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lady-quen · 3 days ago

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🥺

Oh my goodness, a whole analysis... for my writing... this is the highest compliment I could have ever hoped to receive, thank you so, so much! I'm holding this to my chest and crying 💜

I've definitely put my whole soul into writing this, and since I happen to be best at writing angst, tension and action, it was a blast to work on. Hollering at the notes, howling at the moon, even. So, I allowed myself to ramble about some of your points :D

- Referring to Mael as "the Knight" so extensively is indeed meant to juxtapose the current version of himself to what follows, when he self-describes as a fallen or failed Knight of Thorn. Wielding Caladbolg for extended periods of time burns his hands even through his enchanted gloves, since he's carrying the very weapon meant to slay the kind of monster he's become. Add in the fact his first Wyld Hunt was canon-divergent and instead of being sent to fight Zhaitan right away, he inherited Riannoc's Hunt to slay Mazdak - this man cannot escape the irony of tragic cycles.

- Since he wakes 5 years before canon and joins the Priory early to research Krytan history and necromantic rituals in hopes of stopping Mazdak (before the whereabouts of Caladbolg are known) I'm also working on the idea Sieran was his student instead during the PS. Meaning losing her would be traumatic in a whole different way, considering he later takes on Maol as a squire and trains him to be the next Knight of Thorn but almost loses him to Jormag in the process. We need to post more about this whole plotline, I promise it's so good and parallels Riannoc and Waine (violent cough sfx)

- As for his colors, Mael is actually based a lil on a tillandsia air plant! It's a xeric plant, silver when dry, gets greener when rehydrated. Yes, this means that if you dunk Mael in water his hair turns green. I have a more in-depth post about it somewhere, will reblog it. In any case, this is why he looks silver sometimes and greenish some other times. A quirk of ingame lighting which I turned into a biological trait.

- The Lost Soul' stripping of identity was extremely fun to work on. Mael basically regresses completely to his pre-awakening Dreamer self (even if intertwined with trauma) and subconsciously confuses the Domain of the Lost with the Dream. Hence the comments about the hounds, he was always surrounded by fern hounds when in the Dream. Both Mael and Maol have deep-rooted canine symbolism, it does indeed follow them throughout their lives. Plus, Maol's introduction to the DW is literally through tracking down Mael in the Desolation, looking for answers about his Dream of the Three Knights as well as why Mael's still "alive" after Maol witnessed his death through his unnaturally strong Dream connection.

- The journey through the Domain of the Lost is all about finding one's identity and purpose, and yet, a part of Mael was worried that the person he was in life was evil. This is partly because he died so violently he confused himself with Balthazar, but also ties to the slight canon-divergencies with which I portray the Commander. Post-Maguuma, witnessing all the racism against sylvari and being aware of the threat of having his rank taken from him or even being assassinated, Mael truly began his moral downfall from the chivalrous Valiant he once was - working closely with Whispers to weed out those who opposed him, knowing that were he to lose the rank of Commander, the Pact would have likely fallen apart. He became a killer, a wolf holding tight the reins of all those who would dare oppose him. And, well, as a Dawnborn, he was always exceedingly good at political games, lies and deceit. It all culminates in The Departing, of course, forcing Mael to truly become his personal image of ultimate evil - a lich - for a greater cause.

- Taking the soul of a literal avatar of hunger transforms him into an image of hunger and ambition, someone doomed to never be able to stop his pursuit and never truly have enough. This is why he takes on a self-assigned "endless Hunt" to strike down any threats to Tyria that pop up. His chain magic comes from the need to suppress the more volatile side of his power - though we don't have an official Deldrimor script, so his tattoos are in Krytan, the sealing spell he inscribed into himself is a dwarven one to mirror the bindings of Fenrir being forged by dwarves. It's also derived from the same spell he studied before canon to seal Mazdak in his tomb, back when killing a lich seemed impossible without Caladbolg. As such, his own body becomes his own tomb, the bindings of a beast awaiting the freedom of Ragnarök. Naturally, his symbolism extends to his swords, which are both named after Fenrir's first chains.

- Goodness, I wish gw2 had the sense to add in Fear Not This Night during this segment, even if it's a sylvari anthem, it's still used in PS anyway. The themes are indeed perfect since the Commander is literally going through their very worst, personal night. And, the angst hound I am, this instance is the last time Mael ever hears the lullaby, since dying severed him from the Dream. He sings his own version later (I cannot get over "Who needs the light" when interpreted as sylvari Comm singing. M sylvari Comm's character progression is just infinitely dear to me, you can hear the innocence gradually leave his voice.)

- Yes! Giving Nenah a more nurturing, almost motherly role is meant as a callback to Mael having the Pale Mother to support him his whole life, and then losing the connection so traumatically, dying alone in the desert. But even though no one could save him then, he's not alone in the Domain of the Lost, and it is only with Nenah's guidance that he manages to undertake his perilous journey of rediscovery. Since he was in a hurry, I didn't have him accompany Nenah to her own Trial, but I do love love love how you can choose to follow her back to the Judge and hear her story, as well. How she avoided Judgement because she was afraid she hadn't done enough in life - to help others, to honor Kormir's teachings - so she stayed as a self-appointed teacher of the Domain's rules. In the end, Kormir worked through her even then, and helping the Commander allowed her to finally rest easy.

- His armor change during PoF gave me a bit of a headache at first, I very much had a battle of "this looks cool, I am putting him in this now" and "yes, but where would he get a whole (Grenth-styled, to boot) armor set in the middle of the fast-paced Elona campaign?" Hahah. So... he became Grenth's most special magic girl. Yes. We can officially call Mael a magic girl.

- Yes!! Even if the placements of the maws didn't occur to you beforehand (which is absolutely fine, by the way) I made sure to stress that aspect here. Poor man gets literally branded forever with the reminder of his demise. But also? In a sense, he channels his magic through his scars, turning his worst trauma into strength.

- ...Recontextualized repetition and myself should get married at this point, I'm telling you. It's the point where he realizes what he became and gets too nauseous to think - coupled with what remained of the demon briefly possessing him.

- LOL, I'm so glad you enjoyed the funny micro scene of Mael sassing Joko only for me to immediately slam you with PoV-shift whiplash of the DW crying over their leader's mutilated body. Record scratch and cut to Rytlock, "I bet you're wondering how we ended up in this situation..."

- If you enjoy little callbacks like these, then hop along for the ride, because this man is not escaping the constant cycle of events and themes spinning him around like a messed up carousel of hell. :D

Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to do this! This damn plant is so dear to me, so he gets to suffer. Something something, love leaves teeth marks... and mine includes tearing into the character so hard there are shreds on the walls.

Hounds to Hamartia

"...Do you really want this, Commander? You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger." "...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough. You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?" "To save her. Yes. I will do anything." "Will you be anything?" "Yes."

[The Departing soft rewrite as applicable to my canon. 15k words. Tws for major character death, major character undeath, blood, gore, unreality, fantasy racism, swearing. The study of ambition as a fatal flaw, ironic destiny, as well as what it means to become a monster to stop an arrogant god. The Commander's encore.]

The arid Elonian air strained his lungs. That, and all that smoke from the Forged that insisted on barricading his path every step of the way.

The Knight ducked, deftly avoiding a blow from a massive Cannonade - deathly green magic snaking around the tip of Caladbolg as he angled it upward. With a shink! the Thorn slotted neatly between the plates of the construct's armor, severing the strands that bound the soul battery within. The flame fizzled out, and the colossus fell to its knees.

That... was the last of them. Maelmordha sighed, wiping a stray bead of sweat from silver skin. Sun-dried, his leaves and bark had practically lost all color. The sylvari took a short break in his climb, leaning against one of the rocky pillars that offered him some shade. Idly, his unaltered hand played with the settings of his communicator. He had already tried to enter the channel before, but the duststorms coming in from around Kesho had rendered the effort moot. Once again, the device returned nothing but static. Just like the buzz of sand in his ears when he braved the vast desert.

The necromancer pocketed the contraption, vinetooth arm adjusting Caladbolg's weight upon his shoulder. Not too long, now, he thought to himself. As he walked, the top of the Spire finally came into view - the meeting place he had arranged for the Dragon's Watch to pick him up. In theory, the altitude should allow for his communicator to work even despite the chaotic weather.

In practice, however, he really didn't like the dark clouds looming in the distance.

„Taimi, come in.” He stopped in the middle of the plateau. The only thing that answered him was yet more static, causing the Knight to let out an exasperated huff. The airship should have been visible by now. Did they get stuck in the storm? Worst case scenario, he could wait however long it took - he'd much rather spend a few extra rations than have the Watch crash somewhere far from civilization, thrown to the mercy of Elona's fickle weather and scorching sun. Spirits of this land only knew just how much of a scorned mistress it could really be, but he was beginning to get an idea. And that idea was that the sky was darkening much too quickly to be natural.

Something stirred in the pit of his stomach. Gold eyes narrowed, scanning the area around him. His stronger arm rested on the hilt of the Thorn, feeling the fuzz on his neck stand up as though seized by crackling static.

A sound. Like thunder.

The Commander leapt back, just narrowly avoiding the fiery meteor that crash landed in the middle of the Spire. What in the fucking Hydras..?! No, this wasn't a meteor -

„Balthazar!” His lips moved on their own. Fuck.

The God seemed to drink in the shock and fear betrayed by the necromancer's features. Grizzled features contorting in a self-satisfied smirk beneath a crown of obsidian horns. His gaze was oppressive, even when his voice seemed almost eerily playful. „Expecting someone else?”

Shit. This wasn't winnable.

The Commander forced a smile, even when he could already feel his skin shedding water at the sheer heat emanating from the God of Fire. His mask would do no good here - Balthazar knew all too well he held the upper hand. Still, if the Dragon's Watch were to come - how did the human God even know they were meeting here?!

Think, Mael, think..!

„Oh? Can't a man go sightseeing in peace?” He blurted out with a nervous laugh, Caladbolg poised and ready for combat. He could hear the rush of sap in his ears, heart pounding to the rhythm of alarm bells ringing in his skull. Gold eyes scanned the plateau. As if on cue, walls of fire, summoned with a snap of the rogue deity's fingers. Cutting off his escape route. Like a wolf smoked out of its den and ensnared in a ring of burning forest.

This was the end of the road. Knowing running was no longer an option, the sylvari's gaze focused on Balthazar, eyes wide and instinctive smirk turning into a wicked-looking grin. It wasn't a smile, anymore. He was a cornered beast, all bared teeth and feet ready to spring. The god chuckled. „Good. Just like that. I want your eyes on me, now, Commander.”

His title was a mockery, upon Balthazar's tongue. Like playing pretend with a child who wished he could be king. In the end, mortal rulers were but fleeting autumn leaves, falling soundless before eternal Gods. Not even a requiem, only the desert winds.

Fuck that. He was not going to think that way. He would not give this man the satisfaction. Maelmordha grinned, the sharpened tips of his fangs but polished wood before the hulking giant of flame and metal. So, too, was Caladbolg - but the Thorn had slain strange things before. And he laughed, a brazen sound to challenge Balthazar's own. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly.

„Bring it, then. Just us.”

No one was coming. Good. He would not suffer Balthazar to hurt his guild.

His attitude seemed to humor the God. An enormous blade of lupine decor and crackling hellfire rose at the fiery monarch's whim, carried solely by the strength of his will. Mael prepared himself to dodge - ducking swiftly under a wide swing that would have surely cleaved him in twain where he stood. Like a hot knife through butter. Still the red-hot bottom of the sword singed his foliage, adding a dusting of black to once pure-white leaves.

He sprang back to his feet, rolling deftly around the God's shin. Caladbolg struck viciously - a resounding clang as divine wood struck divine metal, repelled by the sheer force of magic clashing against magic. Shit. Balthazar was not only armored from head to toe - he was his armor, inhabited by flame like the lanterns in the Grove holding fireflies.

Unbothered, the God of War extended a palm - his war machine of a sword moving of its own accord and raking the ground where Mael had stood but moments prior. Lazy, like a cat swatting a toy mouse. Knowing its plaything won't run away. Catching a gaze of twin funeral pyres, the necromancer extended a hand of his own. There was no flesh nor blood here, but a necromancer of his caliber could make do.

„Rise!” He commanded, and the bleached bone of Elona's past answered his call. Skeletal warriors, rapidly assembling, with sand-worn equipment clutched in desiccated digits. Not like these could do much against the living embodiment of volcanic fury dressed in fortress walls, but they could be a distraction.

„Oh? What's this? Playing with toys? Feeling lonely?” Balthazar teased, a swing of his sword turning one of his minions into bone dust. Too shattered to return, a jigsaw with a million pieces. „...Have your friends abandoned you?”

He wasn't going to let Balthazar's teasing get to him. He only grinned in response, brows furrowed over sharp, golden orbs. Good, he wanted to say. Good, only I pay the price for my foolishness - no, don't think like that.

...You can salvage this. He's arrogant. An enemy so sure of their superiority won't be as ready for the tables to turn.

He ducked and weaved, striking with Caladbolg where he was able. Hissing as the fire burned his skin by mere proximity, retreating into a Shroud of shadows. Each step of this dance was a brush with death - against a predator who could crush him in a single blow.

„What do you say we take things a little more slowly this time?” The deity rumbled contentedly - reveling in his opponent's fleeting strength.

„I'm surprised a God can derive this much enjoyment from fighting one mortal.” Maelmordha quipped back. „Picking on prey your own size didn't go well, last time?”

„It seems you need a lesson in humility.”

He provoked him. Good.

Having baited Balthazar into advancing, the Commander leapt back. As soon as the God's boot touched the polished stone floor where he had stood but seconds prior, runic patterns alight with a green hue began their work.

An explosion, followed by another, and another. Sizzling poison accompanied by bitter frost, Death's own essence wrapped around the fallen God's form to sap his strength. The necromancer felt some of his burns heal from the sheer amount of magic taken through this gambit. Revitalized, a glimmer of hope surfaced within his mind that maybe, he could last long enough to devise a proper plan.

...And yet, even that amount of magic only seemed equal to plucking a single hair off the back of a rampaging boar. Balthazar didn't even seem to feel it.

He closed the gap faster than Mael could have ever anticipated such a behemoth to move. A motion of a fiery hand prompting his greatsword to thrust forward at unprecedented speed, and the Pact Commander could only respond so well.

A massive claw of pure darkness rose from the ground to intercept the blade, hardening quickly into solid shadow. But the flame only burned brighter. Parting the dark like a lantern, phasing right through his spell before he was fully ready to dodge.

He felt the blade brush against his side. It almost felt painless - before the scream caught in his throat.

He fell to his right, clutching his cleaved side. Golden blood gushed from the gruesome wound, Caladbolg clattering to the ground without fanfare. A howl of agony burst through clenched lips before he could ever choke it down. Shaking, he pushed down on crimson fabric, knowing no bandage could stem the flow of the sap that stickied his fingers.

Like a tree taking an axe to the trunk only to topple over. Even with all these years, he really was no more than a sapling.

No, no..! Get up. This isn't the end. Is it..?

He fought so hard to not let the terror show in his eyes. Even so much as meeting Balthazar's gaze was a monumental task. But he did. He blinked against the twin suns that threatened to steal his vision, and the Lord of Flames smirked. Satisfaction, mockery, faux pity, he couldn't even tell what it was, if not all of it at once.

„Feeling mortal yet?” He thundered, even the softest whisper of his voice an earthquake in its own right. „Do you recall the lesson? No? Let me repeat it for you: never defy a god.”

Through the haze of pain and building panic, the necromancer did the only thing appropriate. He laughed. His vinetooth arm reached for the fallen Thorn. Using the sword as a crutch, he pulled himself up to his feet. Even if his knees trembled. Even if the warmth spreading across his side sent waves of nausea through his guts.

And he felt it again. That magic he had absorbed previously. Except - no - this magic was.. was Balthazar directly feeding a sliver of his magic to him, right in that very moment? Was he going crazy from blood loss? And if so, why did he suddenly feel so much better?

Good enough to stand. Good enough to swing a sword - even with just one arm, and the other possibly the only barrier stopping his insides from sightseeing the outside world. He was still bleeding, but this... he had time. He had time.

Time. Time. Just... a little more time. What are you holding out for, Valiant? You know help isn't coming.

Tick, tock.

He bit back a groan of pain. I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Every second he wrestled from this dire hourglass was a testament to his resilience. Every long second that counted down towards his death was a testament to Balthazar's pride. Panting, mortal breath mixed with immortal, singing fire and the roar of a sword two times his height or more slamming against the ground like a thunder drum.

A terrible symphony, for none to behold but themselves.

Tick, tock. He dodged. Tick, tock. The Thorn glanced off of impenetrable armor. Tick, tock. He slipped on his blood. Balthazar seemed almost disappointed at the lack of banter.

He couldn't move fast enough. His right hand joined the left in gripping the hilt of Caladbolg when he prepared to parry. Blinding light strained his eyes as the telekinetic strike came his way, and he angled the Thorn to minimize damage.

A sickening crunch. He skid back several meters, fresh pain seizing control of his senses. His right arm refused his control, and the tip of Caladbolg fell heavy against the floor in a pitiful attempt to stop him from falling. His breath came in ragged gasps as he beheld what had become of his uncorrupted arm - mangled at the elbow, splinters of wood tearing through vine. Fresh sap streaming down his sleeve, dripping from unresponsive fingers. It hurt. Oh, by the Tree it hurt so much. A low whine of agony escaped heaving lungs, tears flowing freely down silver cheeks. He couldn't even find the energy to meet the God's gaze, then. And he wasn't sure he even wanted to. Reality's weight was settling in, like dull ache in the bones.

If he looked at him now, what would he find? What was this sadism? How long would this last..?

Tick.

Tock.

Another blow. There wasn't even any time for him to breathe. If he were to fall, he would not go quietly. Like a ragdoll, he was practically thrown across the arena, a new slash in his shoulder rendering his right side almost completely useless. His mangled form finally came to a halt when it crashed against a pillar, rupturing something inside. A pained hiss, then desperate roar of hatred and sheer anguish. With his sole working hand, he slowly dragged himself, yet again, towards his sword.

„Suffer a little more loudly. Cry out!” The God raved in glee. „Let everyone hear!”

...Who...? There was no one here... Was there? It was getting dark. Maybe the shadows dancing at the edges of his vision were people, after all.

So he did the only thing he felt he could still do. Eyes numb to the pain. He got... up. Up to his knees, for his body refused to climb any higher. Up, as though clawing for a shred of dignity. At this point, the liquid pooling in his mouth tasted all the sweeter when he considered it signaled his coming release. And he knew how Trahearne had felt. Yes, the darkness suddenly seemed so... appealing. Even if the quiet scared him.

He didn't want it to be so... quiet.

„I do enjoy these little get-togethers. You're proving to be quite useful.” What in the fuck was Balthazar rambling on about? He struggled to focus on the words. He let out a wheezy „what” and spat anothet mouthful of sap. M-maybe if he tried to talk, Balthazar would converse rather than slowly pull him apart. Alas, his inquiry was ignored.

But something else answered. At first, he didn't know what it was.

The God of Fire walked towards him at a leisurely pace, before finally stopping mere centimeters away from the Knight - forcing him to look practically straight up. He could no longer make out Balthazar's features, privy only to a hazy outline of horns and two burning eyes.

„Listen...” Maelmorda rasped. Even that much took an unbelievable amount of effort. A long pause, just to collect enough breath to form words. „I never... even... wanted... to kill you....”

The true threat to Tyria were the Dragons. And they could not be killed without catastrophe following. He supposed all his dreams and lofty ambitions were but delusions of a madman. In a sense, Braham was right. Who gave him the right to kill Dragons, anyway? And who made him believe he could ever stand against a God? Hubris, all the way down. His very own hamartia.

„You won't.” The deity of Fire and War answered, matter-of-factly. The clock was winding down. Sleep. Please. „...How sad for you to die so far from home.” Please. No more magic moving his strings. No more teetering on the brink of oblivion.

No more. He let out a harsh gasp and fell backwards. Balthazar seemed satisfied. He supposed he could die knowing he gave a God some exercise.

There was a light in the sky. Huh, so this is how....

He blinked. This was no star, nor an opening of the heavens. It moved. It was... blue. And he felt a tiny mind hold the hand of his own. Filling his silence with song just to keep him afloat. And he knew. And oh, he knew.

„Ah, the scion... come here to defend her Champion.”

„Aurene, no...” He cried out, sole working hand reaching out in her general direction. His mind begging her to run. Grasping at the air with twitching fingers, as though he could in any way stop the God from taking her like he took all he ever wanted. Just another conquest.

She whined like a battered pup. Tiny yelps that communicated more than language ever could. Her magic cradling his weary soul even as he felt every thread that tied him to existence snap one by one. Begging her to stop. Holding her mind's hand when she refused, for he knew all too well the pain of letting go. But Balthazar had already claimed what he came for. Played him like the fool he was. So he decided to claim one last thing, just out of spite. I want your eyes on me, now.

Aurene was whisked away from the reach of his vision, fading sight filled completely by his killer. And the sword that lingered, a stake, above his heart. „And now, you die.”

...Aurene, I'm so -

In an instant, she felt the connection sever.

What am I? Who am I?

It saw a barren sky, shorn of stars. Its eyes never blinked. It did not know what a sky was. Only that it filled its sight, the very first ephemeral memory, ever since „existence” became a concept that it knew.

But besides that, it also knew one other, much more intimate thing - an idea that existed before it did. The idea it needed to be somewhere else.

It rose. Spectral fingers digging into grass, without feeling. Chest falling and rising without breath, as though in a hazy recollection of having once carried that rhythm.

The ground was cold. What was... cold? Everything that heat wasn't. It did not know why, but it brought it comfort. The idea of being something else than cold terrified it. And so it wandered. It was the only thing it could really do. It was almost familiar, like a dreamscape that it once existed in before existence became a concept that gave it meaning.

Occasionally, it passed another spark. Heard questions, and discovered it could speak.

What is my name? Something inquired. I don't know, it answered.

What is a... name? And why does everything hurt?

In the distance, an object. It moved towards it. Beside it, stood a spark, asking questions. Inside it, stood another. Different. Almost like it did not... belong. The very moment it moved closer, it was addressed directly.

„You there! Come here. Over here. We can help each other. What is your name?”

Ah, again... that word.

„I don't even know who I am. Or where I am... Or how I got here.” It only spoke the truth. It had no concept of anything else - at least at the time. The stranger, however, seemed well versed.

„You died - it happens.” It shrugged. Seemingly unbothered at the notion of whatever death was, even though it certainly raged at the predicament of being restrained within an object. „Welcome to the Domain of the Lost. I am, of course, King Palawa Joko.”

Huh, it thought, and its mind regained a little clarity. Was „Palawa Joko” a name?

„King Joko..? I'm sorry. I don't know that name,” it gently responded. Wide, curious, trusting gold, like the eyes of a a freshly blossomed hound. Ah, yes... it missed them. Why weren't there more hounds? It felt like there were, last time. When was... last time?

Its inability to recall the name sent the stranger into a fit of anger. The spark could only tilt its head inquisitively, attempting to understand the many terms that rapidly spilled forth from chapped lips. Ah, yes... it had... a body. It was not a spark - a spirit. Like it. Why was it different?

So it asked. And received another name in response - Balthazar. It felt... familiar. But it did not feel cold, and that scared it more than anything.

It seemed this Balthazar was a liar, then. A deceiver. And it understood what it meant to lie and deceive, and some of the light left its eyes. It knew that it, too, had lied and deceived in life. But... why? Why would someone do that? A concept of a headache was something that became known right after. And yet, that gnawing, anxious sensation persisted. This was no place for it. It needed to be somewhere, but not here.

And it realized it, too, had been a he. Like Balthazar. Was he.. Balthazar? No. He can't have been, right? He had half a mind to ask Joko about it, but the amount of confusion he was already suffering was enough for the time. Such as, what the difference between „God” and „King” even was, if there was any.

He imagined that, had he really been Balthazar, King - God..? Joko would have had more to say about it. He let out a spectral sigh as he watched the other spark argue with the stranger on the proper definition of godhood. He was not sure what “Genuflect, peasant” was supposed to mean, but apparently, the Domain of the Lost was where such debates commonly took place.

„Come, gentle spirit. You must take the next steps, and I've heard enough of Joko's blasphemies.” Its - her..? voice pried him from his thoughts. She had evidently grown bored with the stranger within the object, and decided to debate him next. Oh, Mother. Wait, who was Mother? But more importantly...

„...Who is the Judge..?” He asked the fellow spark, following closely in tow. The landscape was strange and the anxiety was not going away. Even existing was difficult, like every body part was ill-fitting. Uncomfortable, like his very self was a lie.

She turned her head, coal brown meeting gold. She had a soothing air around her, like the remnants of a gentle sun. Warm. But not... scary. Not in the sense that Balthazar was.

„He is a loyal servant of Grenth. Charged with sending all the spirits who come through here to their appointed place.”

„But I don't know who I am. I don't know where I should be.” He mused sadly, as though afraid to admit he had no frame of reference. Everything simply fell away the moment he arrived here. If he even did arrive. Or had he always been here..? And yet, if so, why did it feel so wrong?

They walked the haunted plain, passing many other sparks. Some tall, some diminutive, some with beaks and fangs and tails. So many shapes to exist in that he had never fathomed. So, he looked at his hands. Compared his silver skin to that of the spark walking beside him. Bronze, soft, kissed by the sun. His was... harsher, pale, cold like snow.

Eventually, his senses were filled with the presence of something far greater than mere sparks. She beckoned for him to step forward, coaxing him gently towards the being. He was... massive. Hooded, with a skull mask for a face. He absentmindedly touched his own.

„Come, spirit. Do not be afraid.”

„I'm not sure why I'm here, or even who I am.” He confessed, resolving not to lie. In truth, he wasn't even sure.. how to, at least not at the time, but if being wretched had condemned him to that place, then nothing good could ever come of it.

The creature seemed to recognize his turmoil, and spoke in a soothing baritone. „That's because most spirits find their own way to their fate when they die.” He explained. „But those whose deaths are too traumatic often forget who they were or how they perished.”

„These spirits, like you and me, end up here in the Domain of the Lost.” The spark beside him added. Again, that name. This place. So.. wrong. Traumatic. Perished..? Right. He died. King Joko told him that.

„But I can't be here.” He tried to reason in the only words he knew. He didn't know why, nor where else he was possibly meant to be - he just knew it wasn't there. Like... warm. Too warm. Like fire.

Walls closing in from every direction, every angle, and he needed to get out. He needed to call for help, but also... he needed it to stay away. He was not to be helped. Why? There was a shadow in here with him. One other being. The only one. He felt like it had all happened before, and was the reason everything hurt. Why his skin felt like a lie, and his gaze darted around corners.

„You will reach your rightful place in time.” The grand being reassured, standing ever tall. He had to look up just to meet his gaze, and his chest moved faster.

„First, you must recover your name to know who you were and how you lived. Then, you must learn your purpose, to understand the choices you made and why you lived as you did.” The Judge continued, his bright green orbs a familiar hue. „Once you know your name and your purpose, only then can I determine your final destination.”

„...But how do I do that?” He asked. Confusion and fear swirled in gold eyes, as though the walls were already getting closer. Soon, he may be stuck here forever. A cage. Let him out. Let him out. He needs to see her.

Who?

„Nenah has traveled the path you now face. She can assist you.” The servant of Grenth clarified, an armored hand signaling in the direction of the sunlit spark. He met her eyes, and understood her name. ”...For though they may have belonged to you in life, once your name and purpose enter this domain, they are yours no longer. And you will have to fight to reclaim your name.” The creature's next words rang out with a heavy finality. „Now, arm yourself.”

And he was gone, dissolving into the shadows from whence he had come. Though he still had more questions than answers, this... was a starting point.

„Nenah... So you discovered your name? How do I reclaim mine?” The cold spark mused, unsure where to even begin. He did not want to fight other spirits for something he wasn't even sure was his. What if he ended up with the wrong name? What if he stole someone else's only hope to leave this place? Was this a price he was willing to pay? A spectral hand massaged the bridge of his nose, as though the habit had helped him process similar predicaments in life. Not that... he really even knew what „life” was - just that it wasn't „here.”

And if it wasn't here, maybe he needed to be alive.

„I learned my name from the spirit of my old mentor. But only after besting him at a challenge of riddles.” Nenah smiled sadly in recollection, letting the words linger on her tongue. ”I discovered my purpose hidden in an old diary I had written as a child. I was a teacher.”

A mentor, then. How fitting. Guiding others in life, and now again in death. A luminary in a land of darkness. „Is it that simple?” He raised his brows, hesitant to believe things could ever go so smoothly. Somehow, he had an inkling that bad luck was destined to follow him wherever he went. Call it a hunch, but... his hunches tended to be correct.

„It's different for everyone. The judge said you must fight to recover your name, so you clearly weren't a teacher.” Nenah pondered aloud, taking in his form from head to toe. His gaze followed hers, and he found himself clad in crimson fabric. Comfortable, but form-fitting clothes, accentuating his graceful shape. His shoulders, adorned with metal pauldrons - and knees guarded in a similar manner. Chainmail beneath his vest, little interwoven loops of steel. „A soldier, perhaps?”

„I... I don't know.” Despite everything, he truly did not know. The world was bleeding back in very slowly. Who's to say he was a fighter? Maybe he was a scholar? A performer? His knuckle idly moved across his lip, but he excavated nothing else from the chasm that was his memory.

Nenah sighed. „Well, if you are to fight, you must first arm yourself.”

„With what?” He asked, incredulous. For whatever reason, he had an instinct to pat himself over for hidden weapons. The woman raised a ghostly eyebrow.

„Spirits must abandon their possessions before they may move on.” She set off towards some distant yonder, and once again he followed.

„I'll look around. Maybe I will.. find something.” He sifted through foliage and rubble, even when the geometry of the place didn't make much sense. For weapons, he would usually go to... a blacksmith. A mystic forge, maybe. Mother?

„You know, I.. remember. I had a sword.” He recounted, searching for a familiar outline on the floor. Sliding across stone. Reaching for the hilt. He only had bits and pieces, but he instinctively looked low. „I think.. Mother gave me it.”

„Your mother?” Nenah chatted. „Was she a warrior, then? Was the sword a family heirloom?”

„I don't... think she was, no. But I think others have owned that blade before me. I think it... had seen the blood of its wielders.”

„Too much blood spilled everywhere, I tell you...” The fellow spark sighed. „I know all about it, gentle spirit. Though with your recent revelations, I suppose gentle may not be so fitting.”

„...Why do you think so?”

She did not answer.

It took them a long time to get anywhere with the search. He supposed time lost meaning in a place such as this - with no frame of reference, who's to say what was day and what was night? If death had already come, there was nothing to count down towards. Sifting through mud, he wondered whether eternity was always supposed to be so dull.

Here and there, other sparks. Shaped like many things - the best approximations of themselves in life that they could muster. And yet, there were also those formless. Like clouds, and their voices sounded like rain mixed with lightning static. Nenah warned him away from those. He supposed that was what awaited if one did not reclaim their name.

And then some who spoke in nonsense and riddles. Cryptic warnings, issued from behind trembling hands, as though covering one's face rendered them invisible. It's coming, they whispered. What, he asked.

„...The Beast. And It will get you too.”

Before he could ask any additional questions, the spark... evaporated. Pure magic in the air, and then nothing. Wherever they had gone, he hoped they had at least escaped It.

„...Is it Balthazar?”

„Who?” The teacher turned to face him as he sifted through a pile of sand.

„The Beast. It's the worst thing I have heard spoken of, here. It feels like it matches with that name.” He had no better ideas, anyway. Each step into the unknown unlocked something - not always useful, but he was determined to connect the dots. Even when he grasped at straws.

„Oh, Balthazar? No, no. He's one of the Human Gods. The Six. And he betrayed them.”

„He betrayed them? He lied and deceived them? Why?”

„No one knows. One day, he just... did. And the Beast has been here ever since.”

The sand moved with a gust of wind. A shine caught his eye, and he moved closer.

And there it was, halfway buried, as though attempting to take root. A ghostly image of his sword - slotting neatly into his hand. Like it was meant to be there. Like it had been, for a long, long time.

„Huh.” Nenah gave Caladbolg a good lookover, before coal eyes met honey gold.

„I know now. I was a soldier.” There was conviction in the spark's voice. A newfound confidence, even when facing his truths came at a cost. His words gradually turned quiet. „I... don't think I was a good man. I lied and deceived. I think I wanted something very much.”

Nenah lingered in silence. A hand of sun-kissed bronze rested upon one of the cold spark's shoulders, feeling metal. A reassurance, perhaps. Or simply an acknowledgement. Whatever it was, her smile gave him the strength to keep going.

„Look. Over here.” She suddenly yanked him, pulling him behind a cover of trees. And then, himself.

Red cloth, bronze tinted metal. Stealing fervent glances, as though afraid of every shadow. That expression of prey-animal terror did not suit his features.

„That spirit... it looks just like me.”

„We should follow. Hurry!” They ran after it, and it broke into a sprint. It weaved inbetween rocks and trees, heading for a cave shrouded in webs. A dead end. His gold eyes met their own reflection, and his mirror image screamed.

The Thorn moved like second nature, and the dagger fell out of their hand. And so, the illusion shattered - a small creature huddled, weeping, where his warped self had been. „I yield!” It screeched. „I yield. Take it! It's yours.”

He still held the Thorn - a show of power, though he did not intend to strike down the thief. „Why did you steal my name?” Gone was the mellow calm with which he arrived. The timbre of his voice changed - and so too did the look in his eyes. No longer honey, but liquid gold. „Answer me.”

And the creature wept, for it did not know any better. But he still did not remember. Why he fought, why he lied, why he killed.

„Keep looking.” The same guiding hand rested once again upon his shoulder. Though steady, her tone was filled with urgency. „If you don't reclaim your name quickly, you could lose it forever.”

And so, he fought - like the soldier he was. And as each spark begged for his mercy, doubt surfaced in his spirit.

„What if it was.. an evil name? What if finding who I am will make me worse?” He questioned, feeling the heat radiating from his bark. Pain. The sword in his hand was singed and black. It hurt. He did not remember, but the pain was growing. „What if where I am meant to go is even...”

„That's not for you to dwell on. Your task here is merely to find it. There is nothing more for ones such as we.”

„Nothing more..?”

„Your name and your purpose are all there is. And since more than one have claimed your name, it means it must be a prestigious one. Now, ask yourself. If yours were an evil name, then would they still seek to make it theirs?”

„...Do they know who I was? And if so, then why don't I..?”

„You will. All things in time. So fight, noble spirit.”

And he fought. Until the tide of shadows finally stopped coming. And the dam holding back his tears broke.

„I remember.” He lifted his clawed hand, watching his digits tremble with each new memory that surfaced in his hollowed mind. „My life... was filled with conflict.” Always war. Always killing. „Victory... and loss. I was a leader - a commander. I was...”

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer.

„...Maelmordha. Yes. This is who I was.” A name, of his own. Something that felt right and not like a lie - even if the pain never went away.

Umber eyes lit up with the gentlest smile. „I could tell, Maelmordha. You wielded that weapon like a true fighter.”

„But I don't know why I fought... what I strove for, or against.” The sylvari spirit looked down, amber orbs filled with indescribable longing. It was all so very tiring, and he felt bad for relying on Nenah's guidance so extensively. Didn't she have a place to be..?

Didn't she, too, feel like she had to be somewhere else?

„Next is your purpose. What drove you forward... and what ultimately led to your death. The answer is here, somewhere in the Domain of the Lost.”

„...I just have to find it.” He finished her thought. She smiled, and nodded. He returned the gesture. „But how will I know it? Where will I find it?”

The words that came next were nothing but cryptic - as his guide slowly made her way onward, as though knowing exactly where to go. „If you truly desire it... your purpose will find you. I'd start with the bird.”

„A bird..?” The fallen necromancer questioned. And then he saw it: a raven of brilliant white. Its feathers alight with a sheen that reminded him of home - like Mother's petals. And he remembered Her, and each lullaby She used to sing. „Come! I need to -”

He tripped over a stray root, and realized it was moving. The ground itself shook and parted beneath his feet, tendrils slithering like snakes as a beast - a Dragon - rose in the distance. Grand, like a monument of leaf and vine, and in front of it - a pair of lights. Caithe, one of the Firstborn. And himself. Images of the eldest Knight of Thorn, Riannoc, his blade of alabaster bark glowing with the light of hope. Caladbolg itself, which now rested in his care. And on the other end, a lich, his skeletal hands commanding death like a putrid orchestra - drowning the First Knight in a sea of corpses.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray.

The raven flew ever onward, unfurling a sea of memories. And he ran after it, hand outstretched, mouth forming a silent call.

Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

It weaved through the darkness like a lone bolt of lightning through blackened storm clouds. He took Nenah's hand, pulling her along - afraid to let go, but infinitely more scared to lose track of the light. And they ran. „My eyes are - they're open, Nenah!”

„Good! Let yourself feel it, and let it wash over you. He who follows his purpose will never truly lose it!”

Awaken from a quiet sleep, hear the whispering of the wind. Awaken as the silence grows in a solitude of the night.

From the dark, twisting shapes. The stench of rot and clattering of bone as a tide of Zhaitan's legions marched against the army of the Pact. Mazdak, the Accursed, fallen at last at his hand – his first Hunt fulfilled. Sieran's parting words as the gates closed. The Sunless' advance and the fall of Claw Island. The tears shed that day, and the promises made to live on in spite of them. And then, in the end, their banners, raised high upon the towers - him and Trahearne, side by side.

Darkness spreads through all the land and your weary eyes open silently

Sunsets have forsaken all, the most far off horizons.

And again, they charged. Roar of gunfire and steel. Wyld Hunts that seemed all but impossible, keeping steadfast hand in hand. And the heart of it all, cleansed and beating again, as he remembered holding him for the first time. And laughing.

Nightmares come when shadows grow. Eyes close and heartbeats slow.

The assault on Arah. The thundering of war engines and the roar of airships. Destiny's Edge standing united, and him leading the final push. Zhaitan's death throes shattering the mountain, sending the Dragon itself crashing from blighted heavens towards the shoreline. Victory, and the first kiss shared in the dim light of a study. Why was he crying? Like he was already aware what came next.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way.

„Mordremoth!”

It all unfolded in quick succession. Ceara's fall; Scarlet Briar. The assault on Lion's Arch. Aurene's egg and Caithe's betrayal. The disaster of Maguuma, all that death and then - past the horror of it all - holding his dear's broken, dying body as the foul magic bled out of his system in rivers of gold. The Thorn trembled in his hands, but he knew not to let it go. The day his eyes turned cold. He felt Nenah's hand squeeze his own.

And you can always be strong. Lift your voice with the first light of dawn.

His hatred. His bitterness. And Her light, which saved him.

The founding of Dragon's Watch. The awakening of Primordus and Jormag. Braham's burden and the wrath in his words as he snapped. A bridge, burned to ashes - a wound that they would no longer have the chance to mend.

And Her, coming into the world at last. Caithe's words, and her vow. To lay down her life for -

„Aurene.” He found himself repeating his own words. „Her name is Aurene.”

Dawn's just a heartbeat away. Hope's just a sunrise away.

The rise of Lazarus. A mystery of the great deceiver. Climbing the spire as everything around them began to burn, and yet they knew the only way was up. He knew the only was was up.

It had always been like that, hmm, Commander?

The raven disappeared into the smoke, and he dove after it. Coughing, as though his lungs remembered the feeling. White leaves singed black and then he lost her in the fire. „Nenah! Where are you!” He could no longer feel her hand. His fellow spark had disappeared, and only Balthazar's pyre remained. The planks behind him crackled and crumbled as burning heat cut off the way back. So he climbed. Following each white feather. Humming Mother’s lullaby.

„...Have your friends abandoned you?” He could hear the God's mockery in his ears. His oppression, his glee, the sadistic pleasure he took in prolonging his every breath. And then, Aurene. Reaching for him. Damning herself just for a chance to save him.

And still, in the end, she was taken, and he died with no one to hold him. His last words frozen in his throat. But now, he screamed. He screamed and wept and his eyes shot open only to find his fellow spirit clutching his hand tightly within hers. And he looked into coal orbs and in his tormented mind, they seemed to flash crimson, shadowed by a crown of horns.

„...Balthazaaaaar!!” He howled like an animal, thrashing. A hand pushed down on his chest, keeping him on his back, before pulling his head into her lap. „Shh. Shh. There, there. Just breathe. Like you remember. Even like this, it helps.”

Tears streamed freely down silver skin as he wept in terror, clawed hand outstretched towards the sky. But there was no Aurene. No dark clouds cutting him off from the world. No Balthazar, staring down at him like yet another broken toy, balancing his blade over his heart. So, he did the only thing he could. He cried, allowing the mentor spirit to gently pet back his leaves, quelling the sobs that shook his body.

„...I remember. I remember.” He repeated, the most quiet of whimpers. Wet, haunted gold found umber again as he spoke. „Balthazar - he wants revenge on the other gods, and he's going to use Aurene to get it. I... I have to convince the Judge to send me back.”

„Rest, silver tongue. Death is not something to outwit.”

„You don't understand.” He gathered himself enough to stand and walk, even as his knees shook with every step. „That bastard will destroy Tyria. All of it. This isn't about me and my ego, for fuck's sake!” The Commander broke into a sprint. Moving as fast as his legs would carry him, causing the Elonian spirit to struggle to keep up. „He wants the strength of the Elder Dragons for himself, and doesn't care that killing them now will doom the world!”

„I see.” Nenah responded. There was deep concern upon her face, now, as the true weight of all that had transpired took the time to fully settle and click into place. „...He has ravaged this place. Stolen spirits and used them to bolster his army. He has let something horrible into this place, something beyond even Grenth's jurisdiction.”

Maelmordha paused, stern gold meeting her gaze. „The Beast. Come. We need to move!”

As soon as they arrived in the Judging Ground, the grand spirit rose again from the shadows, a visage of skull and green fire ready to welcome them both. Recognizing Nenah and sensing the distress within her companion, he turned his full attention to Maelmordha.

„Grenth welcomes all, noble spirit. Step forward, and I will send you to your appointed place.”

But the necromancer had other ideas. He took exactly one step in the Judge's direction, setting his boot down with absolute conviction. „You must let me go back.”

For a moment, there was absolute silence. If the Judge could produce an expression, he would surely have frowned. A spectral sigh laced his words when he next spoke, weighting them carefully. „...I see you clearly now, Commander. Balthazar killed you, but you would face him again?

„Yes.” The sylvari replied immediately, filled with fervent - perhaps even crazed - determination. Yes, a thousand times yes. Even when it hurt. He couldn't just let her... He grit his teeth, releasing a quivering breath.

„Balthazar has done great harm here.” Grenth's right hand confirmed what Nenah had already told him. „The magic he uses to hijack spirits shakes the foundation of the Domain of the Lost. But I... cannot help you.”

No..! No, this wasn't going to end this way. He would not let it. By the Tree, he had to bargain.

Mael took another step, lacing fingers together as though in prayer and slowly shaking his hands with every word. „If I could only get back... if I could defeat him, it might undo the damage he's done in both our worlds.” There. He was officially bargaining with Death himself. Or, rather, his right hand, but the point still stood.

The Judge sighed painfully, sending ripples through the aether. „It is too late. No life remains in your body. Unless...”

Unless? Fucking hell, he was actually getting somewhere.

„When Balthazar left, a fearsome beast, the Eater of Souls, rose to prey on the waning life energy of the spirits here....”

Nenah moved closer. „That's got to be the screams I heard in the distance. So, it is true, after all.”

„...If you were to defeat the beast and claim its power, that life energy might be strong enough to reanimate your body.” The Judge continued. „Allowing you to go back. But, if you were to fail, the beast would consume your entirety. I could grant you no final reward or punishment. Your spirit would simply cease to be. Do you.. really want this, Commander? You will be changed. There is no other way. As a necromancer, you know what this entails.”

He did. Oh, he did. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound froze in his throat.

Riannoc...! He tried to shake the memory from the Dream. Lose the ghost of the man whose Wyld Hunt he once bore. No, this was bigger than him. Bigger than all of them. That bastard had Aurene, and if she...

Maelmordha clenched his fists. Gaze downturned, shrouded in white leaves. His shoulders shook with the weight of the choice placed in front of him. With the phantom of his people's very first nightmare. Did he... have the right? To do this? And if so, who gave him it? Who allowed this man to play God in his own right?

He supposed the answer was standing right in front of him. Gazing with green orbs, waiting patiently for his reply. „Grenth does not take kindly to those who defy his domain. But he is willing to forgive this one transgression, in the name of both our worlds. You will become something different, and if you ever go astray, you will no longer be entitled to your final reward.”

„Diabolistic magic...” He muttered under his breath. His fellow spark looked on with worry. Softly, her hand once again found his shoulder, resting upon it with comforting weight. „Whatever you decide, I will help you see it through til the end. So, think - for what does your purpose call?”

Did it call for him to fall this low? And yet... if it was the only way to save Aurene - to save Tyria, then did he ever really have a choice at all? He took a breath, and his golden gaze rose anew, finding ghastly green.

„...I accept that risk. I have to go back to finish what I started.”

Clawed gauntlets rose into the air, the Judge's mask angled towards the jade-hued skies. „Then in Grenth's name, o blessed sinner, conquer the Eater of Souls and live again! Remind Balthazar that none escape judgement.”

With a snap of the servant's fingers, crimson fabric set on viridian fire, and in an instant, his body was framed in darksteel. A long, black cape extended from beneath the upturned spikes of his new pauldrons, ornate gauntlets wrapping around his forearms and tall, metal greaves fitting upon his legs. A disc of magic flared to life over his sternum, like an eye of Death itself.

He took a moment to inspect his new armor, finding it a perfect fit. „...Thank you.” He gasped, unsure at first what to make of the gift. And yet he could feel no ill magics from it - nothing meant to limit or control him, only accentuate his existing power.

„Let this be proof of Grenth's favor. An exceptional honor, in exchange for your willing sacrifice. Go, blessed sinner, and may your soul remain your own through this dire tribulation.”

„It will. You have my word.” And he turned around, features dark and the Thorn on his back ready.

After all, he who bore Caladbolg would not fall, so long as his desire was pure. Funny how that turned out. Did the sword's apparent curse carry on in death? He'd have to find out.

„Allow me to lead you, Maelmordha. The Beast stalks the deepest shadows of this land. Those spirits we've met earlier...”

„...It may already be too late for them.” He finished the teacher's thought. „I'm sorry, Nenah. But I cannot allow you to go with me, this time.” If he were to be devoured... ah, would it not simply be due payment for his hubris...? But her? She had done nothing but help him. „This is a journey I must take alone.”

„Even when dying alone was your greatest fear?” She retorted, causing the necromancer to seize up. He did not look at her, simply continuing to walk forth into the darkness. „...Thank you, Nenah. But I will take this from here.”

„As you wish, blessed sinner.” And just like that, her footsteps no longer accompanied his.

And in the deepest depths where even the raven did not delve, he found it. A hideous demon of blue fire, contorting into whatever fears his mind held to finally settle on the form of a Mouth of Zhaitan. Towering, with rows of fangs ready to snatch him up where he stood. How did one fight hunger incarnate..? He drew the Thorn, and charged.

The same rules did not apply here as in the waking world. This was not only a fight of tooth against thorn, but a dance of nightmare. Like every worst part of him, reflected right back in his face. The shadows had been nothing, compared to this. They only wanted his name, after all.

Oh, the Beast? It wanted everything. To strip his soul, down to the marrow. And in the end, it had been decided all along. To conquer the Mouth was to embrace its hunger. To take for himself another name. Even if he had to become a worse version of himself, he would do it in every life. His right hand's fingers traced a symbol on his heart. Chanting an ancient curse, the same forbidden verse he spent his first five years researching. The Commander's spirit ignited in black smoke, Caladbolg a Reaper's scythe.

...Do you really want this, Commander?

You wouldn't have gotten so far if not for your hunger.

...A hunger to succeed. To be recognized. To have power. You greedy creature, always reaching for more than you can swallow until the God of Flames finally made you choke on it. And yet, you'd return? To do it all over again? Don't you see how far you've already fallen - from a bright eyed Valiant to a wolf gripping tight the reins of all those who would dare question and oppose you? You're a killer, you know, right? You're never satisfied. And no matter what you do and how much you achieve, it will never be enough.

You can drink til you're sick but never til you're satisfied. You will lose your Dream but your Hunt shall never end. Is this what you want?

To save her. Yes. I will do anything.

Will you be anything?

Yes.

Waken then, Fell Wolf, and hunt.

Kill Balthazar, and devour.

The monstrous body before him fell, dissolving into shadow. His scythe still lodged in its burning core, he felt the cold flicker climb up his weapon and touch ground with his skin.

The demon's magic flooded his senses. The world swirled in front of his eyes, a gaze of spectral gold darting around in terror. He saw the lost sparks return, freed from the beast's belly, as they all moved in unison towards Judgement. The Domain breathed a sight of relief - and then he felt his chest rip open.

And he screamed. By the Pale Tree he fucking screamed. Feeling every second of the blade digging into and parting his flesh, crushing organs and searing his insides. Except now, the blackness offered no relief. There was no merciful veil of Death to take the pain away, to ease his body's last gasp as embers took his lungs. And the flames did not burn his throat and steal his voice. At some point, the agonal screech turned into a howl, and his eyes wept spectral light.

Seizing, he fell to his knees. His armor glowed a deep cerulean - and more metal enveloped the Commander's form. He scarcely registered it, even when links of chain snaked round his heaving chest and hooked into the gaping cavity of his wound.

It was almost a mockery. Almost a voice, sneering into his ear. This is what you are. Do you regret it yet?

„Aaaargghh!” His own voice burst forth in strained cries. Calling names as though their owners could ever help him. „Pale Mother! Aurene! Grenth!”

No one will save you now, either. You chose this. Maelmordha, you poor, poor fool.

It felt like ages but the pain relented just enough to leave the fallen Knight gasping and wheezing in a ghastly approximation of life. Collecting his stolen breath, registering a familiar sensation upon his cheeks before he ever realized he was crying. Again. And only then did he get to truly, wholly gaze upon his form - the warped image of his own demise, seared forever into his soul.

Trembling fingers probed at the edges of his wound - the very one that killed him - and found fangs. Rows of umbral teeth, licked by flickering tongues of blue fire. This had to be... was this real? Absently, he reached inside, half expecting the slick wetness of entrails. Instead, he found only cold nothingness, and a pulse at the core of it all. A rhythmic thrum of magic where his heart had been, just barely out of reach, yet begging for his touch.

Focus, the magic whispered. The Alchemy bends to your whim. Death's defector, defiler of Nature. So he did. And the dark became corporeal.

Transfixed, he pulled on the object, and out emerged a sword of midnight. Blue veins running along its surface, magic pulsing to the beat of the orb that lay at its center; Connecting the hilt and the blade. And he felt his new heartbeat, bare within his hand. Bound to his maw with chain like some eldritch stem, bridging the gap between man and demon. The first fang of the bound Wolf, and then the second - Dromi and Lædingr.

They slotted into his grip as though he had never been meant to hold anything else. Extensions of his ambition and his sin. These blades, they felt nothing like Caladbolg. Where the Mother's Thorn tasted of light and grief, these weapons? They were forged of naught but gnawing hunger, pulled straight from the pit of his stomach.

„I'm...” He was almost afraid to have a witness. But he did. And slowly, he lifted his gaze again, finding his fellow spirit staring back with what could only be described as somber pity. „...Nenah, why did you come... I'm...”

What am I?

A Dreamer. A Valiant. A son. A Knight. A Commander. A Champion. A Dragonkiller. A Lichslayer. A... his sight was blurry.

„I'm... so...”

Static enveloped his mind. Ghastly blue light burned within his eyes.

„I'm... so... hurrggh....”

He was ravenous. He - it - the Soul Eater.

Someone called out. Their words but white noise in the void of his thoughts.

Slowly, he walked. Tips of his swords dragging against the ground and gouging the earth. The magic inside him pulsed like the want that moved his jaws. The desire that now held together his spirit. This unholy, aberrant, ugly spirit. Pounding in his split-open chest, the war-drum of instinct drowning out every alarm bell in his mind.

Devour. This is what you are. This is what you chose. Didn't you?

„...Remember...”

A voice. Did it matter? They all screamed at the precipice between worlds. Their words made no difference.

„...Remember who you are...! Remember why you did this..!”

Aurene? No, she was...

Who - whose name was this? What was a name?

„Blessed sinner..!”

Who?

There was the sensation of weight wrapping around his wrists. He growled, lips twitching. And in that moment, his mind surfaced - searching for something, anything, to keep itself afloat.

„Remember your name! Maelmordha..!”

And he snapped back. Blue eyes back to yellow, swords dissolving and chest stitching shut. A gasp, as though his soul yet remembered the rush of air in his lungs. And he found dark eyes, holding the gaze of his own - a lifeline for a dead man.

The eyes of a woman who never knew him. A woman who had nothing to gain from this, and everything to lose.

„...Why..?” He mouthed. Utter silence in his mind aside from that singular question. „...Why did you risk your li - your existence? I could have -” Mael scowled, bringing gloved hands before his face. His digits shook with the strain of keeping himself together.

He could have eaten her. Erased her. Even now she caused this beast's mouth to water. A soul - a light - pure magic. He knew now how Dragons felt, and if the hunger hurt so much, then were they ever truly to blame..?

There was conviction in Nenah's eyes as she once again took hold of the sylvari's wrists, pulling them down as to force the fallen Commander to meet her gaze. „This isn't about... what you could have done to me. Nor what could happen to you. This world is falling apart at the seams because of Balthazar. I believe... I'm here, because Kormir wanted me to help you.”

„Kormir..?”

The Goddess of Truth who could only smile sadly as she departed. No actions taken, only words of hollow solace - as she abandoned them all. Abandoned her people. He wasn't human, but witnessing the heartbreak on Kasmeer's face? He might as well have been. „Kormir left us. Left Tyria behind. The Gods have relinquished all claim to this realm -”

„And yet you're here. And you'll live again. With Grenth's own blessing. So who's to say they really left us? Who's to say they abandoned us when they still guide us?”

Mael closed his mouth. The teacher was right. This was an angle he hadn't truly stopped to consider - and what right did he have to stomp down on the hope that still remained for the people? Living or dead, they all needed a light to lead the way. Gods and spirits for men, Dream for sylvari. Heroes and concepts to hold onto - invariably, no one ever wanted to go alone into the dark.

To trudge on, not knowing what awaits on the other side. The necromancer's voice came in a soft whisper.

„...You're right. I'm sorry. And... thank you.” Maelmordha swallowed, desperately pushing down his racing thoughts. He forced an apologetic smile, a last look at the fellow spirit who had accompanied him for so long. „So... I guess this is goodbye.”

„So it is.” She returned a smile of her own. In that moment, the humble teacher truly looked like the Goddess she so loved. And he could see that love burn bright. It would be the beacon that lit her way to her final reward, far, far away from the war that took her and those she mentored. A war he'd return to, damned as he was - to make sure it took no one else. Perhaps it was a fool's notion, but a chuckle broke through the silence nonetheless.

„Good luck wherever you're going, and... Pray for me, would you?”

„I will, Commander. Trust in Grenth. And know that everything happens for a reason.” She let go, a final nod offered his way before she turned around, heading towards the Judge.

And so, Maelmordha turned his gaze towards the precipice of worlds, knowing he now possessed the strength to bridge them. But one more voice vied for his attention - someone he unfortunately recognized. Once again demanding to be the center of the world, now with the added bonus of kissing ass. A smirk crept onto the Commander's features.

„Look who's groveling. Genuflect, Your Majesty.”

And so began the worst lich feud in Tyrian history, but that was a tale for another time.

”Gods, I... I can't even bear to look at him.” The mesmer's body shook with stifled sobs. Tears charting dark lines down pale skin - washing away the paint from her lids.

Tribune Brimstone could only frown, jaws parting to offer some form of solace just before he remembered he was never any good with words. And so, lips fell over fangs again, safekeeping solemn silence. „Yeah... yeah.”

He always did make everything worse, didn't he...? Green orbs wandered back to the proof of his failure. The haphazard veil that covered the worst of the Commander's wounds was soaked in sap. Empty eyes now resting closed, the poor bastard looked almost eerily peaceful. Almost as though he were merely resting. It didn't suit him to be so dark in the evening, though. That ruby light was gone and the soldier in Rytlock - all he had ever been - knew better than to dwell on death as humans did. It wasn't sleep. No gods to kiss it all better. And all that blood and gore couldn't be dressed in words in a way that made it pretty.

„He's done so much and I can't... I can't even look...”

Kas was still crying. Rytlock winced. Clawed hand hovered over her form, as though debating whether his touch could offer any superficial semblance of comfort. Ultimately, it retreated, and his tail flicked uncomfortably. With a deep rumble, he excavated his voice.

„...He wouldn't have wanted you to.” There was no point. He was gone anyway, so it didn't matter. At least he wasn't in pain anymore. And, well, Commander never did want anyone else to have to suffer for no reason. „Shit, how we gonna break this to Taimi...”

„That's what I'm worried about. Kid won't take this too well.” Canach sighed, raising himself up from his kneeling position. „Aren't you the Watch's second? Should I call you Commander, yet?”

„Shut it, weed.” The snarl came on its own before he ever had the chance to reel in his anger. A growl seeped past the Blood Tribune's teeth, and he pinched the bridge of his snout. „Look, just - just let me think. Or make the call yourself if you have so much yapping left in you.”

Uncharacteristically, Canach merely sat quietly away to the side, closer to the body. For a brief moment, the Secondborn's stern gaze met that of the charr, before both men promptly looked away. It was clear the former convict had no interest in petty arguments at the time - whatever words he did have locked firm behind his teeth.

„I'll do it.” A meek voice picked up from the back. Rytlock's head turned, only for green orbs to meet dim blues. Lady Meade looked positively pathetic. And yet, though her eyes were framed by streaks of runny makeup, her expression was one of tired determination. Rytlock chuffed.

„You sure? You aren't looking too-”

„I said I'd do it. So, let me.”

Silence. Kasmeer raised her hand to her ear to dial on the device, and the comms crackled to life. One last shaky breath, and a tiny voice came through.

„Yes? Hello? Guys, is everything alright?” The small prodigy chirped in a fervent tone. Her voice cracked towards the end and Kasmeer Meade could feel her heart crack in tandem. „...Please tell me everything's alright.”

„Oh, Taimi. Baby, I'm so sorry.”

„Kas? Kas - I - Kas tell me what's - No no no please don't tell me he's -”

Despite the fresh tears tugging at her waterline, the mesmer knew she had to say it. „Shhh, I'm so sorry. Mael's gone, Taimi.”

It was as though the full weight of it only really sank in at that moment. Rytlock's glare seemed to actively want to bury itself in the dirt, while Canach turned away to gaze silently off into the distance. Even Kasmeer felt a fresh knot twist within her gut only to release, all that horrible, horrible tension burning like living fire the very second she heard Taimi's voice quiver on the other end of the line.

„No.. no, no.. Kas this isn't funny...” She sniffled, and the mage of Lyssa could oh so easily visualize the little girl shaking her head over in her lab. Just like when she argued with Phlunt, or any other scientist. Always so very confident in herself, and what she believed in.

„No, this isn't FUNNY, don't LIE to me, he's FINE! He's the Commander - he's - he's FINE - go check! Do the light test on his eyes - t-take his pulse - s-sylvari don't have easily accessible carotids b-but -”

„Taimi...”

Another click, and Canach joined the line. „Taimi, there wasn't even a need to check.”

„Canach!” Kasmeer could only gasp at the swordsman's blunt intrusion. „Canach, I swear on the Six -”

„Make that Five. He's dead, kid. That's a whole God that got him. Could tell the moment we looked.”

„Fucking burn me, have some tact!” Rytlock snapped, earning a scornful glance from the sylvari. The tension could very well be cut with a knife.

„Or what? Thorns, sometimes you have to be direct. Grow some spine, you people!”

„That's a CHILD!”

„...I'm still on the line. I-I’m not a child! I can hear you all. I'm sorry. I j-just -” Taimi's voice broke again, dissolving into a series of wheezy sobs. Kas's heart dropped. She was having an episode. The mesmer wasted no time in briefly disconnecting her communicator.

„Shut UP! Both of you!” The outburst was so out of character that both Rytlock and Canach promptly fell silent. Having achieved her immediate goal, the mesmer tapped the device again. „Talk to me, Taimi.” Walk her through this, Kasmeer, just like Mael used to. Don't let him down, now. This is the least you can do.

„I'm - I-I'm just... I'm so sorry I screamed.” The teenager sniffled, interrupting herself with a hiccup. „I-I knew the odds were bad... I just didn't want it to be true...”

Lady Meade smiled painfully, mustering up every bit of comfort in her voice. Oh, how she wished she could be there with her - lay her hand gently upon the asura's head and pet her hair. Just like he always did.

„It's alright. Everyone reacts in their own way. It isn't your fault. Shh. Shh. It's okay...”

„If I - I-if I weren't taking a break at the time I could have noticed the energy readings were shifting and he - B-Balthazar - was changing course - and we could have warned him before the storm set in and comms died -”

„...You know this isn't true. You can't always work. If you had overworked yourself, you could have missed something else, baby. We may all have been dead. You could have gotten hurt from overdoing it.” The only thing she could do now was speak and listen. Between herself and the Dawnborn, she wasn't ever really sure who was better at talking people down. „...He wouldn't have wanted this, alright? Commander - Mael - wouldn't have wanted you to aggravate your condition. None of us do.”

„H-he was the first person who really, truly took me seriously!” Taimi was spiraling. „What I do is my choice! And I could have saved him! I could have... Alchemy...”

Her tired body was giving out, too drained to argue in vain with herself. Deep down, she knew. She knew that she had been powerless to stop it. That even the Dragonslayer had no hope to kill a God, and it was a childish thought to even entertain. That deep down, Mael himself knew he was marching to his death, but his Wyld Hunt drove him onward anyway.

Just like shackles and chain. Being pulled ever towards the gallows, with no ability to run. And yet, he shouldered his fate with a smile.

Even when she watched him grow bitter and jaded he always found it in himself to smile for her.

„...You did your best. That is more than enough.” Kas' lids fell shut, forcing out the last tear that still lingered in the corner of her vision. „He's proud of you. I know.”

Wherever he was. If he was... anywhere. She didn't have the heart nor the stomach to consider the full implications of Grenth leaving. When she next opened her eyes, her vision was swimming - and not because of the desert heat, which had long since given way to a brisk evening chill. Taimi seemed to have calmed down, and only the occasional quiet sniffle still registered on their shared frequency. The Meade sat down on a rock, fearing her own legs too feeble to keep her upright for long.

„...So, what do we do?” It was Rytlock who next broke the silence. „It's late and there may still be some Forged in the area. Wouldn't exactly want a bullet through the skull and an early ticket back to the Mists. Would hate to disappoint Commander like that.”

Again, he thought to add. He bit his tongue.

„...I'll stay here and get a breath of fresh air.” Canach sighed, the usual edge to his tone replaced by bitter, cold apathy. „If you want to go back to the ship, then go. I need to collect my thoughts.”

„I'll cloak us, just to be safe. Let Fidus know to post sentries and be on a lookout for trouble.” Exhaustion was not going to stop Kasmeer from being cautious, and this was simple magic, anyway. With a wave of her hand and reality rippling beneath her force, the top of the Spire was encased in an invisible bubble. Reflecting sight, just like a one way mirror. If anyone else wandered inside, she'd know.

In the end, none of them had it in themselves to go back - not yet. A quiet vigil for the fallen. For a leader. For a friend

It felt like several hours had passed. The night was silent and uneventful, an air of tranquility fallen over where tragedy had struck. Ash and dust long since scattered to the wind, there was scarcely a trace of the battle. Only charred foliage, cooled armor strewn about here and there, and three broken people trying to decide where to go from there. But the night, though quiet, held danger nonetheless. Teasing fate was a fool's errand in these lands.

„It's high time we move. I'll... get the body. Set a course for Amnoon.” The revenant spoke, and the airship's crew began preparations for takeoff. Kasmeer and Canach wordlessly nodded, their gazes following Rytlock as he walked up once again towards the center of the Spire.

...The very last thing Kasmeer Meade expected was to hear Rytlock holler her name with borderline panic in his voice.

„Uh, Kas?!”

„What is it?!” Both her and Canach were already running from the deck back to the plateau, weapons drawn and half prepared to find Forged come to hunt them down and finish what Balthazar started.

But Forged did not have blue eyes. Whatever stared back at them from the very center of the Spire was no soldier of Fire. A figure shrouded in shadow, darkness itself gathering where it stood to leave its features obscured and nigh unrecognizable. Stark blue eyes seemingly lost interest in gazing into Rytlock's own in favor of inspecting the sheet of gold-soaked cloth held in one hand.

„Get back!” The charr ignited Sohothin, wide arc of his sword a warning to both sides. „Where is the bo - where is he?!”

The stranger's head turned, shifting shadows offering a glimpse of white hair. Aether warped their words, like the Mists themselves speaking. „Rytlock...”

And yet, the sound of his name in their - in his lips was recognizeable beyond all doubt. „Kasmeer! What in the hells! Is this one of yours or am I going mad?!”

„What do you mean mine - you can't be - since when do I -” The mesmer was tripping over her words, staff clutched tightly. She could smell necromancy anywhere. Jory, and Mael - she's spent so long around them, but this felt familiar and different at the very same time. A darkness she knew well, but somehow wrong. A twisted image of Grenth's magic that sent alarms going off in her brain and overwhelmed her thoughts. That aura was oppressive.

„Is that...” Canach mouthed, incredulous.

„No. It's not.” Brimstone bared his fangs, tail lashing wildly against the ground. „I've been there. I know what lurks there. This isn't him. It's a demon.”

The figure's eyes seemed almost sad. He dismissed the notion.

„Grrraaaahh!!” With a mighty leap, he charged, fury burning in his eyes - challenging the reflection of the ghost fire that razed Ascalon. If this beast thought he'd let it defile the Commander's body, it was dead fucking wrong.

Split seconds before Sohothin could sink its fangs into a gap in darksteel armor, the stranger's chest opened. A jagged maw of teeth.

„Pale Mother!” Canach gasped, and Kasmeer covered her mouth. Taimi came online and hurled a hundred questions over the comms.

Their swords met with a spectral chime. Like a rung bell, living flame against one cold and dead. That strength. How did so much power fit in such a small, feeble sylvari body? The charr grit his teeth, air hissing past his brandished fangs. A deadlock.

„Rytlock! Stand down!” The stranger repeated, forcibly. The Tribune's mind flashed back to their last fight. Pain and rage seethed in jade orbs, muscles pushing with all their might against the single sword that halted his advance. „...No. I won't let you. You don't deceive me!”

Blue eyes that gazed from where gold had once been narrowed. „I thought I had made myself clear before, Tribune. I won't take no for an answer.”

A pulse of dark magic repelled Sohothin, forcing Rytlock back. His weight shifted dangerously, hind claws struggling to find purchase. Green orbs shot wide open - he was exposed, and the dark blade was more than capable of ending him right then and there.

So he focused, a last ditch-effort; With a mighty beat, crystalline wings sprouted from his back - the Dragon Prophet's own visage bursting from the Mists to lend him her strength.

And then she just... stopped. The Commander - the stranger's free hand was outstretched, and he felt every nerve in his body refuse to listen. „What in the...” Some blasted chains - wrapped around him, wrapped around even Glint before her fleeting facet dissipated.

He felt familiar magic swallow him in rosy light and he was yanked back, appearing in a portal next to Kasmeer. Her and Canach had both stepped forward to shield him with their bodies, but made no move to advance. Hesitating? Now, of all times..?! He was about to tell them off before he noticed that very same spell binding them in place, every fibre of their bodies frozen and helpless to the fates.

„Burn me! Rrraahh!!” He raged against his restraints, soul reaching out through the Mists to call for aid. Any aid. What was a charr to do to get some fucking reinforcements around these parts?! Glint, Jalis, even the blasted Shiro Tagachi or Mallyx, it made no difference. The voices in his head fell silent, unwilling or unable to manifest his magic. He was stuck, and this monster was going to kill them all.

Balthazar didn't even have to get his hands any dirtier and come finish the job. Some random fucking demon was all it took. I'm sorry, Commander. It seems I can't stop messing up.

But the killing blow did not come. The blade that emerged out of the portal mouth upon the bastard's chest simply went right back in like his body was some twisted scabbard. Split open by a God's wrath and this demon was hell-bent on making a mockery of even the Commander's death. What a joke.

„...Rytlock...”

„Stop it. Just, get it over with. I've some dignity to keep.” His fur stood on end, hearing that voice when he knew it wasn't real.

„If I wanted to, I would have done so already. Pale fucking Mother, Rytlock.”

The Shroud relented, and the shadows fell away. And so, they got a chance to see him, really see him, for themselves. No anger nor malice contorted his features. Only sadness. A deep, profound sadness in haunted eyes that extinguished the blue flame within to once again welcome gold. Those eyes that had once fallen dim and unseeing weren't fully dead. There was no light inside, not anymore, but... there was a spark, nonetheless. A sliver of cerulean that danced inside his pupils - just like the color of his glow, a stark contrast against the crimson they had come to know. And above all, he just looked so... tired.

„What's going on?!” Taimi was almost going into hysteria on the channel.

The chain magic dissolved, sending Rytlock stumbling a few steps forward. Some animalistic side begged him to charge again, but the desolate look within the Commander's eyes gave him pause. Similarly, Kasmeer and Canach made no move, staring with fear and worry at the scene unfolding before them. Mael - no, he couldn't let it deceive - was he..? - opened his arms, palms facing the starlit sky. Exposing his chest. Clad in some strange, new armor, seemingly spawned from the Mists just like the one worn by the Blood Tribune. A circle of magic spun slowly upon his sternum, remnants of blue fire easing into necromantic green.

„ ...That's Grenth's regalia. Like those given to the Seven Reapers.” Kas observed.

„It's Grenth who let me go back.” Maelmordha nodded at the mesmer, gratitude in amber orbs. His voice somber, but so unmistakably his. „Even in this state.”

The asura finally managed to shove herself back into the center of attention. Her words shot forth like machine gun fire inbetween panicked breaths. „Wait, w-wait wait wait - I DEMAND an explanation right now! If this is some sick prank I- I...”

Mael reached for his own device. Luckily, it was still in one piece. His tired smile was evident in his tone. „Hi, Taimi.”

„...Hi, Taimi? You almost DIE and „hi, Taimi” is all I get?! What's going on! You all said the Commander was dead! I flipping told you! I told you to check you - you -”

„I... I was dead, Taimi. But now I'm back.”

„Yeah, but that's not how „dead” works.”

„She makes a good point. You don't just go back to being alive like you go back to being your usual cranky self after a night of drinking. Kind of defeats the definition of „dead”, if anyone wants my opinion.” Canach interjected, sword lowered but not holstered. Skepticism in a gaze of violet framed by thorns. But also hope, try as he might to hide it. „...We checked, Commander, and you were very much no longer with us.”

„Here's the catch. I'm not alive.” The Commander let out a forlorn sigh, arms crossed over his back as he turned back around and slowly walked over to where his veil lay. He bent, once again taking it in a gloved hand - feeling the weight of his lifeblood.

„You're not?” The Secondborn raised a ridged brow. „I'm getting confused here. Is this some sort of last visitation to collect the money I owe you? ...Do you still need the money?”

„You're not?” Taimi repeated. „B-but... but.. buh...”

„Oh no...” Kasmeer seemed to realize the implications first.

„Listen.” The necromancer was back to doing what he did best. The party fell silent and focused on his words. „...I'm... still me. I've got this. I'm still the Commander. Still -”

That's right. Remember your name. It may well be the last thing that remains of you. He shivered.

„...Still Maelmordha.” The sylvari finally discarded the bloodied cloth from his grasp.

„Those damn teeth dare to disagree.” Rytlock growled, frustration bleeding through his words. Had he no fur to hide them, his knuckles would have been white with how tightly he gripped Sohothin. And yet, despite the anger, all the chaos within him, he silently prayed to legends and gods he did not believe in. „...What are you, really?”

„A lich.” With revulsion in his tone, the Commander answered. Even now, he felt the true weight of it all was lost on him. Too much to process all at once, too little time - this was a wound which would open later.

He stepped forward, eyes trained on Rytlock with such intensity the charr seemed to shrink back, uncertain. With one finger, the sylvari lifted the very tip of Sohothin. Angling its blazing spikes to face his sternum, as though knowing it would not strike him. „Which means killing me isn't going to stick. And the fire that took my life? Don't plan to let it burn me twice.”

„A lich..? Like Palawa Joko...? That makes no sense.” Kasmeer spoke up, hesitant and afraid. Had Maelmordha still a heart of his own, it would have shattered against the terror in her words. „Grenth doesn't approve of breaking the balance of Death. He wouldn't have -”

„There's one thing Grenth approves of even less than me breaking his and my own moral code, and that is Balthazar ravaging the Mists and ripping the souls of the dead right out to fill his Forged quota.” The Commander's voice was laced with venom. Before the Watch could blather on in circles for even longer, the fallen necromancer growled. „Listen! The bastard has Aurene.”

„We know...” Kasmeer replied, gaze somber. „He was taking her south toward Kralkatorrik when we arrived. We tried to stop him, but there were too many Forged.” The sheer wall of steel and fire cordoning off passage into the Desolation prevented the slightest notion of following the fallen God. Otherwise, they would have already done so.

„And I hate being the bearer of bad news, but it appears that Balthazar has managed to build up quite a formidable army.” Canach added, swordwhip crackling as though on cue at his side. So eager for violence, but its owner was not as hasty to a grave of his own.

„He does seem to make 'em faster than we can break 'em.” Rytlock bared his fangs, fist hitting the palm of his opposite paw.

„That's why we need an army of our own.” His trademark smirk was back, a devilish spark already dancing in his eyes. „I met someone in the Domain of the Lost who told me where I can borrow one.”

„Borrow”... an army?”

„Domain of the Lost?” The elder sylvari questioned, knowing he would likely not get an answer. „My, my, Commander, back from the dead and already scheming. It really is you.”

The occasional sniffling on the channel gave way to a happy giggle. „Yay, we have a plan!”

„Kas, have you got anything that can change our appearances?” Mael continued casually, as though he hadn't just suggested the most ridiculous idea known to Tyria.

„Yes, but nothing that can make the four of us look like an army.” Naturally, she was skeptical, and yet only waiting to hear just what kind of deranged plot they were pulling off next.

„It doesn't have to.” The Commander gave the verbal equivalent of a shrug. „It just needs to disguise us as someone else... after I secure our cover story.”

„Okay. I'll be standing by.” Setting her doubts aside, Lady Meade took a breath - getting ready to place her trust in this new version of her guildmaster. She wiped off her makeup-stained face, making room for a small smile. Blue orbs met gold, and she could feel his relief and gratitude. The necromancer offered a nod, and the mesmer returned it. Finally, things were going somewhere.

„And I'll be at the casino in Amnoon. If you can come back from the dead, I want to double my wager on you.” Canach smirked, that same sly look on his face he so often shared with his Commander. Mael simply nodded again, and the elder headed for the airship.

„Fine. I'll get word to you all when the time is right. For now, let's get the ship moving somewhere safe.” A brief scowl shadowed his features when he considered having a repeat of the prior conversation with Fidus and his crew. A man was scarcely allowed to come back without being asked questions, after all.

For the last time, he went back to where he had fallen - collecting the singed Thorn. Its bark was charred, leaves burnt - but even now, the Mother's holy magic was regenerating it steadily. He felt it recoil at his touch. The last vestige of the Dream inside his thoughts, all because the sword had simply become a part of him in its own, strange way. I'm so sorry, Caladbolg. How dirty he felt, but he forced himself to focus on Aurene. Visualize. Think. Remember. Even now, Nenah's words were fresh inside his mind. Remember why you did this. For whom.

Blue flickered in his gaze, and a single covert tear fell upon the Thorn's cracked surface. He rose from his knees, greatsword in hand.

A gravelly grumble finally pried him from his thoughts. Rytlock cast a side glance in his direction - meeting his gaze - before groaning and looking away in an almost sheepish manner. If not for the circumstances, he might have considered it cute.

„Oh, hey, Commander...” The charr mumbled, scratching the back of his mane. „Good to have you back.”

Maelmordha only smiled in response. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but his comrade wasn't paying heed.

#gw2 fic #gw2 fanfic #Hounds to Hamartia #pof spoilers #self reblog #multi reblog #About the Commander #thank you so so much for the analysis omg!

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ley-med · 4 days ago

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#being helpless is so fucking hard #i mean right now my problem is the least of the problems but i am emotionally exhausted #and i need to vent #my husband's grandma is dying of old age #and my husband and especially my MIL are understandably very hard #and now suddenly my parents are on the highway to divorce #fighting terribly nasty #not saying entirely out of the blue #but basically out of the blue #everyone's lives around me is literally falling apart #and im just here grieving for all of them #unable to help in any way but just listening to them #and being there for them #and my heart and soul is bleeding #because i just love my parents so much and i think they are going to be happier alone #but I don't want them to go through this hurt #and i know for my husband's grandma death will be a sweet relief #but i know how terrible it is to loose a grandparent so close to you #and im so terribly sad for my husband #and you knew i have always been the support person in my family #i am the one who needs to stay strong and help them just by being strong for them #as a role that i assigned to myself but i can't step out of #all that said #i know life is a game and no one gets put alive #but i just wish the game didn't hurt my loved ones this bad #and i am fucking scared someone is going to do something irreparable

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lem-argentum · 5 months ago

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playing ff.xiv blind as a th.ancred fan from the beginning is so funny. “hmm i wonder where than is- WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS POSSESSED BY ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL BEINGS IN THE UNIVERSE….....” “hmm i wonder what happened to than after he was teleported from the- HIS ABILITY TO INTERACT WITH THE NATURAL ENERGY OF THE WORLD WAS SEVERED AND HE HAD TO FEND FOR HIMSELF FOR MONTHS IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE????” “yaay than gets to help us with planning our defenses :D- DID HE JUST DIEoh he’s not dead his soul was just RIPPED AWAY TO ANOTJEJR WORLD????!?!?” “ohh he gets to fight r.yne’s awful guardian figure i wonder what he’s gonna- DID HE JUST DIEoh he’s fine nevermind he gets to have resolved character development now :)” “aww okay we get to go to the end of the universe together, and he’s already gone through so much so clearly nothing bad will happen to hDID HE J

#lem text #🌊#xivposting #he never ever ever ever gets a break it’s so funny. i’m sure the game is done messing with him now for dt but AGJFNWZKR #literally as SOON as the i.frit fight happens in arr he never gets to rest until the end of shb.#like okaayyy *overworks self to the point of aetheric vulnerability or whatever -> is used as a tool for bringing about a terrible calamity #-> teleported to the wilderness never able to use magic again or interact with the world normally; unsure if friends are alive for months #-> learns that sister-figure is missing and then learns that she is basically dead -> angst arc while trying to hide all of problems #-> thinks he gets a chance to rest and is literally yoinked from his world on accident with nothing he can do about it;#forced to adapt to a whole other planet overflowing with its own tragedies with no way of contacting anyone he knows #-> discovers that sister-figure has been basically reincarnated; takes on responsibility to save her #-> manages to do so after TWO YEARS but still hasn’t gotten over grief -> has to be a parent on the run with daughter-figure now #-> waiting as random stranger tries & fails to summon the hero from his world; evading government in a land only a fraction the size of his #-> spends THREE MORE YEARS running from authorities with daughter who reminds him too much of sister-figure; is still hiding all problems #-> can only solve his problems by almost dying; apparently. does so. life becomes good until he decides he has to almost die again #-> DOES SO. and then life becomes good again. problems mayhap still not processed. average th.ancred waters lifestyle #i think his story has a big theme of like. lack of agency; and i could talk more about it but i just think it’s really interesting and sad-#that his whole childhood (limsa+sharlayan) was out of his control with his life path being chosen for him out of necessity+circumstance #he was brought to sharlayan so young and then The Incident happens at *17* indebting him to min.filia bc he sees himself responsible #and then gigantic life-changing things happen to him *also* out of his control (hinterlands+the first)#and when he finally gets to pick a long-term route for himself he fucks it up! doing everything intentionally but hurting r.yne for years!#he’s the FIRST ONE SUMMONED TO THE FIRST… A NEW WORLD… IT WAS LIKE A FRESH START… AND AUGJF HDH . IDK DO YOU GET IT.#i haven’t written this many tags in forever i guess i have to put it in the:#lem ramblings #ok i’m done. thancrebbbbbdd <3. goodnight <3.

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 1 month ago

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Say my name again

Hwang In-ho x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: blood, gore, violence… if u watched SG, you’ll be fine

as always, requests are open!

You’ve been watching him for some time now. Paying attention to the way his mouth moved when he talked to his teammates, following his gaze wherever he looked. After the second game, you overheard him introducing himself. Young-il. What a coincidence he looked like the police officer that visited your flat so many years ago. The name was what made you suspicious - you could have sworn the police officer introduced himself to you as Hwang In-ho. And it’s not as if you could’ve gotten those mixed up; you two spent many restless days trying to find the ones who were behind the robbery of your home. But, you smiled with some bitterness on your tongue, the outcome was obvious based on your situation.

You knew you were the only one watching him so closely. One of your teammates even joked about it, saying you were mesmerised by that man. But he just made you nervous - his presence planting a bug in your brain. Was he a spy for the government? Or was he just as miserable as the rest of you?

With another unsuccessful vote behind you, you could finally rest and get off of your adrenaline high by leaning against the railing of your bunk bed while nibbling on some bread. You took off your bloodied shoes that always made you nauseous just by looking at them and while doing some breathing exercises your eyes of their own volition found that familiar face in the moving crowd. Of course he is still playing, you thought. He was a cop, no matter what. You watched him give his own share of milk to the pregnant girl. Did he do it out of kindness or to manipulate those people?

“Seriously, Y/N, you must have a problem. What is wrong with you? Staring like that at that poor guy- he might get the wrong idea.” One of your teammates said to you, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Don’t worry so much. I’m just watching and that’s harmless on its own.”

“On its own, yes. But what you’re doing is more than that.”

You raised your brow in annoyance and curiosity and moved your eyes to her.

“And what is it that I’m doing?” You pursed your lips.

“Stalking, mildly put.” She grimaced at your look, sensing how close to irritated you were becoming.

“Stalking? Such a nonsense, Se-mi.”

“Well, whatever. Just be careful so he doesn’t notice or in the next game you might have even more trouble staying alive.”

“Yeah? Is that because you’re so done with me you’re gonna finish me off tomorrow?”

Both of you were grinning then.

“In your dreams, Y/N.”

***

The platform beneath you jerked to life but all your eyes could see were the puddles of blood everywhere. Your shoes were already drenched in it, the palms of your hands covered by it. You slipped on the blood so many times that your clothes were already camouflaged.

“Today I die,” you breathed out, ragged and scared. You knew you were right.

The music echoed in your head even as it quieted and the platform stopped. But you still couldn’t look away from all the blood, not caring anymore about the people around you.

“Two.” said the woman’s voice and panic began. You finally lifted your gaze, searching for Se-mi or anyone familiar but no one was around. People were screaming, dragging each other down, pushing, always pushing. And you just stood there, awaiting your unavoidable end.

“Come on!” There, a body appeared, and someone crashed into you with such force it was hard to stay on your feet. Hands grabbed your waist and with unbelievable strength half pushed you half carried you to the nearest unoccupied room. Only when your body connected with the floor and the doors locked behind you did you look up at the person who saved you.

“Tell me what you want from me.” Young-il or In-ho said, blocking the exit with his body, freezing you in place with those piercing eyes. So he has noticed, you thought, finding it hard to swallow, let alone speak.

“I know who you are.” you croaked and In-ho said nothing, but his laugh lines grew heavier.

“Do you?“ he asked after a while, his eyes sparkling. Was this just a game for him?

“Why didn’t you tell them your real name, In-ho?”

“What made you think you could talk to me like that?” You shivered at his words but your face remained impassable. Somehow, you weren’t scared of him, no. Just… curious.

“Same question.”

“You think I don’t remember you, right? But you’re wrong. The moment I noticed you here I knew exactly who you were, Y/ N.” It was hard to pretend that those words meant nothing to you.

“At least I don’t hide behind a different name.”

“It’s a precaution. Some of these people are criminals and if they recognised my name they wouldn’t be as happy as you to see me here, understood?”

Your cheeks reddened but that didn’t stop you from holding your ground. His gaze made you nervous and you started biting your lower lip.

“Would you stop doing that?” In-ho asked and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not the only one watching, Y/N.” he gave you a tentative smile.

Before you could say anything, the doors clicked and In-ho extended his hand to you as an offering.

“I can keep a secret… Can you?” A corner of his mouth curled up slightly and in answer you accepted his hand.

***

After you walked out of the room, the two of you didn’t speak until later that day in the dormitory. It was as if your roles switched - the whole day you felt his gaze following you wherever you went. It was driving you insane.

Thankfully In-ho approached you on his own, holding you by your elbow and gently leading you to a tranquil corner of the room.

“Stop staring at me to distract me!” you whisper shouted at him.

“Oh, I’m not staring at you to distract you.”

Again, the blush creeped into your cheeks. Flustered and ashamed, you looked away and bit your lip.

“I shouldn’t be here, you know.” he went on. His eyes were flickering from side to side, probably trying to see if anyone paid any attention to you.

“Well, I can keep a secret, can’t I?” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, a spark in your eyes. A smile crept on his face but quickly disappeared.

“As soon as the lights go out today, the other team is going to attack us so they have more people voting tomorrow for the games to continue. You hide under the bed and be quiet, you understand?”

“Is this a trap?” you asked and stepped away, your hands starting to shake.

“Do as I say.” And that was that. With it, he meant to turn away, but you gripped his wrist.

“In-ho-“

“Would you stop doing that?” he retorted and moved his hand so it was him holding you. His knuckles were all white but he wasn’t hurting you.

“Doing what exactly, In-ho-“ before you could finish the sentence, the palm of his hand covered your mouth. Your nostrils were met with a musky and tangy smell.

“Don’t test me.” He let go of you and stepped aside. As he turned to go, he spoke over his shoulder: “When the lights turn off, come and find me. I’ll keep you safe.”

And somehow, no matter how dangerous this place was, knowing that you cannot trust anyone here, you trusted him.

***

“Light out in five minutes.” The woman’s voice resonated in the dormitory while everyone climbed into their beds. You sat at the edge of yours with shoes on, checking for the fifth time In-ho’s location. In your mind, you tried to blindly navigate your way and when you were finally convinced that you could do it, you loosened a deep sigh.

“Why so tense, Y/N?” Se-mi asked from the bed beneath yours. You climbed down onto her level and quickly checked if anyone was listening, before you whispered: “After the lights go out, gen under the beds. Trust me.” Thank god she didn’t question it, because you felt ridiculous enough for the both of you for even listening to In-ho. He didn’t have a motive to keep you safe. He had one to kill you, though. You were the only one here who knew his real name. You just didn’t know if it was information worth killing for.

“Lights out in ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight…” You looked around for the last time. The air was stale and tense. Your body started shaking immediately.

“Three, two, one.” The darkness fell like a heavy curtain. You quietly stumbled down the ladder, careful to make as little noise as possible. Your left knee nearly collapsed under you as you made the first step but you kept a firm grip on the railings as you slowly passed between the bunk beds. Two railings, you go right, tree railings, you touch the wall, you follow it into the corner, then four railings before you go left…. But it just wasn’t possible to move as quickly as required. You were three quarters in when hell was unleashed. The sounds of stabbing, screaming and gurgling filled the air but your legs refused to move. You were completely paralysed with fear.

Someone jumped screaming from their bed and stumbled into you. You fell with a yelp on the cold floor and tried to scoot under the closest bed, but someone was already there pushing you out, frantically repeating: “Get out, they’re gonna find me, you have to go!”

You scrambled on all fours and stayed as low as possible while crawling to where In-ho was supposed to be. You were such a fool.

There was a sudden kick to your abdomen and you gasped, pain resonating through your body. Someone tripped over you and fell with a scream, their hands trying to hold onto anything, which just happened to be your hair. You screamed with pain, blindly punching around yourself in a desperate attempt of defence.

“In-ho!” you finally screamed, not caring anymore if someone tracked you down because of it. There was so much noise that it didn’t matter.

“In-ho!” you kept on shouting as you got up and started frantically running in the direction you thought was the right one. You were starting to get desperate, your voice turning into a rasp, tears forcing their way out of your eyes.

Earlier, when you said that you were going to die that day, maybe it would actually happen.

Suddenly, a hand grasped your ankle and you were prepared for the worst. But when your name fell off In-ho’s lips, your shoulders sagged with relief and with a desperate cry you got on the ground and slid next to him under the bed.

“I thought I was dead,” you gasped out, hand on your racing heart.

“Well, me too if that calms you down.”

“It certainly doesn’t, In-ho.” you glared at him. He was looking at you in a strange way, something in his expression you didn’t know how to identify.

“What is it?” you asked, your stomach dropping. Was he actually betraying you? Or was he trying to kiss you? With that look on his face, you couldn’t say which one.

“Say my name again,” he breathed out, your breaths mingling. Suddenly, you noticed all the points where your body was touching his, your skin heating up at the contact.

“In-ho,” you mumbled and stretched out your hand to tuck a strand of his silky hair behind his ear.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” In-ho looked at you with a pained expression.

“Not in the slightest,” you whispered softly against his warm lips as you kissed him.

#hwang inho #inho x reader #hwang in ho #in ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game 2 x reader #front man #front man x reader #young il #young il x reader #in ho #inho x

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charmedimsure · 1 month ago

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A WELCOME DISTRACTION || kang dae-ho

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x reader

summary: Dae-ho helps you learn to play Gong-gi

word count: 1.5k

warnings: squid game stuff, but other than than just fluff

A/N: I got the rules of the game from watching the show, so they could be wrong. I think it's gender neutral but lmk if it's not so I can fix it

It looks like you're going to spend at least another day here. You're going to have to play at least one more game. Despite voting to leave, the majority of people disagreed with you, and now you're stuck here. You may be drowning in student loan debt, but at least your alive, and, if you've learned anything positive from this experience, it is that life is full of opportunities.

You take your food from the masked men and find a small space in between the beds where you can be alone. You don't think you can eat right now, so you put those to the side and sit on your knees, pulling five small stones out of your pocket. When you need is a distraction, and this game could do it.

Across the room, Dae-ho winces as Jung-bae hits him in the shoulder, almost making him drop his milk.

"What?" Dae-ho says, annoyed.

"You're staring," Jung-bae says. Dae-ho gives him a confused look, to which he nods his head in your direction.

Dae-ho looks down at his feet as he feels heat rise in his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jung-bae scoffs a laugh, looking at the former Marine. "Please. You cheered so loud when her team crossed the finish line I thought you're life was on the line, too." Jung-bae laughs at his own joke, Young-il laughing along.

Dae-ho rolls his eyes, finishing his milk and putting the carton down next to him. Sure he thinks you're cute, but this is no place for any of this stuff.

"You should talk to them," a quiet voice says. Dae-ho looks up to see Jun-hee looking at him.

Young-il nods. "She's right. We don't know how much longer we will be alive, you should speak now before you lose the chance."

Dae-ho looks back over at you. You're hunched over on the floor between beds, your back facing him. With a small surge of confidence, Dae-ho nods, standing up. He takes a few steps in your direction before second guessing himself, stopping in place. He nearly falls over as Jung-bae shoves him towards you.

As he gets closer to you, he can hear the sounds of something repeatedly hitting the hard floor, as well as soft curses coming from you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, standing by the entrance to the small alley between beds.

You gasp and look up at him, being too invested in what you were doing to notice someone coming up to you. Acting on instinct, you back yourself closer to the wall away from him.

Dae-ho puts his hands up. "I don't want to hurt you, just wanted to see what you were doing."

You take a look at his face and number. You remember seeing him yelling yesterday with his friend, as if he was a soldier. It had actually made you laugh, which was much needed in a place like this. You also thought he was kinda cute. Getting out of your defensive position, you shyly show him the small stones in your hand.

He furrows his brows and gets closer so he can have a better look, kneeling on the floor in front of you. He recognizes the rocks from the ground of the last game, but has no idea why you have them.

You see his confused look and sigh. "I was trying to play Gong-gi. I've never played before and it looked interesting." You let out a little laugh. "I'm not very good at it, though. I don't even know if I'm doing it right."

Dae-ho gives you a small smile. "I can show you, if you want."

You look up at him with wide eyes. "You know how to play?"

He grows a bit embarrassed and looks everywhere except for your face. "I have older sisters, we used to play when I was little."

Expecting you to laugh at him, he is surprised when you hold out the stones. He smiles and holds out his palm for you to place the rocks in, then moves back to make room between the two of you.

"You have to throw one of the pieces in the air as you grab the others, and you need to grab more as you go. You start with one each, then two, then three and one, then all four. After that, flip them onto the backside of your hand and catch them without flipping your hand over." He takes a deep breath as he rolls of the stones onto the floor. As nervous as he feels with you watching him, he knows he can do it. After all, he did just do it perfectly with guns pointed at him.

He quickly goes through the game, not dropping a single stone. When he makes the final catch and opens his palm for you to see, he finds your mouth open as you stare at his hand in awe.

"That was amazing," you say to him with a smile.

Dae-ho smiles and feels the heat rising to his face again. "You should see my sisters do it, they move so fast you can't even see what's happening," he chuckles, making you laugh. "Besides, I saw you do spinning top before. You wrapped it in seconds and got it to spin on the first try! I was always so bad at spinning top as a kid."

You smile shyly, feeling heat in your face. "It was my favorite game as a kid. I didn't have many toys, so I would play it for hours. I'd try to teach you, but I don't have a top."

Dae-ho smiles. "That's okay." He holds out his hand for you to take the stones. "You're turn to try."

You take the stones from him, scattering them onto the ground between you. You smile as you manage to get each singular one, but when you try to get two at once, you don't catch the stone in time. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back on your knees.

"You're doing good," Dae-ho reassures. "Try going for the ones that are closer together, and throw the stone a little higher to give you more time."

You nod at the advice and pick up the stones again. You get the first two, but lose it again as you try to get the second two. Though you get frustrated with yourself, Dae-ho never does, patiently watching you and giving you tips.

It takes more tries than you would like to admit, but you are finally able to make the final catch. You yell out in victory with a big smile on your face, and the man across from you does the same. You get a little shy as you see that your yells have got attention from the people around you, particularly that one judgmental old man who really has no right to judge anyone considering he has more debt than most people here combined.

When everyone looks away, you smile up at the man again as he hold him hand up for you to high-five.

"I feel so accomplished," you laugh, making him chuckle. "Thank you for helping me. It was nice to play a game and not have to worry for my life."

He smiles sadly. "I'm happy I could help. My name is Dae-ho."

You smile back at him and give him your name. "If we both get out of here, Dae-ho, I'll teach you how to get the top to spin every time."

"When," he says. You give him a confused look. "You said if we get out of here, but when we get out of here, I would like that very much."

You smile at him. "I'm looking forward to it."

Dae-ho spots your food sitting on the bed next to you and frowns. "You didn't eat?"

You look at it. "I wasn't hungry so I was saving it. I got so wrapped up in this game I forgot about it."

The man moves to get up. "I'll leave you to eat, then."

"You don't have to leave," you say quickly, making him stop and look at you. "I mean, I don't mind if you want to stay."

Dae-ho smiles and nods, sitting down again, this time next to you. As you eat, you both talk about yourselves, how you ended up here, your lives back home, anything that comes to mind.

"What are you going to do when you get out of here?" Dae-ho asks you when your food is long gone.

You sigh and shrug. "I'll pay off whatever debt that I can, but besides that, I really don't know." You look at him. "What about you?"

"I'll pay off my debts, too," he says. He takes a deep breath before looking at you, feeling his nerves rising. "I also think that I'd like to take you to dinner."

His nerves calm as he watches a smile slowly take over your face. "I'd like that."

Dae-ho smiles. "Then it's a date."

When it is time to go to sleep, Dae-ho can only think about how he is going to do everything he can to make sure the two of you get out of here alive.

#dae ho #player 388 #dae-ho #daeho x reader #dae ho x reader #dae-ho x reader #squid game #squid game 2 #squid game season 2 #kang dae ho #kang daeho #daeho

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povlnfour · 1 year ago

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ HOW DO YOU TURN THIS THING OFF? — LN4

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: fans love when you make appearances in landos streams. it’s usually because he doesn’t know where something is, and the internet goes crazy over their favorite certified himbo. on one stream, you get a taste of your own medicine when lando tasks you with turning the live feed off, and fans get a little more of an insight into your relationship

genre: established relationship, humour

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just tweeted

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user2 just made a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

liked by yourusername and 406,409 others

landonorris dinner date then stream, be there or be square, 6pm

view all comments

maxfewtrell did she have to show you how to use a knife and fork too?

yourusername i definitely had to show him how to fill my wine glass up when it was empty

user PUT Y/N ON THE STREAM WE WANT MORE Y/N

user if he comes on in a dress shirt i’m Dead

user oh they’ve all definitely seen the thread😭😭

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a thread

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

liked by landonorris and 108,654 others

yourusername this time it was my own stupidity that let the secret out. and i didn’t have to show him how to propose! he did it all on his own accord!

view all comments

user YOU’RE SUCH AN ICON

user only lando and y/n could accidentally expose their own engagement

user THE CAPTION😭😭 she really has kept him alive all these years huh

user ‘i wouldn’t want to think of a life without you anyway’ now if that’s not meant to be than what is

landonorris i love you

landonorris really quick whilst we’re at it,,, where tf do we keep the spare phone chargers?

yourusername oh.. oh baby. i’ll be home in 5

————

a/n: hELLO! so the snippet from this got over 200 notes and i couldn’t wait to post it because you all loved it so much!

for the rest of my wips, check out the wip game linked in my pinned post!!

all of your feedback over the last few days has made me so happy sjdjsjs, any thoughts please feel free to send i am having so much fun creating for you guys. i seriously appreciate every like comment ask and follow!! anon emojis are now listed in my bio so if you wanna chat a bunch, have a look at what’s free !

- giselle

taglist (found here): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35 @treehouse-house @iloveyou3000morgan

#f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris au #mclaren #lando norris blurb #lando norris scenario #lando norris smau

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producedbysohyun · 27 days ago

Text

Protective

Squid game x reader hcs

Summary: How the squid games characters would be protective over you

Includes: Thanos, In-ho, Gi-hun, Dae-ho, Myung-gi, Hyun-ju (squid game au)

Warnings: mentions of death, might be a little repetitive because I just feel like they would act similar.

Masterlist

a/n: Mb this is pretty short but I haven’t posted in awhile so I wanted to post something (I might add to this as time goes on) !! Please enjoy !!

Thanos:

Let’s just say that if anyone lays a finger on you, they are dead 🤗

You literally don’t have to worry about dying when you are with him

Always has his arm around your shoulder or waist so everyone knows to not try anything with you

During the night he holds onto you so tightly you feel like you could suffocate

He just really doesn’t want anything to happen to you 😔

If you really don’t want to play the games he will cave and vote X

You mean way more to him than money

No matter how bad his debt is

*cough* 1 billion *cough*

In-ho:

Idk how you would get in the game in the first place cause he definitely wouldn’t let you but

Ya you are not dying

Has full control of the game and will do everything he can to make sure you don’t die

Even if it means playing unfairly

Tells the guards to not kill you even if you didn’t pass the game

Definitely tells the guards to give you extra food so you have energy 😭

You’re basically just gonna be playing the games on easy mode

Gi-hun:

Bro has nothing to lose besides you so he’s gonna do everything he possible can to keep you alive

Doesn’t let you go anywhere alone

Beats himself up about not trying harder to end the games because if he did then neither of you would be in this situation right now

Never sleeps because he knows that fights happen at night and he wants to make sure you’re safe

Would immediately put himself in danger if it meant you would be ok

Makes sure you pass the games before even worrying about himself

Dae-ho:

Does not take his eyes or hands off of you

Is not afraid to defend you either verbally or physically

Even tho he is freaked out about the games as well he doesn’t let it get to him and tells himself he has to be brave for you

Always puts your safety above his

Ends up getting no sleep at night because he’s so scared something is gonna happen to you

Always insists on giving you his food even tho he is hungry

In his mind, you matter more.

Myung-gi:

Wanted to keep playing the games but when he figured out you were there he voted for X as he wanted anything but for you to be dead or hurt

Will literally kill anyone who bad mouths you (that one scene when he killed Thanos because he said something about Jun-hee 🤭 rip Thanos 😞)

Doesn’t let you leave his sight for a second

During the special game where the lights went out and everyone was killing each other he just kept you behind him the entire time

Boy was ready to risk his life for you 😭

If you get separated during a game he will probably scold you out of worry before realizing that he’s literally yelling at you for something you couldn’t control

You better believe he won’t let you get separated from him again

Hyun-ju:

Girl would do absolutely anything to keep you alive

Holds your hand 24/7

You guys are NOT getting separated

Doesn’t care about herself

As long as you’re alive she’s ok

Would absolutely crash out if anything happened to you

If you wanted to join the revolt with them she would tell you no instantly

Because if you ended up dying and it was her fault she would never forgive herself

Can’t sleep because she wants to watch over you pt.2 😢

a/n: I hope you guys liked this!! I know I say that requests are closed rn but I will take requests for hcs !! Not for a singular character but if it’s for multiple characters I will gladly write it !!

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hyunsuloves · 1 month ago

Note

Hii!! Would you be willing to write some nam-gyu/player 124 x reader hcs? I just love roh jaewon sm <3

boyfriend nam-gyu in the games.

warnings … this is kinda buns… that’s it

lovely notes … i lowkey hate how his character acts but i love roh jae-won too ᥫ᭡!!

꩜ [ 630 words ]

boyfriend nam-gyu who didn’t tell you he was entering the games. he intended to disappear for a week, and then show up with some bullshit excuse and a large sum of money.

boyfriend nam-gyu who was pissed off beyond belief when he came to find out that you were in the games because of his debt. the salesman recruited you to ease your boyfriend's debt and unfortunately, you couldn’t resist.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wouldn’t allow you to leave his side. it irks thanos a little bit, but he doesn’t really say anything because you and nam-gyu are together.

boyfriend nam-gyu gyu who only votes to leave because of your presence. no amount of money could aid him if you were to die here, and all because of him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who gets into countless arguments over you. he’ll argue over the dumbest shit, like someone bumping into you and not apologizing. he feels the constant need to defend you but he tends to take it a bit far.

boyfriend nam-gyu who constantly has a hand on you. it may be on your waist, his fingers interlocked with yours, or his hands in your hair.

boyfriend nam-gyu who insists on a “good luck kiss” before each game. you both are well aware that he just wants an excuse to kiss you, but who’s going to complain about it?

boyfriend nam-gyu who would lose his mind if thanos were to say something about you. if something he said was the slightest bit of suggestive, he might actually fight him about it.

boyfriend nam-gyu who loathes seeing any other player talking to you. even if it’s simplistic small talk to pass the time, he feels a surge of jealousy seeing other people interact so casually with you.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has you alongside him during every game. you don’t really have a choice because he has a vice grip on your hand. you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to.

boyfriend nam-gyu who encourages you to stay away from thanos. he knows he’s a terrible person and despite hanging out with him, he doesn’t want you anywhere near a person as heinous as him. he definitely doesn’t want you taking whatever drugs thanos has on him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who always offers you a portion of his food. he’s a little greedy and secretly wants to keep it all to himself, but he puts your well-being before him, so he always offers you a piece.

boyfriend nam-gyu who sleeps in the bed directly next to yours. the beds are so tiny and can barely fit two people, so he finds peace in sleeping in the bed adjacent to yours.

boyfriend nam-gyu who only allows himself to be vulnerable with you during lights out. he doesn’t want any other players to view your affection as a weakness and use it against either one of you. so, the only time you see the true doting state of your boyfriend is when no one else can see.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wants nothing more than to be affectionate around you, but he knows he can’t for the sake of both of your safety. if he wants the two of you to make it out alive, he’s well aware that he has to put on an uncaring facade in the face of everyone else.

boyfriend nam-gyu who would kill someone for you. it’s a terrifying concept, yet not an unusual one amid the deaths all around. it’s slightly unnerving how quick he’d end other players life in your defense.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has plans to take you out somewhere after you get out of here. he’s the reason you’re here in the first place, and the least he can do is try to make it up to you.

#(౨ৎ) — fics .#nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #nam gyu fluff #nam gyu imagine #nam gyu scenario #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fluff #squid game imagine #squid game scenario #squid game netflix #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 #x reader #x reader insert #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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creamecafe · 1 month ago

Note

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

Taglist:

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#creamecafe #kang daeho #daeho #squid game #squid game spoilers #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #kdrama #dae ho x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #squid game fanfic #kang daeho x reader #pining #slow burn #jang x reader #mingle squid game #please reach the right audience

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ghoulphile · 10 months ago

Text

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

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ithinkimnormal · 4 months ago

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Sorry but It's actually so annoying how much people downplay the crucial role piltover's corrupt council games played in derailing jayce/viktor's work and pretty much putting shackles around their lives. The council is directly responsible for and directly FUNDING so much of the misery that happens in this show, before the story has even started. Before Powder ever finds the gemstone. They single-handedly doom half of the region to death.

Just during the show: Jayce wanted to create magic to aid and uplift the common people, the council wanted trade route instant teleportators to make themselves richer.

Jayce & Viktor wanted to work on technology to help miners and steelworkers and artisans who are trying to survive in the industrial hellscape of piltover and zaun; the council wants it shelved for another 20 years. (yes, heimer is part of the corrupt council - no matter how much his image is laundered by the fandom.)

They are inept and self-serving leaders, elected by themselves and their blood inheritances, utterly obsessed with ultimate profit. You can really see how parasitic their relationship is to the people at the beggining of act 1. Jayce is a token nameless life, so disposable to them that they were going to burn down all of his research and throw out all of his titles, making him not just a lower-house vassal but an EXILE, and the only reason why that doesn't happen is because they realize how much money they can suck out of his work.

This applies to Viktor too. See the way that Heimerdinger tells him over and over again that no other paths can be taken, he has 'fulfilled his purpose' and he should be content to die. See how Mel looks at Viktor like a bug she wants to squash under her palm when he rejects the idea of making weapons for council. See how they speak over him and only address Jayce, as if he's worth less than nothing.

You are only as valuable as the profit you're willing to create. You are a problem that has to be dealt with as soon as you refuse their orders. They have the power to ruin your life, and if they find an excuse, they will. This is a direct threat pointed at Jayce & Viktor during ACT2, when Jayce is pressured into becoming one of them to protect 'the bottom line profit' and, personally speaking, to avoid that ire being redirected towards Viktor. He's pushed into compliance and told a target has been painted on his back.

Arcane jayvik are doomed in big part not for wanting to do harm, but being forced to exist under the beck and call of billionaire leeches. They are both immigrants. They are both struggling to get a degree and keep themselves afloat and they want to help people so goddamn much but they have to keep postponing their dreams to serve uncaring masters. I really wish there was more fan content focused on these very real bonds of understanding and solidarity between them.

When Viktor says 'Jayce will understand' that's not a fluke; he's lived in this environment for years. He knows Jayce is being pushed down the same way that he is and that deep down they've been kept captive by the exact same people. When Jayce agrees that Viktor should do whatever he needs to do to keep himself alive, he means that from the heart.

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cherry-pop-elf · 4 months ago

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Kiss It Better

Curly (mouthwashing) x reader

AN: No one asked for this but CURLY DESERVED BETTER-!

Sum: You were taking care of Curly, your partner, when you just had to ask him a question that was burning you as much alive as the cockpit burned him. Did he actually crash the ship?

Warnings: 18+, gore, medical situations, Jimmy, violence, just mouthwashing in general, ablism, lots of medical stuff (from someone that knows way to much about medical shit because of being in and out of the hospital all her life)

“Morning honey.” You would force yourself to smile. You had to. You had to for him. To give him hope like he always gave you. To be a little bit of real sunshine through the day. Just wanted to take care of him. Give Anya some kind of break.

A wheeze was your greeting.

Wasn’t like it was his fault. He couldn’t really speak right now. You wondered if he would ever speak again. You would miss his voice but it’s worth it for him to live. He will live, you knew he would. You would make sure of it.

“Let’s have a look at you.” You would grab the clipboard that Anya left for you and took a look over. The small little list to help you understand how to care for his issues. When to wash him, what time his medications were, whatever routine was needed for that day. Was your Bible so to speak. You followed it to the last ink splotch.

“Your bandages don’t look to need to be changed yet, your IV bag needs to be changed, I’ll check your catheter, and yada yada yada. Wanna try and swallow today? Maybe if you can swallow some water I can grind up the pain pills into powder for you. Wanna try?”

He gave two distinct blinks for yes.

“Wonderful. Let me do this routine, so you can mentally prepare.” You would explain, as you went to slip on the latex gloves. Didn’t want to risk transferring some kind of infection. He’s already fighting for his life as it is. No need to make it harder.

You would first change out his IV bag, since he needed to stay as hydrated and fed nutrients as possible, before working on the awkward catheter. Luckily Anya made it very easy to use. She had opted for a condom catheter since she didn’t want to put himself at anymore risk to infections, and pain, as possible. Seemed the trauma made it rather impossible to control his bowls anyway so it worked out. All you had to do was drain the bag, wash it, and reattach it to the side of the table. Wasn’t like he was going to be moving around much anyway.

“So Daisuke was showing me his gameboy. Teaching me about how the lore works and all that. I really had no idea what he was talking about, but it’s better than Swansea snoring.” You laughed, and did your best to keep yourself peppy. To help Curly feel somewhat involved with society. To not just be trapped in the med bay alone. Daisuke and Swansea would visit, and Anya did what she could medically, but sometimes you just need someone to talk to.

“Think it’s a rouge like game. That’s nice. Helps keep you entertained with wanting to break through more and more dungeons in one session.” You rambled, before reattaching the bag. Had you sigh in relief to see you didn’t mess up the chord. Some urine had already started to fill the bag. Must have been triggered by the new IV. Good good. Everything was correct.

“You ready?” You asked, as this was always the hardest part. Getting medication in him. Anya would do her best but you couldn’t blame her for struggling. It’s such a mental tax to try and take care of someone but it results in more pain. You were willing to take that burden. You were his partner after all. You felt it’s only fair you take care of him. Gave Anya some breathing room to actually care for herself. She deserved to take care of herself to.

With two clear blinks you would get to work.

You would slip your hand under his back, and forced him to sit up. He groaned in pain, and tried his best to keep his head upright, as you two tried to work together. To survive this. To try and fight through.

“You are doing so well.” You reassured, as your brought the water bottle up to his open mouth. He was able to let his head hang back, and did what he could to open his throat. Was awkward, but he managed to do it. He took a proper swallow of water. You could hardly hide your excitement.

“You did it! Oh my god you did it!” You couldn’t help but kiss his cheek. It hurt, of course, but he very much felt it was worth it. He had his own pride in being able to do some kind of basic human function again.

You would lay him back down, and was quick to grind up medication to put in the water bottle. You couldn’t wait to tell Anya his progress. You were positive the rest of the crew would be happy to hear the progress.

Well…..Most of the crew.

You used your anger towards Jimmy to help you grind the pain killers into powder. Oh how you hated him. You knew deep down he was responsible for the crash. You knew he was. You weren’t sure why he would be, but you just knew that Curly would never. If he had to, for whatever reason, he would have come on to the intercom to inform everyone to prepare for a crash. He would have done something. Anything.

What purpose would there be in crashing the ship?

Jimmy was his copilot. He would be the only other person to have access to the cockpit. He had to have been involved somehow. There had to have been something going on. You just knew it.

You just wish you had proof.

You sighed, as you would shake up the powder in the bottle. Made sure it was fully dissolved to avoid any issues with it going down his throat.

You just couldn’t understand.

Why would Jimmy crash the ship?

You would return back to curly, and do the same routine again. Slow, and small, drips into his throat. Would take a while, and would make your arm beg for death, but this would make life easier for Curly. That’s all that mattered. A arm cramp is worth it to help Curly survive.

“Curly…..Since you are more lucid now I….I just gotta ask something.”

The way his eye darted towards you said he knew what you were going to ask. Knew that it’ll be asked. He knew, and he couldn’t help but try and look towards the door. As if afraid someone would walk in.

That had you very concerned.

“…..Jimmy crashed the ship, didn’t he?” You whispered. Tried to be as hush as possible, in case someone did overhear. Was just the slow drips of the water into his dry mouth, and you.

One blink.

Two blinks.

“I fucking knew it.” You gritted your teeth, as you felt stupid to ever even have the slightest doubt that any possible reality there would be that Curly would do such a thing.

“I wish I could ask you why. Do…Do you know why?” You had to ask. You just needed to know. Know if Jimmy was as dangerous as you thought.

One blink.

T-

“How’s the captain doing?”

You would turn your head sharply, and saw Jimmy. Just standing there. God you were terrified how long he had been there. Did he hear what you asked? Didn’t seem so. Jimmy was a very aggressive person. He snapped at the slightest tone shift. If he heard you ask a question like that you wouldn’t be talking now.

“He’s….Alive.” You were caught rather off guard. You didn’t know what to say. You were scared of him. You had to be brave, though. You had a better chance at defending yourself. Curly couldn’t.

You would hear his heavy foot steps come closer, and out right feel his body heat against yours. Just looking over your shoulder. Was like this burning shadow over you. Made you feel like you’ll be squashed like a bug.

“Has he been able to talk yet?”

That’s a weird question to ask. Why not ask how he’s feeling, what progress he’s made, how his vitals are. Why is him talking on the front of his mind?

Because Curly knew something he shouldn’t.

“No. I think he’s lost his voice for good. I don’t think he’s ever going to speak again.” You lied, as you finished the test of the bottle. Returned your partner back on the table, and spun around. Nose to chest to the man. Had you terrified, but you must be brave. For Curly.

“Damn. Rough for him. No more barking orders, huh?” Jimmy tried to joke, but you could only give an awkward laugh at. Mostly to keep from pissing him off.

If he’s willing to crash a ship what else is he willing to do?

“Did you need something?” You managed to force out, as you grabbed the clipboard. Just trying to find an excuse to not look directly at Jimmy. To have a motive as to why you would stay in the med bay longer than most. Just anything to get Jimmy to leave you two alone.

“Hey, I give a shit to about him. Is it criminal to care about my friend?” He snapped at you, and it made you grab your clipboard tighter. You swore he seemed to smirk at seeing you so startled. Like he got off to the idea that he got the captains sweetheart scared.

That he’s the new boss.

“Never said that. You are the co pilot and new captain. You-“ “Pilot now. As if he’s ever going to steer a ship again. Not even a wheelchair with those stumps.” He snorted, as you wanted to smack him across the face.

“Yes….As the new Pilot and Captain I would figure you would be swamped in work. Like finding a way for us to contact help. Kinda the biggest priority after Curly. Anya and I are busy with him. You, Daisuke, and Swansea can handle the rest.”

You noticed how he seemed to roll his eyes about Anya. As if he couldn’t care less about the woman. Made you curious on what kind of beef he would have with her. She’s Anya! Who hated her?

“Yeah. Guess you are right there.” He muttered, as if it was never on his mind. Never an option that they could escape. Oh how you were getting chills.

“Keep on trucken then. Take care of our Captain Cripple. His ass needs all the help his stumpy limbs can get.” He would give him a once over, before looking at you. You made sure to keep your eyes to the clipboard instead. All you did was nod in acknowledgment, before he left.

“What are we going to do, Curly?” You sighed, as you would just lay next to him in defeat. What can you do? You had no idea. Curly was always such a good captain. Made you regret never paying more attention to how he worked the cock pit. Maybe if you did you could be more useful.

As you were full of worry and regret, Curly would weakly try and turn his head. Naked teeth were against his cheek. A attempt to kiss your cheek the best he could.

You smiled at the gesture, and made sure to be careful with snuggling your face into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, and you got me. We can do this. I know it.” You reassured you both, as you closed your eyes. There to wait until his pain medication kicked in, so he could sleep.

As you relaxed, you couldn’t help but swear something was strange about his breathing.

It was like….He was saying words.

You would focus as hard as you could on your ears, as he would drift in and out of his buzzed state. Fighting to stay awake, but sleep coming for him.

“A….a…n…ya…..Kn….ows……”

Part 2

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hoseoksluna · 9 days ago

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STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl,

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

@rrosiitas @KookieNooki @cristinamajadera @Chaelvrx @mimikoba

@junecat18 @deepops79 @notsevenwithyou @futuristicenemychaos @psychicjellyfish @alpaca @Kooloveys

Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last.

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess.

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears.

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection, like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore.

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait.

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t.

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out.

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic.

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest.

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit.

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned.

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth.

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all.

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment.

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust.

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him.

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny.

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in.

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed.

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again.

And again.

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang.

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness.

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight.

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve.

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet.

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it.

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion.

You also wanted to make him feel better.

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you.

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won.

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds.

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him.

Darkened the more you teased him.

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time.

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed.

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world.

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him.

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed.

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more.

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of.

And then the confessions began.

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you.

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him.

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it.

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you.

But you were a smart girl.

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father.

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it.

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals.

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you.

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears.

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view.

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over.

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you.

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside.

The song of fate.

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously.

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were.

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut.

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt.

You see how hard he is for you.

Good.

Now you can. Now it's yours.

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all.

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes.

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air.

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you.

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up.

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more.

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek.

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously?

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive.

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes.

A tall candle, melting.

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness.

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment.

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you.

That he can’t stay mad at you.

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you.

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.”

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew.

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it.

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you.

He’s safe with you.

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore.

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting.

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt.

He’s going to make that little girl stay.

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