#how to heal wounds faster naturally

[dolivia]

How to Quickly Heal a Wound Naturally With These 7 Methods?

Visit our website to learn how to heal wounds faster and naturally. Find out how to encourage your wounds' natural healing and recovery.

[animeyanderelover]

Could you write another lover massaging the yanderes but with Levi Ackerman, Annie, Ash, Sebastian, Yui and Angel Devil(with some sort of clothing covering him probably or another solution you can think of) ?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, mentions of self-harm in Ash's part, mentions of sexual assault and scars in Yui's part

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz @shumidehiro @cachamata

Receiving a massage from their s/o

Sebastian Michaelis

🐈‍⬛​Oh~? What do we have here? The level of smugness emitting from this man as soon as you offer to massage him after a particularly stressful day in the Phantomhive manor is unmatched, red eyes regarding you with a mixture of arrogance yet also fondness. This man teases you so much about your offer, especially if you didn't have the fondest opinion of him at the beginning. Still, he would never deny any physical contact with his mate, especially if his darling is the one initiating it. Still, as long fingers slowly remove every piece of clothing from his torso you can't ignore the suggestive gleam in his eyes. Quite honestly, the way he undresses in itself is almost inappropriate for some reason and the more you can't help but stare the more suggestive it seems to get. You're certainly nowhere as good as he is and for the first few moments his perfectionistic nature gets the better of him as he corrects you teasingly where to touch him to make him feel good. After a while he falls silent though and just enjoys the touch of his mate, the occasional growl of enjoyment escaping his chest which catches you off-guard the first few times.

Ash Landers

▫️​The thought of that much skinship almost has the angel feeling dizzy as soon as you offer him to massage him. You do not owe him anything at all, he doesn't mind the stress and frustration he feels with such a rotten world as he does it all for you. You actually need a good few minutes before he caves in, your impending disappointment and sadness much more painful for him than his principles. He gets quite flustered as he removes his clothes though, soon followed by a wave of shame as soon as he reveals some of the wounds he has inflicted himself when not feeling good enough for you which haven't faded away despite him healing faster than humans. Honestly, he's terrified. His heart is pounding against his chest, constantly worried that you will criticise him somehow which makes him exceptionally stiff as soon as you start. That tension remains for quite a while though soon you also notice that he's trying to stiffle groans or any other sinful sounds whenever you find a good spot. His pale cheeks quickly take on a pink hue, one he doesn't want you to see as he tries to hide his face. The moment he finally does relax he finds himself tearing up, touched by your kindness.

Annie Leonhardt

💗​There has to be an already established trust between her and you or otherwise Annie won't feel comfortable enough with your suggestion. She is in need of some relaxation though considering that she is constantly brooding over everything that has happened. Initially she denies you though after some awkward seconds of thick silence have passed by between her and you. Do not pester her too much or else she will get irritated and rude, do it the right way so that she doesn't feel annoyed. Once you have managed to convince her that she should try to relax for once and that you just want to treat her well Annie is doing her best to hide how flustered she actually is deep down behind her cold facade. Her control flips away though the more layers of clothes she removes until there is a dust of pink on her cheeks. Still, she is very tense and constantly steals glances at you once you start touching her as she isn't quite used to being so vulnerable with someone. Convincing her to relax and loosen up takes a while, all her muscles stiff as if she feels the need to be on alert. Once she slowly learns how to unravel a bit she stops her cautious glances and just silently enjoys the experience.

Levi Ackerman

⚔️​Levi struggles to be openly vulnerable after all the tragedies he had to experience throughout his life and you could almost say that it low-key scares him to reveal that much of his heart and thoughts to his darling. Whilst he doesn't outright denies you when you offer him a massage there is still a long pause as you can see the hesitation and conflict deep within his eyes. He struggles with the idea of being so defenseless, of having that amount of physical contact he probably hasn't experienced since he was a baby and held in the arms of his mother. Needless to say, he's awkward and conflicted even once he complies. There is that fleeting look he gives you once he unbuttons his shirt and reveals his battle-damaged torso to you as if he wants to gauge if there is any hint of shock or unease on your face in which case he would instantly stop this idea. He flinches the first few times you touch his body before he forces himself to stay still yet it still takes him quite a while before he slowly allows himself to relax a tad bit more and to loosen up his tense muscles. It's a strange sensation though, a level of comfort he isn't quite used to as he just bathes in the soothing silence between the two of you.

Komori Yui

💎​Normally Yui latches on to every bit of affection her darling gives her, especially after everything she went through. However, she is quite hesitant when you ask her if you could give her a massage. There a bite marks all over her body from whenever someone from the Sakamaki or Mukami brothers sucked her blood against her will and it elicits feelings of shame and insecurity awake within her. She's worried that you may find those scars ugly which is why she finds herself having a hard time agreeing to it. It needs reassurance from your side until she agrees. There are still doubts within her mind and even though you assure her that she doesn't need to feel pressured Yui does as you tell her simply because she is deep down scared that she'll lose you otherwise. Trembling fingers still give away how much she is still in distress as she undresses even if she does her best to act like she is fine with it. None of that fear is directed against you though which is why she is begging you to continue whenever you ask her if it's really alright for her. She feels bad for the way her muscles tense and tremble even after she finally relaxes, her body finally recognising you as her safe haven.

Angel Devil

👼​Angel Devil finds himself tilting his head, expressing some concerns regarding his abilities to steal the lifespan of those who touch him. Some part of him is still mildly interested to know what massage feels like as he has heard occasionally about all the therapies and the advantages of it. Now, ususally he isn't a fan of being ordered around too much due to his lazy nature but he makes exceptions for his darling. The only thing he insists on is that you cover your own hands as well as his back to avoid any skin contact. Honestly, he has zero ideas of what to expect despite what he has heard in the past as he just lays down, putting an amount of trust in you he very rarely grants other people. The sensation of being touched, even if only through layers of clothing, in such unfamiliar and intense ways catches even him by surprise though for the first few moments. As soon as he has categorised the sensation as pleasant though he lets you carry on whilst he just enjoys the fact that he has to do nothing at all and can just enjoy this massage. Angel Devil finds himself more than once dozing off between sessions, lazy eyes opening before closing once more.

[howtofightwrite]

So I have a character that heals faster than normal. Nothing like Wolverine, where he basically gets stabbed and although it hurts, he keeps rolling because he'll heal in 5 seconds. Or even Deadpool who can regrow limbs. My character would heal way slowlier. Where maybe a wound that would take someone a week to recover from would take them a day.

But my problem is that, determining the speed of the healing process in comparison to the wounds. Someone like Wolverine and Deadpool have their healing abilities cranked up to a 10, which makes it easier to write imo. When mine is dialed up to a 4 or 5, how do I determine the healing speed and keep it consistent with each wound, even if they're all different from each other? Especially with deadly wounds. I hope that makes sense.

It's not that Wolverine and Deadpool's regenerative abilities are, “cranked up to 10,” those operate strictly under, “the power of plot compels thee!” There's nothing inherently wrong with that approach, but it can cause problems down the line. (At this point, it's functionally impossible to kill Wolverine because he's been shown to be able to regenerate from any surviving tissue. Which does make it a little harder to hold him up as being in significant peril.)

So, really, the question becomes, “how fast do you want your character to heal?” “What can they recover from?” And, “how realistic do you want to be?”

In a lot of cases, you can look up projected medical recovery times from injuries. This is usually calculated around a healthy adult (18-35), and will increase as you get older. Or as other health factors slow your ability to heal.

It's pretty easy to take wound recovery estimates and just divide them by a fixed value. So, for example, recovery from a minor gunshot wound is estimated at a few weeks, so if your character heals 7 times faster than a normal human, then they'd be back up and going in a few days. If you want, you can pretty much stop there.

This practice of looking up how long it takes to recover from a given injury will also apply to a lot of those mortal wounds. It doesn't matter how horrific the injury is, someone has probably lived through it.

The question of what they can recover from is a little more involved.

On one end, you have the normal limitations of a character who can only recover from injuries they'd be able to naturally heal from. While in other cases (like broken bones or severed tendons) they'd still need significant medical attention, even if the resulting recovery times would be dramatically reduced. On the other end, you might have a situation where these kinds of injuries can self correct with minimal assistance from your character (and no, formal, medical assistance.)

Then there's the question of being able to regenerate lost limbs. That is biologically possible, and in fact young children can regrow lost digits, though the ability to do so genetically shuts off as we age.

At the same time, humans cannot heal off nerve or spinal damage. Again, this is biologically possible, but the ability is genetically shut down. (In this case, it's theorized because scarring on the nerves could result in horrific issues down the line.)

Ironically, one of Wolverine's more plausible powers is his biological immortality. If his healing factor regenerates his telomeres (which, again, is quite possible. In the real world, some cancer cells exhibit this behavior already), then that would mean that he is not subject to the Hayflick limit. The Hayflick limit is the number of times an individual cell in your body can undergo mitosis, and once it's expended, when the cell dies, it cannot be replaced. In a very real sense, the Hayflick limit, and telomere shortening are what causes biological aging. Regenerating the telomeres would mean that a cell could, potentially, undergo mitosis an indefinite number of times. So, if a character's regenerative abilities do prevent telomere shortening, it's likely that they would be biologically immortal.

If your character's regenerative abilities can restore brain damage fast enough, it might also be impossible for your character to die from bloodloss. So, this probably needs a little more explanation. Bleeding to death is, really, just suffocation with extra steps. Blood is critical for getting oxygen to the brain, and when your cardiovascular system can't do so (for example, because someone's punched too many holes in it) then your brain asphyxiates and dies. With a fast enough healing factor, your character would literally immune to death from bloodloss. (And, you'd probably need to tap them in the head to kill them.)

How fast does that regeneration need to be? I'm honestly not sure. Brain death tends to occur within a few minutes of lack of oxygen to the brain.

This also creates a related potential outcome, depending on whether or not their regenerative abilities shut down when they died. If their abilities are dependent on them being alive, so killing them is enough, then that's normal. However, if their healing persists after brain death (which can happen, as some autonomic functions can continue after death, at least, for a little while), killing them could easily see them regaining consciousness some time after the lethal injury was inflicted, with most of the damage having been regenerated.

One final consideration (and one that doesn't happen that often with superheroes) is the consideration of how you actually fuel all of this. Regenerating an arm is going to require a lot of energy, and your character's going to need to get that from somewhere. Whether they're literally pulling in power from some fixed source (as with the early Spawn comics), or if they just have an implausibly aggressive appetite for food. They will need to get the energy from somewhere. Again, there isn't really a correct answer here, just an answer that fits the story you want to tell. (A fixed power source, like Spawn's, does give you a lot of room to have healing at the speed of plot while still maintaining tension. Or, at least it did, until the countdown was removed.) Of course, if they do run out of energy to fuel their healing ability, that probably means it will fall off, though it could potentially kill them in the process.

One legitimate concern over running out of juice would be scurvy like symptoms, which causes previously healed wounds to reopen. It's pretty horrifying, but might be a way to inject some serious tension into the story, if you've set up the rules to support it.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[cloudnineminusnine]

mirroring the wrinkle you got between your brows he watches quietly while you're tying his wounded hand. "there you go." with a content smile you finish binding it properly, inspecting one last time to see if it's not too tight on him, if it won't hurt. in reflex he retracts his furry fingers to the palm, closing his hand to show you that it's not restraining his moves at all. "good boy!" it slips so naturally from your lips that you don't even grasp at it, too immersed in the moment, enjoying the closeness as much as possible.

he clearly wasn't prepared enough to have you so close to him, close in a intoxicating way. your touch on him is so delicate and yet it lingers strongly on his skin, and then your eyes... your pretty eyes... whenever you met his gaze they were filled of admiration and kindness, so beautifully expressive. but on top of that, your sweet low voice still echoes in his mind, it felt so different to have you talking him through it in such a calm tone, and that good boy wasn't much help to soothe him, it only made things worse actually. he needs you to praise him more.

before his thoughts wandered even far your voice tickle his attentive ears once again. "just one more thing and i'm done." you're holding his bandaged hand in both yours and they're really small in comparison — the finding spreads a chilling sensation to the pit of his stomach. how good would it feel do have them on his face? he wonders, dreamy. you then bring his hand to your lips and his surprised eyes follow, a sudden gasp leaving his mouth. "to make sure it will heal faster!" you declare before the warm touch of your lips caress the back of his hand in a tiny peck.

from his astonished face to the limits of his clothing a red flush runs wildly, tickling his naturally rosy skin intensely. the agitated heart flutters resonating through his blushy ears, almost deafening at this point. how come you always caught him off guard? it sure is something that's naturally in you, that's just who you are, lovely and clingy with zero shame on it, but when it comes to him it seems like you get way more intense, as if you're wanting to tell him something through your actions, something even you find hard to put in words.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can we please get "getting carried after an injury" with Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers and Hooide please.

Getting carried after an injury (Jason and Michael)

I'll do hoodie in a separate post! I dont like meshing fandoms together, wanna keep them neat and separate in Masterlists

Notes: reader is GN, reader is the one injured

CWs: injuries but nothing you wouldn't see in source/more tame than source

JASON

first of all, hes looking over you to make sure youre okay enough to be picked up before he even takes you off of the ground... even in some of his more "kinder" traps, they still leave nasty damage.. and you just so happened to get caught in one of them

feels so so guilty as he walks you to the cabin... he wants to go faster but hes scared jostling you around may make things worse somehow, even if logically it might not make sense

doesnt matter how big you are or how youre built, jason is built like a brick house- you weigh as much as a bag of grapes to him/ref

so so gently puts you down, either letting you crawl off of his back or letting you down out of his arms- depending on how you needed to be carried! it mostly depends on the nature of your injury and your comfort

absolute king, doing his very best while paying attention to your needs and comforts, and he's going to be at your beck and call while youre healing

MICHAEL

he picks you up- if he needs to hes going to sling you over his shoulder, at least until youre somewhere more secure where he can look over you without any interruptions

shows little resistance or struggle as he carries you from point A to point B, and if he can he will keep you slung over his shoulder, hes already laser focused on getting where you both need to be that he sees little point in stopping to change your position

you had followed him out after he "told" (stared at you intensely while saying no words) you to stay home, and you ended up getting hurt by someone trying to make a run for it away from him

not at all pleased and you can see his knuckles have turned white as he passes you a rag to press into your wound

not phased by your blood... sure it makes him feel weird to look at your blood specifically- in multiple ways- but he'd rather get a handle on it

[thatfrailsoul]

– Parts of me that I seek in you

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

When we strive to connect, to know someone... There are many different reasons for which our heart calls more for one person than the other. The appearance, the ways, their mind or heart, their actions or deepest goals and desires... No matter what it is, there is always that something that makes them shine in the darkness that surrounds us. And, very often, that something is the same as the one that we lost, can't find in ourselves... So we desperately look for it in others. With such perseverance and obsessive need that, sometimes, we allow it to lead us to those that perhaps, at the end, we would've preferred to not meet.

So what is it? What you miss in yourself but so desperately need? Where or when did you lose it? And where and how can you finally find that missing piece?

Slow down for a moment. Breathe. Listen to your heart, to its rhythm. Allow it to speak to you. And choose the image that seems so familiar, so similar to what you feel. Remembering that, whatever the message might be, you are free to listen to it or to let go. Without the need to make it fit. Because your true answer will always find you, the moment you will be really ready and will have the need.

_

– Pile One,

the star, the ten of cups and the fool.

Your poor and innocent soul... Your tired heart, your consumed mind... The only thing you ever wanted, the one that you wanted back then, was simply to leave it all behind. All that pain, all that fear. All the reasons why you couldn't ever be enough or right for someone, for anyone, that for once you just desired to don't hear... You found the last bits of your strength, patience and courage, all that remained in your shattered heart. And you used them to try to heal. All those numerous wounds, so many that it just feels like a whole and single, draining, torturing, one.

But what did it give you, in exchange of this incredible resilience to try to heal? Only a little relief, a little distraction... That hid that hole that was becoming bigger and bigger, with each time that you worked on - or to be exact forced - the healing of your soul.

And this is the thing. This is what ruined it all, what made it so difficult and challenging. What influenced so many others areas of your life... One little but so important detail about who you are, the way you are. And how much you got used in this life to beat yourself up, blaming for every single disgrace that you experienced... How often you repeated it, demonstrated it to yourself with every step that was supposed to help you heal. You never were gentle, patient, understanding. You never gave yourself credit for how many right things and choices you made. Or how many others mistakes never were really yours, but of somebody else. You did none of this. But only focused on rushing, on becoming better, on healing faster, growing, so you could be sooner worthy and ready to show what a good person you are to this world. You were angry, frustrated, ashamed. You despised yourself for needing healing and learning in the first place. You regretted every single additional day that you needed to get it together. Only noticing how many flows you still have, how many wounds are still bleeding, how many triggers you still can't endure.

Your desire, your intention, was so good... So innocent, genuine and truly right. But so quickly and scarily naturally it became just another cage and punishment that you gave yourself. Changing the whole purpose, the whole meaning, of a journey that is so pure. That was never supposed to be so rushed, give you so quickly those results that now you are so angry to don't see manifesting in your world... And that you decided, unconsciously or perhaps not, to look for in others. The ones that seem so beautiful, so healthy and whole. The ones that seem to go through life so gracefully, no matter the obstacles or challenges on their path. The ones that seem to be able to influence you so positively, if only you stay close to them, showing you the right ways and directions. Supporting you, helping you in doing it correctly, like you seem incapable of doing on your own.

But, no matter how much we adore to think the opposite, we indeed are the only ones responsible for our journey. For our battles, our victories or our loss. No matter how supportive, how close others are, they still can't really help us. Not when we don't allow even our own self to do the needed work. You can't fight through it, not this journey. You can't do it with the only motivation and push being your own meanness, judgment and resentement for the things that you dared to do or not. You can't be there, behind your own back, looking closely at every your step and action, ready to attack if you don't do it right.

But you can allow yourself to take more time. To be slower. To make more mistakes. To feel once again that pain, if it's the one that still overwhelms your heart. You can remember. You can reflect. Learn something from it. Or maybe not. Because it is normal, it is right, to take time to heal, to go through it with all the needed ups and downs.

And you can still do it. You can continue this journey changing your pace and rhythm, or simply starting from scratch. You can and need to do it. Because no-one else can help and guide you, as you can do to your own self. By being gentle and understanding with your heart and mind, that indeed do their best to allow you to feel and experience this life.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Two,

the magician, the fool and the page of swords

You have something so beautiful, so unique, within yourself. Such passion that, if not explored and shared, can consume you inevitably. Consume that power that you sometimes forget to have. So you always took care of it. You always nourished it. In the moments when it felt as natural as breathing, and even in those where it was too similar to a torture, that need to create and do something but without any idea on why, how to start or from where. And even if, thanks to you and your deepest love, this passion and calling did survive... It is starting to fade now. Submerged with all the questions and doubts about whether or not it is worth it, if you are good enough to do it at all, if it is really that important... All because for quite sometime you were the only admirer and supporter of your work.

You are wavering, your steps and actions as you create become more and more unstable, as every inspiration or idea seems not enough to be worthy of the success, even just appreciation that you want. But this something... Is so yours, so made perfectly just for you and to express your soul... That you can't really just leave it. You can't just stop doing it, even if it is becoming hard to be satisfied as you used to, because you so naturally always gravitate back to creating and allowing your mind and heart to speak up through every step of your work. So you keep going, with a non consistent rhythm, many set backs, infinite doubts... Doing it, because you feel this need and desire so much. But not really enjoying it anymore. Because in the eyes of others it never seems good enough, and therefore it doesn't feel enough for your own self. For the one that, in the first place, you were supposedly creating it for.

It is so natural and normal to have the desire to share, to welcome others in your universe in a sense, to show them who you are or how you see this world... But what starts so innocently and genuinely, a way to connect to others and don't feel so different or not understood, an alternative type of motivation and fuel for your creativity even... is so often soon to become exactly what kills it, overwhelming your every idea with the judgment of others, and their way of seeing the world.

It just shifted your perspective, about yourself and your work. It made you feel little, insignificant, too simple or too much, confronted to what others seem to consider deserving and worthy of their attention and love. It made you feel useless, because when your creation was ignored, you felt like what was really being rejected was your soul that spoke through your work.

And time after time, day after day, this calling became so faint, almost non existent. Not because it is really going away... But because you are just the one that tries so desperately to ignore it and to not hear it. Convinced that following it would be useless, without anyone appreciating and admiring what you do. Convinced that doing it for your own self and enjoyment is not really worth it, because it doesn't give you any income, any fame, any support and appreciation from others. Convinced that it is only and simply a waste of time.

But is it? Is it really completely useless if you are the only one to whom you dedicate the creations of your soul? Or does it give you a chance to feel and experience this world in your own way, processing those emotions and thoughts, reinventing them? Does it give you back the ability to breathe and feel at ease, once you allow everything that overwhelms you flow out through your work? Does it fill your time with excitement and enjoyment? Does it give you a safe place, that allows you to rest and hide from everything else? Does it make you feel proud of who you are and what you did, what you were able to create with your own mind and hands? Because even if it does only one of these things... Than it is worth it. Because this is what gives you the energy and fuel to live this life, to appreciate it, to go through it. Having something that always protects and expresses your soul.

You can't do only what assures you the interest or appreciation of others. You can't do it for so long as you are planning or trying to do. You can't do it without constantly feeling on autopilot, thrown from one work to another, trying to satisfy every one of them in hopes that in return they will support your work. It is not true to you. It is not what you want or need. It is not even something that you can do, the things that they want. It is only a play, of which you are trying to learn all the phrases and rhythm, but that you can keep up with only for so long.

This life is not unfair, wrong, useless, a constant and neverending annoying and painful cycle. But it is this way for you, who doesn't have anymore that tiny but vital component - the language of your soul. You are suppressing it, you are limiting it and judging. For what? For whom? For what reason? This is not something that needs to be enough or good for others. It is not something that needs to give you incredible success, wealth or recognition. It can, but before any of that it needs only to be something that you enjoy. Truly and simply.

You don't need to find new ideas, ways, hobbies, interests, sports, studies, paths to explore - you just need to comeback to what you already know that you love. And welcome it in your Iife, starting doing it again and more. Just for your own fun and enjoyment, that will overflow from your heart to every other aspect of your life. Connecting everything, and making it free from the torture of unsatisfaction and frustration that you endure.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Three,

the devil, the justice and the star

Sometimes we cross paths with those that perhaps we weren't meant to be with, we weren't meant to create and have the same story as the one we desired and pictured so well. It happens. It hurts. Then, eventually, it goes away. But when it happens again and again, one person after another... One betrayal, lie or misunderstanding after the other... How can one not notice the one element that connects them all - themselves? How can one not think, even in the slightest, that perhaps it is not working out because of who and how they are?

So one dives into it, tries to remember every single moment, analyse their own ways, with the desperate need to find that wrong something and change it, making everything in themselves right again. With the need to demonstrate that it is something that can be changed and that it won't be this way forever. That they can and will be better, more worthy, more right, and for this reason chosen by someone. And perhaps they do find it, that something, they work on it day and night, fight their own demons and who they are, and come out of it brand new. They put themselves out there, open up to people and try genuinely to connect... And then it happens all over again. The same pain, confusion, uncertainty, doubts, betrayal or a broken heart. But they did the work right? They changed, or did they not? And there it goes the fear of not being worthy no matter what, of being destined to loneliness and hurt, or perhaps of not doing enough. And some collapse, they hide, and try with all their forces to make themselves enough, to not need anyone else in their life. While others... Others don't say it out loud. Don't think about it. Hide it deep down. And try to make things work no matter what it means to accept and endure, just to not have yet another person leaving them behind.

And you... You are doing it right now. With them, or with others in your life. Subtly, unconsciously, you force yourself to stay. No matter the words you hear, the actions you see, the promises that you know are already broken and mean nothing to the person by your side. You stay. Because walking away might mean that there never will be someone else, that you will be the only one you will have.

It is difficult and painful to think about being somehow different and wrong, never enough. It is even more difficult to try to work on it and change yourself. It is difficult to face not only the pain but also the loneliness. To feel that fear of living this way forever creeping on you with each day. So staying, trying to be more understanding, patient, docile, considerate, delicate, silent and comfortable for others... Seems indeed less difficult and scary, because in return they too will stay. Even when it is clear that you are torturing and consuming yourself. Even when you so clearly and surely know that the way you are treated is not okay at all. All for that acceptance, that tiny affection, even if not genuine. All for those things that you think you will never be able to find in yourself, and might not find once the people that are now in your life will not be here anymore. A void that, perhaps, won't ever be filled with another person, with another connection or love.

But by convincing yourself to adapt to others and what they look for or don't love... You did exactly that one thing that will not allow people who are genuinely interested in you to come closer. Not when that place in your life is already occupied by another someone. Not when you show so ardently and persistently that the way you are treated is what you want.

A right person - the one that is interested in you exactly the way you are, not less not more - even when so close to you to see you... Will never be able to do something, to help you, to take you out of this play pretend and torture... Because no one can do what should start from you, what you should be ready to finally to do: to protect yourself, t be treated right, to be loved and appreciated for the way you are.

It is safe, please believe me. It is safe for you to be who you are. It is safe for you to don't accept scraps of love and attention from others. It is safe if you walk away from those who can't find that one thing they want in you, who is already perfectly fine and enough. It is safe for you to don't force it. It is safe for you to let them all go. Because the space they will leave behind them is not something so negative as you convince yourself to be. It is not a sign of loss. It is only more space for your own self to grow, to bloom, to be who you are. To shine so proudly and brightly and to be seen by those who will notice and love you. And not the ways you can adapt to someone elses need, desire or mood.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

_

[duskier]

Actually solemn knight Ghost who took a vow of silence after he wasn't able to save his clan leader.

The late Lord Cailean MacTavish had taken Simon in when he was a young boy. Had trained him to be a skilled soldier, fed him, vouched for him to others despite the reputation Simon's father, the late Riley patriarch, had sewn. Even sent money to Simon's mother to allow her to live comfortably all the way to her natural end. When the young Simon saw Cailean fall in the midst of the chaos of battle, his entire world rotted away. It felt like losing his father all over again- no, it felt like truly losing his father. And he couldn't help but entirely blame himself. If only he'd been faster... he should have sacrificed himself. Stepped in front of the spear and let it pierce his own heart. The world wouldn't have missed Simon Riley, but the loss of Cailean MacTavish was a scar upon the land that would not heal for generations.

For all intents and purposes, Simon Riley died the day Cailean MacTavish did.

Ghost who then spent his entire life protecting the young Lord John MacTavish after. Ghost, who was dark, broody, quiet. John, the bright-eyed, intelligent trickster son who didn't fully understand, who didn't know the vow of silence Ghost had taken or the guilt that weighed heavier than the world on Ghost's shoulders. John always trying to get Ghost to speak, even to make a noise. They were only a decade apart in age, but John's playfulness and Ghost's stoicism made it seem like they were leages apart.

Ghost fighting to keep John safe above all else if only in memory of his father, though Cailean's advisors Lord Price and Lady Laswell were always planning for the clan's future- vying for the throne. They only wanted what was best for John, the glory of the throne, but Ghost knew it would only bring danger. His nightmares of reliving Cailean's ashen face twisted and morphed into seeing John's face looking up at him instead.

John had grown into a fine man. Athletic, handsome, sharp as a nail. He doesn't remember his father as well as Ghost does, but he feels the weight of his need to finish his father's dream- to secure the throne for his clan. Ghost wants to break the vow of silence then and there just to convince him how stupid the idea is, how it could get him killed before he's even turned 25. He doesn't.

Ghost wasn't just taking care of John as a service to Cailean anymore. John talked to Ghost incessantly. While some had taken to mocking Ghost as a means to goad him into speaking, John had grown into speaking to Ghost as an equal. Sharing little jokes, his eyes sparkling as he watched Ghost chuckle dryly. John took care of Ghost, oftentimes feeding him before himself. John's big heart was part of what made Ghost ultimately realize he had fallen for him. Which only made Ghost more concerned about this fight for the throne. He could live with never telling John how he felt, staying by his side as his loyal companion as John would marry a beautiful maiden and have children... but he couldn't live in a world without John in it.

Against all odds, John succeeds.

Ghost lost a lot in his protection of John. His left arm was burned while saving John from a fire, his nerves shot and tendons frayed. He couldn't raise it above his shoulder anymore. Ragged scars ran the other side of his face, fighting off an assassin with a knife. One of his legs was weaker than the other, an arrow wound to the thigh he never properly healed from. Still, he remained the most steadfast and feared soldier.

They were always seen together, John always talking to Ghost. On the day of John's coronation, Ghost breaks his vow- no. His vow is fulfilled. Cailean's dream accomplished, his son seated upon the throne. It was like a knot in Ghost's stomach that had lived there for years finally untwisted, released at the sight of the crown atop John's proud head. Before everyone, Ghost held John's hand in his own. Kneeling before who he believed to be the true and rightful king. The love of his life. Vowing with a voice hoarse from disuse that he would continue to protect and honor King John until his final breath.

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1433

Finale II - part 1/3 (Agatha X Reader X Rio ending):

Everything happened too fast for anyone to realize it, including you.

When you pushed Agatha out of the way, you were prepared to get harmed if it meant saving her but when you felt the blade digging itself into your skin; you could not help but look at Rio with a surprised look.

Your own momentum almost sent you to the ground, but you managed to remain on your weak legs, hands quickly moving to your chest as you felt the familiar handle of Rio's blade.

Thank your lucky stars, it was not deep enough to reach your hand but it was deep enough to draw blood; the dark blade alone working as a barrier and only allowed little bit of blood to escape with each passing second.

Your eyes grew wider, the feeling of your warm blood against your fingers and the fact that you had been stabbed; made your heart beat faster and your legs to give up.

Thankfully, Billy was quick to catch you and help you lean against him; his eyes filled with fear at the sight of the knife lodged into your chest.

"No, no, no..." he repeated in a low whisper, fearing he would lose you right there, and he was not ready for it.

Agatha had just recovered from the forceful push, only to see you almost collapsing; Rio's knife in your chest. She paled at the sight, almost losing the earth beneath her feet, and rushed to your side to check that you were alright.

She did not even care that she turned her back on Rio or that she could be attacked, her primary concern being you.

She didn't get attacked, for Rio also had to step back and process what was going on.

When she attacked Agatha's blind spot with the dagger, she never went with the intention of killing her. Harming her was her original plan, drawing some blood and firing Billy to surrender himself.

Then, she would heal her former lover and continue like normal.

So when you chose to play it as a hero and interfere, she did not expect it. She didn't manage to pull back her attack, and now her blade was stuck in you.

Rio tried to approach, for she was the only one that could heal you, and she was not going to let you die like this.

Her intentions were read wrong as both Billy and Agatha went into the defensive. Purple and blue magic glowed brightly as a warning that they would not hesitate to blast Rio if she dared to come closer.

"Stay away! You did this to her!" Billy shouted, anger rising within as tears threatened to escape.

Rio got annoyed and wounded by his words. She was trying to help to save you, and yet she was treated like the bad guy; again.

"I did nothing." She said, trying to salvage her pride and not show how she felt being treatead like the villain when she was anything but that. "She was never meant to be here,"

Billy looked at Rio, trying to understand her motives and if she was lying. "What are you talking about?" He questioned. "Her name was on the paper Lilia wrote!"

Rio felt amused by the naive nature of the teenager. "Did you see it? Are you so sure about it?" She asked, and Billy looked at Agatha, but she avoided his gaze; something she did when guilty. "She brought her into this, and it looks like what happened now!" Rio pointed a finger at Agatha.

If Agatha had just accepted the rule bending Rio did for her, if she had accepted Nicky's passing... all this wouldn't have happened.

If Agatha had not pulled you into this crazy road for a second time. If she had not stubbornly tried to keep you close when you were not meant to be present... you wouldn't be fighting for your life.

Agatha did not have the courage to look at anyone, especially you. She never told anyone that your name was not on the paper, and she was surprised Lilia didn't either.

But as she saw you on your knees, a knife in your chest... she felt guilty. And as she fought back this foul emotion... her mind brought back a certain memory of her haunted, painful past.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《《 Flashback 》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》

It was a sunny and warm day, early spring, but it did feel as if summer was far closer. Agatha liked this weather, not too cold or hot.

Nicky did, too, for he had the chance to run and roll and play amongst hundreds of flowers. Dandelions, though, were always his favourites.

That particular day, Agatha and Nicky were walking down a familiar path; travelling between towns. Nicky's little goat was tied and following close behind, trying to stop occasionally to eat some of the flowers and grass.

"Mamma," Nicky started and glanced at Agatha, who was once again busy reading. "Why doesn't Aunt Y/N join us on the travels?"

Agatha flipped a page on her little book but did steal a glance at her son. His bright, innocent eyes were so empathic and deep, capable of seeing through anyone's soul.

"Because her path is solitary. This is her choice."

Agatha couldn't really explain to her young son the complex relationships she had with you or what drove your decisions.

She couldn't really explain how you did not wish to kill other witches or just travel the world, faking one lie after the other to get the sympathy of fellow witches just to kill them.

And she sure couldn't explain how often you did this, choosing to stay back and suffice with simple short visits. But that satisfied you, it kept you alive and Agatha always had.someone she could turn to if she needed help.

"But she seemed so sad to let us go," Nicky commented, glancing forward and slightly down as he rememered the sad smile you gave him the day you both had to say goodbye; for now. "I wish she could join us, so we can be all three together."

Agatha did not comment, but her son's words did put her in deep thoughts. Truthfully, she had asked you to join her her a couple of times, even before little Nicky was born, but you bad politely refused.

She thought over the idea you, her, and Nicky could form a trio coven, even though her son had no magic.

《《《《《《《《《《《《《 Present Time 》》》》》》》》》》》》》

In the present, Agatha came to realize something important. Every time you had chosen not to join her, you had remained alive and safe.

Yet this one time you took the risk and joined her, You were so close to dying; and she would never admit it out loud, but she was at fault.

Rio's words, now, hurt more than ever, and she glared at her former lover.

Agatha might had persuaded you to try this plan of the Road but it was Rio's knife that was sticking out of your chest and it was her persistence to not let any of you go; that had led into this battle.

Of course, Rio wasn't faced by it, for this was such an Agatha thing.

Agatha liked to blame others when things didn't go her way, almost never accepting her part in things and never taking the responsibility she had to.

"You can't blame me for this, love. I am not the only one who causes death around her." Rio said, choosing to bring up the same words Agatha had so coldly told her after Lilia's trials.

Agatha, of course, was furious. "Shut up!"

Wasting no more time on talking and throwing the blame around, Agatha just blasted Rio with more force than before.

It did shock and threw Rio back, but the Green Witch was not one to let a single hit take her down. She returned the move, matching up the magic intensity.

Both had open wounds from one another. Both had pain and anger caused by one another.

Agatha wanted to just forget about her haunting past and pain, and Rio wanted to stop being blamed and used as an excuse.

Both wanted to put an end to this, both annoyed by the other that brought you into harms way.

As the battle continued, each sneaky attack became more and more personal.

Their magic caused wind, debri, and dirt to fly all around; easily causing you harm. Or they would have, if it wasn't for Billy using his magic to shield you both as the former lovers continued their fight.

Part 2/3

[shoggoth-the-bitch]

So I've seen a few posts at this point suggesting the theory that Arthur's lighter might have something to do with the Black Stone Arthur and John are being sent to find by Kayne. Well I have some additional thoughts to add to the idea.

I think it's a really solid theory. Kayne can't see the stone and he always seems to forget about the lighter. And at this point Arthur has pointed out that Kayne has forgotten the lighter at least twice I believe. They also keep making it a point that Arthur just kinda randomly remembers it in his pocket. It just feels like that really want us to remember that the lighter is there, without saying out right that it's important beyond being a source of fire and light.

Personally, I think maybe the lighter might even have the stone inside of it. Like maybe it's just really small? Or maybe it just has a fragment of the stone inside of it? The lighter did, after all, belong to Roland Cummings, who found himself in the Dreamlands and is now apparently in the Dark World. Roland could have found the stone and hid it because he knew it was an object of power.

And the stone might also be the reason that Arthur is able to handle being a host for John/Yellow. Like, Kayne keeps wracking his brain about what makes Arthur special but what if there isn't actually anything special about him specifically? What if it's just the result of his exposure to the stone? Maybe that's way Larson was dying after only a few days of being a host to Yellow, even though Arthur survived literally both of them for roughly five or six months at this point.

More than that, does anyone else think Arthur heals really fast? Like, I know some of his healing is due to magical forces protecting him and part of it is the magic of story telling. But the man is riddled with scars, from wounds that seem to heal impossibly fast. Like, Arthur set his own broken legs only for them to immediately heal. It's implied that Kayne healed them but why would he? He clearly found his struggles funny. And being gored by the monster in the mines? Yeah, John patched him up but some thread from his jacket and some fishing hooks wouldn't have fixed him up that fast. He was running and squeezing through tight spaces in no time at all. By the time that got to New York the wound was entirely forgotten about.

This is all to say, I think the stone is protecting Arthur to some degree. I don't think it could keep him from dying but I think is helps him heal faster and might even give him a bit of luck. I did point out a while ago but Arthur does seem to be one lucky son of bitch given that he keeps taking near fatal wounds but seems to live through each one. He's covered in scars but not one injury has stuck yet.

And I think that's all because he's carrying the stone with him and literally no one knows. Maybe it's even something divine in nature? The cultist used the Grey Stone to get what they wanted but what if in a way that's how the lighter works too? "This too shall pass." They constantly quote the line, like a mantra that they entrust their blind faith into. Almost certainly something an object of power would latch onto and use almost as a form of worship and reverence.

[seongwars]

away with the wind | xiii

Pairing: dragonrider!Seonghwa x ex-dragonrider!Reader AU: dragon rider au | strangers -> lovers Summary: A spinal injury forces you to retire from dragon racing, and with it, the end of your engagement to Song Mingi. Park Seonghwa, a rising star in the world of dragon racing and heir to the prestigious House Park, seeks a new dragon after an unfortunate accident on the skyway. As the saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Word Count: 7K Warnings: violence, kidnapping, swearing, mentions of child kidnapping, descriptions of dragon body parts and anatomy

Fic Masterlist

a/n: it's back baybeeee! blame my other wips and forget me not

Kang Yeosang was born as the illegitimate son of Lord Jung Dae Han, a secret hidden beneath the grandeur of the Jung estate. From the day of his birth, Yeosang’s existence was a stain on Lord Jung's otherwise pristine reputation, a reminder of a moment of weakness. He was never publicly acknowledged, but his presence couldn’t be entirely erased either. Instead, he was raised in the shadows of the estate, caught between two worlds—neither fully accepted as a highborn, nor allowed to escape the clutches of his father's influence.

From a young age, Yeosang lived in the shadow of his half-brother, a legitimate son born from Lord Jung’s marriage to Lady Eunji. His half-brother thrived under the family’s spotlight, basking in the praise and admiration that came with his status. 

Yeosang spent most of his days confined to his small, drafty quarters in the servant’s wing of the estate, the only window to the outside world being the one overlooking the grand training grounds. He would often press his forehead against the cold glass, staring longingly at the sight of his half-brother, Wooyoung, and his dragon. 

To Yeosang, they represented everything he could never have: freedom, power, and control. But despite these differences, Wooyoung saw Yeosang as his brother, regardless of the circumstances of his birth. 

He had always had a love for dragons–the beasts were integral to Auroran culture and everyday life. Yet he was never allowed one of his own as Lord Jung’s bastard son. It wasn’t until he was out exploring the woods that he stumbled upon a wounded fledgling. The sight of the small, vulnerable creature awakened something within him—a deep instinct to help, to heal. 

Over the following weeks, he nursed it back to health, using whatever resources he could gather. With no formal training, Yeosang relied on his curiosity and keen observation, learning about the dragon’s biology and how it responded to different herbs and remedies.

He spent countless hours watching over the dragon, his mind racing with questions that no one around him could answer. Why did certain wounds heal faster with specific treatments? How did the dragon's body recover so quickly compared to other creatures? It was as if its very biology defied the natural order, and the more Yeosang observed, the more obsessed he became.

He became relentless, studying deep into the night, sketching diagrams of the dragon’s structure, its wings, the intricate patterns of its scales. He recorded every healing factor, every reaction to different stimuli. His experiments became more ambitious, as he searched for any way to unlock the secrets of the creature's rapid regeneration.

But his secret couldn’t last forever.

One evening, while he was tending to the creature in the hidden alcove where he had kept it safe, disaster struck. One of Lady Eunji’s maids stumbled upon the dragon, her scream echoing through the hallways as she fled to alert her mistress. Yeosang’s heart sank when he heard the commotion. By the time he reached the creature again, it was too late.

Lady Eunji, in her cold, calculating manner, ordered the dragon’s immediate disposal. She considered it a threat—dangerous, uncontrollable, and far too valuable to leave in the hands of someone as inexperienced as Yeosang. Her maids and guards moved quickly, hauling the weakened creature from its hiding place. Yeosang’s protests were drowned out by the commands of the estate, his words falling on deaf ears as they dragged the dragon away.

Desperate and grief-stricken, Yeosang chased after them, pleading, but Lady Eunji’s decision was final. In a last-ditch effort, he gathered what he could of the dying creature, using everything he had learned to try and resuscitate it.

But his attempts were futile.

The dragon’s breaths grew shallower, the light in its eyes fading. Yeosang could feel its life slipping away with every agonizing second. His heart broke as he knelt beside it, tears streaming down his face as he realized he was losing it. Despite all his knowledge, all his efforts, he was powerless to save the creature that had been his world for such a short period of time.

When the dragon finally stilled beneath his hands, Yeosang was left with an unbearable silence. He had failed. The weight of that failure crushed him, and something in him shifted. No longer was it mere fascination driving him—it was an insatiable hunger for control, for the kind of power that could defy death itself. In that moment of grief, Yeosang made a vow. He would never let this happen again.

And if that meant crossing boundaries others feared to cross—if that meant venturing into dark, so be it.

˖

Your limbs felt impossibly heavy, like they were shackled by invisible chains, and your vision wavered, fading in and out of focus. The sharp sting at the base of your neck pulsed in rhythm with the buzzing implant, all thanks to Yeosang’s doing. It hummed beneath your skin, sending erratic shocks through your nervous system, muddling your thoughts and sapping your strength.

A shadow moved over you, and before you could react, a strong arm slid around your waist, hoisting you up. Instinctively, you attempted to fight back, but your movements were slow, sluggish, as if your body was no longer your own. Forcing yourself to focus, you recognized the face in your haze—Mingi. 

“Stop resisting,” Mingi hissed, his grip tightening as you struggled against him. 

“Put me down, you motherfucker,” you slurred, the words barely coherent as you tried to wriggle free, your body useless and uncooperative. Every movement felt like it was happening in slow motion, your muscles heavy with the weight of the sedative still pumping through your veins.

Before you could get another word out, Mingi made a sharp turn, yanking you both into the shadows of a narrow side hallway. His hand clamped over your mouth as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Cromer’s guards rushed past, their boots a steady thud that reverberated in your ears.

“We need to get you out of here,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, like he was trying to comfort you. All you could manage was a faint, frustrated sigh as you sagged in his arms, no longer able to fight him. 

Another set of footsteps echoed from around the corner, breaking through the fog in your mind. Mingi stiffened, then ducked into a nearby room, quickly closing the door behind you both. 

"Why are you helping me?" you whispered, pulling yourself away from Mingi. Your voice trembled, exhaustion weighing you down, but you still managed to create some distance between you. Suspicion clawed at your mind. Why him? Why now?

You watched his lips part, the hesitation so thick you could feel it, as if he were weighing every word before it left his mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained, like each word pained him to admit.

"Because Yeosang is going to blow this place up."

The revelation hit you, leaving you momentarily breathless. "Blow this place up?" you repeated, your disbelief breaking through your exhaustion. "With that thing he created?"

“He didn’t create that thing from nothing.” He paused, his gaze hardening as memories you couldn't see flitted across his face.

“He harvested it—piece by piece.”

A dragon, pieced together like a grotesque puzzle, created for destruction. Every part of it, from the scales to the bones, had once belonged to a living, breathing creature. Now, those pieces had been fused together into something far more terrifying, twisted into Yeosang’s vision of power.

“How…why would he do that?” you whispered, a sickening feeling rising in your chest. 

Mingi sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Everything he’s done—the experiments, trafficking, using a lab as a front for recruiting riders—it’s all tied to his twisted vision. And now, with the military closing in, he’s wiping everything clean.”

The breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp. "So, then what makes me any different from the kids?" The thought sent a wave of revulsion through you. "Why me? What does he need me for?"

Mingi’s expression darkened, his tone heavy with regret. He hesitated, as if the words physically pained him. 

“He needed someone who was grounded, someone who couldn’t fly anymore.”

Your chest tightened as the implications sank in. “Because of my accident,” you whispered, bile rising in your throat.

“He believes that if he can show anyone—regardless of background or limitations—can control dragons, it’ll spark a war for control over dragonkind.”

“That’s what the neural link system is for,” he continued. “It allows pilots to communicate directly with dragons without needing to mount them. Yeosang’s figured out how to create a direct connection between two entirely different nervous systems.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you processed his words. The idea that you had been that close to losing control, that close to becoming one of Yeosang’s puppets, sent a wave of nausea rolling through you. Your hand trembled as you touched the back of your neck again, fingers brushing over the skin where the implant lay beneath.

“If you knew about this, why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice rose, trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. 

Mingi’s face twisted with frustration, his voice rising defensively. “Do you think I wanted any of this to happen? I was scared, okay? Of what Yeosang could do to everyone! He’s not just one man—he’s a system. I didn’t know how to fight that!”

“Don’t you dare,” you shot back, venomously. “You weren’t scared. You could have stopped this. You could have warned everyone. But instead, you sat there and reaped the benefits while Yeosang pulled the strings. You’re not just complicit—you’re part of the problem.”

“Y/N—”

“Save it,” you spat, cutting him off. “You’re no better than he is. You let people suffer because you could care less about anyone other than yourself.”

Mingi’s face paled, his eyes wide with guilt as the weight of your words crashed over him. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. He knew you were right—there was no defense, no justification for the choices he had made. 

But then, after a long, painful silence, Mingi’s voice broke through, quieter than before.

“You’re right.” His head hung low, the fight gone from him. 

“I wanted so badly to be at the top, to be someone—someone important—that I didn’t see how far I’d fallen. I know I can’t undo what’s been done, but I can try to make it right. Please, let me help now, let me get you out. I’m not asking for forgiveness—I know I don’t deserve that. But we can stop him and put an end to this.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of his admission. He was a man who had failed, who had let his own selfish ambitions cloud his judgment. But now, he was standing before you, stripped of his pride, begging for a chance to make amends.

Whether or not you could trust him again, you weren’t sure. But the thought of taking down Yeosang without Mingi’s knowledge and help seemed impossible.

“How did you find me?” you finally asked. 

Mingi paused for a moment, his expression softening as if he knew how fragile you felt. “Cirrus was all over the news,” he explained, his hands going up in a slight defensive gesture, as if to calm any panic you might feel from the mention of the dragon’s name. 

“She was out of control. I’ve never seen her like that before. That’s when I knew…something had to have happened to you. I knew I had to hurry, so I got here as fast as I could.” 

“Hey, bastard,” Mingi growled from the shadows, his voice low and dangerous.

“You better get out before the authorities shut down your little operation. Her dragon’s about to bring the whole place down.”

Yeosang froze mid-motion, irritation flickering across his face as he turned toward the voice. He wasn’t easily rattled, though. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms with deliberate calm. 

“Come to play the hero?” he sneered, mocking disdain dripping from every word. 

Mingi stepped forward, unbothered by the taunt, his voice cold and steady. “No. But I’ll need a dragon after this suspension, and you can’t afford to lose everything you’ve worked for.”

The room seemed to close in around them, tension thickening in the air. Yeosang’s sharp gaze calculated every angle, aware of how precarious his position was. Outside, the walls trembled under the pressure of Cirrus’ fury, the dragon’s roars reverberating through the lab. Time was running out.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, his voice sharp, as if he could regain control by asking the right question.

“Up top, containing the chaos,” Mingi replied with a lazy yawn, feigning disinterest.

“Look, since I’m already here, I’ll move her to where the kids are,” he offered casually, though his tone was measured and deliberate. 

“You get your dragon out. It’s a win for you.”

“I'm not negotiating with you,” Yeosang snapped, but there was a faint tremor in his voice—a hint of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before.

Mingi’s calm demeanor disappeared in an instant, replaced by a menacing intensity. He stepped closer, towering over the doctor, his eyes cold as steel. 

“I put my neck on the line by piloting one of your experiments, testifying before the Council, and even sold a dream to those kids you wanted to recruit,” he growled, each word laced with barely restrained anger.

“It cost me everything. So either you let me get her out of here, or you lose everything.”

Yeosang’s composure cracked, hesitation flashing across his features as he glanced around the lab. The walls continued to shake, cracks forming in the concrete as Cirrus grew more intense by the second. He could feel the weight of Mingi’s words, the truth that he had no time, no room for error.

Finally, with a reluctant nod, Yeosang backed down, knowing there was no other choice. “I’ll send you the coordinates,” he muttered, his voice stripped of its earlier defiance.

Mingi gave a curt nod, his victory sealed, but there was no satisfaction in it—just the bitter truth that they were both in too deep.

“Yeosang cares about that dragon more than anything,” Mingi muttered, his jaw clenched. “The other hybrid dragons, the kids—they're just a means to an end.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. The children weren’t just pawns in Yeosang’s sick experiment—they were victims. And now, you knew, you were meant to be next. The neural dock you’d been strapped into wasn’t just some twisted trap—it was a gateway into the experiment’s mind, a bridge Yeosang intended for you to cross, whether you survived or not.

“We have to find them.”

“We will,” Mingi replied, his voice firm. “But first, we need to get you out of here.”

Without wasting another moment, you and Mingi bolted down the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the lab. Your footsteps echoed through the metallic halls, the blare of alarms and flashing emergency lights heightening the sense of danger. Every second felt like it was borrowed, the urgency of escape hanging over you both like a noose tightening with each step.

Mingi was in front, his broad frame cutting through the smoke and chaos, but suddenly he skidded to a halt, throwing his arm out to shield you. You stumbled, barely catching yourself as the corridor plunged into a chilling silence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you followed his gaze, your pulse spiking when you saw what had stopped him.

Wooyoung. 

The night thrummed with tension as the rhythmic beat of dragon wings cut through the cool air. A low rumble from the soldiers’ dragons reverberated through the ground, matching the palpable anticipation. The military had sealed off the lab, blocking every known exit, but it wasn’t enough—not for Seonghwa. His chest tightened with each passing second, knowing you were still trapped inside. Time was slipping away, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

Behind San, his dragon Stelle let out a deep, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through the tense atmosphere like a warning. Her massive wings flexed and her glowing eyes were fixed on the steel fortress ahead. Around them, other dragons shifted, their muscles tense, nostrils flaring as they sensed the looming danger just as keenly as their riders.

Seonghwa’s fingers twitched with impatience, his eyes darting between the hologram and the lab’s doors. He wanted to move, to charge in and tear the place apart if it meant finding you. But San, experienced and methodical, stood firm. Rushing in blind would only spell disaster. Seonghwa forced himself to stay still as San explained the plan.

He stood in front of the holographic display, eyes sharp with focus as he traced the layout of the lab. “The main entrance is a trap,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. 

“It’s heavily fortified, packed with security bots and sensors. If we go in that way, we’ll be flagged immediately.”

Before anyone could respond, Yunho jogged up, phone in hand. “This might help,” he called, catching their attention. He synced his phone to the hologram, and the lab’s structure shifted, expanding as new data merged with the layout.

"Here," Yunho began, gesturing to the updated hologram. “It’s not perfect, but this gives us a clearer idea of the structure from when I was inside during the tour.”

“I don’t know how deep the lab runs underground,” he continued, his voice tense with focus, “but I know they’ve been using this loading dock.” He pointed to a spot on the hologram where large transport crates were stacked. 

“They’ve been loading and unloading juvenile dragons through here.”

San studied the hologram closely, brow furrowed in concentration. “And you’re sure this dock is still operational? Any recent activity?”

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver from the projection, memories of his recent investigation flashing in his mind. “Possibly,” he replied, calm but urgent. 

“When Y/N and I checked the site, there were clear signs. The cargo crates were still warm from dragon fire, and the claw marks on the containers were fresh. It’s the only active entry point we know for sure.”

San nodded, his mind quickly piecing together the next steps. “We’ll send the tactical team through the dock. They’ll neutralize any immediate threats, and once we get the all-clear, the rest of us move in.”

Around them, snipers took their positions on the rooftops, while soldiers fanned out, covering every angle of the perimeter.

“We need to be smart. Medical team, be on standby,” San added, shooting a glance toward the medics stationed near the dragons. The unspoken urgency lingered in the air as he turned back to the team. 

“Prepare for breach.”

˖

"Yeosang?" Wooyoung whispered harshly as he stepped closer to where his brother sat, eyes cast downward. He could see the faint bruises along Yeosang’s arms, subtle reminders of Eunji's cruelty. A surge of anger rose in his chest, his fists clenching involuntarily. It wasn’t fair.

Yeosang shifted slightly, his voice quiet, almost broken. “Nothing.”

That was always his answer. Nothing. As if the marks on his skin weren’t evidence enough. As if Wooyoung’s mother’s cutting words didn’t wound him just as deeply.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know what mother said.”

Yeosang’s gaze finally lifted, meeting his brother’s. His eyes were dark, swirling with emotions Wooyoung couldn’t fully grasp—anger, hurt, and something else. Resignation, maybe.

“It doesn’t matter. No one’s ever going to see me like they see you.”

"That’s not true," Wooyoung snapped, frustration sharpening his tone. "You’re amazing at science! Smarter than me, even."

A bitter laugh escaped Yeosang as he shook his head. “No, I’m not. You know it. They know it. That’s why they took Hope away.”

Hope. The fledgling dragon Wooyoung’s mother had ordered her guards to dispose of. He could still see the desperation in Yeosang’s eyes, the way his hands trembled as he tried to piece the dragon back together, ignoring the futility of it all.

Wooyoung had found him in the dark corner of the stables, kneeling over the broken remains of Hope. His brother’s face had been streaked with dirt and tears, his delicate fingers working frantically to reconnect scales, muscles, limbs, anything he could. It was impossible, hopeless. But Yeosang kept going.

Without hesitation, Wooyoung grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly. "I don’t care what mother thinks. You’re my brother, and I’ll protect you. No matter what."

From that moment on, Wooyoung had kept that promise. He shielded Yeosang from his mother, took the blame for things Yeosang didn’t do, and faced the cruelty of the world head-on, even if it meant taking the hits himself. It was the least he could do for a brother who had never known the love he deserved.

Even now, even if it meant betraying the people he cared about. Wooyoung knew that Yeosang deserved to win for once.

Wooyoung stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, his face shrouded in an eerie calm, but it was the gun in his hand that made your stomach drop. It was aimed squarely at you and Mingi, the cold metal gleaming ominously in the flickering light.

“Jung Wooyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaky but defiant. Every step backward felt like the edge of a cliff, and you weren’t sure how much farther you could go.

“I can’t let you leave,” Wooyoung repeated, his voice eerily calm, yet every word dripped with finality. His fingers curled tighter around the weapon, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of him like this—so distant, so far removed from the friend you once knew.

“Are you out of your mind?” Mingi's voice was calm, but the fury beneath was undeniable. “Move,” he demanded, low and firm, his eyes locked on Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. His gaze flicked from you to Mingi, calculating, but it wasn’t the playful, mischievous look you once knew—it was cold, detached, as if the person in front of you wasn’t the same Wooyoung anymore.

“I can’t do that,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. 

You searched his face, desperately hoping to find a trace of the Wooyoung you once trusted, the one who made you laugh, who always had your back. But all you saw was a man who had made his choice—a man who was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant betraying the people he cared about.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice trembling despite every effort to steady yourself. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I already told you,” he said quietly, “I can’t let you leave.”

Mingi tensed beside you, but he didn’t make a move. His gaze was locked on Wooyoung, his voice steady as he spoke. 

“You don’t want to do this, Wooyoung. Put the gun down.”

“You don’t get it,” Wooyoung snapped with frustration.

“You don’t get that Yeosang’s trying to level the playing field. He’s trying to make a better world for everyone—humans and dragons.”

“By playing god?” you cut in, your frustration rising with every word.

“He’s not fixing anything! He’s manipulating life, creating things that shouldn’t exist. This isn’t about equality or justice—it’s about power. It’s about Yeosang deciding who lives and who dies, who deserves freedom and who doesn’t.”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw the desperation in his eyes. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“You’d understand, Y/N. You, of all people, should get it. I’m talking about giving people who can’t fly a chance.”

You froze, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. For a moment, the anger burned away, replaced by something more painful, more personal. Memories of the fall, of being told you'd never race again, flashed through your mind. It wasn’t just your body that had been broken that day—it was your dream, your freedom.

“They told you that because of one accident, you couldn’t race anymore,” Wooyoung continued, his voice soft but insistent. “That’s the kind of world we’re living in. One mistake, and you’re grounded. Forever.”

His eyes softened with something that looked like hope, a hope you hadn’t seen in him for so long. 

“But Yeosang’s the only one brave enough to change that.”

Your chest tightened painfully, the weight of his words sinking in. Wooyoung wasn’t just defending Yeosang—he was defending the dream of a world where people like you wouldn’t be cast aside, where second chances were real. But even as you understood, you couldn’t let go of the truth.

“But at what cost?” you shot back, stepping forward despite the gun in his hand. 

“You think you can fix the world by tearing it apart? By playing god with lives that aren’t yours to control? That’s not salvation, Wooyoung. That’s destruction.”

Wooyoung’s expression flickered, doubt creeping into his features. The gun wavered in his hands, lowering slightly, but he didn’t drop it. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone break,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I watched him suffer, Y/N. Every day. My mother’s abuse, the ridicule, the way people looked at him like he didn’t belong. Yeosang doesn’t have anyone else. He’s always been alone.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the guilt in his eyes, the weight of years spent watching his brother spiral deeper into darkness. 

“This dragon... it’s all he has left,” Wooyoung continued, his voice steady, uncaring. “It’s his life’s work, his way to take back control from the people who’ve always had it. I can’t let you take that from him. Not after everything.”

“But this is wrong, Wooyoung! Yeosang isn’t trying to save anyone—he’s trying to control them. And if you go through with this, you’ll be just as lost as he is.”

Wooyoung’s face remained blank, no emotion surfacing in his expression. “Then I guess I’ll be lost too,” he said flatly, his eyes dull and detached. 

He didn’t care—not about the consequences, not about you, not even about what would happen next. He was fully committed, no matter the cost.

Your stomach dropped as you realized the truth: he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t hesitating. He would do whatever it took to protect Yeosang’s vision, even if it meant taking out you and Mingi.

Mingi’s voice was sharp with disbelief, though his body remained poised. “You’re really willing to kill us for this? For Yeosang’s delusions?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Wooyoung said simply, shrugging as if the idea didn’t bother him in the slightest. His finger twitched on the trigger, and your heart pounded in your chest as you stared into the face of someone who no longer cared.

In an instant, the corridor erupted into chaos.

Mingi lunged forward without warning, his hand shooting out to grab the gun just as Wooyoung fired. The deafening crack of the shot echoed violently in the confined space. 

Mingi tackled Wooyoung to the ground, their bodies crashing together with a brutal thud. The gun clattered across the floor, spinning out of reach, and you scrambled to move, your pulse racing as you struggled to process what had just happened.

“Y/N, get out of here!” Mingi shouted, as he pinned Wooyoung’s arm down, breathing heavily.

You ran, your feet pounding against the cold floor as you darted down the corridor. But as you fled, something flickered in the distance. A glint, subtle but unmistakable, caught your eye. You slowed, just for a heartbeat, scanning the shadows ahead. And then you saw it—a rifle’s scope, reflecting in the dim light.

“Aurora Military! Put your hands where we can see them!” The command rang out, sharp and commanding, freezing you in place. The tension in the air thickened, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Out of the darkness, soldiers materialized, their rifles trained on you with unyielding precision.

Your heart pounded in your ears, blood roaring through your veins. Mingi, battered and bruised from his confrontation with Wooyoung, slowly raised his hands. He cast you a glance—tired, but filled with relief. You could see it in his eyes, the silent understanding that the fight, for now, was over.

Despite the devastation in his eyes, Wooyoung complied, rising to his knees with a slow, deliberate motion, his hands raised in surrender. The defiance that once burned so fiercely within him was gone, leaving behind only a hollow shadow of the man you once knew. And yet, as he stared at you, something darker flickered in his gaze—something far more foreboding than the destruction surrounding you.

“You think this is over?” he asked quietly, his voice eerily calm in the face of defeat. 

The soldiers moved in, their steps precise and practiced, but the weight of Wooyoung’s words hung thick in the air, stopping you cold. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him—there was something in the way he held himself, the way his lips twitched with a bitter smile that left you paralyzed.

A deep sense of dread settled in your chest, growing heavier with each passing second. You exchanged a glance with Mingi, whose tension mirrored your own. He sensed it too—the feeling that something far worse was about to unfold.

“You think stopping me will change anything?” His voice lowered, almost a whisper now, yet it cut through the air like a blade. 

“You think you’ve won because I’m on my knees? Because Yeosang’s not here?”

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with something terrifyingly close to pity. “You don’t understand, Y/N. This... this is only the beginning.”

Seonghwa paced back and forth, his eyes darting toward the entrance of the building every few seconds, anxiety thrumming his chest. The recon team had gone in what felt like hours ago, and still, there was no sign of you. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and impatience.

He glanced at the soldiers standing nearby, but they offered no reassurance. The silence was unbearable, and every passing second without word from the team felt like an eternity. Seonghwa’s mind raced with worst-case scenarios, every possible outcome flashing before his eyes. What if they didn’t make it? What if you were still trapped inside? What if—

Suddenly, a commotion from the entrance caught his attention. Seonghwa’s heart leapt into his throat as the recon team emerged, and there—being guided by two soldiers and…Mingi—you appeared. Disheveled, bruised, and leaning on one of the soldiers for support, but alive.

Without thinking, Seonghwa sprinted toward you, the moment his eyes locked on you, everything else faded away. The fear, the waiting, the uncertainty—it all vanished in the face of sheer relief.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice breaking as he reached you. His arms enveloped you before you even had a chance to fully register his presence. He pulled you close, holding you tight as though you might disappear if he let go.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed into Seonghwa’s waiting arms, heart racing but grateful to be alive. His grip was firm, grounding you in the chaos as your breath came in ragged gasps.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. You could hear the relief as his hand gently cupped the back of your head, his touch a silent reassurance that you were here, alive.

As soon as Seonghwa’s arms wrapped around you, the overwhelming relief hit you like a wave, and you buried your face against his chest. The scent of him, familiar and comforting, grounded you after the chaos. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though your body told a different story. The adrenaline was fading, leaving only exhaustion and pain in its wake. A sharp pain throbbed in your side, reminding you that you weren’t out of danger yet.

“My neck, Seonghwa. My neck!” your voice faltered.

Seonghwa pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of injury. His brows furrowed in concern, and without hesitation, he called out over his shoulder. 

“She needs medical attention, now!”

Your breaths were ragged, and the words spilled out of you in between gasps, desperate to make them understand. “Yeosang–ow,” you winced, instinctively raising a hand to touch your neck, where a sharp sting remained, “Implanted something in my neck." 

The pain shot through you again, but you fought through it, trying to get the words out faster.

“H-He’s planning to blow up the building,” you rasped, panic creeping into your voice. You could still picture Yeosang's cold, calculating gaze as he revealed his twisted plan. 

“He has a dragon he created,” you added breathlessly, your thoughts racing in terror.

Seonghwa’s grip tightened at the revelation, his usually calm, composed face flickered with something darker—anger, fear, or maybe both. The medic worked diligently beside you, but you barely noticed the bandages being wrapped or the sting of antiseptic on your wounds.

“He’s hiding the kids...Jinsik might be with them,” you gasped, your breath growing more shallow with each word.

"But Mingi has the coordinates. You have to save the kids."

Speaking felt like an uphill battle, each word feeling heavier than the last. You could feel yourself weakening, unsure if it was from the panic, the pain, or the weight of the revelation you had just shared. Time was running out.

The medic glanced up from your wounds, her hands still working quickly but efficiently. “We need to get you to the hospital,” she said, her tone firm. “Now.”

“But—” you began, a sharp pain shooting through your side, cutting your protest short. You winced, the world around you tilting slightly as the adrenaline started to fade, leaving nothing but exhaustion and agony in its wake.

The medic’s expression softened slightly, but her urgency remained. “You’ve got that implant, and it’s dangerous to keep it inside you any longer. We have to get it out.”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed, his hand still gripping yours as he knelt beside you. “Listen to her,” he urged, his voice low, yet filled with concern. 

“We’ll take care of everything else, but you need to get that implant out, Y/N. Please.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to insist that you could still help, that the kids, Cirrus, your friends needed you—but the pain in your side was becoming unbearable, a white-hot burn that made it nearly impossible to think clearly. Seonghwa’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in reassurance.

The medic was still speaking, her voice a distant hum as Seonghwa held your hand tightly. But your focus had already drifted, drawn to the building in front of you. There was a certain ringing in your ears, an ominous buzz that filled the silence. Something was coming. 

You could feel it—a shift in the atmosphere, like the air had thickened, charged with an electric tension. A pulse of danger rippled through you, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.

The ground beneath you rumbled, a low vibration that grew stronger with each passing second. The dragons in the distance became restless, their uneasy cries cutting through the night air, as if they, too, could sense what was about to happen.

And then, without warning, a deafening roar shattered the silence.

The top of the building exploded in a violent eruption of dust and debris. Stone, metal, and glass shot out in all directions, a chaotic storm of destruction. The medic barely had time to react before she pulled you and Seonghwa into the back of the van, using the doors to shield your bodies from the shrapnel. The sound was overwhelming, a cacophony of crashing, roaring, and the sharp ping of debris against metal.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body tensing as the dust began to settle. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with a sight that made your blood run cold.

Yeosang burst out of the wreckage, his face streaked with dirt and determination and something almost manic in his eyes. But it wasn’t just Yeosang. Behind him, towering over the destruction, was the monstrous form of his hybrid creation. 

The creature was unlike anything you had ever seen. Its enormous body, a twisted amalgamation of decay and divinity, was both grotesque and hauntingly angelic. Its scales, ragged and peeling, glistened in the moonlight with an unnatural sheen like fragments of something long dead. The wings, vast and tattered, seemed like remnants of an ancient glory, now jagged and torn, as if carved by forces far beyond mortal comprehension.

It was alive—but only barely. Its body was a patchwork of sinew and rot, where flesh clung to bones that seemed far too fragile for its massive form. It's as if its very existence was a struggle between life and death.

Yet despite its grotesque appearance, there was something angelic about it, as if it had once been a creature of light now fallen from grace. Its form was a testament to both beauty and horror, an embodiment of forgotten power that stirred both awe and dread. It was as if death had touched it but hadn’t claimed it fully, leaving it suspended in a state of decayed glory.

Seonghwa tightened his embrace around you as the dragon let out another earth-shaking roar, its wings spreading wide as it loomed over the ruined building. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and awe coursing through your veins.

From the distance, the shrill wailing of sirens grew louder. Wooyoung’s face was pressed against the window, his eyes locked onto the creature Yeosang had brought to life. Despite the chaos, despite the destruction, there was something in Wooyoung’s expression—a glint of pride, almost admiration, as he took in the sight of the dragon.

"What… what is that?" the arresting officer stammered, his voice shaking as he stared in horror at the creature before him.

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t leave the creature, a small, grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice was quiet but filled with a certain reverence as he spoke. 

“Hope.”

The roar of engines filled the air as military-grade helicopters lifted off, their rotors chopping through the night sky, while armored vehicles rolled forward, crunching over the debris-strewn streets.

“All units, mobilize! Call for immediate backup—we need every available unit now!” San commanded as soldiers in tactical gear scrambled into position, their weapons gleaming under the harsh floodlights that bathed the battlefield. 

The streets erupted into action. Soldiers clad in high-tech combat gear moved swiftly, mounting their armored dragons—sleek, battle-ready beasts outfitted with tactical armor and advanced weaponry. The deafening roar of jet engines overhead mingled with the guttural growls of dragons as the troops prepared for war. 

Helicopters buzzed overhead, their searchlights cutting through the smoke and debris, while tanks rumbled across the broken streets, cannons aimed at the monstrous threat ahead.

“Focus on the wings!” San barked as he mounted Stelle, her massive wings unfurling with a powerful beat. His soldiers followed suit, rising into the air as their dragons launched skyward, forming an aerial assault team. 

Explosive rounds and streams of gunfire tore through the night, lighting up the sky with brilliant bursts of fire as the soldiers unleashed their arsenal on Yeosang's creation. But the monstrous dragon’s hide was tough, and seemed to grow more enraged with every assault. 

From the rear lines, military commanders coordinated drone strikes and called in air support. Fighter jets screamed overhead, releasing bombs designed to track the creature’s movement. The bombs detonated with pinpoint accuracy, sending plumes of fire and smoke into the air, but still, the dragon stood.

On the ground, chaos raged as Seonghwa crouched beside you, his expression taut with worry. The battlefield was a blur of movement—dragons roaring overhead, along with explosions of gunfire—but his focus was solely on you. Your breathing was shallow, pain radiating from the implant in your neck.

"They need to get that implant out of you. Your family is on the way to the hospital and they’ll meet you there. It’s going to be okay."

You could only nod, the pain making it hard to focus, but Seonghwa’s presence anchored you. Without a word, he leaned closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. His embrace lingered, as though he was pouring all his fears and unspoken desires into the silence between you: how much he wanted you to be safe, how terrified he was of losing you. 

You clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, desperate and unwilling to let go. Even if only for a fleeting moment, you needed to hold onto his warmth. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging for time to stop—just for this, just for the chance to keep him close.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, as if he were saying it more for himself than for you. He stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours as the medic closed the doors of the van behind you.

As the van sped off, you caught one last glimpse of Seonghwa through the small window, his figure silhouetted against the backdrop of destruction. Dragons roared in the distance, their shadows flickering in the chaos. 

The pain in your neck pulsed with every heartbeat, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at your thoughts. Yet the warmth of Seonghwa’s embrace lingered, and despite everything, it filled you with hope that, somehow, you both would make it through this.

<< xii | xiv >>

taglist: @chngbnwf, @sunnysidesins @litolmochi @syubseokie @park-simphwa @szakias @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @maliamaiden @signingsongbird @passionandsuga @mitchii

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Xavier: Promise Me | Drabble

Since I forgot to upload yesterday I'm popping two of these in today. This has a little angst, something I say I never write but lbr I love making people feel things. Hope you enjoy this because it's still cute and fluffy.

Pairing: Xavier x Reader Warning: Angst + Comfort Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

Xavier flinches, his entire body recoiling from your touch. You had a cotton ball doused in alcohol, and a rather pissed off look at the moment. Xavier had come to your apartment, half dead, and you had of course taken him and dragged him to the couch. This wasn’t the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last time this happened.

You were just happy he actually came to you. He used to just go to his apartment when he was in this condition and would visit once he was better and all cleaned up. This had only managed to piss you off due to how often you’d be waiting for him to return from a mission, never knowing if he was safe or not. You were certain this man had aged you ten years in the time you’d been dating him.

“Perhaps if you were more careful, or better yet brought back up, this wouldn’t be happening,” you scolded him, grabbing another thing of gauze to wrap around him. You knew he healed fast in his sleep, but you also knew he managed to heal even faster if someone took the time to treat his wounds first.

“I’m so-ow,” he was cut off from his apology as you almost dug the thing of cotton into him. You didn’t want to hear it as you went back to cleaning and wrapping, something that was almost second nature to you at this point.

“I’m just worried…” you said with a small frown on your lips. You took a moment to gather your thoughts and cleared your throat, “I’m worried that one day your injuries are going to be too much and you’re not going to come back to me,” you admitted finally.

Xavier seemed taken aback by this, watching how your eyebrows furrowed in worry and how you looked away from him. A small pout was on your lips and he sighed. He took his hand and grabbed your chin, moving you to face him. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, murmuring his next words.

“I promise I’ll always come back to you,” his voice was almost a whisper but you still heard it clear as day. You didn’t even know when your eyes began to tear up, small droplets falling down your cheek as you sniffled.

Xavier seemed to take note of this and was almost cooing as he grabbed you and dragged you closer to him; you were now settled on his lap as he pressed another kiss to your cheek, then another. He grabbed your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as he looked up at you through his silvery bangs.

“I won’t leave you. Not now, not ever. Please believe me,” his voice seemed to almost crack as he tried keeping it steady and calm, knowing if he showed too much emotion right now it would only send you spiraling even more. There was an empty pit in the bottom of your stomach as your mind swirled with the worse case scenarios.

“How can you promise that…how can you be so sure?” you asked and he sighed, putting your face into the crook of his neck as he rocked a little with you in his arms.

“Because as long as you remain on this earth, then so shall I,” he said, his breath fanning over your ear as he said those words. Your hands were pressed against his chest, your nails gently scraping over the skin, a small reminder that he really was there with you.

“If I go with you, at least I know you’re safe…please take me along next time,” you finally said, managing to even out your voice as the tears stopped for the time being. He felt so warm and safe and you wished you could just stay like this for a little longer.

“I can’t take you to some of these places,” he reminded you gently, his hand on your back as he rubbed soothing circles there.

“Then don’t just disappear next time. Let me know where you’ll be,” you said, almost angry now that he had once again left on a mission without saying a word to his partner.

“I will, I promise,” he settled on after a moment, pulling away so he could cup your cheek in his hand. He brought you down for a kiss and you melted into it. After a second he parted, “I’ll keep you updated, but you need to do the same for me.,”

You nodded your head before leaning in for another quick kiss, “Alright, I promise,”

Gods I can't believe I'm actually willing to wake up too fucking early just to see a livestream and find out who Sylus is...wish me luck in actually waking up because you're boi is not a fucking morning person.

[stargirlrchive]

folklore: peace ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ folklore masterlist

summary: widowed!jake sully x female!reader, no use of y/n, angst, marriage of convenience, mentions of death, TW!! eluded to death due to child birth, less angsty than previous chapter but she’s still sad :(

word count: 2,855

sa’nok (n) - mother ; ‘ite (n) - daughter ; ‘itan (n) - son

comments: hi bbys! i love this chapter sm! already started working on the third so it should be up in a few days <3 hope you all enjoyyyyy love u bye!!! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 

previous ✩ next

- pandora, omitikaya forest, 2167 -

The years had melted away quickly, your heart no longer yearned as it once had for the life you could have had because you were content with the life you lived. Everyday that passed your love grew for the children, though it was an easy task to begin with. From Neteyam to Tuk, you were sure Eywa had blessed Jake and Neytiri with the calmest babes. Before you knew it five years had passed.

Memories from the past years fluttered your mind as you readied yourself for the celebration that would be held for the clan shortly.

Lo’ak and Kiri had instantly found comfort in you as they missed their mother. You had always been around, you and Neytiri were practically attached at the hip and you had joined her and Jake during every birth of their children. They were still not quite old enough to understand why Neytiri was not around, but your constant presence eased the yearning a bit. They both had already seen you as somewhat of a mother figure so the transition did not affect them as much. Your bond with the two seven year olds was strong from the start.

As the years passed Kiri enjoyed watching you work as you healed her father or brothers. She especially appreciated it when she suggested certain alternatives to ease the pain for the wounded and you listened. She adored the fact that she had three mothers, how you talked about Neytiri and kept her spirit alive. Besides your constant presence, that was always comforting and warm, your respect for Neytiri was felt even in the way you spoke of her. As if she was still physically around.

Lo’ak was the wild card, which had been a big shock as when he was a tiny child he was always so quiet. Often playing by himself or wanting to be dotted over by you. For the first two years he was the one that clung to you quickest, and as you coddled him to get him to sleep he would mumble out that your skin felt like Neytiri’s and the sleep would instantly find him. Even now as his rebellious nature reached an all time high and Jake would scold the young boy he found solace in you. You were the gentler parent out of the two and anytime a scolding was too rough on him he’d find himself unable to part from you. You comforted him in a way he only vaguely remembers Neytiri had.

Unfortunately for Tuk she had no recollection of Neytiri, her love for you knew no limit because in her eyes you were her mother. The one she cuddled into if she had a nightmare, the only one she let braid her hair. You were everything to the small girl. Her favorite time with you was when all her siblings were gone and she had you all to herself, you taught her how to make necklaces and weave baskets, all while you told her stories of Neytiri and Jake. She felt Neytiri everywhere, she knew she was around and felt the love her mother had for her through you.

All the children had grown to love you, but it was hardest on Neteyam as he was almost nine when you stepped into the role. But his appreciation for you grew each day as he realized how much you cared for him and his siblings.

It was evident even now, just yesterday he completed his Iknimaya and you were the first person he ran to. He nuzzled into your embrace as he recalled everything that happened with his Ikran before he made the bond. “Sa’nok! Dad said I claimed my Ikran faster than he did!”

You felt like something had tugged at your heart as you stared at the tall boy, he had never called you mother before. “Oh my sweet boy, I am so proud of you!”

Your thoughts were cut short as someone behind you cleared their throat, you jumped lightly as you turned to look at who had entered the home. It was Jake. “Hello, Jake.”

You turned back to what you were doing, mixing the white paste to create a paint. Things had never really changed between you and him, just a comfortable routine. He respected you in the way a mate should, same for you. But neither of you really went past being cordial with one another despite the longing feeling that nestled into your heart at your close proximity with the Olo’eyktan. But that was all it was, a feeling that was fleeting then hit you all at once, one that you had pushed so far back you didn’t even know what you felt for the man. “I came to see if you were ready, the clan is ready to begin celebrating.”

Your fingers dipped into the paste and you painted four lines on each side of your upper arms, “I will be ready shortly, you can go on.”

Jake sighed quietly, he had been feeling awkward around you lately. He couldn't place exactly what it was but the feeling was burrowing deeper into his chest as the weeks went on. “I think it is best if we enter together. We always do so, it might make everyone think something is wrong.”

Your brows furrowed together in confusion but you did not comment on it. Your fingers continued to paint gently across your collar bones and up your throat all the way to the plump of your bottom lip. You adjusted the intricate feathered loin cloth, one that was far too fancy for a regular day but it sat nicely on your frame for the party that was sure to last most of the night and well past eclipse. Your top was covered in gold and emerald beads and sat high on your chest, your torso was exposed more than usual and Jake found it hard to look away.

He swallowed uncomfortably as you looked at him, “Ready?”

You did not wait for him to respond and made your way outside of the tent, walking past families who were making their way towards the large clearing in High Camp. Jake followed behind you, the sound of the beads distracting him slightly as he tried to keep up with your swift steps.

As you both entered the clearing it was filled with loud chatter, the music even louder as you felt the vibrations on your feet. The trees surrounding the premises were decorated with vines and leaves that glowed under the fire, “This will be good for the clan.”

You were smiling as your steps slowed down, walking besides Jake towards the center of the room. Each Na’vi you passed sent both you and Jake a peaceful smile, greeting you properly as you both motioned the greeting back.

“Yes it will. It will be some form of distraction from what has been happening with the Sky-people.”

“Hopefully.”

After you had settled into your seat, Jake began his speech. Congratulating the young warriors, naming each of them one by one. He reminded them of the responsibility the mantle held and how honorable and important their role was within the clan. They were reborn and accepted as adults and they would now assimilate to the needs of the clan. He let Mo’at take over as she guided a prayer to Eywa, the clan in complete harmony as they sent their gratitude to the Great Mother.

Jake chimed in moments later, “Let the celebration begin!”

The music picked up again, laughter and loud chatter filled the space. Your ears twitched slightly as Neteyam made his way towards the two of you. A nervous smile on his face, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “I am not expected to find a mate tonight, right?”

Your hands flew to your mouth as you tried to stop yourself from laughing. Neteyam had never brought that topic up to you and as you turned to look at Jake you figured he had not done so with him either. His cheeks were a dark purple, clearing his throat as he looked for the words to say, “No-why would you think that, ‘itan?”

Neteyam’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he shrugged, “That is all people keep telling me to do now.”

“Do not worry about that now, go have fun.”

Neteyam smiled at you, sending another one to his father as he retreated back to his friends, “Eywa, I did not think we would have had to have that conversation for another few years.”

Jake laughed quietly, “Neither did I.”

The next few hours went by smoothly, the clan had come together and everyone’s hard work was evident with the energy surrounding you. There was a change in music and everyone began making their way towards the center. It was a traditional dance all Na’vi knew and it was one of your favorites.

You sighed quietly as everyone lined up, mind drifting as you imagined what your life would’ve been like. If you would be dancing with your mate who loved you? Who would be sitting besides the Toruk Makto? If you would have had kids yourself already. A sadness you had not felt in a long time began to wrap around your heart. You blinked back the tears that pooled at your eyes as you watched everyone begin to dance.

Jake was about to comment on Neteyam and Lo’ak being dragged to dance but the words were cut short as he saw your watery eyes. He had not seen that look in your face in a very long time, sadness and longing and he felt something tug in his chest. He noticed how your head slightly moved to the sound of the music, your eyes glazed over as you watched everyone dance and laugh. Before Jake could stop himself he was up, “Come.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Jake towered over you from his standing position, “Let’s dance.”

You were not sure why the request shocked you so much, but it did. Your eyes widened as you looked around, not believing he was talking to you. “You want to dance? With me?”

He rolled his eyes lightly, grabbing your wrist as he pulled you up from your seat, “Yes-now let’s hurry.”

Jake made haste as he dragged you along and your mind raced as nerves bubbled in your chest. There was a time, maybe two years back where your feelings for Jake had begun to confuse you. It stemmed out of loneliness and even though you did not want to admit it, attraction. It was hard, you were sad and though you had love poured onto you from the kids and the clan, there was always something missing. Some hole that was never filled.

And it scared you, caused the guilt to eat at your soul because of Neytiri, and you promised you would never let your emotions consume you that way, not for Jake. This was far too close and far too intimate, something that you had never felt with the Olo’eyktan. You were pressed side by side as body’s moved around the two of you. Your hands and hips swaying to the music as they moved in the routine you knew like the back of your hand. Your eyes locked onto Jake’s neck, you did not want to reach his eyes as both of your hands extended towards him, ghosting over his chest as your hands ran up and down. You could feel the warmth of his skin and it caused a shiver to run up your spine, trying to focus on anything but him.

Your skin erupted into goosebumps as his hands fell to your waist, moving them gently side to side to the beat of the music that was pounding in his ears. Your skin was soft, and his fingers were calloused, moving up the side of your ribs and extending them to your hands as they moved. It bothered him that you would not look at him, his head was tilted slightly as his eyes raked all over your form. Cheeks flamed a dark hue as the sound of your beaded top distracted him once again. He looked up and his eyes finally locked with yours, and it took him back a bit.

Your gaze was soft, almost shy like you had no idea what to do with yourself and he felt the exact same why. Every graze of your fingers that touched against his skin felt like fire running through his skin. It felt so foreign and he hated that he didn’t want it to end. He was wishing the song would go on for hours because he’s never had you this close, didn’t know if he’d get to again. This feeling was new and all consuming, he was scared.

The song ended and everyone stilled, it felt like someone had thrown ice cold water on him as he stared at you. A gnawing feeling clawing at his chest as he locked eyes with you again. Guilt.

He felt the need to apologize, as if he made you two cross a line you both never had before. Before he could, you turned stiffly away from him and made your way back to your seat next to Mo’at.

-

The night progressed and the sun was starting to cast a pink hue over High Camp, the crowd was still in full swing but with Mo’at deciding to retreat you did the same. Tuk was curled into you, deep in sleep as you adjusted her to begin the walk back to your family tent.

Your eyes quickly scanned around looking for the other three kids, Lo’ak and Netyam were with Jake, laughing about something he had said. Your eyes briefly locked with his as you were turning to look for Kiri.

She sat beside other young Na’vi girls, singing along to the music that was still playing. You began to make your way through the clearing, soothing Tuk’s back as she moved around in your arms, the poor girl was so exhausted. “Something is wrong between you and JakeSully.”

You turned to look at the Tsahik, she did not spare you a glance as she kept walking, “There is nothing wrong between us.”

“Yes there is, do not lie to me. The Great Mother speaks to me, gives me signs and something has been wrong since your union. She is unhappy.”

Fear gripped at your throat, you swallowed to try and ease the burn that began to burrow there. “You do not act like a mated couple. You both act as if you know nothing of each other. No kids either? Do you not want your own?”

“I am perfectly content with the life I have, Mo’at. And I have four children already, that is more than enough for both Jake and I.”

“You are just content? A union with your mate should not make you feel content, you should feel euphoric, happy, loved.”

You felt anger bubble in your chest at the older woman, she had no right to comment on what your life ended up being. All the things she felt you lacked were her doing, she planted the idea of the union, she pushed you and Jake to come together in a way neither of you ever wanted to. “What do you want me to say Mo’at? That I would gladly sacrifice myself for Jake to live a happy life with his kids? That nothing makes me happier than when he comes home and he is not injured or in pain? Do you want me to shout it out for the entire clan to hear? That I lov-”

Your ears pinned back as the words almost slipped from your tongue, your tail twitched in fear. Mo’at froze as she realized it was hard for you to even get the words out. “That you love him?”

She noticed small tears pooled in your eyes, “What is wrong, ‘ite?”

“Nothing is wrong, I told you already.”

Her eyes shifted behind you, you blinked the tears away, “Ah-JakeSully.”

You continued the short distance to your tent, Tuk feeling heavy in your arms as your whole body felt like it was going to cave in. Jake and the rest of the kids followed in shortly as you laid Tuk down.

Tears fell freely down your eyes as you stared at the small girl, trying your hardest to blink them away, “You should’ve had me bring her.”

You wiped at the tears quickly, “I was tired, I wanted to come home already and figured the four of you still wanted to be out.”

Jake’s hand gripped at your forearm, stopping you from leaving him again. His face was filled with concern as he scanned over your face. “Why are you crying?”

More tears fought to leak but you blinked them away, “Just one of those days. Peace of mind has been difficult for me to find lately.”

You removed your arm from his, something had shifted between the two of you and it scared you. You wanted no part of it.

🏷️ ; @luvlykrispy​ @fanboyluvr​ @daydreamer2k​ @tonowarii​ @mrs-sullys-blog​ @cupidddd-d​ @iamparou​ @myheartfollower​ @cwufst​ @cleverzonkwombatsludge​ @gandalfsbathwater​ @tonysslut​ @ch0nky-child​ @irisskies​ @bobojojoba69​ @sseleniaa​ @perseny​ @stargirl-ghostiesss​ ; i tagged who i could, some @’s were not working for me, pls lmk if you would like to be added <3

[ganondoodle]

Kinda in regards to the Empress & BodyGuard 2-

Is Zaphira (sorry if I spelled her name wrong) an elf or do humans have pointed ears in your universe? If no elves, how do the pointed ears happen? Are there different length of ears and if so do they mean somethin?

Love your art & use of colours!

Thank you! and thank you for asking! (this sketch took me way too long .. and the colors still look washed out on my desktop screen but im not editing a third time ..)

Zaphira is human, there are no elves, as such, in this world, though humans tend to live longer than IRL and have differently shaped ears-

the shapes are rather diverse (example above) and culturally (so far) they have no significance, they are merely a trait just like different nose shapes or fantasy hair colors

the worldbuilding reason is that these are extremely diluted demonic influences- in the past demons were frequently in the human world, though largely in secret/disguised, and long time exposure to demonic presences can have varying effects, the most immediate and common being a longer life or wounds healing faster than normal; there might have been other long time effects but the only trait that stayed even after their disappearance is the ear shapes

(there was a mass extinction event of demons that wiped out all above a certain age, since demons generally dont die of natural causes their life neither depends nor revolves around reproduction so there were extremely few left and those were too young to keep most of their knowledge and culture alive, as they rarely wrote anything down; Shargon is of the current oldest generation and witnessed it happen, just like most now adult demons, Thor and Eadrya are both a bit older than him and thus the oldest living demons, which doesnt mean much considering the technically endless lifespans of them)

and to explain me including Shargon in a human appearance- hes the only demon that spends as much time in the human world as at home, largely to escape the others since they are not interested in going there and would otherwise attack him any chance they get (the human world is rather uncomfortable for demons to be in and they have better things to do than to chase him that far), while hes generally very weak compared to them, something he is very good at is shape shifting, mainly the speed of which, being able to shift between full demon and the smaller more humanoid form extremely quickly, or even mid forms that are a mix of both - even in motion! while for the others it takes them quite a bit and forces them to stop which is the main reason he keeps escaping them not able to keep up with his rapid shape shifting (though it does take its toll .. also a reason hes so skinny)

he is the first (only?) one that at some point will learn how to shift into a much more human looking one (depicted in the sketch) too, but its rather dangerous since it involves supressing and compressing his demon heart and system... which is what keeps demons alive (its somewhat like holding your breath for way too long) so the only time he would make use of it is in extreme situations, like avoiding detection by maschines that can pick up demonic energy or escaping shackles made of celestial silver (which drains their energy and can scar/hurt them permanently, like silver to vampires(?werewolfs?) in a way)

....the point is that if he shifts into a human form he has very long ears, meaning that is basically the extreme form that doesnt occur in humans and hints at the origins for those ear shapes being demonic exposure in the past

[fairy-heart-magic]

More Dragon Slayer Headcannons

Uhh holy shit the last one blew up like crazy, so here I guess have more dragon slayers being creepy.

Because they have more air in their lungs they can hold their breath for a stupidly ridiculous amount of time, they’re also excellent swimmers.

They have really dense bone structure but hollow air filled bones so they’re all extremely sturdy, they also have much denser muscles which leaves them unnaturally strong.

The more they use their dragon slayer magic, the more dragon like they become both in physical appearance and personality as over time it starts to slowly show up in their personalities, they become territorial and protective of what they deem to be ‘there’s’, they growl at people as a warning to back the fuck off, they bear their teeth as a sign of aggression, as for the physical their eyes will take on an unnatural glow, Natsu’s becoming orange like embers glowing in the darkness, Laxus’s become electric yellow, Gajeel’s become like brownish rust red and so on, their teeth become longer even the way they walk and carry themselves becomes more inhuman, they way they fight becomes like that of a beast only not wild, extremely intelligent and cunning to a frightening degree.

They naturally seek out their own element, almost like a honing instinct, Laxus tends to travel towards storms, while Natsu often travels as much as he can to hot places where fires are likely to start, Gajeel always visits a city’s junkyard, Rogue always finds his way to dark, pitch black caves while Sting always climbs to the highest sunniest peaks he can to bathe in the light, Wendy frequently visits high up or isolated mountains to be closer to the sky.

Dragon Force effects more than just their magic, it also effects their personality and they can become almost completely different people entirely retaining only their base most present thoughts from before hand with their instincts often telling them to do one thing only; defeat whatever enemy is in front of them.

They’re also in part nocturnal which is both inherited from their magic and because it was how they where raised, while it varied from dragon to dragon, most preferred to hunt and move at night-time due to the fact less humans where active at night and they could see perfectly well in the dark which made avoiding humans easier. Both Laxus and Erik are also semi-nocturnal because of this and most dragons slayers find it difficult to sleep at night as their brains are hard wired to be active during the period most humans are sleeping. The only acceptation to this is Sting who while he can use his magic in the dark, it doesn’t work nearly as well as it does in the day time.

They heal at an incredible fast rate, almost double the spend of a normal human. Though they can’t regrow limbs or anything like that, this incredible healing ability makes it easier to survive severe injuries and wounds. Laxus however using electricity can stimulate the cells in a particular area to heal even faster than other dragon slayers however overusing this technique leaves him severely exhausted and if he used it too much he’ll overload his entire nervous system and just collapse.

That’s about all I can think of for now, I hope you guys like them and feel free to use or reblog if you want.

[deception-united]

It's me again. Are there proper ways of writing fight scenes that flow well? And are there ways to make fights feel realistic without feeling like it stops the story in its tracks? How do I find the middle ground between realism and injury healing times?

Thanks for asking!

Maintaining realism in fights while keeping the story flowing smoothly is crucial for engaging storytelling. Here are some tips to achieve that balance:

Integrate fights into the narrative: Make sure that the fights serve a purpose in advancing the plot or developing the characters. They should feel like a natural progression of the story rather than an interruption.

Character motivations and stakes: Ensure that the characters involved in the fight have clear motivations and stakes. This adds depth to the conflict and makes the fight feel more meaningful to the audience.

Use variety in fight scenes: Avoid repetitive fight scenes by incorporating different fighting styles, environments, and tactics. This keeps the audience engaged and prevents the story from feeling stagnant.

Show the consequences: Realistic fights have consequences, both physical and emotional. Show the aftermath of the fight and how it impacts the characters and the story moving forward.

Balance action with other elements: Don't let the fight scenes overshadow other important aspects of the story, such as character development, dialogue, and plot progression. Maintain a balance between action and quieter moments to keep the story flowing smoothly.

Keep it concise: Avoid prolonged fight scenes that drag on unnecessarily. Focus on the key moments of the fight that are most relevant to the story and characters, and move the narrative forward efficiently.

Incorporate tension and suspense: Build tension and suspense leading up to the fight to make it feel more impactful. Use pacing, foreshadowing, and strategic placement within the story to heighten anticipation.

Make it believable: Research fighting techniques and strategies to ensure that the fight scenes are realistic and grounded in reality. Avoid overly exaggerated or implausible actions that may break immersion for the audience.

Finding the middle ground between realism and narrative pacing in injury healing times and recovery can be challenging but rewarding for maintaining both credibility and story momentum. Here are some tips:

Research: Understand typical healing times for various injuries. Medical websites, journals, and consultations with healthcare professionals can provide valuable insights.

Consider context: The severity of the injury and the overall tone of your story will influence the healing time. A minor scrape will heal quickly, while a major wound would naturally take longer.

Character abilities: Take into account your character's physical condition, age, and any supernatural or futuristic elements that could affect healing. A trained fighter might recover faster than an ordinary person, while futuristic technology or magical abilities could speed up the process.

Plot demands: Sometimes, the pace of your story might require injuries to heal faster than they would realistically. In such cases, consider adjusting the healing time while maintaining some level of believability.

Show the process: Even if you need to speed up the healing process for narrative purposes, acknowledge the injury and its effects on the character. Show them experiencing pain, discomfort, or limitations even as they recover.

Use time skips wisely: If you need to compress healing times for the sake of pacing, consider using time skips or transitions to indicate the passage of time without dwelling too much on the healing process itself.

Balance drama and realism: Strive for a balance between dramatic tension and realism. Injuries can provide opportunities for character development and conflict resolution, so consider how the healing process can contribute to the narrative arc.

Persistent effects: Even if a character's injuries are on the mend, they may not fully heal before the story's conclusion. Implementing this in your writing involves ensuring that the injury continues to affect the character in some way, whether it's physical discomfort, limited mobility, or psychological trauma.

Plot hindrance: Use the not-fully-healed injury to hinder the character's progress or add tension to the plot. For example, if the character's arm was injured in a fight, they may struggle with tasks that require the use of that arm, such as wielding a weapon or climbing.

Pain and discomfort: Continue to reference the injury after the initial healing period. Describe how the character experiences pain or discomfort, particularly in situations that aggravate the injury. This could be triggered by specific movements, weather conditions, or emotional stress.

Character growth: Show how the character copes with their lingering injury. This could lead to moments of vulnerability, resilience, or resourcefulness, allowing for further character development and depth.

For more tips on writing fight scenes, see my previous post!

Hope this helped ❤

Previous | Next

[hanafubukki]

I do love me some good old Lilia angst (also just the little stories about our favorite peepaw in general) but I too also thought that Lilia had scars from battle. Although I do wonder, do you think physical scars for fairies heal slower than a human's or do you think it's about the same or a similar timeframe as a human recovering from one?

Also, another HC I have came from his guest room voice line after swinging his magearm around.

Lilia can revert back to his old tone and manner of speaking as a general but it's not often because mainly he's enjoying the life he got after the war and especially with Silver coming into his life and the fae not being at war with the humans anymore, he has no need to bring it up. But to the fairies that served under the Right General, they would be left petrified and shaking in their boots if they heard Lilia speak in the tone he used during war.

(In reference to this post)

Hello McDingus 🌺💞💚

You 🤝 Me liking anything Lilia related ☺️💞🥰

I actually have a couple headcanons when it comes to scars for Lilia 🤔👀

One headcanon is that depending on the type of wound and the weapon, it will determine how long the scars will take to heal. If the weapon was made with iron or blessed by faes then those will take longer.

Another headcanon is that they heal faster than humans because they are magic born/dependent so they heal with magic and nature quickly. Unless the area is damaged or magic is drained.

But also I like the idea of the scars healing slowly as well. Because imagine this, the scars are healing as quick as a humans…but since faes age slowly. Their version of healing “quickly” differs. For example: a wound that would take say a week to heal for a human would take a fae a month. Because that’s their equivalent in healing process to humans and to the fae, it’s “quick” since time passes by so quick to them.

But since you said you like Lilia angst, let me share with you one of my faves headcanons, a wound/scar that doesn’t fully heal. Because it’s based on emotions. Not just talking about emotional scar but something tied to emotions/mental. A wound that Lilia was struck by centuries ago. It hurts and bleeds even after time has passed. What if it’s a wound that burns on days when he especially feels the loss of his loved ones? And it’s only when he’s with, say Malleus or Silver, that it hurts less or doesn’t bleed? What if it only stops when he sees them okay? In this time of peace? What about he remembers the deaths and that’s when he needs to soak his body in the hot springs because the nightmares chase him (mostly before Malleus was hatched)? Can you see the vision 🫶

Gosh I love Lilia ability to change voices. That was one of my wishes too. That he would change his voice in his card 💞💞

The fact he uses it for gaming will never not amuse me.

Can you imagine? Being an older fae or the relative who served in the war (maybe baul with sebek) is watching someone play a game. And you hear this deep voice? It’s a whiplash for them. 😂

And some of them can’t help but tremble and remember the old drills they went through while under his command.

But also 👀 I can see Lilia use this as his “mom” voice when he’s scolding, like “Malleus Draconia” or “Silver” with a certain look and they know they are in trouble 😂😨

There’s also some other thoughts I have but I won’t scar you with my nsfwish thoughts 😂🫶