsistent, subject to change and interpretation, but Itachi was a child when he murdered everyone in the Uchiha compound. Most sources say he was 13. It should go without saying that someone so young isn't capable of the same decision-making or critical thinking as say, a 30-year-old, someone whose brain is finished developing and has much more experience on Earth.

Itachi's experience at this point in his life is informed by his age, and it's obviously informed by his childhood, as he has no other place from which to draw conclusions. Itachi grew up in a warring state. He saw people die and was subject to extreme violence in his formative years. To make matters worse, he was taught that war was inevitable and the only thing he could do to guard against it was kill others before they got the chance to kill him (threaten the village). Thusly, Itachi internalized at a very young age that what was in his power was to minimize damage (to himself, to his village, and to the world). What was not in his power was to stop this violence entirely (by adopting a critical mindset and going against fascist powers).

A part of this I think people often forget is that Itachi has absolutely nowhere to adopt this mindset FROM, as even though his father and the other members of the Uchiha clan seek equity in the Leaf, if they were to overthrow the Hokage and create a new system, it would still presumably center around the same ideals (minus, of course, the oppression of the Uchiha as a group). Fugaku is the head of the Uchiha clan at this time. As someone who imposed near impossible performance-related expectations on both of his sons, and withheld love and affection whenever they came up short (so often that it was at the cost of having any considerable emotional bond with either of them), there is absolutely no good reason to believe that Fugaku would reform the Leaf using a non-fascist ideology. And if he did, there is no good reason to believe that he would be some kind of visionary LMAO

This is important to remember because when it comes down to Itachi's decision to either kill everyone in the Uchiha compound and his family, or be part of the coup that would overthrow the Leaf, some people treat it as though it's a choice between fascism and non-fascism, which it most certainly is not. And if it was, Itachi, as a child who had grown up immersed in this ideology, would not be able to appreciate the difference. This context allows us to understand further what Itachi was really weighing in that moment. Accounting for his young age and limited worldview, the only valuable difference in this moment to Itachi was the amount of bloodshed that he would "allow" to happen. Essentially, he sees the options as follows:

Either give in to Danzo and kill everyone in the Uchiha compound, or facilitate a coup where the current government is (hopefully) overthrown and risk starting another war.

Here, Itachi pauses. He has known war. He knows how it affects children, adults, families, and whole nations. The peace he's living in currently is bought with blood, but it's the only peace he's ever known. The alternative is horrifying. And a war in this context, Itachi likely thinks, would be his fault, as he has now been put in the position to "prevent" it. Danzo and the whole shinobi system have groomed him into thinking so. Itachi, at age 13, cannot understand that there would be no war; it exists only as leverage for Danzo's argument at this point. His sensitivities are being played on.

Fugaku, though he is not the same as Danzo, offers about as much help as he does (that being none). Fugaku has no interest in avoiding war; if a war breaks out, it's justified because it will still mean his clan will no longer be living in oppression. This idea is valid, as fascist systems and discrimination can only cease to exist when we rise up against them; unfortunately, this most often calls for righteous violence, as the oppressive powers will not be moved with peaceful shows (not to mention they are willing to go to extreme lengths to avoid losing their hold on the people they have crushing power over, i.e. the Uchiha massacre). But Fugaku has no words to explain this to Itachi, who fears the worst and further fears being responsible for the worst. All he does is act as if it's a moral failing that his 13-year-old son is unwilling to stage a coup, which he believes could mark the abrupt end of a peace that's only just begun.

That said, let it be known that Itachi does appreciate this situation with SOME nuance, though it isn't of the kind that might have enabled him to see he was being manipulated. He at the very least understands that Danzo is a warmonger and oppresses those he fears (the Uchiha). He understands that the rights of his clan have been sorely disrespected, and that the issue needs correction. He understands the anger of his friends and family. This is why it takes him much deliberation before he can even come close to making a decision. He plays both sides right up until the end, listening to Danzo, as well as Fugaku and Shisui, paying attention to the current atmosphere in the Leaf as he tries to decide.

It is something he doesn't want to do. Here's where I get to the part I put in the tags of my drawing.

In this situation, it's almost worthless to write an analysis about Itachi's feelings at this time, his understanding of what was actually going on, his loyalty to his clan or his loyalty to the Leaf, because really, he could not grasp it. He was never prepared for this. He never knew he would be asked to make a decision he could only understand as "your family or the world?"

Itachi was put in a position that had no happy ending. There was no decision he could make that would not hurt. That could not result in a cataclysm that split him right down the middle. There was no version of this story that a 13-year-old could carry out thinking "I have done the right thing."

And that's the important part. Both sides asked him to make this decision, and so both sides are guilty of placing an immeasurable pressure on a child who should never have been put in such a position. Regardless of ideology, regardless of price, regardless of oppression or loyalty or devotion or any other thing- someone else should have made this decision for Itachi. Someone else should have been responsible. An adult, at the very least. Someone who COULD understand the implications of both options. Someone who COULD go forward and appreciate the evil of fascism and know that a coup was necessary. Itachi was never capable of such a thing. If he made the "wrong" decision, than every child who can't explain to you what a fascist government in a military state looks like and explain what the difference is between a hate crime and resisting a hateful power, is also wrong. Here is the nuance. These are things a 13-year-old in this universe cannot be expected to understand unless they are taught. And Itachi had no teacher. Quite the opposite. There were only forces pressing him from both sides, saying "choose."

Had his father done this for him, had Shisui been in this position, had any other adult Uchiha acting as a spy been put to this task, it would be a much different narrative. But of course, it had to be Itachi, who Danzo knew he could manipulate. It had to be a child, someone skilled enough to do the job, but inexperienced enough, afraid enough, to be willing to sacrifice everything they had to see the mission through. Someone you could whisper "greater good" to and have them hand over their well being on a plate. Someone who didn't understand they had the power and strength to destroy the system threatening them.

On a narrative level, Itachi exists to illustrate this point. How young people are systematically indoctrinated to serve a greater purpose, be it under a specific government, religion, or otherwise. We see it in real life fascism, in real life cults. There's no mistake. It isn't an accident that Itachi's story begins like this.

Which brings me to the rest of his life. The reason I drew the picture in the post referenced at the top. Itachi's character is a bit of a mystery the rest of the anime. Be that because of bad writing or an intentional omission, his motives, thoughts, and opinions are largely left ambiguous. However, there are still a few moments that interest me as far as the implications of his development.

When Itachi first comes back to the Leaf village, he faces Kakashi. On the one hand, this could simply be a narrative tool- the big bad meets the big good. He takes Kakashi out of commission! The first rogue shinobi we see who is able to defeat the pillar of the Leaf, the Copy Ninja, and without even breaking a sweat!

On the other hand, I find the brutality of Itachi's attack very intriguing. Again, it could be the tough guy act, but he's able to keep three jonin busy easily using standard genjutsu (with the help of Kisame). It wouldn't be a stretch to say that using the tsukuyomi is overkill, and at a considerable price, we learn later.

Why then would Itachi, who has been shown to have excellent battle intelligence, who is strategic to a fault, be willing to jeopardize his health among other things just to... scare the Leaf? Make sure Kakashi wouldn't be a nuisance in the future? Sure, the last one would make collecting Naruto less complicated, but they dispatched Kakashi easily enough, and surely Jiraiya, who Naruto was with at the time, would pose a bigger problem than Kakashi.

It doesn't make strategic sense, which makes me wonder if Itachi has a special animosity toward Kakashi. Being his superior in the ANBU before the Uchiha massacre, someone who was willing to conduct surveillance of the Uchiha compound without question, Kakashi could have become a symbol of the indifference of the Leaf for Itachi. He could very well have been a reminder of the inoperable position Itachi was put in when he was still a child, and Kakashi, of course, was an adult. Another adult who did nothing. Noticed nothing. Did not help Itachi.

And while I'm certain that Kakashi would have taken severe issue with the goings on in the Leaf at that time, judging by his reaction when he finds out the truth in Shippuden, Itachi knows him only by what he did then. Facilitated surveillance of the Uchiha compound, was a supportive superior, but nothing greater. A bystander whose compassion, while well meaning, was entirely unhelpful.

I don't think it's far fetched that Itachi fucking crucified Kakashi because he was so angry at what being in the Leaf did to him. At some point, as he got older, he realized how terrible it was. He realized there were people like him. Children who were "born killers". Pawns in the game of the shinobi powers.

After leaving the village, Itachi joins the Akatsuki, who are also seeking peace through war (another story). He is supposed to spy for them, but doesn't follow through in any enthusiastic way (that we're shown). He works alone for quite some time, or else with a group (briefly he was shown with Conan and Kakuzu). He is partners with Orochimaru before he's expelled from the Akatsuki. He is partners with one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. He grows up and meets many people, sees lots of stories unfold. He learns that he isn't in a minority. Many shinobi are just like him.

And then, as an adult, he is partnered with Kisame, who he finds excellent camaraderie with because of their similar backgrounds. We see in this relationship that he understands what happened to him and what he did enough to acknowledge that, while neither of them are monsters, as many people say, they are human. And humans make mistakes. Humans are complicated. Wrong and right and wrong and right. They understand each other, and Itachi understands more clearly what the world puts these children up to. What it forces shinobi to become. That it isn't all his fault, but he still did it. And so he is responsible. He appears to be able to live with that.

But when he returns to the Leaf, those feelings bubble up. He hates the Leaf. He hates that system. He hates what he did. Maybe he even hates being a shinobi, how his excellence was weaponized, how being an Uchiha doomed him and his clan. And for what?

Itachi is played as a character who is only sensible, only logical, only interested in practical things, has nothing to express. But the way he behaves toward Kakashi in that moment bares all his grief and anger. I just like to think about it. We have so few moments where we get to see Itachi genuinely. The fight with Kakashi, the Sasuke/Deidara fight, his thoughtful moments with Kisame. Just makes me wonder what could've been if Itachi's story had gone a little differently.

Anyway, if anyone would like me to expand on any points or has additional thoughts, feel free to hop in my ask box or leave a comment. Thanks for the interest, I love to talk.

[insane-brit]

Royalty (Ch. 3)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulamte!Fem!Reader

Chapter Links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Next scheduled Royalty update (Ch 4.): July 30th, 2023.

Tags/Warnings: Enemies to lovers, semi slow burn, dark story/themes, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE (neck snapping, spinal shock), prostitution, attempted coercion, hatred, mentions of IRL Japanese history, slight misogyny, panic attack, blood.

A/N: It's finally here!!! Yay! Thank you all for being patient with me as these last few weeks have been hectic. I just got back from a convention and classes are a lot. I'm also going back through and adding (F/N) to the first two chapters with reader in it since I didn't do that before (I like to use it sparingly). So, be on the lookout for those edits.

I do want to say that I have a schedule planned for this series. Due to my classes and the upcoming semester I will update Royalty every other week to give me time to write properly. Other works such as requests will be filled/posted as they are completed.

Therefore, the next update (Ch. 4) will be on July 30th, 2023!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: 2.6K

The stench of rot permeated through the orifices of every human that he encountered. Death walked hand in hand with them as they decayed with each passing minute. Demons were much the same but dulled. Their aging halted and cells regenerated in a never-ending cycle until their head was severed or body burned. Flaws in his creations and himself.

Muzan’s carefully crafted work, hand-picked from the hundreds and thousands of demons over the ages, the Upper and Lower moons had defects in their own ways. Dismantling the Lower ranks proved to ease the spreading desperation in his subconscious. They were worthless beings. Unfit for their stations and yet the Upper ranks manifested to be just as disappointing as the rest. Failing for centuries at annihilating the family bound to him by blood and unearthing the blossom that would grant him the ability to conquer the sun. The amaryllis.

The only reason they proved to be of use was they kept the Kisatsutai on their toes. Terminating the lives of their most powerful and stripping them of their morality. Despite him wanting to rip the ranks to shreds and gnash his teeth on their bones, they were his strongest. He would let them carry on with their lives if they served and attested themselves to be worthy of the position so graciously bestowed upon them.

Walking the various winding concrete of Yoshiwara was not Muzan’s ideal pastime. Though it was vital to remind his Jūnikizuki where they stood and to oversee the progress, they had made both for themselves and his sake. Situating himself near a wall, his eyes observed the lowly human creatures. Their affairs exhibited in the confines of the residence they were assigned to and sought out. Women and men alike with their sultry gazes swept across the bodies that passed them. Muzan was no exception. The impure burn of their eyes had him clenching his jaw. It was revolting and he would rather them be looking upon him in other ways. They were ignorant, but one day they would understand. If they were capable of such a feat. A soft gasp from behind him had him tense.

“Aren’t you pretty?” A woman brushed the side of his arm before stopping in front of him. A smirk curled on her face as she tilted her head. Eye’s tracing over his features before going lower. 

“I know just the woman who may interest you,” her nail tapped her lower lip. “And she may be interested in return.” 

Muzan glared at her, expression stoic and lips in a tight line. “No, thank you.” 

She pouted, sticking her bottom lip out in a display that left him with a foul taste in his mouth. “Oh, come on. I promise we’re not that bad, and besides,” she drawled, smoothing out the front of her layered kimono. “I can show you a good time if the others don’t meet your expecta-.”

Her skull cracked against the building. Stone dug into her scalp as little pieces opened the skin, blood streamed from the wound. A choked sound bubbled up from her throat as Muzan tightened his grip. 

His face was mere inches from hers. “Courtesans just don’t know when to quit.” Her throat bobbed as she clawed at his wrist. Pupils blown and eyes swelled, she sounded pitiable. “Know your place.” 

His expression was callous. Complete disregard for the woman’s life. In one swift motion, her vertebrae splintered underneath the skin. The crack reverberated under his fingers as she paled. Sweat beaded near her hairline and her pulse dropped. The thrum lagged in intensity compared to moments ago. Practically tossing her against the wall, he stared down at the nearly unconscious body. The rise and fall of her chest ceased at the loss of function and urine trailed from under the slightly hoisted garments. 

Muzan stepped away from the body. A look of repugnance danced in his eyes as his shoes clicked against the alley. The sheer commotion of the streets and people engrossed in their activities served to cover the deed. No eyes to behold the barbaric and heinous force that now lay with the crumpled cadaver. Not that it made any difference to him if someone bore witness or not. The action wouldn’t beget any kind of repercussion. He had killed thousands and the sole individual who could strike him down for his immorality was long gone. 

Rounding the corner of the brothel yielded another side road. Livelier than the alleyway, but not as bustling as the main street. Muzan’s gaze swept over the scene. The mix of Chouchin and modern cast bronze lanterns emitted a golden tint. Shadowing the timber structures inlaid with ornate decor and carefully crafted sliding doors. In the time since his birth in the Heian Era, Muzan had seen the rise and fall of many and their attempts at jurisdiction. From the brutal Onin War between the Daimyō and Ashikaga shogunate to the collapse of the Tokugawa shôgun. Modernizing and progressing the country into the complex order it is today. 

He wouldn't normally immerse himself in the trivial matters of the government, especially with them being substandard compared to himself, however, it was vital to his continuity. Being knowledgeable in the ever-changing systems, inventions, and styles granted him more expertise in the art of blending in. Offsetting the swordsmen intent on his demise for over a thousand years.

Observing the bleary silhouettes of people through the translucent paper on the shoji windows, he tipped the edge of his white fedora to the side. Eyeing the Kyogoku House, where Upper moon six, Gyutaro, resided. Daki may be the outward appearance and has some finesse in fighting, but that is all she’ll ever amount to. A mere child whose sole purpose is to keep her brother under control. A pitiful feat that she thinks her lord cares for and believes in her. On her knees and practically drooling over his approval. It's pathetic.

Narrowing his eyes, Muzan strode down the street. He had more pivotal things to execute rather than linger in these vulgar places. A puddle splashed as his shoe struck it. The ripples reflected molten gold from the lanterns. He looked down at the undulating liquid before his eyes sharpened. The tightness in his wrist and the scintillating flicker of the cursed filament did not go unnoticed. Muzan felt the cavity of choler dig itself further as eyes burrowed into his stature. Halting his movements, he could feel the emotions coming off the person like waves. Kismet had its way of interfering with his aspirations as of late, and it appears no matter how hard he disregarded the incident many nights ago, resilience persevered. Nails sharpening, he turned and eyed the human ogling at him.

Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes wide. Skin pale as if she had seen a ghost. His gaze dragged over her body, and he glowered in realization. The all-too-familiar black uniform with white accents stood out like a sore thumb. The haori that encapsulated the kanji on the back of the uniform was a mix of snow and sable. Swirls of what looked to be smoke and other intricate designs littered the bottom, but Muzan didn’t put much care into what the woman was wearing. His sole focus was on what she was. A Sureiyā. A Hashira.

If there were any gods or Buddha in his thousand years of existence, they were surely trying his patience.  

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(F/N) felt like her blood had been turned to ice. The glassy veins froze her in place as she owlishly stared into the eyes of her supposed soulmate. Hearing shot, ringing reverberated in her ears and the thronging behind her sounded muffled. As if she had been pulled into the unforgiving deep as her lungs screamed and begged for an end. 

He did not move, and from where she stood, she could not discern an emotion on his face. It was phlegmatic. Unwavering, constant. It unnerved (F/N) as her feelings swirled and compacted into what felt like a ticking bomb. Fury, horror, uncertainty…. contentment? It was all too much and didn't do anything to ease her palpitating heart. Eyes darted down to the thread, soaking up every single fiber and shine it emitted as she stalked its trail. It ended at his alabaster skin. Gouging itself into the flesh, and if his eyes weren't enough evidence, that's when she noticed his nails. They tapered into an acute point where deep indigo melted into pale blue. 

Breathing ragged, she took a few shaky steps back. Gaze never leaving him. (F/N) was jolted out of her stupor as a body rammed into her hard. The force sent them both tumbling to the ground. Her head and elbow cracked against the pavement. Grit dug into her flesh and tore it open as her vision doubled. Groaning softly, (F/N) brought her other hand up to cradle her head. A weight was pressed onto her torso, and it felt suffocating as it moved around. Muffled voices resonated around her, and as her vision cleared, she observed the multitude of bodies surveying the scene. Beady eyes pierced her soul, and some looked on with pity. Others glared and whispered in hushed voices like secrets carried by the wind, and she felt her face flush in embarrassment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” A voice hissed and handfuls of her uniform were jerked forward. A man hovered over her dazed form and shook her harshly. “How dare you wench! Where is your procurer? You should be punished for your insolence.”

(F/N) clenched her teeth and slammed her fist into his chest, effectively shoving him off her. Blood oozed from her elbow and stained his hakama as he fell into the surrounding crowd. Women shrieked and men howled with laughter at the display. She staggered to her feet, clutching the laceration, and glared at the man seething on the ground.

“Nothing is wrong with me.” she spat at him. Her nerves were firing. The adrenaline from the collision, that she laid eyes on the progenitor, and that he was her soulmate no less had her on the verge of a breakdown. Something that she had not felt in years. The feeling of all these emotions flowing had her choking back the ball that had formed in her throat. “Watch where you're going next time.” She hissed. (F/N) knew it was her fault but at that moment she could care less. Her eyes darted back towards the side street. People’s bodies presented to be an obstacle as she tilted her head frantically to inspect the spot where he once stood.

There was nothing. No trace that he was there and that only served to make her panic more. The only verification that his presence remained was the line connecting the two of them. It was slack, but barely compared to the tautness of it mere moments ago. Pivoting around she shoved people out of her way as she bolted down the road. The man on the ground cursed her form which was swallowed by the sea of people.

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(F/N)’s back pressed against the cool bark of a maple. She clutched the front of her uniform as choked sounds escaped her cracked lips. Her vision warped from the tears she held back; her hands shook with force and her feet tingled.

She didn’t know how far she had run from the district, but she had to get out. She ran until she couldn’t anymore and collapsed in the emerald grass and darkened trees. The thought of those eyes drilling into hers and the shifting cataclysmic ambiance that surrounded his physique had her struggling to breathe. The air came in short bursts as her chest tightened.

It was hard.

Breathing was hard.

The only relief she felt was the sight of the thread loose and gathered in ringlets on the swaying grass. He hadn’t followed her. She was out of sight of anything besides the surrounding fauna which she no doubt scared away with the distressed sounds pouring from her mouth.

Thoughts raced from Kibutsuji to her mission.

Her failed mission.

Grabbing the nearest rock, (F/N) screamed in rage and brought it down onto the blood-red tie. Beating it repeatedly into the ground. Each hit sent a shock wave of what felt like needles through her arm as a warning. Yet, it stayed constant. No fraying, no cut, no snapping. It remained in perfect condition, and she swore it glowed brighter, mocking her. Grinding her teeth together she continued to strike it until the palms of her hands bled from the grip she had on the stone.

Panting from the energy exerted, she chucked the rock at the nearest tree and watched it break into pieces and dust. Her nails dug into her slick palm as she sat there hunched over on her knees.

The thought of the pillars and her Master’s crestfallen, disgusted faces haunted her mind. If they were to see her in this state, abandoning a mission, and fleeing from their sworn enemy when she had every opportunity to launch an assault on him, well, she could only imagine the contempt that would stem from their hearts. (F/N) imagined Master Kagaya exiling her for breaking the oath she swore her life to the moment she passed Final Selection.

“I swear to battle valiantly, not show hesitation, doubt, or cowardice in the face of danger, and place the needs of the Kisatsutai before my own.”

She placed a quivering palm over her mouth as nausea threatened to overtake her. Everything she worked towards, dedicated her life to, everything, destroyed in minutes. Obliterated by her selfishness and pusillanimity. She was no valiant swordsman. The prowess she claimed to have died the moment realization sunk in. Snuffed like a flame.

A soft flutter and pitter-patter of feet landed near her as she held back the urge to purge the contents of her stomach. The crunching of leaves and soft cooing drew closer until she had no choice but to look up. Seiichi, her Kasugai crow cocked his head and ruffled his feathers at her. A small talisman was wrapped around his neck with string, engraved with designs and different Kanji. An item her grandfather gave to her before he passed that she then gave to her crow.

“Tengen, Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke are almost to Yoshiwara. You must meet them!” he cawed and made her flinch from the sudden loud noise.

“No. No Seiichi,” she took in a shaky breath before reaching out and picking him up. “I can’t. Not now.”

Setting the crow on her lap, she scratched the top of his head. Effectively making him quiet down and simultaneously began to clear the haze of panic that had been clouding her mind for hours.

“Please, don’t go to the Master. Not yet. Just stay with me for a while.” she whispered and hung her head low, hair falling in front of her face.

Seiichi didn’t make a sound. Nor did he move from his position on her lap. Indicating that he heard her plea and complied with her wish, going against his orders.

The sky steadily grew a lighter shade. A blue hue cast over the scenery before her and a few birds chirped. Beads of dew rolled off blades of grass and she shivered from the chill breeze that blew through the canopy of trees. Her body felt heavy and the wound on her elbow had dried. Pulling the skin when she would bend her arm. (F/N) observed her appearance, her haori was dirty and had a few rips in it from her fall, but for the most part, she appeared to be fine.

The sound of something being sat down had her and Seiichi whipping their heads up to look for the source. The hair on her nape prickled and she sucked in a breath. Hand reaching for her blade. The sun had not come up yet. Any demon still had the chance to strike if they so desired.

“Oh, are you alright dear?”

Taglist: @shellseys @athalahild @stxrrielle @lulu-83 @nianre @sincerely-aaronette @kathleen7i @woozzz

[mi-i-zori]

Mii’s Thoughts - Ghost - 1

CoD - Ghost x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Just a thought about the Ghost Distribution System.

WARNINGS : None.

Author’s Note : I know I might be late to the party, but I felt the need to share this after reading so many good stuff about this topic. I think this was @ghouljams ‘ idea ?

I do not give permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or any other platform, including AI.

Main Masterlist

What if, after meeting his darling, Ghost suddenly decided to give up on his military life ?

What if his thoughts were constantly circling back to the angel he met not so long ago, their halo illuminating his never-ending darkness with the warmth of a campfire into the night, drawing him to them in the hopes of finally getting rid of the cold plaguing his existence ? What if it distracted him enough lead him to be more and more careless on the battlefield, igniting worry in their eyes every time he came back ; and he couldn’t forgive himself for it ? What if he finally decided to get away from all the violence and gore he once thought he was meant to live for after getting reprimanded over and over, realising that he does not belong on the front lines anymore ?

His angel is waiting for him at home - or is he waiting to got back to them ? He doesn’t really care anymore, for he knows he has to return to them. His hands are covered in a layer of rusty blood, the kind he will never be able to fully get rid of, and he is far from being worthy of tainting them even through the faintest touch.

Yet he is meant to kneel at their feet, kiss the hem of their clothes and savour the sound of their voice. Each second he spends in a military base increases the risk of losing them - of losing his everything all over again.

And this is not something he can afford.

He is a heathen, that he knows. Yet he’s finally found his purpose through the eyes of a being unaware of their own divinity. And he shall spend the rest of his life giving his entire self away worshiping their every breath.

So what if he came home one day, once again lingering on their doorstep like a stray dog seeking shelter from the rain, waiting for them to answer their door to announce he is finally retiring - slotting himself in their life for good ? He probably doesn’t have a backup plan, and completely forgot how to function properly in a world he spent so many years away from. But he found a light to follow in the middle of the night, a pillar to cling to amongst the never-ending storm.

Isn’t that all he needs to survive ?

[happysaddca]

Some notes.

First, thank you @overly-dramatic-artist for letting me borrow Cassandra. I hope I didn't write her totally OOC. As I was telling @wyervan, I actually have a tarot tattoo of the major arcana that resonates the most with me (the hermit), so this was really fun.

That said there's no beta. And there's gonna be tarot notes at the bottom because I pulled out my watercolor Linestrider deck to do an actual reading for Ellis and I wanna discuss my choice in interpretation.

I'm not writing in chronological order but this definitely takes place a couple months before this fic from yesterday (there's a TW for violence against animals on it. I promise no animals are seriously harmed).

Oh and @authormeat Merlin mention. I just kinda made up Mer's coffee order without asking sorry. v.v;

“Morning Knapp. Usual order for the arcade?”

Ellis isn’t even fully inside yet, struggling with stomping off the excess snow from their boots. They wave off Cassandra’s greeting, pulling their glasses off to clean as the door slams shut. “Add a black coffee, lots of sugar. Merlin’s in today.” 

Coffee runs are not Ellis’s favorite thing to do, but as the resident floater and go-for, and with the recent cold snap, this has become a daily routine. And it’s not all bad, they have to admit. They don’t drink coffee, but Cassandra feeds them scones in exchange for shoveling and salting the sidewalk. 

Cassandra’s working now on the order, giving Ellis time to free themselves of some of the excess layers. “Your sidewalk stayed clear overnight?” 

“I don’t think it snowed last night.” Cassandra’s got one of the bigger machines going for Sun’s espresso, whatever that was. Ellis leans against the counter to watch Cassandra fill a hand grinder and set up a glass container—a French press, they vaguely remember. For Merlin’s coffee maybe? Or Moon. They can’t keep track. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with something? I know some of our coffees are more sugar than bean. You might actually like it.”

“No thank you, at all. I don’t want to turn into Sun.” Cassandra laughs and Ellis hides a smile in the collar of their coat. They like making people laugh. 

And they like watching Cassandra work. She reminds them a lot of the people Gertrude hung around: big earrings that catch the hairs not caught up and contained with the wavy plastic hairband or giant clip. It’s early enough to still be cool in the cafe, so Ellis pushes away from the counter when Cassandra finishes prepping the machine and turns to them. 

“If I can’t tempt you with coffee, what about a reading?” Ellis turns to look out the window at the street, stuffing their hands back in their coat. “Oh come on. What is it this time? Don’t believe in the power of tarot?”

“Don’t fuck with that shit.” Ellis mumbles it more to themself than addressing Cassandra, and they can feel their face go hot. “I live in a tiny bus. If I invite demons in, I’ll never know peace. Hell, Moon already takes over my bed half the time.” 

“Does he really?” Another laugh, a giggle really, but when Ellis glances Cassandra’s way, her grin is far, far too bright. Cassandra has the good grace to look away until her expression smoothes out. “Is my coffee not strong enough for him?”

“I’m not sure it affects him or Sun really. Pretty sure they got that stuff where caffeine just doesn’t get absorbed, you know? The ADD shit.” It’s gossip, but it’s not about them, so Ellis is okay with it. They return to the counter when there’s a hiss of steam. “What’re you doing?” 

“Somebody didn’t clean the espresso machine properly last night and I only just realized.” Cassandra pulls a something out and makes a face. “Spoiled milk. I’m gonna have to flush the system. It’ll take a few minutes.” 

Silence, other than Cassandra grabbing a pitcher and filling it with water. Once the machine is self-cleaning, she glances Ellis’s way. “Are you sure—?”

“The demons Cass.” 

“What if I promise no demons? Cross my heart and everything?” The look she’s giving Ellis is steady, a touch of hopeful. Ellis has been coming in off and on for almost a year now and they still haven’t had a reading. Maybe Cassandra wasn’t used to people holding off that long.

Why was Ellis being so reluctant anyway? They didn’t believe in demons, not really, and they weren’t sure tarot could actually tell the future. Or maybe that was the problem. Future telling didn’t mean a lot when they weren’t sure there was a future to be had. 

This wasn’t something they liked to think about often. 

“Okay.” They sigh. This would make Cassandra happy and she does have access to the best scones. And they like her. Star, Sun, Moon, and the others do too. Cassandra’s smile is infectious and they manage a small one back, following her to one of the smaller tables. They aren’t surprised to find Cassandra has a deck handy, easily shuffling as she walks and sits. 

“You’re not going to be all spooky about this, are you?” Ellis perches on the edge of their seat, gesturing vaguely behind them. “Cause I do remember where you keep the salt. I’ll take it and run.” 

“Not spooky no. I’m not a spooky fortune teller. It’s just a friendly reading.” She’s still shuffling. Ellis is already impressed. Tarot cards are so much larger than playing cards, and Cassandra is acting like they aren’t basically the same length as her entire hand. It’s while Ellis is staring that Cassandra pauses her riffle shuffle, neatly stacking the deck together and passing it across the table. 

“Um, what do you…?” They look down and up again, resisting the urge to chew on the inside of their cheek. They start to push it back, but Cassandra closes a hand over theirs. 

“You just have to cut the deck. It’s a way to get more in tune with the cards,” she explains, and Ellis starts to make a face. Cassandra lifts a finger, tapping her nail lightly against the back of Ellis’s hand. “I know you don’t really believe in this, but indulge me. Please? I did promise no demons.” 

She’s friends with most of the arcade. She’s nice, and she has access to the best scones. She’s a friend and friends do this. Ellis repeats that to themself. Friends indulge in each other’s interests. Or, Ellis tries to. 

So they take the deck, unsurprised to find them too slick to manage on their own. They attempt to mimic Cassandra’s riffle, but it doesn’t take a psychic to see that failing, the cards flying free from their hands with barely any involvement from Ellis themself. They just sit and stare as a card with an embracing couple slips off the edge. If that’s what they think it is, they’re more than fine with it disappearing from play. 

Cassandra doesn’t seem to notice, more amused by the mess than upset. Even as Ellis tries to open their mouth, she just points at the table. “It looks like we’ve got your first card already.” 

“How? It’s just a mess.” Ellis has to follow Cass’s finger to a card sitting face up. “That one?” 

“Yes, it’s perfect. It even looks like you.” Cass gathers the other cards easily, flipping a few errant ones back the same direction as their brethren. The one card remains in place, but when Ellis goes to touch it, they’re lightly smacked. “Nu uh. That stays right there. He’s even already in the past.” 

“He?” Looking closer, Ellis can see that the person on the card is actually a man, dark-skinned like themselves, though that’s where the similarities end. He’s holding a sword, for one, blown about by a breeze in a field that looks almost cartoonish in contrast to his weapon. The card is helpfully labelled too — the page of swords. “What’s the past position?”

“Well, since it’s your first reading—”

“My only reading.” 

“— I thought we’d keep it simple. Or did you have a question in mind?” Cassandra has her deck held neatly in her hands once more, two cards missing. 

“Isn’t it too late for that?” 

Cassandra shakes her head, curls flying despite the clip holding most of them high on her head. “It’s never too late. The cards do hold meaning on their own of course, but they do their best when in concert. We could even just consider the page of swords to be your herald.”

Ellis’s confusion remains, and they slouch back into their chair, regretting playing nice and allowing this to happen. Their hands itch to do something, go out and shovel snow or, hell, they’ll go and clean the entire ballpit on their own. Scrub every ball by hand. But they’re here, and the espresso machine isn’t even whistling. “What’s my… herald?”

“It’s the card that resonates the most with you. Your beacon would be—but you’re not interested in all this.” 

“No,” Ellis agrees, though they are a little curious. They eye the page of swords more critically. He just looked so… carefree. There was no way they resonated or whatever with that. “What should I be asking?”

“Most people ask about finances or job security.” Cassandra shuffles slowly, each cut of the deck in time with a potential question. “Or they’ll ask about relationships—missing your family perchance?”

Ellis doesn’t know what their face does, but there’s a painful lump in their chest that spreads ice through their ribs and heart before they can even try to answer. They shake their head quickly, not trusting their ability to speak. 

“Okay, well there’s talking to demons—no, don’t look at me like that it’s a joke silly—and, oh. Romance is pretty big.” Ellis must’ve looked sour because Cassandra just smiles. “We’ll just keep it gen ed today. Ready for the next card?” 

“I don’t know what this one means,” Ellis complains, but the second card is already laid out, a knight on a horse with a cup in hand. Of course, it’s labelled too: knight of cups. 

“This is your present card by the way,” Cassandra supplies helpfully and Ellis shrugs back into their jacket, wishing they’d picked up Moon’s tendency to wear hoods. They were starting to see the appeal. 

Cassandra can tell they’re frustrated, or maybe she just knows that the espresso machine is nearly done with its cleaning cycle because the third card is laid out with little fanfare. “And the future. The Empress.”

Ellis straightens up. “Hey, it’s upside down,” they complain. “It’s from me making a mess of things, isn’t it?” The woman on a cushioned throne isn’t facing Ellis like the other two cards.

“No, no, it’s on purpose.” 

“This doesn’t happen in the movies,” Ellis protests, and Cassandra laughs.

“This isn’t the movies and these cards aren’t being picked on purpose to be scary or whatever ham-fisted message is being communicated in the moment. All cards are important here, and they can have meanings while reversed, like our Empress is here today.” Cassandra sets the remainder of her deck down, setting it aside so she can lean forward and look over the cards more closely. After a moment, she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’m not sure you’re gonna like this Ellis.” 

“What?” they ask. 

“This is pretty pointedly referencing a relationship of some sort.” Cassandra taps the middle card first. “This guy right here, hopeless romantic really. And in the present too, so it’s a current relationship we’re concerned about.” 

Ellis does not like that their mind immediately goes to Moon. They do not like how their stomach twists either, and they slump further back in their seat. “The cards are assholes.” 

“Okay, well, let me think.” Cassandra pushes the first card over, the page. “This is you coming into the situation, whatever situation it is you’re thinking of here, bursting with ideas and creativity. That sounds like you, doesn’t it? You live in a bus and Star’s told me about some plushies you’ve fixed up for them.” 

“I… I guess.” That’s what that card means? They frown at it. It still looks too childishly happy with that big sword. Cassandra fingers moves to the knight. The romantic. Ellis bristles. 

“This is warning you not to live off a fantasy. Whatever bright new ideas you’re having, you’re dreaming about them too much or maybe even trying to talk yourself out of it.” 

“That doesn’t sound particularly romantic.” 

Cassandra spreads her fingers over the page and the knight. “These two cards are playing off each other. Swords are of the mind, and cups are of emotion. You’re thinking too much about something instead of just following your heart and doing whatever it is you’re thinking about.” 

“Like… a project?” 

“A project, a trip… and yes, a relationship?” Cassandra meets Ellis’s eyes and they fumble for their glasses, desperate for the barrier. They’d been left by the door, so Ellis is pinned in place, Cassandra feeling like she could read their emotions better than themself. Her voice softens. “Is it someone from the arcade?” 

The question frees Ellis, their gaze dropping down to the table and the upside down card. “You didn’t explain her yet. And why she’s upside down.”

Cassandra pauses, settling back quietly in place and picking up the Empress, twirling the card in her fingers. “She’s…” A sigh, and the card goes back down. “There’s two cards, the Empreror and the Empress. They’re tied strongly to gender, something which you and Star especially don’t seem to care for.” 

“So is her being upside down me rejecting my femininity or something?” That is rude of the deck, and this time the thought is genuine, not a deflection from reality. Ellis catches the thought and frowns to themself. Why are they taking this that seriously?

“Not really no. Just wanted to tell you that sometimes these cards can be a bit judgey. And in this case, she’s telling you it might be time for some self-love. Maybe a trip?” 

“Oh.” Ellis stares at the card. “But… how does that tie in with the others?” 

Cassandra hesitates and the espresso machine whistles, steam escaping once more. “Oh!” A ringed hand sweeps the cards back into the deck, and Cassandra is standing. “Let me get those orders started for you before Sun sends someone looking for you.” 

“But, what about the cards?” Ellis twists in place, following Cassandra back behind the counter. 

“Thanks so much for indulging me Elllis! You like the chocolate scones right? We made some last night before I left for the day.” Like this, Ellis can just make out her hair bobbing about from where they’re sitting. They’re still confused. How did a trip solve overthinking? And what about the femininity part Cassandra mentioned; what’s the point in that? Mother nature maybe? 

They had been wanting to visit a friend lately… and they have been stagnant far too long. Was the deck saying it was time to move on? The sour feeling that left in their mouth disagreed, but even when they stood to try and get answers, Cassandra can’t seem to hear them over the machines. They give up, taking the order back over, forgetting their confusion when they realize Moon has once again broken into their bus for a nap. 

It’s after the late morning rush that Cassandra pulls her cards out once more, pulling the three out and musing over their reading. Ellis is a surprisingly easy read for someone who hates to give too much away. An idiot could tell they’ve gotten attached to one of the neighboring clowns. 

Which made this more concerning. Oh, the creative energy and warning not to just fantasize about what could be was straightforward enough. Ellis nor Moon were exactly forward with their intentions ever (even if Cassandra could see right through their facades). Ellis especially cared too much what others thought of them, all things the knight warns against in regular readings. 

But the Empress. 

If only she hadn’t been reversed. Abundance, connection, birth, though the latter was likely metaphorical here. Reversed was… stagnation, overprotectiveness, blockage from the self, from nature, from 

Well, if this reading was about Moon, and the retrieved Lovers indicated that was very likely, then maybe a trip out of town would do Ellis some good. 

----

Okay so tarot talk! The only card I chose on purpose was the Lovers, as Ellis is supposed to be someone who knows only the most generic of things about tarot and the Lovers, like the Devil, are oftentimes misread to be about one thing only. If I had actually pulled that for Ellis's reading, they would've died and the slasher au stuff I'm writing would be done.

I do poke a little fun at movies that insist on using tarot as foreshadowing. There's a tendency to use only the major arcana when the minor are so so so cool (I know, I know, I got the Hermit as a tattoo. Listen). Each suit has a different focus, and then each number or face as well. It actually helps a lot in learning how to read tarot quickly! For example, knights like our knight of cups are galvanizing forces. Cups are water based and focused on emotion, hence our hopeless and ever classic romantic man. Pages meanwhile are new and bringing forth raw youthful energy and passion. Swords are aligned with air and intellect, problem solving etc.

So the fact Ellis has the page in the past, bringing their raw energy and potential, and now the knight is pushing ahead in the present is just a really fucking cool reading that could go in so many ways. But with Ellis, them learning to bond with people and develop strong relationships is crucial, and Cassandra can tell. Ellis is an extremely awkward person to be around, and that's why it's so important to them to be able to recite who is important and why.

The way they do friendship is weird.

The Empress is a tough card for Ellis in particular. It's not come up, but they struggle with their femininity being intersex and learning as a young adult they could never carry a child to term. They spend a lot of time explicitly rejecting their femininity and AGAB, but it's not something that's come up yet since Moon doesn't really know or give a shit, you know?

Anyway, the Empress is such a powerfully feminine card discussing nurturing, nature, self-love, and creativity. Her popping up can be a sign to connect to your feminine side, be it through nature (as Cassandra suggests to Ellis), or some other way.

Reversed tarot cards you can usually ask yourself not "what is the opposite" necessarily but sorta "what is blocking you from the positives here?" Reversed Empress without the romantic and creative slant from our page and knight (such positive forces of energy!) would be pinpointing Ellis's lack of self-worth pretty damn hard. But with the two and with Cassandra knowing that the cards are trying to indicate Moon and Ellis's relationship here, we get this (simplified):

You entered a new point in your life, bringing with you new ideas and energy. A literal breath of fresh air for those with whom you came in contact. This positive energy has matured over the last yearish and you have begun sincerely bonding with people and dream of pursuing more (what is more here? Cassandra doesn't know that Ellis is aroace so she assumes it is romantic in nature). But there's a risk here if you do listen to the cards and pursue things into reality. And that is a powerfully imbalanced relationship, something that can smother Ellis with their current lack of self-worth or love.

It's a warning to Ellis that pursuing something that would make them happy could lead to them no longer being themselves. But is it a metaphorical death, a loss of self to Sun and Moon's greater agenda? Or will it be literal?

And what does poor Cass do here when she shares her name with the least listened to and most correct woman in Greek myth?

[spinejackel]

walking biohazard and weird artsy bitch my hedorah gijinka for a modern au my lovely boyfriend and i have together that we call the monster island au. some other important notes on them under the cut

ᵗᵘᵐᵇˡʳ ʰᵃˢ ⁿᵒ ᵃˡᵍᵒʳᶦᵗʰᵐ. ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵐʸ ᵃʳᵗ

Art snob about the weird styles they're into.

Has been dabbling in creating music as of recently.

Makes his own instruments out of the junk on her properly.

Voice sounds like Shreeka from the old TMNT cartoon.

- > (see the NO! MY POWER RING! IT'S MELTING!!! video for reference.)

- > Has a slightly wizard cadence to his speech as well.

Is a genetic chimera.

Has a terrible circulatory system and wears 6-7 layers of clothes.

- > The fewer layers he wears, the more they will shake like a small dog in the winter.

- > Living in a warmer climate has not helped, and now she is constantly too hot and cold at the same time.

Hasn’t showered in years because their shower-head broke and they’ve been too lazy to fix it.

Has the worst case of athletes foot you've ever seen.

Due to the oils her body naturally produces being weirdly acidic, he wears gloves when handling the few things she cares about.

Carries everything but the kitchen sink in unknown amount of pockets.

- > Always has a laser pointer on them at all times and will shine it into people's eyes when sufficiently provoked.

The only person on Monster Island who can drive/has a car.

- > Drives a 1984 ford bronco that has fallen apart and been put back together so many times that it’s become overly complicated to start.

- > The 1984 Ford Bronco gets 10 mpg for those unfamiliar with cars. A gas guzzler.

Battra thinks they’re the coolest because they hate people and nature too, but Mothra thinks they are a bad influence.

- > He tolerates Battra’s presence because he also Sees The Vision when it comes to the destruction of the world.

- > Will never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but she does actually enjoy the company and having another person on the island to talk to about their interests.

- > They are however, genuinely slightly scared of Battra for being more violence inclined when it comes to the destruction of the world.

Hates Goji because he threw him into a body of water and ruined all the cultures on them. She ugly cried about it.

- > Goji was not expecting that reaction and actually did feet bad for doing that.

Knews NFTs were a scam, but was into them when they were big because she wanted to scam people.

Is on the front lines of hating and fighting against the use of AI in the creative industry. There’s no artistry to it.

[average-mako-enjoyer]

Back in June, I was doing the hug ask game, and @flyingwolf29 gave me a prompt with a panicked "I'm glad you're okay" hug, and I don't know what the fuck happened and how it happened, but that story grew to 8k+ words, and so here we are, 2.5 months later. Hope you like it, friend! 😅 Huge, huge thanks to @shepards-space-oddessy for editing and @unfair-water-plane & @gemsbokk for reading this thing, you guys are the nicest and deserve your own Star of Terra award.

Title: A Simple Recon Rating: M (for canon-typical violence) Pairing: mshenko Summary: Two human Spectres and one unlucky pilot decide to take on a simple recon mission on a nondescript water planet. What could possibly go wrong?

You can read it on A03

"I don't like this," Kaidan says and hears Cortez sigh. 

It annoys him of course, but Kaidan is far more concerned with Shepard and the look on his face that Kaidan reads as "Of course you are": tenderness hidden between the layers of sarcasm in which he cocoons himself as usual. 

"It's at least fifty years old!" Kaidan continues. "We can't be sure it works properly!" 

"Well, let's find out." Shepard shrugs and, unsurprisingly, it looks nonchalant. It also makes Kaidan want to strangle him, but instead he pulls out the big guns. 

"I'm not letting you go in there without backup," he adds and hears his voice wobble a bit. 

Fuck if it sounds pathetic and unprofessional, and something he definitely shouldn't do in front of Cortez, but at least he's rewarded with the fascinating sight of Shepard's defenses cracking. For a brief moment, the look on his face is of pure tenderness, and Kaidan feels that change with his whole body. The triumph of knowing he is the cause of it rolls through him, but it's short-lived.

"Don't think we have a choice," Shepard says, back to business. "I'm the only one who knows how to pilot this piece of junk. And if we don't find whatever fried our engines and is still jamming our signals, we'd better start looking for food. Because, you know, after a week or so without it, you gentlemen might start to look very tasty."

"Shepard..." Kaidan sighs. 

"What?" There is a shadow in the left corner of Shepard's mouth, the dimple begins to show, and Kaidan is weak for his dimples. He sighs again. This is exactly why you shouldn't sleep with your crewmates.

"I know how to fish!" Cortez suddenly interjects.

"That's the spirit, Lieutenant!" Shepard claps him on the shoulder and looks back at Kaidan. "Come on, Alenko, you're one of the best engineers I know. I'm sure we can fix this thing. Just tell me and Cortez what to do."

"This is about your life…" Kaidan says, knowing full well that he has already lost. 

"And I trust you with it," Shepard says in his private 'John' voice, because that's how he is, even Kaidan's complete defeat is not enough for him.

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 43

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “I regret it has come to this, my dear.”

AO3

Perhaps knowing you were “safe” for the remainder of the day, 049 waited to enact his plan. You were grateful to have at least one more night with him. You didn’t know what would happen when it started. You didn’t know what you’d do it if went wrong.

Dread settled in your stomach worse than any time preceding. You’d thought waiting for the humiliation of Leahy’s program was like waiting for an execution. You’d been sorely mistaken. At least you’d had an idea of what he wanted. This was... unknowable. Dangerous. Terrifying.

All you could do was wait for 049 to make the first move. But for now, you laid in bed with him, pressed to his chest and listening to his heartbeat against your ear. It was a steady, soothing rhythm you hoped would continue beyond tomorrow.

Or maybe his plan wouldn’t happen tomorrow. You didn’t know when he would cause the distraction. There was too much you didn’t know, and no way to discuss it with him. There was, of course, the possibility of another shower, but you knew if you held him close like that one more time, you wouldn’t be able to let him go. The thought of what the guards would do to him tomorrow was enough to stir the borderline panic in your veins.

As if sensing your distress, 049 stroked his gloved fingers along your hair. It hadn’t escaped your notice how often he touched you now. Whatever barrier had previously kept him at a polite distance seemed to have vanished. Your own defenses had been brought down, and 049 had always been effective at getting around them anyway.

The morning came too soon from restless sleep. You didn’t move at the slot opening to deliver breakfast, you simply pressed yourself closer, breathing in deep the hollow space between his neck and the edge of his hood.

049 shuddered and wrapped his arm more firmly around your waist. You closed your eyes, taking another breath to steady yourself. It would be so easy to keep going, to surrender to your new normal. You might even have considered it, if not for the whole point of the program. The possibility of a child, and then of letting them be taken by the Foundation, wasn’t something you could accept. Not if there was a chance of escape.

But deciding to escape didn’t mean you wouldn’t miss this part of your captivity. You were too scared to think of the possibilities of “after.” Just surviving and leaving the facility was impossible enough; trying to imagine life afterwards was like trying to imagine what it’s like to live in the aphotic zone. You had no point of reference.

You both remained that way, quiet and secure in each other’s warmth. 049’s fingers caressing slowly up and down your back, your own tracing along the subtle wrinkles that marked his robes. Underneath the layers of hide was a human skeleton, the only marked difference in the skull. His brain casing was larger, but more startling than that was the beak that grew directly over his mouth. His human teeth could even be seen by X-ray, trapped behind the chitinous structure that protruded from his face. It was why no one could figure out how he ate or drank when he chose to, as no one had seen the beak open before. Hell, no one was even sure how he spoke.

Perhaps if you survived, you’d ask him. You didn’t know if he was human once, or if he had always been this way. Had someone given him the name Valens, or had he chosen it himself? There were still so many questions, but despite that, you liked who he was, what he was, and you wouldn’t change anything. Your only regret was that you would never be able to kiss him properly.

The intercom clicked.

“Tonight.”

You winced.

049 drew you closer, which you didn’t think was possible, but he managed it by slipping your leg between his. He didn’t need to say anything. You knew it had to happen today. There would be no tonight.

Unwilling, and after a time, you sat up first, your body sluggish with reluctance. 049 did the same, leaving the bed so you would be able to follow. He always positioned himself between you and the door, and it was probably the reason you slept at all these days.

Going through the motions of breakfast, you kept 049 in the corner of your vision. Not just because you wanted to be ready for his distraction, but... you couldn’t help it. The dreaded sense at the back of your thoughts that told you this would be the last time you ever saw him.

You hit the shower after, half-hopeful you would be joined, but you washed alone. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for you to finish, not wanting 049 to be out of your sight for long. Drying off swiftly, you got dressed in the usual smock and leggings. Most days, you didn’t bother with the bandeau bra, finding it pointless. You wore it today—your laughable attempt at gearing up for war.

By the time you returned to the middle chamber where 049 waited when you needed privacy, something had changed. He paced along the floor in front of the observation window, his head bowed as if in thought, wrists held at the small of his back.

After giving him a worried glance that wasn’t part of the act, you went to the lab counter where you kept your research journal. You had the idea of staying there as a vantage point, your back to the corner that divided the middle and inner chamber. You had a clear view of everything, including the outer containment doors, and the doctor’s bag was...

...missing.

Where was it? It wasn’t on the counter or on the autopsy table. You were sure you’d spotted it just this morning—

“Dalliance!”

You looked up, blinking dumbly at the shouted word.

049 stopped pacing; he stood in front of the window, his shoulders stiff in an intimidating hunch. If you hadn’t known this was the plan, you’d have believed it. He slipped back into form a little too easily for comfort.

“We waste time on the Site Director’s frivolity while the Pestilence continues to thrive amidst your very ranks!” 049 snarled at the darkened glass. “You believe I had forgotten? That I could be preoccupied by a warm body? Your mockery is as offensive as it is pitiable.”

He leaned close to the glass, his voice dropping to a growl.

“I see you, wretch. Beg your Site Director for forgiveness. He will hold you accountable for this.”

049 turned away, strode to the autopsy table, and pulled out the bag from beneath his robes. You’d forgotten he could do that, and your spine shot straight when he reached inside and pulled out a gleaming scalpel.

“Come here, assistant.”

He seethed the words, and for a moment, real fear curled around your neck. You obeyed, moving off the stool with stiff limbs, your heart racing at the appearance of the predator you hadn’t glimpsed in weeks. He placed a hand on the space between your neck and shoulder, squeezing you. Not harshly at all.

His back was to the observation window, and they couldn’t see his face. His eyes shone with urgency and clarity. Your good doctor was still in there, playing the role they expected of him.

“I regret it has come to this, my dear.”

The sharp edge of the scalpel shone within the corner of your vision.

“But nothing can sway me from my duty. Not even you.”

He brought the blade up to your neck.

Dispensers hissed overhead. 049 whirled you around and pulled you close, an arm going around your chest as the scalpel remained pointed at your throat. Even as the lavender mist drifted over you both, he remained upright.

“Old tricks, Director. And not so effective with the aid of my assistant—”

049 went stiff, his limbs frozen, and you were close enough to hear the hum of the contact between the shock collar and his flesh.

He opened his shaking fingers and dropped the scalpel, giving up the instrument so as not to cut you with it as he convulsed. You gripped onto the arm holding you, helpless to do anything to stop his torment.

The containment doors slid open, no less than four guards storming inside with their rifles raised.

049 pushed you away and to the side, giving them a clear shot at him.

“No!” you cried, forgetting you were supposed to play the role as 049’s shaken victim. But the guards didn’t fire; 049 staggered to the autopsy table, and in his weakened attempt to grab onto the edge, sent his bag toppling to the floor.

Instruments, glass jars and beakers, and copper tubing spilled from its depths, creating a chaotic mess of shattered noise and aromatic liquids. Between that, and the shouting men, you ducked down beneath the autopsy table and hunched as if cowering in terror.

With the table blocking the view of the observation window, you scrambled for the lip of the bag now lying on its side. Taking a deep breath, you jammed your arm inside.

Give me what Valens wants me to have.

Something rested atop your palm, lightweight but with a familiar shape. You curled your fingers around it, small enough to fit inside your fist, and quickly pulled it out. Making as if to clutch your chest, you slipped the object down the front of your smock into the depths of your bra.

Peeking over the top of the table, you watched as 049 was dragged half-unconscious from the room. The doors closed and you stood the rest of the way, your fear genuine as you held a hand over your stomach, breathing hard.

You hardly had any time to think before the door opened, Kenneth’s lanky form slipping through the door before it completely opened.

“Hey, you okay?” His eyes were a little too wide, his face pale. “Did he cut you?”

You shook your head, leaning against the autopsy table for support in the haze of post-adrenaline jitters.

“I’m fine, just—"

The door opened a second time, two men stepping through. One you didn’t recognize, an older man in a lab coat and white hair. The second one, you knew very well.

He was fuming.

“What the hell did you do to set it off this time?” Leahy growled, stalking past you as he took in the disaster of the floor. Antiseptic fumes and other odd smells from the spilled liquids made your stomach turn.

You opened your mouth, but no response was forthcoming, caught between confusion and indignity.

“Excuse me?” you finally said.

The doctor began examining you, but you shied away from his touch. Not only had the staff members instilled a sense of aversion in you, but you didn’t want him to find what you’d hidden.

“Did you say something?” Leahy pressed. “Do something?”

“You tell me. You watch everything we do.”

Leahy’s glare turned from the broken beakers to you, his eyes dark behind the rim of his glasses. He moved forward with deliberate steps, and you backed away until you bumped into a warm barrier at your back. You didn’t know who it was, and it forced you to remain in place as the Site Director towered over you.

“I know it was you.”

He gripped your jaw and turned your head upward, forcing you to meet his eye when you looked away.

“And I’ll scour every second of footage to prove it.”

Your chin trembled, but your voice held firm.

“I bet you’d enjoy that.”

His lips curled into a silent snarl, and you thought, this was it. You’d reached the limits of what the Site Director would tolerate, and he would order one of the guards to shoot you.

Instead, he released you with a rough jerk of his hand.

“She can’t stay here. Put her in another room until this shit’s cleaned up.”

He walked past you and out the door without another word, the doctor following after him. That left Kenneth, the person you’d been trapped against when the Site Director had thrown his tantrum.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as if this was all somehow his fault. He rubbed the back of his neck, taking in the rest of the room. “He is right, though. That’s a lot of glass, and, uh... whatever that green stuff is. I think it’s eating through the tile.”

You nodded, too tired to argue, especially when it would amount to nothing. Something reflective caught your eye; the scalpel 049 had mock-threatened you with was under the autopsy table just of reach. You entertained the idea of grabbing it and smuggling it with you, but hiding a surgical blade in your brassier wouldn’t be one of your better ideas.

Leaving the scalpel was the right choice. As soon as you exited the chamber, two guards were at your flank, one of them patting you down and forcing your arms straight, palms open as he hooked you into shackles.

Kenneth, followed by the two guards, led you a few corridors over to a door that wasn’t the high security mechanism of a containment chamber. It looked closer to a D-Class cell, and you realized that’s exactly what it was, a temporary holding pen for one of the wayward cattle. The guards took off your shackles and ordered you inside. You followed their instructions in silence, glancing blankly at the single bed and toilet melded to the wall.

When you turned, you were surprised to find Kenneth lingering in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked. “Not that there’s a whole lot of—"

“Where did they take 049?”

His lips pressed together, and he unhappily glanced at the two guards, but they didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the conversation.

“I don’t know.”

“When will we be returned to his containment chamber?”

“I don’t know that either.” He avoided your eye as he backed out the door, mumbling one last apology, “Sorry.”

The door slid shut, leaving you alone in the small room. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been truly alone, and you sat on the edge of the thin mattress. Impatience nipped at your thoughts, but you forced yourself to wait until you were sure they wouldn’t come back for you anytime soon.

Once a few minutes had passed, your anticipation got the better of you. You reached down your bra, grateful the guards hadn’t thought to search your cleavage, and retrieved the object you’d smuggled out of the containment chamber.

A USB flash drive. It seemed ordinary on the outside, a matte grey color that didn’t seem particularly special, but it had to be. You refused to believe 049 had risked his limited freedom for you to retrieve something that didn’t matter. He’d said this would help you escape, and it made sense now why he’d wanted you to be taken to an office.

It wouldn’t do any good here. You slipped it back into your bandeau, hoping you would have an opportunity to use it soon.

It wasn’t long before anxiety got the better of you. Pacing the small room, all you could think about was 049 and what they were doing to him. You tried not to imagine the worst-case scenario, but considering Leahy’s threats, there was an endless supply of them, each worse than the ones before.

You alternated between pacing and sitting hunched on the bed, tapping your foot with nervous energy. When was someone going to tell you what was going on? What had happened to 049? Would you ever get to return to the containment chamber?

As if in answer, the door slid open. You froze and eyed the entrance without breathing. No one stepped through.

You waited. And waited. The doorway remained empty, and the hallway beyond was unusually silent.

You slowly rose to your feet and approached the door. You edged past the threshold, expecting a guard to grab you by the scruff of your neck like an unruly kitten, but the corridor remained empty. There was no one here, but the keypad kept a steady green bar to indicate the door was unlocked.

For whatever reason the door had opened, this was your chance, and yet... your feet remained glued to the floor. Your breathing was shallow, confusion turning into fear. As terrible as your life had been the last few months, it had been structured. Controlled. Someone always telling you what to do, even if it would lead to pain and misery.

When you stepped outside the room, there was no guarantee of what you would find. You could be caught. You could be killed. It was enough to leave you frozen, fingers gripping the door frame.

The only thing that shook you free was the knowledge that you weren’t doing this just for you. 049 had no one else. If you surrendered now, there was no hope of rescue for him. He would be at the mercy of Leahy’s punishment, a situation he found himself in only because he wanted to save you.

You didn’t have a plan, but you had a destination. Get to a computer, insert the thumb drive, and the rest would follow.

Steeling yourself, you stepped outside the cell.

Next Chapter

[2af-afterdark]

Once a Decade Hobby

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Foras & GN!MC (they/them), fluff turns into mild violence, MC is a little unhinged and selfish,  Summary: MC asks Foras to teach them his hobby. They throw a tantrum when they don't get their way. A/N: You know what? I love terrible MCs. I love when they are absolute garbage. Long live these bitches! Word Count: 709

“I don't think I'm doing this right,” they say as they turn the thick horn over in their hand. The rough, bark-like exterior has chips and gnashes in it from where the knife had dug too deeply or had slipped out of their control. 

They had imagined this would Be more fun than it actually was due to Foras unusually bright smile while widdling.

“The outer layer of horns like those needs to be scrapped off before they can be shaped properly,” Foras reminds them. “It also allows you to see if there are unseen cracks that run through the core or up the sides which could jeopardize the integrity of your sculpture.”

“I know that's what you said, but that doesn't make it any easier.” They look over at the horn that he's carving – a smooth, curved one that's marbled with turquoise and seafoam – and pout. “You didn’t scrape yours off? Can we switch? That one looks more simple.”

Foras looks at them with expressionless eyes. “This one is more difficult due to its shape and the fact that it is thinner and more delicate than usual. I didn't scrape its outer layer because so much of it is damaged. If I tried, I would have very little left to work with. The one you have may seem like more work, but that's because it's healthy and thicker horns are more forgiving if you make mistakes.”

“I can be careful. I promise.” 

They're bored though. The horn Foras gave to them to experiment on and fiddle with is black and the shape doesn't inspire any creativity in them. They want something prettier. Something that shimmers. Something that inspires them.

“No. Beginners should work with sturdier materials that are more forgiving to mistakes.”

Foras is the type of devil that seems hard to approach because of his unintentional directness and tactless behavior. They couldn’t even recall how many times he had scared them after suddenly turning visible after following them in secret for an unknown amount of time. But, in this moment, he seems like a completely different devil. His passion makes him act like someone else.

They stare at him while he carefully works the sharp edge of his knife across the supposedly delicate horn. Each stroke releases a small sliver of the outermost, seafoam-speckled layer. Each shaving gathers as little curls in a messy pile in hip lap. They are beautiful flakes, like glitter under the light.

They place the rough horn with small notches down on the ground beside where they sit, having lost all interest in it. They stand with their knife in hand. Slowly, they take a step closer to where Foras sits, working on his once-in-a-blue-moon hobby. They sneak around behind him to watch him from the back. His eyes, that would normally be carefully watching every moving object in the room, flicking back and forth so quickly that they would almost appear to be staring straight forward. For once, he is so engrossed in a singular task that he isn’t watching the rest of the world as if it’s a play being put on around him.

Foras is cute when he’s passionate.

So cute that they can’t help but wrap their fist around his beautiful, shimmering horn and yank his head back. 

“If you won’t share that one, I'll take this one instead.” 

A coy smile creeps across their face as they lean in close, forcing Foras to look at them the way he usually did. They run the flat of their tongue from the base of his horn all the way to the tip, smirking at the sound of his surprise and arousal.

If the horn in his hand sparkled like glitter, then his own horn 

“Yours looks healthy, so I can have it… right? Like you said, an amateur like me needs something sturdy so I can make lots and lots of mistakes. We can even start from the top.” They pull away, replacing their tongue with the edge of the knife they are still carrying. “Teach me how to saw this off. I'm feeling inspired to make something.”

Foras will look lovely with a collar made from his own horn snapped tighter around his throat than even Leviathan’s noose.

[armpirate]

RED || Jungkook | Ch. 6

MASTERLIST Previous ||  Next

Pairings: Demon!Jungkook x fem!reader  

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, fantasy, past life

Warnings: Explicit language, mention of death and suicide, demonology, violence, rough sex

Summary: Y/n thought her life couldn't get worse after losing her parents in a tragic accident. Years after, she's aware of everyone moving forward, while she's in the same place, isolated and alone. She struggles to find meaning in a world that seems indifferent to her grief. Desperate for comfort, to feel the deep connection she had been missing, she starts the manifestation, expecting an inoffensive entity to walk with her that rough path. What she doesn't know is that she awoke the mysterious entity tied to an old necklace around her neck.

Jungkook, a mysterious and seductive figure, appears in her life, offering the company she craves. But as his presence grows stronger, so does the unsettling sense that there's more to him -and the necklace- than meets the eye, unfolding all the reasons that took him to that place.

Now, as the past bleeds into the present, Y/n must fight with her growing feelings for the demon who seems familiar yet dangerous. Jungkook is determined to reclaim his power, but in doing so, he may doom Y/n once again. Bound by fate, the two are locked in a dangerous mix of love, redemption, and the looming threat of destruction. 

Will they break the curse that has haunted them both, or will history repeat itself with devastating consequences?

Chapter duration: 18 minutes

Ever since that night, her dreams had taken on a vivid, haunting quality. The setting was always the same: the dark red room.

Each time, they undressed each other in different ways. Sometimes, their clothes would vanish in an instant; other times, she was the one tearing his apart, or he would take his sweet, torturous time peeling hers away. He teased her, made sure she was ready, and just when she was about to feel him fully, she would wake up.

Every single time.

What made it worse was the evidence that followed her into the waking world. The first dream left her with a ripped shirt. Later, faint fingerprints appeared on her hips. Two days back, she discovered an angry hickey, dark and obvious, barely concealed by layers of makeup. Alex's lingering gaze when "thin air" somehow swept her hair aside to reveal the mark had made her blood boil.

Jk, that arrogant bastard, had smirked, fully enjoying the spectacle.

With each dream, his presence felt more powerful, more real. It was as if he were gaining strength every time her subconscious gave in to him. And now, his presence was becoming so vivid, so tangible, it made her wonder if it was something more than just dreams. That was why she'd taken off the necklace the previous day. She didn't know the full consequences of her decision, but she didn't want to deal with them at that moment. Maybe not the next day, either.

It wasn't that she hated that demon's presence. When she heard horror stories related to those entities, she expected something that would make her life a living hell. But Jk... Well, he wasn't exactly scary. At least not with her. He irritated her, sure, but he also had a strange charm she couldn't deny. Still, that day wasn't the day for his antics. She wasn't in the mood.

By 11:20 a.m., she was still in her pajamas, sprawled on the couch with a half-eaten ham sandwich sitting abandoned on the table. Hunger had disappeared after a few bites, replaced by the oppressive weight of the day.

The weight she felt just a year back.

At 11:30, her head lolled back against the couch as she stared blankly at the ceiling. She let her thoughts wander to the conversations she would have been having if her parents were still alive. Her mom would have fussed over whether she was eating properly, while her dad would have grilled her on every detail to catch any potential lies. They would've checked on her college classes, offering advice she pretended not to need... She'd be living a life she never thought she'd miss.

That was until she made the worst decision of her life -a decision that, unbeknownst to her, would lead to their death. After that, their conversations had changed, revolving around her mental health and therapy appointments. All their worries focused on something concrete, on something so big that clouded the rest of things in their lives.

That was, until one phone call ended abruptly with the sound of a blaring horn and the crushing impact of a car crashing against a truck.

Her mom had died instantly. Her dad held on for hours before succumbing to his injuries. She couldn't say goodbye to either of them, and she knew it was already too late to have any of those random and easy conversations they were holding on to have because there was something bigger at hand.

At 11:53 a.m., the exact time the call had ended, she glanced at her phone. The temptation to scroll through Facebook was strong, but she knew it would only enrage her. The flood of sentimental posts from people who had barely been in their lives would feel like salt on a wound. She was well aware most of those people didn't even think about her parents further than a sentimental post that would get them some attention and fake pity from others.

She resisted, gripping the phone tightly before setting it aside.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. She ate carbonara macaroni for lunch -her dad's favorite- and followed it with a slice of cheesecake, her mom's specialty. Anthony, one of the few friends who knew her well enough to check in, sent a quick text hoping she was okay. She appreciated it, but she didn't respond.

By the evening, she found herself sitting on the couch again, a collection of old photos scattered on the table. Her fingers lingered on a picture of her younger self, her parents on either side of her, all smiling. The weight of regret crushed her chest.

—If only I'd been smarter —she whispered, her voice trembling—. If only I hadn't made those choices...

The words broke her, and tears streamed down her face, falling onto the faded photo. She clutched the necklace she'd taken off two days ago, pressing it tightly to her chest as she curled into herself. There was a need in the way she was holding onto it, there was a desperation she wasn't quite sure of recognizing.

She was tipsy, not completely drunk but just enough to feel the warmth of the alcohol dulling her edges. She had opened a bottle of wine earlier, hoping it might make the day a little easier to bear. Instead, it only heightened her emotions, loosening her grip on her usual restraints.

She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the shift in the room at first. The air seemed heavier, charged, and a familiar presence loomed over her.

—What the...? —a deep, masculine voice said.

Her head snapped up, her swollen eyes meeting his. Jungkook stood there, his expression a mix of irritation and confusion. He seemed more real than ever before, like he had physically stepped out of her dreams and into her reality.

—Are you crying because you know there's no escape now? —his tone was sharp, laced with mockery, but it softened slightly when she didn't respond.

He frowned, looking at her attentively and realizing the way she was holding onto the place that had been his home -if he could even call it that way- since he was cursed.

He moved closer, standing directly in front of her. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

—Did you drink all that yourself? You know, you might have a problem with alcohol...

Before he could finish, her body acted on instinct. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. The action startled him, and he froze, his hands staying on his sides before hovering awkwardly above her shoulders.

—Don't disappear yet —she sobbed into his shirt, her tears soaking into the fabric—. Please, stay a little bit more —she grasped onto the fabric as if she really meant her wish of him staying there, as if she really needed him.

For a moment, he seemed unsure of what to do. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the couch beside her. His arms encircled her hesitantly, pulling her closer as she clung to him like a lifeline. Her forearm rested against his taut abdomen, and she felt the tension in his muscles as he shifted uncomfortably.

—You know —he muttered, his voice low and uncertain—, when I imagined you soaking my clothes, this isn't exactly what I had in mind.

—Asshole —she mumbled through a tearful giggle, burying her face deeper into his chest.

—You, humans, are so weak and emotional —he huffed.

As much as she hated how annoying she was, she was thankful he added that ease she was craving on such a hard day like that one. While Jungkook frowned at how that small and almost silent giggle made his heart skip a beat, something so simple made him feel lighter.

He let out a quiet huff, his hand awkwardly patting her shoulder, while his mind was confused at the way everything had unfolded.

Other times, when he showed up, humans were already ready to take him, ready to be possessed. Their sexual need was so big, that they gave him all the energy he needed to show up. But that night, with Y/n, it was different. There were no sexual innuendos, there wasn't a pleasing need to be fulfilled. Just like when she first manifested him, she just wanted someone to be there for her.

—This has never happened before —he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

She didn't care what he was thinking or why he was there. All that mattered was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek and the warmth of his embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to let go, to lean on someone else, even if it was him.

Y/n barely managed to open her eyes when she finally woke up. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her eyeballs burned as she allowed a sliver of light to seep through them. The room came into focus slowly -a blurry view of her nightstand and the closed door that led to her bathroom. She became aware of the pillow beneath her head, soft and comforting, as she lifted her hand and slapped it against the fabric in confusion. Nothing made sense. The last thing she remembered was lying on the couch, crying her heart out, clinging to someone...

Then it hit her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the memory of the previous night resurfaced. She bolted upright, moving so quickly that her head spun. Her vision swam with tiny stars, bright and fleeting, disappearing one by one as her balance stabilized. Once her senses returned, she looked around frantically, confirming she was alone in her bedroom.

The silence was almost oppressive. For a brief moment, she held her breath, listening intently for any sound, but there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices -just the stillness of her apartment.

Her hand flew to her neck. The necklace. She scrambled on the bed, tossing the sheets aside in a frenzy, her fingers searching every inch of the mattress. But it wasn't there. Panic bubbled in her chest as she racked her brain. She remembered clutching it tightly on the couch, but now it was gone. It should have been here.

—Are you looking for this?

A deep, familiar voice broke the silence, freezing her in place. Slowly, she turned toward the source, her eyes widening as they locked onto the necklace swaying gently in the air. Those hands, those fingers -she knew them. Her body, which had been propped up on her knees, gave out, and she fell back onto the mattress.

Jungkook stood near the bed, holding the necklace between his fingers, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Her heart raced, her mind scrambling to make sense of his presence. How had he gotten in? She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head, her instincts shifting into overdrive.

—W... what the hell are you doing here? —she stammered, her voice edged with both fear and anger.

He tilted his head, the chain of the necklace swinging lazily.

—Good morning to you, too.

Y/n's breathing quickened as her gaze darted to the closed windows and locked door.

—How did you even get in here? Did you...? —her voice faltered, the word catching in her throat—. Did you sneak in here last night? What kind of pervert breaks into someone's house in the middle of the night?

Jungkook's grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle.

—A pervert? That's a new one.

She grabbed the nearest object -a pillow- and launched it at him. He caught it effortlessly, barely flinching as he tossed it aside.

—I'm serious! —she snapped, her voice rising—. Who the hell do you think you are, creeping around my place? Do you think this is some kind of joke?

He sighed dramatically, as if her accusations were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He tried to take one step forward, but Y/n quickly answered back by standing up on the mattress, her finger pointing at him with a warning connotation.

—Don't get near me.

—Seriously... —he scoffed— You were dying to touch me, and now you're keeping me away?

—Stop.

She avoided thinking how dumb she looked when she reached for her phone, as if a phone call

—Relax —he said, his tone almost condescending—. You were the one who dragged me in, not the other way around.

Her brows furrowed as she tried to piece together his words.

—What are you talking about?

Jungkook folded his arms, the necklace dangling from his fingers.

—You were sobbing on the couch, practically begging for someone to hold you. I would've left, but you clung to me like your life depended on it.

Y/n knew he was right, the glimpses of the memories from the previous night were fresh in her head, but she didn't want to admit she showed herself so weak in front of someone like... him. Everything happened fast. Jungkook tried to take one step in her direction, and the phone flew right to his head, smacking his forehead and making him take one step back due to the impact.

She used the short moment of confusion on Jungkook to try to run away, but he was way too quick, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her stuck to his side.

—Wow, pretty brave, aren't we? —he huffed a laugh— A curious way to treat somebody who spent the night hearing your ridiculous sobs.

—That doesn't explain why you're here now —she shot back—. You could've left after I fell asleep.

—And miss this delightful interrogation? —he smirked, tilting his head so he'd be able to look at her— Humans are so curious. You do something you know the exact consequence of, but always manage to act surprised when it blows on your face. Did you think I'd always stay in your dreams?

Her face burned, and her fists clenched at her sides.

—Get out —she hissed, squirming against his body.

He arched a brow, clearly amused by her outrage.

—You're welcome, by the way —he said, tossing the necklace onto the bed. It landed a few centimeters from her knees, the chain pooling on the mattress like a coiled serpent.

—For what? —she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

—For making sure you didn't spend the night on the couch in that pitiful state —his tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, as though he expected her to thank him.

—I didn't ask for your help —she glared at him, her chest heaving—. And I definitely didn't invite you into my home.

—Yet you manifested me —he reminded her.

It was as if the reminiscing of how he ended up there enerved something in him, quickly making her turn so she'd face him.

—Play as dumb as you want, avoid your responsibility, but I'm not going anywhere. You thought you had control over me while I kept coming and going, but now I'm here. And you, little one, you're mine.

Her breath quickened when the reverse of his fingers moved over her cheekbone, his cold gaze piercing through hers with a darkness she hadn't seen on anyone else before.

—Look... Look, it was a mistake. When I manifested you I was out of my mind, and I was a bit drunk... both times. So just undo it.

—Undo it? —his eyebrows arched in amusement while his lips curved up ironically— You manifested a demon, and you think the ending of it is as simple as "undoing it"? No, little one, no. I'm stuck with you, and I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Y/n's glare hardened as she stood by the bed, the necklace clutched tightly in her fist.

—Leave. Just undo... whatever this is. Take it all back.

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his dark eyes locking with hers. He took a deliberate step forward, the air in the room seeming to thicken with his presence.

—I can't.

—Can't —she scoffed, her frustration boiling over—. Or won't?

—Both —he snapped, his voice rising just enough to send a chill down her spine—. You don't get it, do you? You don't just undo this kind of connection. It's not that simple.

Her fingers tightened around the necklace, the cold metal biting into her palm.

—Don't give me that shit —she spat—. You're here because of this —she threw the necklace at his stomach—, because of that stupid night. None of this would've happened if you weren't so... so persistent. So just go!

Jungkook's expression darkened, his tone dropping to something almost guttural.

—Do you think I want to be here? Do you think I had a choice in this? You brought me here, Y/n. Whether you meant to or not, you tied me to you. And now you want me to just walk away like none of it ever happened, because you regret getting so drunk you didn't know what you were doing?

—Yes! —she shouted, her voice cracking—. That's exactly what I want!

—Well, tough —he barked back—. Because I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving, no matter how much you scream or cry or push me away.

Y/n's chest heaved, her breaths coming in sharp and uneven as his words sank in. Her frustration turned to desperation.

—You don't belong here. You're... you're nothing but a mistake!

Something in his gaze flickered, but he held his ground.

—Maybe I am. But I'm your mistake. Maybe learn to own up to what you do wrong.

The tension between them was palpable, the air electric with unspoken emotions. Owning up to her mistakes was exactly what took her to the estate she was before she manifested him. Y/n opened her mouth to retort, but a sudden knock at the door interrupted her.

She froze, her head snapping toward the sound. It was firm and insistent, followed by a muffled voice calling out,

—Police! Open up!

Her heart sank, realization dawning quickly. The neighbors. Of course, they'd heard the shouting. Her arguments with Jungkook must've sounded like a full-blown domestic dispute.

Jungkook's expression shifted to one of mild amusement, though his posture remained guarded.

—Well, this should be interesting. What are you going to tell them? That a demon is refusing to leave your place?

Y/n shot him a sharp look before storming to the door, her mind racing. She swung it open to find two officers standing on her doorstep, their expressions cautious but professional.

—Ma'am —one of them began—, we received a report about loud shouting coming from this apartment. Is everything alright?

She hesitated, her gaze flickering briefly to Jungkook, who leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a faint smirk. Her lips parted, the words ready to tumble out -an opportunity to end all of this, to tell the police that someone had broken into her home.

But as the officer's expectant eyes met hers, she glanced back at Jungkook. His words echoed in her mind: I'm not leaving. No matter how much you scream or cry or push me away.

Y/n froze for a moment, staring at the officers on her doorstep, her mind racing with the weight of her decision. She felt the tension of Jungkook's eyes burning into her back, but she didn't turn around. Instead, she took a shaky breath and mustered her courage.

—There's a pervert in my house —she blurted, pointing back over her shoulder without so much as a glance toward Jungkook—. He broke in, and he won't leave.

The officers exchanged quick, alarmed looks before one of them stepped forward.

—Where is he now?

Y/n swallowed hard, finally turning slightly to gesture toward Jungkook, who was now standing in the middle of her living room, arms crossed and looking utterly unimpressed.

—Right there —she said, her voice firmer this time—. That's him.

The officers immediately sprang into action, stepping past her and approaching Jungkook. He didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle, just watched them with an expression that teetered between boredom and mild amusement.

—Sir, we're going to need you to come with us —one of the officers said firmly, reaching for his handcuffs.

—You've got to be kidding me —Jungkook arched his brow, his lips curling into a smirk.

—Sir —the officer repeated, his tone sharp—, this isn't a request.

Y/n watched from the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her heart pounding as she willed herself to remain calm. This was what she wanted. She needed him gone.

—Alright, alright —Jungkook finally said, raising his hands in mock surrender—. No need to get rough.

The officer grabbed his wrist, snapping the cuffs into place with a decisive click. For a moment, Jungkook glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Y/n. His gaze was unreadable, and for the briefest second, a sliver of guilt crept into her chest.

The other officer placed a firm hand on Jungkook's shoulder, steering him toward the door. As they passed her, Y/n felt her breath hitch, her emotions warring inside her. Relief, satisfaction, and a gnawing sense of unease all swirled together in a dizzying mix.

She stepped outside, watching as the officers escorted Jungkook toward the patrol car parked just down the street. Her neighbors were peeking out of their windows, some even stepping onto their porches to get a better look.

Jungkook climbed into the back seat of the car without resistance, but not before shooting Y/n one last glance through the open car door. This time, his smirk was gone, replaced by something far darker.

The officers closed the door, and Y/n exhaled a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. It was done. He was gone.

As the patrol car pulled away, Y/n turned back toward her house, her steps slow and deliberate. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of calm, a fragile sense of control returning to her.

But it didn't last long.

The air around her shifted suddenly, the temperature dropping as an unnatural chill swept over the room. She barely had time to turn before a thick, black smoke erupted in front of her, swirling and coalescing with a menacing energy.

Y/n stumbled back, her heart leaping into her throat as the smoke began to take shape. In the blink of an eye, Jungkook stood before her again, his expression cold and unamused, his hands free of any cuffs.

—You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you? —he said, his voice low and laced with amusement.

—What? —her eyes widened, panic bubbling up in her chest— How...?

—Let's just say —Jungkook interrupted, taking a deliberate step closer—, I've leveled up.

Y/n's back hit the wall as she stared up at him, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing. This wasn't possible. She had watched them take him away. He had been cuffed, sitting in the back of a police car.

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow, wicked grin as he leaned in slightly, his presence suffocating.

—I told you, Y/n. I'm not leaving.

—You... —she tried to steady her breathing, tried to push down the fear creeping up her spine—. You're insane —she stammered, her voice shaking—. You aren't even real!

—Oh, I'm very real —Jungkook said, his tone dripping with dark humor—. And now, thanks to your little stunt, I'm stronger. So congratulations, little one. You've officially made things a lot more interesting.

Y/n clenched her fists, her anger flaring despite the fear coursing through her veins.

—You're a nightmare.

—Maybe —he mused, tilting his head slightly—. But I'm your nightmare.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to think of what to do next. But deep down, she knew the truth. There was no getting rid of him now.

Slowly, he walked back towards the couch, surrounding the furniture to clutch next to it and pick up the necklace before getting back to her. Despite what his eyes were showing off, his hands were delicate when pulling her hair to the side to hand the necklace back around her neck.

—Have more respect for the place where I've been living, huh? —he whispered— From now on, it'll be as important to you. 

Taglist: @vsr4197