#freeze girl / visage.

[sunnysynthsunshine]

My verbal stims

[freezegirl]

kie + getting her shit rocked by a villain

[monamipencil]

— right here | j.ww

⋆ pairings; wonwoo x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut, stalker themes, angst, fluff, 90s! au ⋆ w.c; 2.9k+ ⋆ warnings; stalking, a brief non-con talk (doesn't actually happen), masturbating (m.&f.), almost phone sex, stealing of panties, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, he's a bit toxic and an idiot, he's a law student, reader's parents are mentioned as strict and conservative ⋆ a/n; yeah... tried to make it dark and failed miserably. and yes wonwoo reads kafka and you can't change my mind.

stalker! wonwoo who also loves horror movies and hence loves to pull little pranks on you.

“so, gotta boyfriend?” his voice is distorted by the voice changer before it reaches you on the other side. he sighs dreamily, eyes focused on your figure as you cook dinner.

you're not wearing any pants, just an oversized shirt. even though he knows your answer, he waits for you to reply. you blow the soup before tasting it, your landline phone pinched between your shoulder and ear.

“why do you ask?”

wonwoo smiles, leaning against the tree in your backyard. it's almost the same age as you. he knows that. he also knows you live with your parents 'cause they want to protect their little girl from the world. and that you're all alone for tonight, and you share his taste for horror movies.

you move around the kitchen, occupied with the dish. “'could take you out on a date,” he suggests.

you roll your eyes with a scoff, but a small part of you wants to entertain the idea. the idea of going on a date with your digital fling for 3 months does sound enticing. you let the idea sink in as you stir the contents of the pot.

wonwoo groans when you lean your elbows on the counter, giving him a perfect view of your ass. the navy blue underwear, or is it black? he squints his eyes and looks closer. whatever it is, it has him rock-hard beneath his pants.

“did you stub a toe?” you ask with amusement to which he laughs. your visage changes when you realise what he could be doing on the other end. “wait, what are you doing?”

“what do you think i'm doing?” he smirks, watching you move off the counter and closer to the phone body. you twirl the coil cord with your fingers and bite your lip.

“I don't,” you take a deep breath, “know.”

he pulls a cotton underwear from his blazer pocket and presses it to his nose, inhaling your scent. his cock twitches with need, and he suppresses a groan. holding his wireless Nokia 6110 between his shoulder and ear, he undoes his jeans.

it's freezing cold outside, and the risk of mosquitoes is high, but he simply doesn't care. wonwoo pulls his cock out, hissing at the cold air biting his tip. he wraps his fingers around the base, lazily stroking it before wrapping his cock with your underwear that went missing a couple of days ago.

you're at a crossroad in the kitchen. a part of you basks in this debauchery, and the other knows that this very well could be some middle-aged pervert or some 12-year-old messing with you.

“you're so pretty, princess.” he grunts into the phone, hips bucking into his hand.

“you don't even know how I look like..” you trail off, lowkey turned on. wait no! he could be an old man, ew.

he chuckles, eyes darting towards your figure leaning back on the counter with your pouted lips and knitted eyebrows. “maybe..”

wonwoo presses your panties on his tip with his thumb, teasing his slit. his breath quickens and worry looms over your features at his silence.

“you don't know the things I want to do to you.”

you roll your eyes again with a sigh. “really? i wonder what it could be.” the boredom in your tone amuses him.

“I want you to sit on my face,”

a scandalised gasp erupts from your throat before acting nonchalant again. “oh yeah? what else, ghostface?” your breath falters, and your stomach flips. you don't even want to think about what's happening between your legs.

“I'd slowly kiss down your body and make you come undone in all ways.”

well, shit. your legs snap close and bite your lips to stop any embarrassing noises from spilling out. the logical part of you drowns in the wave of horniness that hits you. wonwoo doesn't wait for you to speak and continues.

“I want to strip you bare and make love to you.” his hand movements quicken when he sees you slip a hand down your panties. he sucks in oxygen like he's deprived of it. the cold bites at his skin and his breaths turn foggy, but the thought of you warms him from inside.

your thoughts muddle, and any common sense is thrown out the window when you feel your arousal sticking to your panties. you can't offer him many words, and it brings you embarrassment at how easily you fold. to keep up your facade, you scoff into the speaker but wait for him to speak up.

but the line disconnects, filling you with disappointment and wanting. you place the phone on the cradle and sit down on the floor. the disappointment doesn't deter you from touching yourself to the thoughts of him. you wonder how he sounds in real life and imagine him doing the things he spoke of.

your toes curl as you apply pressure to your clit, rubbing it incessantly. your other hand plays with your nipples, pinching and rolling them over your t-shirt. you try and try but can't climax. you pull out your hands with anger and annoyance.

burying your head in your knees, you think of blocking him but realise he's probably using *67. the hiss of the boiling snaps you back to reality, and you stand up in a hurry to look at the food. you groan, looking at the sad-looking dish staring back at you.

the telephone rings, piling up on your irritated state. “what?” you bark, teeth grinding and knuckles turning white.

“come outside,” a low voice tells you.

“what?” you repeat, softer this time. before the gears in your brain could turn, you find yourself at the front door, turning the knob. it feels like whiplash when your eyes land on the person outside.

“wonwoo? what are you doing here?”

now, why the hell was your ex-boyfriend at your door? and wait.. is he your ghostface?

the possibility—possibility? it's the fucking truth. he's the one who's been calling you anonymously for 3 months and filling the hole in your romantic life. the very hole that he left.

he looks the same—almost the same—but then you notice the faint ring of dark circles, the tiredness in his eyes, and, is that your panties hanging from his blazer pocket?

it doesn't take long for your pent-up emotions to flood your senses and suddenly, you're pulling him in, and locking your hands around his neck. you press your lips to his and let his hands wander your body.

 “wonwoo, fuck!”

you throw your head back on the handrest and tug at his hair roots. his tongue laps at your cunt, and his nose brushes your clit as you lay fully bare on your couch. wonwoo’s grip on your hips holds you down while he slurps and sucks on your hole, tongue prodding inside every now and then.

his soft lips mold with your pussy lips, and his over-grown hair tickles your inner thigh. his hungry eyes meet yours before he pulls away with your fluids glistening on his skin. he ascends on you like a predator sizing up its prey. your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him down.

the soft material of his t-shirt presses against your burning skin, and you feel cold without his warmth. “off,” you huff, tugging at the cloth. he obliges with a smile. soon he joins you on the couch, and feeling his bare skin on yours elicits a variety of emotions from you.

you’re ready to break down and cry but also have the urge to slap him along with the cauterizing need to have him inside you. he stills for a moment, silently looking for reassurance to go ahead. you tilt up your head, kissing him softly and breathing him in. you forgot how intimate it felt to share your breath with another.

wonwoo kisses your forehead and moves back, positioning himself between your legs. “condom?” you croak.

“I don’t have one.”

eyeing the hesitant look on your face, he continues. “I haven’t slept with anyone … after you.”

you crash your lips against his, tongue pushing past his lips. you moan wantonly, and the noises of wet kissing reverberate through your eardrums. you card your fingers through his lush black locks and tilt your head, kissing him deeper and slower.

your core pulsates as his hands rediscover your body. goosebumps rise on your skin when his thumb brushes against your hard nipple, and you shiver, feeling his cock on your thigh. you gasp for air, pulling away. his hands brush down your back to your ass, kneading the flesh beneath his fingers.

wonwoo leans back on the handrest, helping you to position on his cock. you sink down on his cock with his help. you moan in unison when you bottom out. his raw cock kissing your insides sends a flurry of tingles through your body.

you grind down to stimulate your clit. shameless moans escape your lips when he thrusts up, balls slapping against your ass. his hands make a home on your hips as he continues drilling his cock inside you. you throw your hands around his neck, pressing yourself against him. you don’t kiss him but place your lips close to his, and with every moan and whimper, your lips brush against his.

you lose yourself in pleasure, in the way his cock splits you open and in the way he sucks on your nipples. one of his hands moves down to rub your clit as he keeps sucking on your nipple. he moves to the other one, swirling his tongue around the bud.

your body trembles with stimulation, and you bounce on his cock harder, desperately chasing your high. wonwoo detaches from your tits to press a hot kiss against your lips. you moan against his lips, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten with each thrust.

his tip kisses your insides, and your arousal forms a creamy ring around the base of his cock. you're way too gone, lost in the warmth of his hands and the depth of his onyx eyes.

a certain thrust and the rubbing of his hand has you trembling above him. your legs give out, and you rest your head on his shoulder, trying to catch your breath.

“I can't—I,” wonwoo shushes you and repositions his hands on your ass, gripping it as he thrusts upwards into your cunt. the sheer force of his thrusts makes you whimper and dig your fingernails into his broad shoulders.

“wonu,” you draw out his name as your face contorts in pleasure.

“yes, princess?” the nickname never fails to fluster you, and the rich timbre of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck and chest.

“please, I want to—want to cum.”

he nibbles on your earlobe, wetting the skin with his tongue. “mhm. but bad girls don't get to cum.”

“bad girl?” you whimper, “but I didn't do anything!”

“y'sure, princess?”

“yes!”

“you started talking to a stranger on the phone. yes, it was me. but you weren't aware.” you whine when he slows his pace to a stop. you clench around his length, chasing for some friction.

“you started locking your windows. I thought you liked it when I used to climb into your room through your window—”

you cut him off, “you broke up with me for your stupid friends!”

“and.. I left it open for the first few days after you left...” your voice reduces to a whisper.

“I'm sorry, princess.” he starts. “but it seemed like you moved on with your little church boy,” he hisses through his teeth, voice lacing with venom.

“joshua is my friend.” you hiss back.

wonwoo clicks his tongue, hating the taste of his name on your tongue. the chances of you kicking him out if this keeps up are high. so he changes the topic.

“y'k how badly I wanted to climb into your room? to take off your blankets, and push aside your panty. you would like that wouldn't you?”

“for me to have my way with you while you're asleep? even if you wake up, you'll let me hit it like a slut, right?”

your pussy flutters around his cock and you whine, hitting his chest. wonwoo smirks and leans into your ear, “dirty, dirty princess.” his voice drops an octave.

“I was peeping on you all this time. you wore my shirts, princess? love me that much? hmm?”

you hide your face in his shoulders but feel his smile radiating through his voice. “fuck you.”

“you are,” he grips your hips, pulling out halfway before slamming his cock back in. your slick arousal drips down your thighs, uncomfortably. his cock stretches your gummy walls and the coil in your stomach tightens.

it's hard to adjust to his animalistic pace and you're overwhelmed. lust and passion clouds your senses and the coil snaps. the orgasm crashes over you and your lewd moans fill the room. your body trembles above his and you grip onto him for dear life.

your first orgasm in three months is mind-numbing. wonwoo continues to thrust, chasing his orgasm. he grunts when you violently clench around his length, forcing him to cum.

warm ropes of cum decorate your walls and the wet sounds of sex halts as he pulls you closer. he rests his forehead on yours, sharing his breath with you.

by the time you calm down, you're flooded with shame and the reality of what just happened. his arms and the sound of his heartbeat is no longer comforting. removing his arms around you, you stand up.

you hiss and clench your thighs at the ache between them. his essence drips out of your hole down your thighs, a reminder of what you just did.

wonwoo sits up, worry filling his system as he watches slip on your t-shirt and move away from the couch. he wants to say something, but what can he say? hey, sorry for leaving you and stalking you. 'think we can get back together?

he cringes at himself and watches helplessly as you move towards the vinyl record holder. you pull out a vinyl he recognises and place it on the player.

‘The Chain’ by Fleetwood Mac fills the room, and you walk back to the couch, sitting with space between you two. the soft strum of guitar and drums calms his nerves.

“why?” you fiddle with your fingers, refusing to look at him as you ask. he sighs and shifts a little closer, t-shirt covering his body and glasses back on. “I,” he sucks in a sharp breath.

“I had doubts about … us.”

“I didn't think we'd work out and my friends seemed to agree. I—I'm sorry.” he holds his gaze down with shame.

“it was stupid, i know. but I thought our differences won't work out.”

“how can you decide it before anything actually happens?” you bark at him, your heart clenches with frustration.

“I—”

‘and if you don't love me now, you will never love me again’

wonwoo cringes inwardly. who would have thought that the song he used to dance with you to would represent his life now? he cannot find words to express what he wants to say. two years of majoring in law and literature down the drain.

he simply moves closer till his thighs press against yours and leans his head on your shoulders. “did you only miss me for my body?”

“no!” his defense comes a bit stronger, and he hugs you closer. “no. it's not like that. I missed you.”

‘I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain’

you take his face in your hands, kissing his lips softly. but you break it as soon as your lips meet and drag him upstairs to your room. your grip on his tighter, harsher, like you're trying to prove a point.

wonwoo doesn't protest that he's naked and lets you drag him away. reaching your room, you pull him inside and show him the stacks of books lining your nightstand.

he adjusts his glasses and squints at the books. he saw you buying books and reading them almost every night. he wondered how your conservative parents suddenly allowed you to read books, let alone ... law books?

“law books. I fought with my parents and bought them, just so that we could talk about it because I don't know shit about law!”

you're sobbing, tears cascading down your cheeks, and he feels his heart skip a beat or two. his eyes dart towards the other books on your shelf, Sherlock Holmes and Kafka, his favorites too.

he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. he smiles at your faux protests and holds you softly.

wonwoo doesn't tell you but he has his own collection of Fleetwood Mac vinyl records lining up in his shelf. he bought Delta of Venus and A Spy in the House of Love, even though he doesn't like the vulgarity of the books you secretly read.

he holds you closer, and for anyone who looks into your windows, they'd only see the silhouette of a single person. your sobs quiet down, and he whispers soft apologies into your skin.

and wonwoo discovers that love is simple after all. love is reading Law and Kafka in your moonlit room filled with '60s rock music.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy @jespecially

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag (send an ask to be added on the taglist!)

[kyokimidori]

Draco Malfoy who speaks only French and harry who doesn’t understand French and just wants to talk to a pretty boy🙏

oui oui ! Happy to help with this one. It's a bit cracky. Sorry in advanced.

~Kyoki

Harry snuck a glance across the great hall, his eyes finding the body of one Draco Malfoy, for the 30th time that day. Harry had been enamored with the boy since they entered their 1st year, though he would never admit it. Unfortunately, whatever friendship could have bloomed was put into a freeze when Hermione translated what Draco had said to Ron, his only friend at the time.

It had started a rivalry between the two boys, one of which harry wanted no part of. Yet, he was a part of it, privy to withering glares and laughing remarks in French. Then put in that they were both a part of the quidditch team and in different houses? Well, there was very little room for friendship let alone anything else to develop.

Over the years, Harry's resentment to the young man had turned into attraction He couldn't help but think how handsome and pretty Draco was. Couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss the prissy boy. Those thoughts were mostly unwelcomed at first, the very idea putting harry off. He was supposed to be into girls, not guys. But the older he became the more his attraction grew, and the more his understanding of his likes and dislikes grew.

That led him to today. He had spent as much time as he could with Hermione, studying French like it was going to keep him alive.

Harry stood up as he watched Draco get up from his table crossing over to where harry and his friends sat. "Y a-t-il un œuf sur mon visage Potter" Draco sneered at him.

Hermione perked up, waiting for him to get pieces of the information, but was disappointed when harry looked at her lost. "He wants to know if there is egg on his face" she said "probably because you keep looking at him." she clairified

"No--I wanted to ask you something" he said grateful that Hermione was translating for them.

"Continue alors" Draco replied

"Aimeriez-vous sortir avec e à Pré-au-lard ce week-end ?" Harry asked in french.

Draco stated at him for a minute, taking in his words "Putain de merde" Draco said pinching the bridge of his nose " your French is shite"

Harry looked at hermione who sniggered "Is that a no?" he asked Draco, feeling self-conscious.

"Oui, je sortirai avec toi." Draco replied, looking at Hermione himself for translation "Vous devrez peut-être inviter le rat de bibliothèque avec vous"

Hermione translated for him, making Harry laugh. He dared to reach out and grab Draco's hand, giving it a light squeeze "If that's what it takes then it's a price, I'm willing to pay" he told the other boy, received a squeeze of his hand back and a smile.

It looked like Harry would be needing to learn French better than he had been.

[souliescorner]

Time Blindness - CHAPTER ONE

In this world there are always some truisms which don’t even need to be spoken aloud, because doing so  would be a clear waste of air. Such truism, for instance, is that no matter how much you like horror movies, or the Hunger Games universe, you don’t wish to live in either of them. Ever.

Except in Ophelia’s case, that wasn’t much of a choice—certainly not hers, if we are being honest here. She was quite frankly deceived, and on top of that deceived rather well by a walking cringefest, a blondie TikTok star with mommy issues and a stolen spellbook—or as the others called her - Riley Monroe. Shame, ‘cause the girl apparently had no idea what she was doing anymore.

“I’m telling you, it will work this time!”

That’s what he said. Ophelia thought. Evidently, the Office references were powerful enough to be genderswapped in 2024.

She shook her head, trying to come back to reality for the 1000th time this week and exchanged quick glances with Ghost - a tall young man wearing a black hoodie and a fox mask, grinning at the sight. 

One more look of disapproval at the witch wannabe currently frantically going through the old book’s pages would do the trick.

“You know what, Riley? Forget it. You clearly don’t know how to handle this bullshit..”

“Shut up, you walking goth girl stereotype!” The blonde woman raised her glare from the book’s page  and stared at the raven- black- haired one, her pale visage struck by a furious grimace.  “Get off me and go somewhere else to listen to some Depeche Mode or  some other shit!”

Truth to be told, Ophelia loved Depeche Mode very much—who doesn’t, right?—but the group was placed on her long list of favorites, among many different bands and vocalists - to be reduced as such was almost an unforgivable act. Lately however, being the slashers’ plushie took the cake of both annoyance and unforgiving, and shoved it to the goth's face. 

To even think becoming a counselor at the Nevermoor Camp, after all the tragedies she had suffered before -   like the burning of her family home years ago and the death of her parents, her older brother, Aaron and Anastacia,  and one of the worsts break ups ever, would be a child’s play…It was a grave mistake. A scenario worth either a horror movie or a dark comedy—the woman wasn’t so sure anymore which one exactly.

The air grew heavier with each passing second. Finally, Riley managed to break it.

“I got it! This should work for the both of you!” The blondie glanced at Ophelia and Ghost, biting her bottom lip.

“Will you…?”

“No.” Riley interrupted,  slightly raising her voice annoyed. “No, Ophelia. It won’t send you to the Middle Ages. Just Ghostie’s past.”

“For your generation it’s pretty much the same, right?” The masked man laughed at his own lame joke and winked at the woman standing next to him.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Ghost! I need to focus!” Monroe took the yellow page between her slim fingers. “ Reversae possibilitates, elige unum aut alterum, et praeteritum cum praesenti adversus se faciant."

And suddenly the world around the two of them spinned as if at the speed of light.

***

When it stopped, the pair found themselves in what seemed like  typical American suburbs, late at night. Only the houses glared at them with eerie calmness as they were the only ones basking in the moon’s light, leaving the rest of the area almost completely in darkness.

Except they weren’t alone.

“What the actual hell?! Why am I here with you two?!” Riley screamed in anger, as she fell on the ground behind them.

“Quiet!” Ophelia whispered to her. “Somebody could have hea—”

The last syllable disappeared, as the trio watched lights turning on in the house before them.

Something told them to freeze in place, hoping not to get noticed.  That however, proved to be a rather foolish idea because not even ten minutes later, the house’s front doors opened, revealing a couple - a tall adult man and a woman covered in black - dressed casually,  staring  straight at them.

“Wait, love, lock the door, I’ll go check.” the man said.

“Joey, wait! Maybe we should call the police. Two of them are masked… Actually that fox mask brings back memories.”

“They are teenagers, I think we will be fine.”

“They could have guns, Jo.”

“My love, I’m sure they wouldn’t be able to handle a little devil — a witch— like you anyway.”

Hang on, isn’t that voice kinda familiar? Ophelia glimpsed at Ghost and Riley - both holding their breaths in evident surprise.

Counting in her mind, she watched the couple approaching. 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing,  while observing their steps carefully. That walk, which resembled almost floating on the ground — she had seen that style before— it kinda reminded her of…

“Mommy!” Ghost blurted out.

The goth’s jaw dropped on the floor. As the couple got closer, she realised she was staring into her own greyish blue eyes. An exact copy of her, only about two decades older, without a signature make up and the raven- black hair touched by a one dyed  ivory white strand.

“I would have preferred if only my children called me that, to be honest.” The older Ophelia laughed with amusement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Yes, I stumbled upon a post discussing the "what if" scenarios for the slashers and got inspired. No, I'm still not sure about whether I should publish it on ao3.

All credits are due, there's more to come, I guess ;))

[eldritch-spouse]

Dorem: who could possibly love me when I am a terrifying monstrosity

The Reader, stretched out on a bed covered in rose petals in a French girl pose with a rose between their teeth: WELL,

[*Wheeze*, more like-]

" Not only have I been abandoned by my creators, my form has taken on a hideous visage courtesy of many tireless years of thankless work and unchecked corruption. Mortals freeze in ancient fear at the sight of me, for my touch is fabled to bring nothing but rot and oblivion. There is no room for affections to ever blossom, and I don't expect such- "

(Something flies into his left socket)

" Will you CEASE throwing paper planes at me, lesser?! No, I will not 'call you'- I do not even have that device! "

[bestkage]

“Don’t trust me.” for the prompt game!

prompt game!

“So, uh, Mr. Blue Spirit guy– or girl–“

Zuko represses a heavy sigh threatening to escape lungs, swallows it as he throws another glance around the dark corner.

If he had known saving the water tribe boy from the Dai Li he was tailing would result in one-sided casual small talk and unfunny quips every other minute, he would’ve left him where he’d found him like a tarnished coin stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

Alas, leaving him would’ve done more harm than good in Zuko’s kinda-sorta grand scheme of things. Even if the grand scheme was only comprised of “get dressed”, “sneak out”, and “follow”. Leaving behind the water tribe boy would spark vigilantism in the Avatar and Zuko had no doubt he’d find Zuko and his uncle in the outer city walls.

“I have two things to say and I promise I’ll shut up.” The water tribe boy says. Zuko feels a vein near his temple twitch and he doesn’t bother turning his head to look at the other boy, keeps his gaze down the alley even though the coast has been clear for a good two minutes. His silence does nothing to deter the water tribe boy. “One, thank you for getting me out of that whole thing back there. I totally could’ve taken them all myself but I…left my weapon.”

Zuko can hear the petulant disappointment in the boy’s voice and good. Why a friend of the Avatar would leave without his weapon is a great question.

“Two, do you think you could uh…maybe let go of my hand now?“

Zuko feels heat crowd to visage as he realizes that he- in fact -is still holding the boy’s hand. He drops it like it’s burning to the touch even though the only thing he can feel burning is him.

“Okay, and secret third thing-“

Zuko audibly groans this time.

“Can I just say how cool it is to be here with the Blue Spirit. I thought you were a myth and that Aang was making you up. Aang’s the Avatar, just so you know. Like, the name of the Avatar. His name is Aang. Anyway, you’re like, a legend. A hero in the night and all. Not that I’m a fan or anything but I think that’s pretty cool. Can I actually get you to sign my-“

Zuko turns to look at him this time and it freezes the boy where he was reaching into his ridiculous satchel to grab something for Zuko to supposedly sign.

They share a beat of awkward silence and Zuko can’t help the way his fingers twitch in agitation.

The boy’s cheeks darken and he holds his hand up in surrender.

“Okay, sure, I get it. Not the time.” He says and Zuko’s only slightly amused at the embarrassment in his voice. Slightly. “So uh, is the coast like, clear and all?”

Zuko peers back around the corner. It’s as clear as it was five minutes ago so he gives a small nod. As if his judgement wasn’t enough, the boy peers comically around the corner, big head and prominent ears showing themselves in a way that’s so far from discreet that Zuko’s sort of glad he’d held the boy tethered to his hand his entire time.

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” The boy says, stepping around the corner and Zuko lets himself only slightly relax. He is in the presence of an enemy after all. Even if the enemy is bashfully kicking his foot in the gravel like a freshly rescued damsel in distress getting ready to confess their love. “So I guess this is it.”

Zuko nods again and finds himself captured by some awkward force lingering in the air.

The boy is still standing there, idle only in body but eyes darting as if he still has something to say.

“One day, I’ll return the favor.”

For some reason, that shocks Zuko and now he’s the one idling awkwardly.

Zuko’s “saved” a good bit of people that either were in the way of his plans or didn’t necessarily get in the way of them either but this is the first time he’s gotten something other than gratitude from the act.

He supposes that repaying the “legendary” Blue Spirit isn’t the most formidable thing that can be done since the water tribe boy is quite literally a companion of the 112 year old Avatar.

It’s a pact. One made with the most unlikely of candidates.

And it’s honorable.

Something Zuko lacks.

So as the boy gives a final gesture of his hand in a goodbye, Zuko finds himself stuck in the dark corner of the alleyway and the only thing that crosses his mind is,

“Don’t trust me.”

Because the next time Zuko dons the Blue Spirit disguise, he can’t guarantee that he’ll be saving the boy.

He may be striking him down and watching betrayal cloud blue eyes.

[spiderwarden]

Before Minthara is the visage of a little drow girl, about five years old, with white hair that matches her mother. The visage of Maydril stands there, with her eyes full of tears. "Mommy? Why do you leave me, Mommy? Why did you make it so I followed in your footsteps? I just want my mommy."

The Drow leans over the table, dragging one map after another over the surface while she planned the stages of their next attack. So engrossed in her work she would not have seen the arrival of an unexpected guest, not her, not that voice, not while she was waiting for the arrival of another. She expected an array of things, a blade to touch her skin, the hand that grasps the back of her neck, or the arm to slide around her middle with the whispered words of blood soaked honey at her ear. What she did not expect was that voice, and that word. Not here. i'ssury, i'ssury, A Drow word that no one else could call, no one else could say -

Mommy.

Minthara freezes, back straightening as her entire form goes rigid. Widened eyes turn while the Drow turns on her heel to behold the source of that voice. Nearly stumbling when the breath is taken out of her and she sees her, the child. Her child. Her lovely, adoring, little girl. Minthara feels her heart sink into her stomach like a stone dropped in the pits of a cave, and she blinks when her weight falls back a step, her own hands catching the table to right herself. A hardened gaze softens, a lowered brow lifts to reflect the adoration in a tender red gaze, and she looks back briefly before dragging the papers over the map she held, to have them shielded from little eyes.

A thousand questions hit her at once, there is no way that Orin could mimic a child, not a small child, not one of her stature. "Ssshhh... Ussta'ssinjin.." My sweet. Eyes dart around while Minthara pushes off the table to close the distance between them, gauging the possibilities while she comes to the child and settles on her knee. "My darling, what are you doing here.." She spoke in common, exasperated, even if Maydril did not understand. And her arms scoop the child into her embrace, all suspicions she had in her gone the moment the child was in her arms. She turns her chin and buries her head into her hair as she stands up, using her hand to brush her hair down against her head. Suddenly, her worst fear was realized, suddenly she was aware of just what this message was - All of her planning behind Orin's back, all of that clarity that she had thanks to this little girl, suddenly made sense.

"Usstan'tlun ghil'nin..." Her tongue rolls softly with the words as she presses her girls hair down, I am here now.. "ghil'nin..Shhh.." Minthara rocks her weight back in forth while she holds her, squeezing her tightly into her embrace, and then she sets her against hip to look at her face. And finally, in Drow a finally time: "My love, are you hurt?"

@bhaaalmade / OOOOOFFFF!!

[writingsofwesteros]

#their fair lady

“I have missed you Rhaenyra… Alicent and I both have. I miss what we used to be,” the sweet lady utters as she holds Helaena in her arms, cooing at the small babe as she becomes restless. The Princess looks at her visage, so natural with a babe in her arms. She had always spoken of her wish to have many children to devote all her time and love to. Rhaenyra knew it would be cruel to deny her that joy just to keep her close, and yet her affection for the lady blinded her.

“Alicent… she made her decision when she married my father. She tore us apart. It was not my fault!”

“Nyra, please! You are both so unhappy in this keep, and I know it would be good for both of you to have each other’s company again.”

Rhaenyra looks at the girl, her anger clouding her mind as she spits out her next words, “And are you?” The girl looks at her confused. “Are you unhappy in the keep? Is that why you seek to leave this place?”

The lady freezes. She didn’t realise the princess knew of her hopes to leave the keep with Gwayne and return with him to Oldtown. “The keep is not as it once was - you know this. Everything has changed.”

She watches as Rhaenyra turns away from her, seemingly composing herself. The words that leave the princess freeze the lady’s blood.

“You will not leave this place.”

Before she can be questioned further, Rhaenyra begins to walk away. The lady shouts after her, trying to discern she meant by her statement. Her engagement to Gwayne was already done, wasn’t it? Alicent had said the king had approved, and no one could go against the kings word. Helaena babbles in the sweet lady’s arms as she hastily returns to Alicent’s chambers, the Queen waiting for the girl anxiously. She is ushered to sit as Alicent begins to speak.

“It is Rhaenyra. She has spoken with the King.”

(ok I need inspo for where the au goes bc idk, I lurv Gwayne and want them to be together but I love angst moreeeeee)

!!!!!

.....imagine if the engagement is delayed...

The King believes this could calm his brother but he is not fully into the idea. Unfortunately for now; all plans are off and she is to return being the lady of both Queen and Princess

[xoteajays]

uncaged.

relationship: hyuga norihisa & female!oc (established friendship). fandom: high&low. word count: ~2100. ao3: link. warning: mentions of/implied abuse by father, mentions of arranged marriage. summary: When her father tries to force her into a marriage, Ryuka decides she has no choice but to run away. With no real plan and no more than the clothes on her back, she makes her escape to the SWORD district, seeking out the only person she knows outside of Kuryu, Hyuga Norihisa. h&l tag list: @hiddenqveendom <3 ** reblogs, likes/kudos, and comments appreciated!!

Is the entire world crumbling or is it just her gilded cage closing in tighter around her? Is the noose around her neck that’s stopping her breath real or all in her head? Is she numb or feeling too much all at once that she can’t discern the emotions?

Ryuka doesn’t have the answers to any of these questions.

Standing in the bathroom, she can’t breathe. There’s a knot in her throat. Her legs feel like jelly, it’s like she could collapse at any second. Her hands drop forward onto the bathroom counter on either side of the sink, it’s the only way she can stay standing up. Her hands are trembling, she presses them flat against the cold counter as if it could help steady her.

She stares at herself in the mirror. There’s a reddening mark across her cheek, it’s the shape of her father’s hand. After talking back to him, she should have expected it. When her father had a plan in mind, she wasn’t going to dissuade him, even if it had to do with her own life.

It’s hard to focus. Her mind is running a hundred miles a second, every thought flies passed too quick to understand, her vision blurs. She can barely see the red of the mark anymore. Her visage is a blur of paleness; her skin, her hair; her eyes are the only dark things, blown wide and flickering around as she tries to concentrate. Her breath comes out in short quick puffs.

Quick as a flash, her hand fumbles into the nearby drawer. She feels around for the coolness of metal and then -

Snip.

A chunk of pale hair falls to the ground by her feet.

She freezes. Her vision slowly clears. The newly short strands curl against her cheek. A small hysterical laugh escapes her. She gathers another chunk of hair into her hand, lifts the scissors, and snips through it. Again and again, she cuts through strands of her long pale hair until she’s left with a short choppy bob. 

She runs her fingers through the sharp ends. It’s shorter than she’s ever had it. Her father had always made her wear her hair long, she’d never done more than trim it.

A thought passes the forefront of her mind: he’d hate it.

She laughs - a choked, tear-y sound - and puts the scissors down.

Getting out of here. It’s her only option.

She refuses to marry Ryu, but her father would force it. Just another choice stolen right out of her hands. She’d never be able to escape Kuryu if she stayed; she’d go from the serving girl to being a wife, expected to be a mother for the next generation of Kuryu.

When would she have a chance like this again? 

Freedom is a tree outside the bathroom window. Tall with wide branches and just close enough that she could reach it if she jumped. It’s dangerous, she knows, but she’d take the risk of injury over staying here. Maybe if she was ‘damaged’, Ryu wouldn’t want her; her father wouldn’t be able to force an arrangement with a damaged daughter.

She pushes the window open. It’s quite a way down to the ground from the second story. For a moment, her nerves get the better of her and her fingers tighten on the windowsill. Could she really jump far enough? Would the branches really hold her weight?

Roughly shaking her head, she steels herself.

She can’t stay here. She can’t live like this anymore.

Pushing away from the window, she spins on her heel to turn the bath tap on. Hopefully the sound will be enough to deceive the guards waiting outside into thinking she was still here; hopefully it would give her enough time to get far away before they realise she’s gone.

Turning back to the window, she takes a breath. It’s now or never. She climbs up onto the windowsill, steadying her hand against the side. She sways, feeling the cool night breeze against her skin.

Another deep breath, then she leaps. 

The landing is hardly graceful. Her foot slips, almost sending her plummeting. The branch digs into her body and is rough against her skin as she grips to it. It takes a second to realise that she’s landed safely and she exhales a relieved sigh.

Slowly, she inches her way closer to the tree trunk where the branches were thicker. When she reaches it, she carefully drops her feet down to the next branch. It’s a slow process, but she gets closer to the ground until she’s reaching the sparser lower branches. There’s still a bit of a drop.

Her foot lands on the next branch and she barely has the chance to react with more than a gasp as she feels it crack. Then she’s falling. Twisting over in the air, she only succeeds in landing roughly on her extended arm, thankfully cushioning her forehead before it hits the ground. She groans quietly, then quickly sits up, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.

A beat passes and she’s not being wretched back into the house by her father or one of his men, so she breathes out a sigh of relief, her head hanging.

Her wrist aches with a dull pain. She can’t even put much pressure on it to help her stand up without biting back a grunt of pain. She dusts herself off, doing her best to clear dirt and fallen leaves off her yukata.

With one last glance towards her childhood home, she turns towards the street and hurries away.

She imagines she must look strange. Her uneven and choppy pale hair paired with her equally pale yukata and her utter lack of shoes. Perhaps she even looks ghostly, a phantom in the night, strolling the nearing-empty streets.

It’s early evening. The people who are out avoid even looking at her, let alone talking to her. She doesn’t look at them either, just keeps moving forward.

She’s never been out at this time - or any time. Her father had always kept her locked up. She’s never been allowed outside for more than minutes, the moments between hoping out of the car and heading inside whatever building her father is ushering her to.

It’s freeing. Even if the breeze is cold and the rough ground digs into the delicate soles of her bare feet.

Thoughts run wildly around her head. She’s really left it all behind. Her entire life. Everything she’s ever known. Returning now would land her with punishment for daring to even attempt running away.

So she keeps walking.

It’s different, actually being outside. It’s not like the maps on a screen or in a book. She kind of knows what direction she’s going in, but it’s slow going as she tries to piece places together. Turning down streets, she tries to figure out exactly where she is and which way will take her where she wants to go.

The SWORD district, it’s the only place Ryuka can think to go. It’s where Hyuga is. He’s the only person she knew to escape Kuryu before her. Well, he and his family were kicked out, but it’s as much of an escape as anything.

He’d help her - or she hopes so. He knew her, knew what she’d been through. He’d understand.

A pang of worry suddenly sets in her chest. What if he didn’t help her? What if he turned her away? What would she do then? Would she end up in Nameless City or would they turn her away too if they discovered who she was?

She had no money, she had nothing at all. Left to herself, her father would no doubt find her within days. She’d be dragged back to that place, forced into a wedding she didn’t want.

She shakes it off. She’d just have to convince Hyuga. 

It’s a calm night for Daruma Ikka. Nearly all of the other members had gone off for the night. It’s already getting close to dawn. Hyuga’s holed himself up inside, probably smoking or sleeping; which leaves Kato, Ukyo and Sakyo out on the porch by themselves, passing cigarettes.

Ukyo is complaining about something and Sakyo is arguing back and Kato is only half-listening, relaxed back against a post, breathing in the night air as he dozes.

A crinkle of leaves breaks him out of his peaceful state and he’s quickly on alert, sitting up straighter. What he spots approaching the Daruma house is not what he’s expecting.

It’s a girl. Petite, no more than a bit over five-feet, with choppy short white-blonde hair. She’s wearing a white, slightly dirty, yukata and has no shoes. Kato’s eyes pause at her feet. They’re dirty and bleeding, dragging with each step as she stumbles along.

Just how long had she been walking for? And from where?

Her head slowly lifts and he gets a look at her face. She’s … almost familiar, in a way. It takes Kato a few seconds as she gets a few steps closer, then he’s hopping to his feet.

“Ryuka?” He questions, his confusion turning quickly into concern as he heads across the yard to her.

Minamoto Ryuka. He hadn’t seen her since she was a little girl, back when the Hyuga brothers were still a part of Kuryu. Even then, she was usually hidden away by her father. As the youngest Kuryu kids, she and Hyuga had often gotten saddled together to stay out of the adults’ business. While Kato had to watch over Hyuga, Minamoto often assigned one of his assassins to Ryuka, she was rarely alone. Kato had never gotten along with any of Minamoto’s men.

Her hair’s shorter now, and she’s quite a few years older, but it’s definitely her. He takes her carefully by the arm and she looks up at him. Her eyes are sunken and she’s clearly exhausted, there’s a slight red bruising on her cheek that makes Kato tense. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“I have to see Norihisa,” she says, her soft voice rasping.

“Yeah. Yeah, come on.”

He gathers her small frame against his side, leading her up to the door. Ukyo and Sakyo stare at them confused, Sakyo motions at her with his cigarette, opening his mouth to say something.

“I’ll explain later,” Kato cuts in before either can speak.

He passes by them, pushing open the heavy door and guiding Ryuka inside. Her steps are slow, marking up the floor with bloodied footprints. He’d have to check her over later, find out the worst of the damage. Maybe some of the girls had clothes left around here that she could borrow.

“Hyuga.”

Kato’s hand is a warm weight in the middle of her upper back, guiding her along. He smells slightly of cigarette smoke, enough to make her nose twitch. She’s too tired to care though. Her feet ache and are sticky with blood, her arm is still throbbing dully and she hugs it against her stomach. Her vision is a little blurry, passed exhausted, but it quickly focuses on Hyuga as he comes into view.

He looks the same. Older, his hair a little longer, but overall still as ragged. The same Norihisa who’d lie and say that he ‘put up’ with her when she was young, but was kind enough to answer all the annoying childish questions she’d had, and pat her hair whenever she was upset over her father bring cruel and threaten to ‘take him down’ for her.

Hyuga barely has a chance to sit up fully before Ryuka is bursting into tears and rushing towards him, dropping painfully to her knees and grabbing his arms, slumping towards him. He jolts in surprise, glancing over her pale crown towards Kato, who shrugs, equally confused about why she was here.

“Ryuko?” He starts.

It’s an old nickname. A tease. ‘Baby dragon’.

“Don’t call me that,” she chokes out through sobs, still clinging to him. She forces the crying back with a deep shaking breath, then swipes a hand over her face, the other still gripping his sleeve. “Please help me. I can’t go home.” 

His brows crease in concern, staring at her as she looks up at him, her teary eyes desperate. He’d always known Minamoto was a bastard of a man, but what had he done that was the final straw? What finally forced Ryuka into running away? For a moment, his eyes settle on the bruise on her tear streaked face, and he frowns. He’s not surprised - it wasn’t uncommon for Minamoto to raise a hand to his daughter, even when she was young - but it still bothers him.

Flipping his hand, he squeezes her arm, up by her elbow.

“Tell me what happened.” 

[freezegirl]

khione + yearbook pictures

[boredwritergirl]

Day 9 - Thirst

Trigger Warnings: Vampirism, corpses, blood, hypnotism & religious themes.

Thirst

The night beckons me.

The streets fill with the sweet scent of fresh blood, my nostrils flooding with the smell as I find the remains of a Vampire’s banquet.

All those bodies on the ground, those drained corpses left behind by my brethren serve to just tease me. They couldn’t have bothered to save me even a drop.

What’s a girl gotta do to get some fresh blood in a dump like this? 

As I scurry through the streets of Prague, looking for a meal in the dead of night, I finally lay eyes on my next target.

A nun, and a young one at that is sneaking back into her convent, trying not to wake the others as she climbs in through the window. Of course, she didn’t see me at all.

I use my shadow form to slither in through the window behind her. The halls of the abbey barely lit by a flickering flame, dim and fading. The nun’s footsteps echo through the hall, but I slide along the ceiling, following her without a trace as she tiptoes through the halls.

She heads into an empty chamber, kneeling and praying before the visage of her false messiah, likely repenting for the “sins” she was out committing, if I’m to guess.

I just sit there and watch her as she recites the lord’s prayer, my eyes glued onto every inch of her. I intensely study this woman who appeared opposite to myself; While I am Raven haired, she is blonde, I am pale and scrawny, she is rosy and healthy, I am starving for blood and she’s full of it. I lick my lips, my fang lightly biting them as I watch her.

Then my stomach starts rumbling, leading to her turning back to look at me. Her eyes widen as she gazes upon my unholy form, her lips trembling and her body freezes up. Every inch of this poor girl’s body begs her to scream yet she cannot. She can only breathe heavily and stare at me, too shocked to utter a noise.

The nun falls back as I merely walk towards her. I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, I always did love playing with my food. “Why aren’t you just precious? Are you not going to pray for your god to save you? Or did you finally stop believing in fairytales?”

The nun holds up a cross as I approach. Of course, the crucifix being a weakness for vampires was just mere myth, so I smack it out of her hand, sending it flying across the pews.

The nun irked, the helpless look in her eyes being honestly kind of cute.

“Actually, I have an even better idea.” I say, using my hypnotic eyes to make her mine. “You’re going to be my good little pet. You’ll help me kill every last nun here, allowing me to drink from them all. Then you get to be my loving pet forever, and I’ll make you break your oath to your god every day.”

I start petting her, stroking her hair as a wicked smile overcomes the hypnotized nun, powerless to stop me.

“Yes, Mistress.” she says.

I wag my finger at her, “Tsk  tsk tsk. Good little pets don’t speak, that’s for your superiors. Do you understand little pet?” I say as I snap my fingers at her to issue another command.

The nun bows before me and barks like a dog, “Woof.”

I can’t help but return the smile, knowing that she’d be mine until the end of her days.

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY #1

Divide We Fall - Chapter 2 -

I got a lovely comment on this fic recently, so I decided to share something from it. I do intend to update it eventually but I’m stuck in the middle of the chapter 😭 I’ve written the beginning and the end, its just the middle that’s giving me grief lol. I’m pretty sure I’ve shared bits and pieces from this before, but then I rewrote it at some point, and it’s going to be a lot of words, so might as well share the beginning, eh?

________

The first time Klaus killed a man, it was a mistake. An accident. A slip of control. 

He had always known one day he would take a life, that one day he’d have to swing his sword and go for the killing blow, and not the playful parry he would exchange with the likes of Elijah or Kol. Mikael always claimed he didn’t have the stomach for it, that when the moment came, Klaus would freeze and his enemy would slay him where he stood. For a long time, those words haunted him, still too much the little boy who would bring baby starlings to his mother’s door hoping she could save them, rescuing the little feathery things after they fell from the safety of their nest. Or still too much the wiry teenager who handed the knife to his younger sister when he couldn’t bring himself to slit the trembling rabbit’s throat, caught in one of their father’s traps. Rebekah always was better with a knife than he was, he used to tell himself. It wasn’t because he was weak. It wasn’t.

He forced himself to believe that it would be different, that for family, he would do anything to save them. Even if it meant staring his enemy in the eye and watching the life drain from their eyes.

But the first time he killed a man, Klaus didn’t look into his eyes as he died. He was too busy ripping apart the man’s throat, gorging on the blood gushing out of his carotid artery, vision white from the euphoria and bloodlust, finally, finally quenching his thirst. Then he moved onto the next villager, a girl a few years older than him this time, one that he once picked flowers for back when he was fourteen summers old and hopelessly sweet on her. She wouldn’t stop screaming, he would remember afterwards, but in the moment he was too busy feeding to notice because he was so, so hungry and he just wanted his throat to stop hurting, why did it hurt so much? 

And why was the girl’s skin cold under his touch? Why were his clothes soaked in blood? W-Why was he out on a full moon? Why, mother, why, why does it hurt so much-

His victims did not die an honourable death. He wasn’t slaying his enemies in battle, carving a tally of his kills onto the pommel of his sword like Mikael used to do. This wasn’t even a fair fight.

This was a slaughter.

Those first few decades as a vampire - even the first century - were stained by the blood on his hands he never did quite wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed them raw. Back then he still had some slither of mercy; back before Niklaus became Klaus.

And that was the lesson he learned the hard way: this world had no room for Niklaus, the little boy who crushed flowers and berries into paint and saved little starlings that had fallen from the nest. This world was cruel and vicious, and if Klaus wanted to survive, he’d have to be cruel and vicious too. Ruthless. Dangerous.

One might say he succeeded in that goal far too well.

Blood sprayed across the walls, bodies dropping left and right as he tore through the soldiers, teeth bared and claws extended. His monstrous visage flashed in the darkness every time a gun fired, the flash of the bullet illuminating his form for barely a second before he attacked, the last sight the soldiers saw before they met their end. Even their vervain and wolfsbane-laced bullets couldn’t stop him; the hybrid moving too fast for them to aim accurately, any lucky shots only enraging him further, lethal fangs going for the throat in a vicious display of violence.

One by one, the soldiers fell. And one by one, Klaus let the snarl twist and curl across his face, driven feral by the maddening smell of blood in the air. Eventually, only one soldier remained, a frightened cadet all alone in the dark. The man shakily raised his gun, aiming for centre mass.

Klaus pounced, grabbing the assault rifle with one hand and pointing it to the ceiling just as the soldier opened fire. In a single motion, Klaus had thrust his hand into the soldier’s chest, clawing through his insides and tearing out the heart without hesitation. It was over in seconds, the soldier’s heart falling from Klaus’ fingers moments after the body fell.

A fierce grin stretched across his blood-splattered face and Klaus raised his hand, about to lick the blood off his fingers. Then a gun cocked behind his head.

Klaus froze.

“Don’t move, beast.” A voice spat.

Klaus dared to tilt his head slightly in the hunter’s direction. He couldn’t be killed, but even a wooden bullet to the head would still knock him out for the foreseeable future, and he’d rather not give the human such an opportunity to incapacitate him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He considered possible paths to take, calculated whether he was fast enough to dodge the bullet at such close range. Klaus decided to take the chance. He raised his hands slowly, faking surrender. Unknown to the hunter, his eyes were blazing yellow, black veins crawling across his cheeks as his fangs erupted from his gums.

Then he spun, a blur of motion-

Muscles tensing, senses firing-

Eyes widening at the sight of the barrel of the gun closer than he guessed-

Suddenly, he was shoved backwards as another blur pushed the hunter’s handgun to the side as it fired, the bullet only just skimming its intended target - his head. Klaus stared as Caroline leaped onto the soldier’s front, legs around his waist, golden hair flying around her like a halo, tearing away the protective gear that covered the human’s neck and sinking her fangs into his carotid artery. The human screamed, deafening, piercing in its agony, Caroline ravaging the flesh at his neck. In a matter of seconds, she had snapped his spine, falling with his body to the concrete floor that was already stained red with pools of the hunter’s blood.

Silence fell.

Caroline’s heavy breaths were the only thing that broke it. Klaus watched as she slowly got to her feet, stumbling slightly as she tripped over the body, turning around to face him. Her lips and the skin around her mouth were bloody, the red liquid dripping down her chin and smearing her beautiful complexion. A few strands of her golden hair were sticky, smothered in blood, framing her furious expression as she kicked the prone body for good measure. Her chest heaved as she regained her breath, neck flushed from exertion, drawing his attention to her cleavage.

Klaus swallowed, all the heat in his body travelling south.

“Caroline.” He breathed softly, barely believing she was standing in front of him after all these years. Their eyes met, and for a moment time seemed to slow, Klaus reminded of the last time she had looked at him like that, watching him leave that day in the woods.

Then that moment was broken, Caroline’s eyes flickering to something over his shoulder, widening in panic.

“GET DOWN!”

For the second time that night, Caroline rushed towards him in a blur of supernatural speed, slamming into him and sending them both crashing to the ground. Bullets tore through the air in the spot where their bodies had previously been standing, one catching Caroline’s shoulder as they fell. Hearing her cry, Klaus instantly wrapped a hand round her waist, flashing them to safety behind an alcove, the bullets trying to follow them. He pushed her as close to the wall as he could, shielding her body with his own.

Then he waited.

In less than a minute, the bullets stopped, and the soldier that had caught them unaware was cursing, scrambling to reload. Klaus snarled, flashing out of cover and straight towards the soldier, grabbing him by the neck before he could even raise his gun. Lifting him high into the air with one arm, Klaus felt his fangs drop, revealing his monstrous visage, delighting in the terror flooding the hunter’s face. With a great heave of his hybrid strength, he threw the hunter through the nearest window, smashing the glass with a loud shatter and sending the screaming human to plummet to his death.

“Klaus?”

He turned immediately at her hushed call, flashing to her side. She had stood up, stepped away from the wall and was inspecting the wound on the shoulder, hissing slightly as she moved her clothing out the way.

“Are you alright?” He asked worriedly, hands moving to help her.

Caroline grumbled, hissing again as he caught a particularly tender spot. “I’m fine.”

“It grazed you-” He realised, concern rising upon seeing the burnt flesh.

“I said I’m fine.” She snapped.

Klaus stepped back, letting his hands fall, smothering the flash of hurt that spiked in his chest momentarily. As far as how he had imagined their reunion, this was certainly more similar to one of his more morose versions, cooked up on particularly despairing days when a bottle of bourbon was close by. Something of the emotion must have shown on his face, or perhaps he recoiled too quickly at her curt outburst, as Caroline looked up at him guiltily. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled, looking at her feet, the dried tear tracks on her face noticeable to him for the first time in the moonlight glinting through the window. Klaus clenched his jaw, wishing he had the time and security to tear every hunter in the building apart.

“Don’t be, love.” He said quietly, pushing the bloodied strands of hair away from her face. “It’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He tried to remark lightly, but it fell flat, both of them aware that although they hadn’t changed for the most part, still them, the world around them had.

Klaus glanced in both directions, checking again that the coast was clear. After all that gunfire, there was no doubt more soldiers on the way. They needed to move.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand, their fingers interlocking with ease, “we need to get out of here.”

He moved, stepping away, intending to pull her with him, but Caroline planted her feet, refusing to move as she shook her head.

“No, Klaus, I have to find Bonnie!” She protested.

The Bennet witch?

Klaus frowned. “Caroline-”

“She wasn’t there for the blast, she must be still alive-” She rambled hysterically, backing up and pulling away from his grip, dodging him as he tried to grab her again. She turned, eyes wild, looking in the direction he had seen her run from. Was she thinking of going back? Surely she wasn’t that idiotic.

She started to move, and Klaus realised she wasn’t idiotic, just still as self-sacrificing and infuriatingly loyal as he remembered her to be.

“Caroline.” He snarled, managing to snag her uninjured shoulder, spinning her to face him. “If the witch is still alive, and if she has any sense, she’ll be running just like us-”

“What if she isn’t? What if they’ve captured her?” She snarled right back, angry and hurt and afraid-

“Then getting yourself killed by going back isn’t going to help her!” He yelled in her face, eyes flashing hybrid gold.

Caroline froze, flinching in his grip as his voice rose.

-Turns out he was afraid too.

He swallowed, his hands dropping from her shoulders, letting her step backwards, away from him. His arms rose again, hands twitching towards her, as if trying to comfort her but realising too late he was now the object of her unease. “Caroline, please.” He begged, eyes softening, and offered her his hand. “Come with me.”

He watched as she looked down the hallway, back towards where the soldiers had come from, screams faintly piercing the silence if you listened closely. Then she turned back to him, meeting his eyes. One last tear fell, sliding down her blood stained cheek.

“We’ll find Bonnie after?” She asked, voice small and broken.

Klaus swallowed.

“I promise.” He vowed. “But now we need to run.”

A moment passed. Caroline bit her lip. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his and nodded.

Klaus breathed a sigh of relief.

He pulled her towards him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and bringing her close to his side, glancing behind them as they began to walk away at a hurried pace. “Come on, I’ve got you, love.”

And then they ran.

[gaenarirp]

— taken wanted connection.

CONTACT  INFO:  

gnsiwoo,   tumblr.    minsungs,    discord    (preference  for  the  latter).

TYPE  OF   REQUEST:  

a  childhood  friend   /   past—lover. (cw: death, manipulation/gaslighting)

SUGGESTED  FACE—CLAIMS:  

kim  hyung—seo   (   BIBI    /    soloist   ),    jeon  so—yeon   (    gi—dle   ).    seo  soo—jin    (   soloist   ).    alternatives  can  be  discussed.    average  height  of  172cm.     porcelain  visage  resembles  that  of  glass,   much  more  hardened  as  opposed  to  the  fragility  of  younger  years    —    figure  is  almost,    always,    draped  in  fine  leather   &   silk  of  dark  shades  that  rotate  occasionally  between  black,   red,   and  gold.    tresses  of  aureate  has  long  since  dimmed,    faded  into  a  black  that  once  belonged  only  to  the  night—skies.    /    overall,    her  style  would  don  a  more  cooler  aura  than  the  soft,   gentle  version  of  herself  that  died  seven  years  ago    —    a  change  that  makes  her  unrecognizable  to  those  who  used  to  be  affiliated  with  her.

PLOT  DISCUSSION:    

rose—petal  girl,    graveyard  girl.    kim  hae—rin.    23,    born  december  10th,    2000    —   gaenari.    (    former    )    darling  lover  to  baek  si—woo,    the  better  half  of  him.    /    kim  hae—rin  is  a  name  lost  to  time  just  as  much  as  the  devotion  and  love  once  held  for  sunflower  boy,    living  boy.    childhood  memories  are  filled  with  the  joy  and  mirth  belonging  to  parents  who  now  dwell  in  a  grief  that  is  incoherent,    a  hatred  for  si—woo  that  is  unidentifiable,    and  a  world  that  is  inconsolable.    fifteen  full  years  are  given  to  the  prince  of  her  dreams,    an  existence  that  materialized  as  none  other  than  baek  si—woo;    the  gentleness  of  one’s  hand  is  always  found  in  another’s    —   calloused  and  cold,    fleeting  touches  and  stolen  kisses  with  hearts  well—aware that  the  fire  of  their  love  could  burn  them  to  ashes.    IT  DOES.    2016,    december  3rd  marks  exactly  a  week  before  kim  hae—rin’s  sixteenth  birthday.    and  the  day  everything  falls  apart.    it  starts  with  an  agreement  to  spend  the  day  with  a  trio  of  three.    baek  ha—na  adores  kim  hae—rin    /    to  ha—na,    she  is  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air,    the  daughter  she  wishes  for,    the  girl  she  smothers  in  motherly love    —    the  same  way  hae—rin’s  mother  does  with  si—woo.    it  ends  with  a  car  falling  into  the  ocean  in  the  outskirts  of  gaenari  with  the  only  survivor  having  been  si—woo  as  baek  ha—na  and  kim  hae—rin  are  left  to  rot  along  with  decades  worth  of  bones  tethered  to  sea—ground.  

BELL—BOTTOMED  NIGHTMARE.    kim  hae—rin  wakes  up  screaming  in  the  dead  of  the  night,    wrists  chained  to  the  hospital  bed.    the  man  beside  her  jolts  awake  at  the  harsh  echo  of  silver  against  silver.    when  her  sight  has  begun  to  clear,    she  sees  the  man  resembles  baek  yu—jun,    father  to  baek  si—woo,    and  relief  washes  over  her.    but  not  for  long.   for  such  sentiments  are  replaced  with  the  sense  of  grief,    an  agony  that  proves  too  cruel  for  a  girl  freshly  turned  sixteen.    when  yu—jun  speaks,    he  speaks  as  if  he  has  been  detached  his  entire  life,    with  a  barrier  of  ice  that  burns  rather  than  freezes    —    he  speaks  as  if  the  death  of  his  wife  and  the  comatose  of  his  son  are  hae—rin’s  fault.    he  spills,    and  manipulates,    pulling  at  the  girl’s  heartstrings  like  a  puppet  before  leaving  her  with  the  offer  to  start fresh  with  no  ties  to  the  baek  family,    living  under  a  different  name:    FROM  NOW ON,    KIM  HAE—RIN  IS  DEAD.    a  body  filled  with  the  memories  of  a  dead  girl.    it  haunts  her,    guards  over  her  existence  like  three—headed  cerberus  does  with  the  gates  of   hell.    hae—rin  remembers  everything.    from  all  the  times spent  with  baek  si—woo,    to  how  long  they  have  been  together,    to  counting  how  many  days  pass  that  si—woo  lies  motionless  before  her  very  eyes,    hanging  onto  the  line  between  life  and  death.    the  dream—girl,    she  lives  in  the  clouds  because  her  reality  is  cruel. 

lovers  to  enemies  troupe  with  a  penchant  of  si—woo  and  hae—rin  destined  to  never  cross  paths  again  despite  being  bound  to  each  other  in  this  lifetime.    hae—rin  who  wants  to  forget,    being  the  opposite  to  si—woo  who  wants  to  remember.    hae—rin  accustoming  herself  to  baek  yu—jun’s  ways,    ultimately  becoming  a  pathological  liar    —    something  along  the  lines  of  never  letting  the  real  kim  hae—rin  return  from  where  she  should  have  died  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  baek  ha—na.    should  she  and  si—woo  ever  encounter  each  other  after  seven  years,    hae—rin  would  be  distant  and  unaccepting  of  his  presence,   but  does  nothing  to  truly  run  his  memories  of  her,    or  jeopardize  him  in  a  physical  way.    an  instance  of  the  “i  once  saw  you  as  my  soulmate   /   i  still  am.”   concept  present.

[hana-no-seiiki]

FLIGHT OF THE CALADRIUS : TAKE OFF

Walk With Me REWRITE/IMPORT

SYNOPSIS: 𝘐 𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘜, 𝘐 𝘞𝘈𝘓𝘒𝘌𝘋 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘖𝘕𝘊𝘌 𝘜𝘗𝘖𝘕 𝘈 𝘋𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘔. [Y/N], was obsessed with collecting all things beautiful, and even more infatuated with creating sights that would awe its witnesses. Quite unfortunate it is for them, to have placed Death as the most entrancing of them all.

Pairings: YANDERE! AOT/SNK + YANDERE !OCs x GN! Reader

Warnings: Reader is GN but is coded to be a hermaphrodite, nothing explicit alluding to it appears until the later seasons. Yandere Themes, Violence, and Canon Divergence. Reader is a suicidal egomaniac. Reader is described as beautiful ; a ton of this is wish fulfillment.

This part will include Chapter Zero - One of the original work with some adjustments.

《  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎 / 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑  》 : FOOD FOR THOUGHT ; FODDER FOR TITANS

            𝕭EAUTY.

A SUBJECTIVE STANDARD THAT IS OFTEN TAUGHT TO US BY OUR PREDECESSORS, yet it never stagnates. It is ever changing, ever hard to find and achieve, more-so ever hard to create.

Something about [Y/N] was beautiful. Maybe it was the way they spoke; languid yet sultry and hard to dismiss — those who’ve heard them speak likened it to honey; naturally sweet and ageless. Maybe it was the way they moved, graceful and calculated. Maybe it was their visage itself, which seemed to be sculpted to perfection rather than born from a woman’s womb. 

The person was an enigma to those around them. Something, someone untouchable, may it be due to their loyal guard that stayed glued behind them or due to their presence that made anyone and everyone feel inferior and worthless.

Yes, beauty. It was a social construct, a badge of honor that granted [Y/N] power even in the unsightly world they found themselves in. It wasn’t as if they needed more with the wealth they were born into, but as their mother would always say, ‘The more they have, the bigger the flames they can create when burning it all.’

They never really understood that part of her lectures.

Now that we’ve established what [Y/N] held in such a high pedestal, shall we approach the opposite side of the spectrum?

Noise.

Disorganised. Its creation did not require a very particular set of skills (skills that I’ve acquired over—). All it needed was a person’s capability to open their mouths and babble. Toddlers could make it. Filthy rats in the streets — which were plenty might they add — could make it. There was no sense of sophistication or exclusivity.

[Y/N] despised it.

Which is why they had to put an end on the seemingly endless quarrel a pair of fellow trainees were having.

“Okay, boys.” [Y/N] barely raised their voice but it was enough to catch the duo’s attention, and eventually those who had their eyes on fight.

       

A rather tall girl with hair as dark as tar in cigarettes, sat beside [Y/N]. Upon seeing them joining the commotion, she reached out, ”My liege—“

But to no avail.

”If we’re really debating here. Mind if I offer some…food for thought?” [Y/N] stood up and walked towards the teal eyed boy’s seat, they swiftly took his cup of water and sipped on it, uncaring of the eyes that littered their form.

The two never managed to utter another word before [Y/N] continued with their speech.

        ”If we look into the realm of possibility, however improbable it may be, Trost will be taken down next.” They could hear their peers beginning to whisper. “The south is a hotspot for Titans, and assuming that the colossal titan has some sense in him it’d be the best choice rather than the frigid north.”

      From the corner of their eyes, they spot the majority of people in the vicinity freezing up, whether it was because of the epiphany [Y/N] aided them in having, or due to being reminded of such an event possibly happening in the future. [Y/N] laughed inside, did these people really not think ahead? To be fair, these were future soldiers. Soldiers were made to follow orders, not meddle with tactics.

        Ah, but it was nice to know that the rest did not come with wits up their sleeves. It would be much easier for [Y/N] to indulge in their kleptomanic desires.

        ”As such, any sane and smart man would go for the Military Police to secure a safe spot in the interior for him and his family, am I right Mr. Kirschtein?” [Y/N] lifted their eyes and stared straight into Jean. A brunette with the shortest bowl cut they’d ever seen. He was tall, yet not the slightest bit intimidating. In fact, they could see him be visibly flustered by the eye contact.

        Jean visibly puffed up at [Y/N]’s blatant stroking of his ego. What a man. ”Correct.”

        [Y/N] giggled at his answer, ”Wro~ng!” 

        “After Trost inevitably gets taken down, there will be no interior.” [Y/N]’s playful tone switched to a rather grim one as they lowered their hand slightly above the opponent of Jean’s table, dropping the cup of water. Not much was left inside, but the act did result to a tiny splash. Owing to the fact that people were silenced at [Y/N]’s words, the sound echoed ever more loudly in the mess hall.

        ”In short, the Military Police? It’s just a meager extension. A way to procrastinate death if you will. Even if we did manage to get into the top ten, majority of the soldiers there don’t even do anything, they just lounge around, get into bar fights, frequent at brothels, casinos. Throwing away their money, their lives—“ [Y/N]’s eyes narrowed.

        “—for a semblance of positive emotions they can’t seem to muster anymore.” [Y/N] stared at the water that escaped the confines of cup and then returned their steely yet alluring gaze at Kirschtein and smiled, “So truly, wouldn’t it be such a magnificent honor to be one of those people?”

       They could hear the boy beside him snort. What was his name again? Eren Jäger. Hunter. What a fitting name, they thought. The boy spent the entire evening raving about how he’d hunt down the titans and kill them all. It was his nature to be the predator it seemed. His speech didn’t really faze [Y/N], they were more interested by his looks, particularly his eyes that they have yet to seen from up close.

      “Don’t even get me started with the Garrisons.” [Y/N] scoffed. The garrisons were the largest among the soldier population and would sometimes help the military police in their dealings within the walls. Time and time again, [Y/N] would have to face that god forsaken rose symbol whenever they had to do their business out in the streets of whatever town they happened to be in,  “That’s where the majority of you will go, may I remind you all.”

     ”You think that will extend your lives? Please, greedy merchants, panicked citizens, even those peasants at the streets will do better than you. After all, you will be expected to put your life before them.” Deep down [Y/N] knew that having more people in the Garrisons would help. But with all the attention on them right now? Rationality was unfortunately out of the building. 

       Could you really blame them? Fame is blinding. 

       Though perhaps, maybe they were doing good by weeding out the weak from the inside as if the rigorous training and Shadis’s shouting wasn’t enough for these poor soldiers. Maybe that would be their role in this hellish place.

        ”Thinking of escaping, abandoning your station to save your own filth ridden asses? I wouldn’t blame you. It’s human nature to seek the preservation of one’s self. But, are you really capable of carrying the weight — the thousands of lives you could have saved if you had stayed and fought back?”

        [Y/N] sat down where Jäger used to be and stared at their nails. They really needed to find a way to smuggle in cosmetic and skincare products. Crusty hands were an absolute no-no.

        ”Many of the soldiers who survived the last breach suffered with survivors’ guilt. Many committed suicide. Others were reduced to drinking their sorrows and memories of titans eating their fellow soldiers.”

        One particular stare laid heavy on them. A girl that sat beside her with obsidian hair reminiscent of Raven’s, and cold grey irises. She was indeed very pretty. If the dark brown haired boy didn’t steal the show with his teal ones, [Y/N] was sure their fixation would be directed at her. She seemed to spend most of her time with the boy, however, so having a fixation for one of them could count for the two, they supposed.

    ”And really, Mr. Jäger. If humanity’s strongest has yet to even come close with the goal of freeing humanity, what more can us puny trainees do? I bet over half of these people would urinate in their pants at the sight of a titan. These people who joined for free food, for a safe place to stay, for glory, freedom. You’ll all die painfully, through a titan’s or guilt’s grotesque jaws.”

        Same with Kirschtein, [Y/N] decided to establish eye contact with Jäger as a form of intimidation, maybe even seduction. Finally, a chance to gaze upon his bejeweled eyes from up close. 

        [Y/N]’s breathing stopped at that exact moment. The split second their orbs meet with his. They had never seen eyes as beautiful as those that belonged to him. It truly was different from up close.

        Eren Jäger, huh? Eren. Eren. Eren. Eren. E—ren.

        Eren, the boy with the loveliest pair of eyes [Y/N] had laid theirs upon, Jäger. The boy they instantly felt a connection to. 

         Of course, his eyes had nothing on [Y/N] but they had to give him credit.

        Nonetheless, they choose to challenge the fluttery sensation in their stomach and continue staring at him dead on, “Overall, no matter which branch of the military we choose? All of us will end up as titan fodder.”

          And with their voice barely a whisper [Y/N] added, “You just have to pick our poison.”

         With the chatter completely absent by the time [Y/N]’s words echoed through the walls, the whole place should have  heard it as clear as a cloudless day. They didn’t mind if they intimidated them into leaving. At least those who stayed had clarion insight of the bloodshed they will be thrown into for the benefit of humanity.

       ”If you’re so adamant that all branches lead to death then why join? What branch are you even applying to, smartass?”

     The cunning smile that was permanently plastered upon [Y/N]’s countenance grew wider at Jean’s inquiry, ”I don’t see how would that matter? Unless. . .you’re Interested in me now, Kirschtein?”

       Said boy choked on his saliva.

     “You see, life up there in the northern interior, felt like hell on Earth. If you worked outside and stopped moving for just a second;  you’d freeze to death. If you had money, all you could do was either die of boredom or exploit those beneath you for pleasure of all sorts.” 

      It made sense now. [Y/N] always had this aura of grace. Each movement calculated to look elegant and poised. They must have been taught to be like that since birth. That, and the large brooch, and luxurious fabric their clothing seemed to be made out of.

      “And I? I am a person of grace. Of beauty. Of absolute grandeur.” [Y/N] boasted, a crazed look in their eyes. Nailing the part of a rich and eccentric noble, ”And I wish to see the ethereal sights of the outside world.”

       [Y/N] gazed upon the ceiling, “Death? That matters least to me. For death is the most beautiful thing to happen in one’s life.”

       The bell rang, signaling the end of dinner time.

        [Y/N] immediately stood up from their seat and dusted off their hands and clothes, ”Well you look at the time. I hope this talk made you two actually think, no? Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”

        ”Wait—“

        ”Hey—“

        The two brunettes called out to [Y/N] as they started leaving. When they looked back both Kirschtein and Eren mouthed not a single word for several moments before the stunning ravenette that was staring earlier at them elbowed Eren. Harshly, if I may add. 

        ”W-What’s your name?” Eren cursed at himself internally for stuttering.

        ”Hm? My name?” [Y/N] brought their fingers up to their chin and began humming as if in deep thought and merely said as they walked away,

”[Y/N]. [Y/N] Thor Odinson.”

𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕭𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗,

        The rite of passage was surely a spectacle. Many had left for the fields just because of our instructor’s intimidation tactics. It’s Keith, by the way. He looks as dead as ever. In any case. there were a few outliers. One had offered a potato she was eating during the ceremony. A potato! 

           She was ordered to run across the field the entire day, poor girl. Though she seems like an easy ally to make if food is a bigger priority to her than appearances.

        Another person; Jean Kirschtein also peaked my interest. He is both bold and cowardly. Boastful yet screamed of insecurities. A man of contradictions, I must say. He kind of reminds me of you. And yes, that was an indirect insult.

          Oh and I mustn’t forget about Eren! Eren Jäger! Do you think he may be related to the Doctor that used to visit our family manor? In any case, he had the loveliest of eyes. Would it be too difficult for you to procure an emerald accessory? I desire to give him one someday. If it isn’t too much of a bother.

Dr. Jäger has done so much for the houses, his relatives deserve the best that we can offer.

        I won’t lie about the living conditions, it is utter shit. I find another reason to admire you once more. How is it that you were able to survive this and even worse circumstances on your expeditions? 

At the very least I am able to taste food a little once more. I wonder how long this sense of mine will last this time.

I continue to await your swift and safe return.

May the Caladrius aid you with its divine gaze,

[𝖄/𝕹]

〘 𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 | 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 (𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑)〙

《  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄  》 : SOUNDS OF SILENCE

𝕰𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑

        Enough use of it can bring the best or worst out of people. Eloquence and verbosity can lead to respect and admiration — with the unfortunate addition of ever rising expectations to maintain such traits, if not improve them. Thoughtless babbling can set in motion unimaginably horrid and early deaths — but maybe, just maybe it also meant being true to one’s self.

“Who is that?”

”They look freaky as shit.” 

“Are they…from the…interior?”

“Are those…white pupils?!”

”They kinda give me the creeps.”

        When [Y/N] was but a child, humanity’s words brought about a cumbersome weight on their small shoulders. Such was the misfortune they had to carry as a manifestation of this grotesque reality. 

        Words — words tore through their being like bullets. Fortunately wounds heal, and scar tissue is stronger. Now words barely had an effect, much less penetrated [Y/N]’s walls, for not a weakness could be found.

        Words — words were instead, an advantage.

        ”Hi! It’s nice to meet you all! The name’s [Y/N]. [Y/N] Odinson.”

        The one that [Y/N] apparently gave the creeps to, cringed. He had brown hair and small, dull green eyes that held a permanent glare. He tugged on one of his groupmates blazer and whisper shouted, ”Beth, let’s get into position—“

        Upon [Y/N]’s acknowledgement of their existence, the rest were immediately silenced. Some held up awkward smiles. Yet the tension continued to thicken. [Y/N] stared at people who spoke of their exotic appearances and could not fight the grin that entered their face.

        A fantastic, euphoric — addicting feeling seeped into their ribcage and into their chests, spilling into their beating heart.

        A feeling that always appeared when the people around them take one look and one thing about [Y/N],

        —and when [Y/N] takes one glimpse back; instantly perceiving everything about those people’s personality. Their reality. All in totality. Just from their body language or few lines of speech that escaped their mouths.

        Raven puts their short to rest as she informed, ”My liege, the rite of passage will begin shortly.”

❝

        All northern districts are considered JERICHOAN TERRITORY, in other words, they all belong to and are overseen by CLAN JERICHO. The outermost district is named CANAAN and is considered the most grueling place (just above the underground) to live in within the walls, by merit of its frigid temperatures.

         It is rumored to be the place where criminals are sent to starve and die, where souls are forever banished for their wicked sins against humanity and the walls that protect it.       

❞

        Shadis’s eyes burned holes into the souls of those that stood in the field. His glare competed with the scalding heat. The man had a talent for vocal projection — also known as screeching at the top of his voice. Despite being considerably distant from where he paced around, [Y/N] heard every word he spoke with clarity.

        You bet that they took advantage of such a fact. Taking mental notes of any notable information on their peers. Names, where they came from, and whatnot.

         Raven looked down at their master in concern as they started muttering incoherent words after every introduction. She was in no doubt that [Y/N] was planning something.

          ”Armin Arlert from Shinganshina…I wonder why he didn’t skip him? He did look kind of soft — judging from afar at least — for someone who was there when…”

        Because why not? What were they to occupy themselves with in the middle of the sweltering weather? They could spy for the next object of their aesthetic fixations, but it wouldn’t be fair for that person to have only a part of [Y/N]’s attention! 

        When the man, the myth, the legend, Keith, finally approached [Y/N] he visibly double backed. 

        [Y/N] gave him a sleazy, excessively confident grin, despite their obvious exhaustion and lack of experience with the climates of Trost. Sweat all over their face and the rest of their body. White pupils completely narrowed. Their focus was completely on the man in front of him.

       ”Odinson.” He grimaced.

       His words were inexplicably heavy and filled with dark emotions. A look of grief — a deeply rooted anguish — plastered on his face that was so different from what he gave even to those that came from Shinganshina. [Y/N] heard their peers murmur in curiousity. A couple of seconds pass,

        — and [Y/N] is greeted with silence. A prolonged, pregnant quiet.

        [Y/N] looked at him confused. No special greeting for the great heir of House Odin? How rude. Where was the flexing? The fanfare? Damn it, wasn’t nepotism supposed to be in their favor?!

        Keith passed Raven as well, and many of the other trainees in their row, with the same look on his face. A distant melancholy. A faraway look of distraught.

        Their row is told to face backwards.

        After a while, Shadis returned to verbally and sometimes even physically abusing those the new recruits. His eyes spotted a lady just a couple rows back with a baked potato in her hand. Munching as she looked straight ahead. Without the faintest of efforts in concealing her snack.

        [Y/N] was confused at Keith’s sudden halting of words and followed his line of sight. Upon having their eyes meet the brown haired female, they finally understood.

        A bimbo was in their ranks.

        Exactly [Y/N]’s type.

        [Y/N] elbowed their companion, “Raven, if I were that girl would you take the punishment for me?” 

        ”My liege?” Raven gaped for a couple of moments. She was used to her liege’s spontaneity from the long years of serving them, but it was difficult not to get caught off guard sometimes. “My liege it’s only my duty to—“

        [Y/N] cuts through, not even waiting for her to finish, ”Then, would you fight an army for me?”

        ”Of c—“

        “Would you die for me, ma petit corbeau?”

        Raven doesn’t reply.

        [Y/N] laughed. It was only natural they supposed, it wasn’t a normal to ask if people were willing to die for a cause, more-so a single person that one of the reasons why there was such a divide in the financial statuses within the walls. They didn’t blame her for the hesitation.

         ”My my, it seems that I haven’t taught you as well as I thought.” [Y/N] light-heartedly teased, but Raven knew of the solemnity of their words and thus bit her lip. She waited for her master to continue.

         ”I want you to reflect on your answers. When we graduate, I’ll ask you these questions again. I hope you answer them correctly.” [Y/N] directed their gaze back at Shadis, but Raven knew that whatever facial expression they were holding was far from the blithe one just moments ago. 

         The first day of training came quick. The same could not be said about [Y/N]’s progress with adapting to the incandescence of the field. Opting to get rid of their blazer whilst they were in the sun. Shadis had ordered the recruits to get themselves hoisted into the air using wires. A simulation for when they use the omni-directional manoeuvre in the future. Yet another way to weed out the weak.

         The numbers today were marginally smaller. Few had left due to the rite of passage, many because of [Y/N]’s speech last night.

         It was necessary, they thought. Humanity didn’t need those who’d run away. Humanity already had enough fodder to deal with. Dead weight. Walking pieces of flesh that contributed nothing in the grand scheme of the world.

         They were one of the first to test the mechanism. They had contemplated whether to stay completely still or sway a little bit as a show of normalcy.

         Unfortunately the latter would do little to take eyes away from them — the show from yesterday was most likely seared into everyone’s heads. Hell, it wasn’t even because of who said those words. The prospect of inevitable death, the knowledge that everyone here would die soon kept all of them awake that night. Thoughts invading their head, making it impossible to ever get a wink of sleep.

         All but [Y/N], who was frankly more bothered with the stiffness of the mattress.

        That, and who wouldn’t stare at [Y/N]’s cat like eyes?

         The sounds of silence echoed within the interior dweller’s mind. No particular thought was entertained nor did it thrash around like those of their peers. It was peaceful. It was always like this when the wind blew on their face. Upon the horse they rode, while they practice using their gear in the dense forests of the north, and during their free falls to the ground when they used to fail. The strong gusts of air always reminded [Y/N] of serene moments.

         At first, there weren’t that many who reacted to [Y/N]’s tranquil expression. Accounting their lack of experiencing the test first-hand. However, after a couple of batches had their turn, [Y/N] soon became the main topic of the recruit’s whispers.

        A dissonant noise once returning to the field as everyone slowly crowded themselves around [Y/N].

        [Y/N] tried to give it no mind, and tune it out. Curious as to how Eren would do, knowing what — or should they say who happened to his equipment.

        As expected, Eren was dangling downwards. He looked confused, distressed with the fact that he couldn’t even handle a simple examination such as this. The expression on his face was simply marvellous.

        He makes eye-contact with [Y/N]. And the latter, wanting him to feel even worse returned his stare with a feigned look of disappointment. Adding in a little shake in their head as they turn their back on him.

        They tap on their companion’s shoulder and whispered, “Raven, I’ll be right back. Stay with the crowd.”

        Raven began protesting, but her calls were fruitless.

        If [Y/N] were to be honest, many things down in the south were shit. This wasn’t just they’re spoiled rich kid ass talking. Building walls were in disrepair and would easily be knocked down if it faced the decrepit winds of the north. 

        The med bay for example, was a far-cry from the facilities given to northern denizens. The facilities that were mostly attributed to the Jericho clan’s careful planning and slow yet steady constructing of their power and influence — which in turn, gave them more funds that they could allocate into their territory.

        Jericho wasn’t built in a day.

        A popular phrase that [Y/N]’s family members would utter when progression on their side is going slow.

        Excuses.

        Those folks were just afraid, cowards. But [Y/N] would be 

        “Oh, that looks terrible.” [Y/N] commented on Eren’s passed out form. A massive red mark on his forehead, coupled with some of the dirt from the fields. He was being carried by Mikasa — Armin in tow— bridal style. Quite a sight to behold.

        ”Odinson—? What are you doing in the infirmary?” Armin questioned with a small, polite smile.

        Feet on the nurse’s desk and one hand occupied with a book of sorts, the northerner replied, ”What else? Learning more about first aid. You’d think they’d put more emphasis on this type of thing in class.”

        The blond, usually the least stoic person of Eren’s crew, bit his lip. A dark facial expression painted his face. ”Frankly speaking—“

        Armin almost sputtered as [Y/N] turned their eyes on him. There was no denying that they were striking. Exotic. They stood out like bedazzled jewel amongst the crowd. An odd sensation smashed against his being, like those of butterflies violently fluttering and swarming the caverns of his body. It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t bad either. The closest thing he can compare it to was fear mixed with adoration. A raging anxiety.

        Analogous with how a mortal would hold their god.

        He regained his composure and continued, ”A person gets taken by a titan there would be nothing to give aid to.”

        ”That, Mr. Arlert, is a good point.” [Y/N] pouted, setting down the book in their hand unto the table. ”But there are also those who survive but sustain injuries. A sprain could be detrimental in the long run. Get it? Long run? Sprain?”

        Armin replied with a tiny, yet awkward smile that looked incredibly forced from [Y/N]’s perspective. Mikasa does not even budge, attention completely glued on Eren.

        ”You two are no fun.” [Y/N] sighed, removing their feet off of their mentioned resting place and walked over to some cabinets, “I’m guessing Eren here had a make-out session with the floor while practicing?”

        They had predicted this. It was usually the loud and boastful ones that had the most difficulty in training. [Y/N] would know from personal experience.( In fact, they were pleasantly surprised when Jean showed promise on the other hand. )

        That and Raven spotted Mikasa tampering with his belt.

        [Y/N] didn’t mind a little mischief here and there, so they let her be. As long as Eren doesn’t get his beautiful eyes damaged — which would probably happen with how reckless he seemed to be, he’s free real estate.

        They procure some bandages and scissors before bending down unto the now laid down Eren. Fingers lightly caress his injury.

        Eren responds with a slight moan and some movement. [Y/N] hissed.

        ”Oh my…”

        ”Is there something wrong? Is the damage permanent?” Mikasa began asking in a worried fit. Considering that she was the reason why he got his injury in the first place she must have been feeling guilty for her actions. Or not. You never know with Mikasa.

        ”No . . . It’s just that . . . he’s heating up by a lot.”

        No, he wasn’t just heating up, he was steaming, even. Did no one else notice the vapours that left the male’s head?

        “Is that bad?”

        ”Well, it’s not common.” No, this was an absolutely exciting discovery. [Y/N] knew that titans usually steamed up whenever they regenerated their body parts. Was Eren somehow related to that fact? Was he part titan?

        No, that would mean a titan made love to a—

        Well that option has totally been ruled out.

        [Y/N] shook their head, they were getting excited again. They could feel the light current passing through their veins. “Although, he may just be running a fever. Mind if I test out a theory?”

        [Y/N] grabbed a small square guaze and plastered it upon Eren’s heated forehead, almost scalding their callused fingers.

        Mikasa protested, ”I don’t think that’s nearly enough bandages to—“

        [Y/N] does not let her finish, ”Does Eren, throughout his whole life, healed from injuries quickly?”

        ”He did get beaten up a lot prior to Mikasa’s arrival, but he healed in a normal pace…” Armin thought back to the moments prior to the breach of Shinganshina. How he’d been a burden to the pseudo-siblings. 

        How’d it angered him to be so helpless.

        ”Although after the attack…” He noticed that Eren would heal much faster than normal. The brunette being able to survive long periods of time without the need for food, only eating when Mikasa would shove it down his throat.

        Armin and Mikasa shared a look, and the girl asked, ”Do you think Eren might have irregular regenerative abilities?”

        [Y/N] shrugged. Only one way to truly find out. Well, aside from further injuring the poor young adult.

        ”I’ll give him a small patch. If he doesn’t recover by the end of the night we rendezvous here at the infirmary. And if he doesn’t heal up properly, consider this flimsy work of mine to be an act of revenge.”

        ”Revenge?” Armin anxiously asked. Largely thanks to the fear that Mikasa would lash out rather than [Y/N]’s threat.

        ”Eren has been ignoring me the whole day you know? Poor little me kept trying to get his attention but to no avail.” That — was a complete lie, the only place they ever saw him today was on the training grounds when he failed abysmally. 

        ”Al . . . right . . .?” 

        The two probably knew that it was a lie. [Y/N] was hoping they’d correct them and say that he totally had his attention on them all day, but it seemed like they weren’t taking the bait.

        Mikasa sighed. Normally she would result to violent means for Eren’s sake, but if [Y/N]’s theory is true then it would make things a lot more easy for the blackette. A small assurance that would probably accomplish a meager amount, but an assurance nonetheless. ”Doesn’t this place close during night time?” 

        ”That is where this comes in.” [Y/N] dangled a set of keys.

        The look of alarm on their faces was absolutely sensational. [Y/N] commits it to memory before they clarified, ”Why are you guys looking at me like that? The nurse was a romantic, it wasn’t hard to—“

Alarm quickly turned into horrorz

        “I gave her a romance novel, dirty minded fools.” That — was a half a lie. They had given the nurse enough money to buy a romance novel, and way more than that. For free access to all medical equipment and some lessons on how to use said medical equipment. 

        [Y/N] went ahead and helped them all out of the room, ”Now off you go, dinner won’t last long.”

❝

        HOUSE ODIN is a well-off family — that is in itself a part of CLAN JERICHO — in the northern interior ; famous for its active participation in the military for generations. 

         The famous (infamous in some circles) WINGS OF FREEDOM found in the SURVEY CORPS logo was inspired by their house crest. THE RAVEN AND THE CALADRIUS. Although, the SURVEY CORPS changed the latter’s symbolism to a dove, as it is more in line with their goal.

          It is tradition for the heir of such family to bear a modified version of the surname; ODINSON.

❞

        [Y/N] hasn’t seen the outside world for several hours. Raven had occasionally came in to deliver them food, but was forced out and back into training much to her chagrin.

        Their focus was glued into the books of medicine and diagrams of the human anatomy the nurse owned. She said that these books weren’t meant to be hers, but her father, a physician bought them if in case he had a son that could follow his footsteps.

        ”But things didn’t go the way he planned. Mother died soon after I was born. He never loved another.” The nurse, who introduced herself as Blake sighed. “I hate the man, but I had to give it to him. He was loyal. Ah~ so romantic!”

        The bell tolled. It was time to sleep. Blake said her goodbyes and tasked [Y/N] with the job to clean up before they leave.

        A few hours passed, [Y/N] started packing the books they haven’t finished. 

        Three knocks on the door, and it opened. In came the All-Star trainee. The one and only Mikasa.

        ”Ackerman, right?” [Y/N] asked despite knowing her name. She was one of the main topics of gossip after all. The one expected to succeed humanity’s strongest. Not to mention that she was an absolute beauty to behold.

Unfortunate it was that she’s born of peasant blood. Even is she is an Ackerman, one of the prized off-shoots of the Odin bloodline, [Y/N] knew that she wouldn’t beat their current fiancée in terms of viability. Their father was oh so resolute on marrying off to that snake, and with how Mikasa watched over Eren like a bear does their cub, they were sure she wouldn’t be interested in the first place.

        Mikasa nods. [Y/N] looked around her, it seemed that she had arrived alone, “Where’s Eren?”

        ”He left with Armin.” Short and succinct, with no elaboration whatsoever. Mikasa was indeed a dry person. It left little for conversation, but a great deal for [Y/N]’s curiousity.

        Was Mikasa always like this, or did she gain her quiet demeanour after the attack? Was she different when faced with someone close? Closer than Eren? Was a feat such as that even possible?

        So many questions, and so little time in their hands until their inevitable death.

        ”I see . . . How may I help you?”

        ”I was heading towards the dormitory anyways so I thought . . . ”

        [Y/N] licked their lips, a habit they’ve had for as long as they remembered and a nightmare for their assistants back at home. They lean in and half whispered to Mikasa’s ears, ”You wanted to escort me back? How nice of you.”

        ”No.” Well that was harsh. “I wanted to ask you for some more bandages just in case Eren gets hurt tomorrow. The nurse’s office was on the way.”

        ”Geez, you really can’t take a joke.” [Y/N] acted genuinely hurt for one moment, before relaxing and letting out a laugh, “You really care about him, huh?” 

        Mikasa agreed with a bob of her head. He was the world to her and more. Her only family. She wouldn’t be here, alive and breathing, without him.

        [Y/N] bent down and grabbed a white, metal box. They unlock the front and opened it for Mikasa to take a look. It was filled with various first-aid materials. Bandages, gauzes, and disinfectants. Of which Mikasa somewhat knew how to use due to Grisha’s, Eren’s father, work.

        Before she could grab anything [Y/N] closed the box and hid it behind them. “Ah ah. Not until we reach your barracks. I’ve been dying for someone to talk to since Raven’s been busy.”

        That was false. Raven was always there to listen. [Y/N] would never know if she enjoyed their musings, her expressions carefully tucked underneath a completely opaque veil. But, Raven stuck by their side ever since her adoption, never once disappearing for too long. Only leaving when [Y/N] insisted. So even if she didn’t enjoy [Y/N]’s incessant mumbling somehow, it was a package deal she’s forsaken to if she wanted to be by their side.

        [Y/N] wouldn’t be surprised if Raven was just stalking the shadows right at this moment.

        ”You know, I loved someone once.” [Y/N] began breaking the ice between them in an effort to make the whole walk to the barracks less awkward, “She had beautiful, long blonde hair. Whenever I stare at the golden fields during the evenings I am reminded of the time I spent combing through her locks.”

        [Y/N] stared at the faraway fields. The sun had set by that time, all was left was couple of lights and a few carts that could be seen passing by.

        ”And then I found out that she slept with one of my acquaintances, not even once, but on multiple occasions. All while I was out hunting with my brother. Somehow my father knew and he told me.” [Y/N] laughed in a bittersweet manner, returning their focus to the path ahead, “Love is fickle isn’t it? It’s painful yet you still can’t help but indulge it.”

         Mikasa was never one to entertain conversations. She was always the listener, alway’s Eren’s shadow. Always that one intimidating yet beautiful girl that stuck by his side no matter what. The wallflower of the trio from Shinganshina.

        But something made her reply. An instinctual tug. In a hushed volume she asked, ”Where is she now?”

        [Y/N] doesn’t answer, the grin on their face wavered.

        It was then and there when Mikasa figured it all out. Her jaw clenched tightly. Hands strangely ached to wrap itself around their companion in an act of comfort. It was out of character for Mikasa, quite so. She had noticed many things that weren’t usual in the friend group after meeting [Y/N], even without the essential skill called ‘being able to read the room’.

        Eren had it the worst, remaining quiet on most occasions they were together. Staring off towards the sky or the general direction of the interior resident.

         Nevertheless, [Y/N] too had experienced the death of a loved one. Their pain was obvious from the lack of response.

        They stop in front of the women’s barracks and hand Mikasa the pack of first-aid supplies. 

        “This is farewell for now.”

        Indeed, words have a potential to turn into a dagger — sharp enough cut through an individual’s reality. 

        But silence, silence didn’t need to turn into one. 

        It was already embedded deep within [Y/N]’s mind. 

        Twisting, turning —

— 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐘

❝

        Other logos of the Military are also inspired from Houses in the JERICHO CLAN. Namely the IMPERIAL UNICORN of the HOUSE LOKI, and — quite fittingly — the MARTYR’S ROSES of the fallen HOUSE OF NJÖRD.

❞

A/N: THE LAST SECTION OF THE STORY WAS INSPIRED BY THIS PASSAGE FROM THE POETIC EDDA

𝐒𝐈𝐅 :

❝

 Hail too thee, Loki, and take thou here

The crystal cup of old mead;

For me at least, I alone of the gods,

Blameless thou knowest to be.

❞

𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐈 :

❝

Alone thou wert if truly thou wouldst

All men so shyly shun;

But one do I know full well, methinks,

Who had thee from Hlorrithi’s arms 

❞

╰┈➤ (CONTEXT: While Loki was slandering the gods, Sif offers him a cup of mead. 

She says that she alone is blameless among the Aesir(Norse Sky Gods)

Then, Loki just straight up roasts her alive with “I mean you would be but Sif, you literally slept with me behind your husband’s back—“)

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[arcstral]

He feels ill at ease here.

Lumera– Mother had meant well when she'd sent him away. He understands this, else he might not have acquiesced in the first place; reluctant to be separated from the person who had shown him such kindness despite being Father's foremost enemy. Treated like her trueborn child knowing full well they are closer to night and day. But to be alone in a faraway land, even in the interest of his safety now that he has done the previously unthinkable and turned his back on both Father and Gradlon... A metaphorical pit forms in his stomach at the thought.

(This academy's standard of dress bears very similar coloration to his previous attire. He has yet to decide whether it is a comfort or an unfortunate reminder of the past he has only just left behind.)

Alear freezes in his tracks. Cautious stoicism nearly falling away in an instant as scarlet eyes glimpse the all-too familiar shade of brilliant azure in his periphery, gloved fingers instinctually feeling for a ring that is most assuredly still with its siblings in Lythos before daring to venture closer. It couldn't possibly be...

And indeed it is not– not Emblem Marth, that is. The man in question is solid. Tangible. Absent of the aura emitted by a spiritual form, with his feet planted firmly upon the earth. But the visage is undeniably his regardless of these facts. He is the Hero-King, in the flesh. Even if the how and why are reasons unknown to a once-tool of the Fell Dragon.

Blue suits him far better than red ever had, Alear thinks.

"Marth. That is your name, is it not? ... You remind me very much of someone else. I couldn't help but stare."

               '—I'm afraid your path has chosen you.'

               At fourteen years of age with two feet clapped over the threshold between child and man, the words of Malledus tipped him over that fateful edge. In the context of a different land known as Archanea- submerged so thickly in unremitting war one could not see the future- it meant that Marth need fulfill his utmost duty and meet the darkness ahead without turning back for Elice; in the more merciful context of this one, Fòdlan, it means only that fate possesses a curious way of bringing two people together. Just as much as it might acquaint a princeling with the clauses of his lifetime onus, it nudges him ever so mysteriously toward a fellow who stirs him into longing before they might exchange a single word.

              Time slows as if caught in the neck of a funnel. Losing all speed and elasticity as his eyes raise to meet a young man stopped in his tracks; a sight that makes Marth freeze in tandem. He blinks, appraising the strange feelings collecting beneath his skin. The hall isn't totally empty at this hour and life continues on; it wheels past two men, two strangers who rebuff the courteous etiquette of assimilating into a crowd. At last Marth shakes his head, casting off the haze and stepping their conversation to the side. "Indeed... and I believe I know your name as well. You are Alear, the recently arrived Divine Dragon Monarch from Elyos. Another one at that."

               Red to the west and blue to the east divvies the head before him into two territories. Already that sight is familiar. His eyes travel down instinctively to the other's vacant hand as if in expectation of something; as if to sight the band of sapphire-encrusted gold that twisted around another finger; but the Alear that stands before him is different from the woman that shares his colors. Even the flickering shadows and solid planes of his face.  

              "In that vein, I must confess I am the same. If you do not mind my saying so; you also remind me of someone. The girl who arrived before you under the same name. Like her, your words suggest our acquaintance beyond my memory of the fact; beyond my understanding." The steadiness of the Hero-King nevertheless points to his adjustment, that he is not entirely shocked at the insinuations or even the point-blank declarations of his adjacency to a spirit sharing his face and name. To deny the truth would run him ragged, it is easier for a human mind simply to believe; to adapt beneath a crushing weight rather than reject it; but he cannot deny the element of bias that accompanies his acceptance as well.

               Because standing before the one known as Alear feels proper, but more importantly, it feels right. Like a friend he has been waiting a thousand years to receive, the sight of this calm young ruler puts him at rest for reasons that deny logic or sense. He cannot help the idea; if a fateful path has chosen Marth, then it is this meeting that has chosen them. "But no matter. Even if that should be the case, memories are but memories..." Words of acquiescence and friendship flow as easily as water for the fact, falling into old steps, forging new ones, on the offering of a solid hand warm to the touch. A warm crinkling of two blue eyes at their corners as fingers overlap in friendly betrothal. Engaged.

               "—Bonds can be reforged time and time again. That is the welcome way of things is it not, Alear? Welcome to Garreg Mach."