#is going to push away communities and end up only with other people who worship toxicity and loneliness and that's not good or healthy!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwaightme · 23 days ago

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i have been meaning to write at least something in response to this, but i keep on wondering how i can ever give this wonderful reblog justice. genuinely you made me feel inspired and so touched again, thank you ;~; <33

ateez's lore is so so magical to me, precisely because even though there is a particular storyline and links present, set characters and core events, there is still so much open for interpretation and so much up for debate that it scratches the brain in the best of ways! since each era/diary/however we would like to call it contains references to other media, historical events, music, etc., we can infinitely expand our impressions and ideas of the lore, and in some sense, i feel like each one of us has some magical version of our own <3 at least until we wrestle the whole story out of hongjoong's hands lol

now my silly little ramble in response to your beautiful analysis <33

i love this mention of the mind, of characterisation; i absolutely love diving into people's thoughts, study how a person behaves, feels, and i love letting feeling flow through me to understand all the whats the whys the hows. so, i feel as though any action or intention has some kind of foundation or reasoning behind it, no matter how right/wrong moral/immoral rational/irrational, there is reason. so within this work i tried to explore what it is like when all of this is grey, when one has to go against themselves, but then... how long can a person hide themselves, really?

and why yes :3 fire!! and a lot of it!! truth be told i had two sources of thought for this, one of which was the presence of fire in ateez's lore in general (think the burning effigy in halazia, for instance, or our good ol' bulnoriya - what is real, what is a dream is often connected with presence of water/fire blue/red, and appears to be linked with the universes too~); and then the other inspiration might be a little silly, but it is dear to me - hwa is a fire sign, and so i tried to turn that on its head and wonder "how about we make hwa something like a flame, caged, but wanting to make all hell break loose, fire searching for oxygen..."; in addition i was super drawn to this element and the imagery/symbolism that comes with it because of just how many juxtapositions it offers. gives warmth or destroys... draws in or pushes away... this is the kind of dynamic i wanted to add, considering the situation mc and hwa are in; both hope and hopelessness in one flicker.

!!!also!!! precisely as you had highlighted, seonghwa is quite the ambiguous character, because while there is this care, this worship and affection, by closing the exit door he is very much part of a huge crime, and before the final scenes take place he is lying, he is instilling fear in mc... so even if mc does remember, are they trusting what they want to see, or are they trusting the real seonghwa?

and truly, i am with you on this one :((( i wanted to make mc be something like a personification of the "blue bird"; freedom-seeking, hope-giving, a gentle soul but so, so strong, having gone through so much but still having so much love to give. a bird whose song makes you look forward to the day ahead, a bird who sings to sing, essentially. that is the bird's life.

yes!!! precisely!! the regime is not going to change in a day, things are not going to be sunshine and rainbows unless someone, somehow, makes the change happen. for instance, we can now see from the the world: to the end diary at the end that the thunder group is communicating of a semi-successful overthrow with the establishment of two separate governing bodies, one still under the old strictland regime, and one completely new, liberated. this came only after so many attempts to fight against Z, the guardians, the propaganda, etcetc. so it is all the more exciting to wonder where hwa and mc would end up, and what could happen ^-^ <33

again, thank you so much for every single word, thought, and for all your time <333 thank you thank you <33 thank you for making me feel alive <3

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance.

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included.

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal.

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour.

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think.

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…”

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present.

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?”

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony.

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories.

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton.

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny.

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm.

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul.

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze.

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer.

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric.

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you.

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing.

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out.

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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249 notes · View notes

agent-cupcake · 3 years ago

Note

You know, you've written a lot of your thoughts/hcs/etc on how various characters would behave as yanderes and so on, but I've never seen you talk about yandere readers before and I feel like that's an interesting subject to consider? Especially for 3H - you have a treasure trove of damaged boys to attract obsessiveness from girls who are convinced they are the ONLY one for them and it's their duty to drive away competition/threats/anyone they want.

Okay it's time to be toxic. I’m not going to go for all the guys, just the ones who immediately came to mind.

Dimitri: I joke quite often that I would be yandere for Dimitri. It all started when I brought up killing the girl he danced with at the White Heron Ball and quite frankly it's only spiraled from there because doesn't the Savior King Dimitri deserve to be adored and worshipped? Doesn't he deserve someone who wants the best for him and only him? Doesn’t it only make sense for him to be with someone who understands his mental issues and is willing to offer him unconditional support and patience? Doesn't he need someone with unwavering loyalty who will do anything no matter what the cost for his sake? It'd be so easy too because he's super dependent, desperate for affection, and clueless so if you just nourish those traits and constantly downplay his discomfort/suspicion of you driving away anybody who you feel is a threat by saying that this is how relationships just are, that it's just because you love him so much, that you're just looking out for him, what's he gonna do? It's not like he'd have any solid basis for knowing how relationships are supposed to be. Besides if he gets too upset you can threaten to leave him just like his mother did, I'm sure that would work to get him back in your arms (where he belongs). Yeah, that’s a little fucked up but it would be so much worse for both of you in the long run if you were apart. Being too aggressive or overt about your obsession would definitely make Dimitri wise up so it'd be better to go with love bombing. This would be good because it really lets you prove your devotion to Dimitri and makes it easier for him to just laugh off and excuse your disturbingly possessive behavior. His friends would be potentially problematic, but they're not always around and Dimitri's private enough that he probably wouldn't volunteer information about you to them. If you told him that it made you very upset and uncomfortable when he was friendly with the girls from his class, he’d most likely stop for your sake. Bonus round, have his babies. What is he going to do, abandon the mother of his children? Dimitri?!? No way. Of course he wouldn’t do anything to risk breaking his family, but neither would you! After all, this is all because you know Dimitri better than anyone which means that only you can love him.

Sylvain: Sylvain being manipulative and cheating on you after you try and prove your love to him through conventional means causing you to snap and kill hurt the girls, throw his lies back in his face, and prove that you're the only girl for him by preying on his emotional trauma with women is really something to consider. Why try to resolve toxic situations with love, compassion, and open communication when you can use blood and abuse to keep him with you? Play the part, be snarky, witty, flirty, be super hot and cold to keep him intrigued, give him the best fuck he's ever had, really show him that you don't care about his Crest, you just want to love possess him. Maybe even do the whole "I don't care who you're with, we both know you belong to me" to really engage him in those super fun mind games. Make everyone else acknowledge that you're the perfect girl for him, get them all to vilify him for continuing to be such a womanizer and breaking your heart. But, like, why stop there? Encourage him to retaliate, to be mad at you. Tease him for being so disgusted and angry at you when all you want, all you've ever wanted, was for your hearts to beat as one and then later act confused because of course you wouldn’t make light of his feelings like that, that’s horrible. All you want, all you’ve ever wanted, was for him to acknowledge that your adoration for him is true. Really break him until he gives you the whole “I’ll let you chain me up so I never even look at another girl” schtick. This might seem awful, but so is he! Reform can be difficult and if he’s going to be happy, he has to be made to understand why his behavior was so bad and the consequences of it. Because it’s not like you’d act like this if you had any other choice, it’s not like you’d continue once the two of you were truly together, of course you wouldn’t treat him so cruelly once he vowed himself to you and only you. And, really, I think it’d be a lot easier once he understood that and you got to prove your love to him through raw, unadulterated affection. Spend every day adding onto the list of why you love your Sylvain.

Claude: Claude being more than aware of the ole' saying "don't stick your dick in crazy" and then doing it anyway because he has a proclivity for the fiery, forbidden, and oh-so temping call of danger would be the perfect set up for a very bad predicament. You’d have to play some mind games to really convince him that he’s the one seeking you out, he’s the one who’s got it bad, he’s the one who wants to have you. In other words, you’d have to give him a challenge. But, you know, if it’s a game, you’d have to play back because you’re doing this for him, because you love him, because you want him to realize that he loves you, too (Uno reverse Claude’s yandere behaviors, basically) so obviously you’d have to eliminate any obstacles and taking out anybody who could be a potential threat. Get him to open up about his dreams, his past, his feelings. As it goes with basically all of these affection-starved men, make him feel loved for who he is. You know, if you were really good, you could probably even get him to give up on everything else for your sake. I mean, I loathe the ending but he does that for Lysithea. Pull a Tangled on Claude and make him believe that you’re his new dream as he mostly certainly is yours.

Felix: Sweet Felix. So oblivious but so difficult. A man who would provide the ultimate and most dangerous yan rival of them all: the thrill of the fight. In a lot of ways, I think he’d be like Dimitri. Mostly just because he’s so dense when it comes to love of any kind. But he’s also not as emotionally desperate or dependent so you wouldn’t really be able to use that against him. The similarities come from Felix’s equal amount of inexperience with romance which opens up a lot of possibilities for you convincing him that certain behaviors are normal. You can even bring up how his cold emotional state (something I believe he’s insecure about) is what forces you to be so overbearing, how badly it hurts you. You don’t necessarily mean to be so cloying but you’re so afraid of losing someone else you love so much (another insecurity of his). After all, there is nobody in the entire world who is like him, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, (three for three with his insecurities) and how irreplaceable and precious he is to you. These examples are kind of “soft” when it comes to using his insecurities against him, but you could go further with them assuming you were sure that it wouldn’t drive him away. Not knowing and having to work on assumption would always be a pretty big reason to control yourself in how you went about manipulating him because Felix is stubborn and prideful and pushing him too far would only hurt the both of you. It’s actually kind of funny because as opposed to the traditional yan mindset, it would be in your best interest to get Felix to form relationship bonds with others (but definitely not any of the girls he’s so popular with) because that would be a bargaining chip when convincing him to stay with you.

Ferdinand von Aegir: Ferdinand is, honestly, so easy for this. Like, I feel as if I don’t even need to talk about the details. You show him some affection and he’s yours. Bury him in love and praise. Tell him that it makes you unhappy when he talks to other girls or prioritizes his work over you and then reward him with boundless warmth and devotion because of course he would bend over backwards to make you happy. He just wants to be needed and treasured, to love and be loved. He’s already got the poetry and the ring and of course he wouldn’t mind getting married right away it’s true love, why would you wait?

Yuri: Yuribird is the forbidden darling. You’d need to be running on 100% love because he’d sniff out and ditch you at even the smallest whiff of deliberate obsession. But you know what he wants? More-so than the other guys, in some ways. He wants to be known and loved for who he is. In the face of genuine affection, he doesn’t stand a chance. Still, you’d have to be measured about this stuff. If you were jealous and got rid of your rivals yourself, Yuri would be disgusted and leave you. And you can’t hide that sort of thing from him, either. You’d have to go all in on the manipulation but only in the most honest way possible, that’s the only way past his defenses. Get him to prioritize your feelings first so he feels guilty talking to people or acting in ways that upset you. Reward him for putting you above everyone else. Constantly remind him that you’re the only one who knows and understands him, who loves him for who he is. Get him so emotionally fucked that even if his big brain logic is telling him that you’re toxic and horrible, he can’t stand the thought of being without you. He’d give up crime, it’s not like he even particularly likes it. Set up the perfect life for him, something domestic and sweet and warm, something he’s never had worries he doesn’t deserve, something that keeps him away from others. The goddess only knows how much he deserves a happy dream for once, and you’re the only one who can understand and provide that for him.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #sylvain jose gautier #yuri leclerc #claude von riegan #felix hugo fraldarius #ferdinand von aegir #fe dimitri #fe sylvain #fe yuri #fe claude #fe felix #fe ferdinand #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yandere #headcanons #yandere headcanons #quality content only on my blog

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its-warm-in-here · 3 years ago

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Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you. Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village. You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you. They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself. If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you. "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though, the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

#Karl Heisenberg #Re8 #re8 heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #Ill keep this going as long as i can #wow creativity is hard #karl can be nice if he tries

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koshicoast · 4 years ago

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A few shinkami headcannons because I love them more than anything

Shinsou has a growth spurt and practically towers over Denki by their second year (for all intents and purposes, Shinsou has always been in class 1A)

Denki grows a little bit but not that much, he’s not complaining though, he gets Shinsou to grab stuff on the top shelve for him or has him hang up posters in higher places in his room (the only downside is that he has to get on his tippy toes for kisses but usually Shinsou will just bend down like a good boyfriend)

They go on dates every Sunday, It’s their day and it doesn’t matter what they’re doing as long as it’s just the two of them

They could be studying or doing homework or exercising or anything really and they’ll call it a date

The rest of the class knows better than to try and contact either boy on Sunday

“Normies worship Jesus on Sunday but I worship Shinsou” - Denki, at one point in time

Shinsou loves playing with denki’s hair, he buys different kinds of hair clips just to put them in denki’s hair

he just likes how the colors pop out

He especially likes to see purple hair clips in denki’s hair

Tbh it doesn’t have to be hair clips, it could be a scrunchie or a rubber band or a headband; as long as it’s purple it does wonders to shinsou’s heart

Denki likes playing with shinsou’s hair too but more than that he likes seeing Shinsou in yellow clothing

Shinsou doesn’t wear bright colors a lot usually sticking with black or cool tone colors

But when he does wear yellow, Denki just gets all mushy no matter how small it is

It could be yellow earrings or socks or something and Denki will wear a love sick expression all day

Despite being in the hero course, Shinsou still gets incredibly insecure about his quirk and how some people only see him as a villain

Denki, without fail or hesitation, tells Shinsou what a great hero he’s gonna be, he talks about how Shinsou is gonna inspire a new wave of underground heroes and how he’s gonna be some kid’s Aizawa one day and how proud he is of him (The first time he said that, it makes Shinsou sob. It makes denki cry too bc he’s a sympathetic crier so they just lay in bed holding eachother)

He also tells Shinsou how no matter who’s the number one hero, Shinsou will always have first place in his heart. And that Shinsou is just as much as any other hero out there and even a little more because he’ll be underground

Denki just loves his boyfriend so much and whoever planted the idea that some quirks are just made for evil is going to get electrocuted >:(

Denki will also pepper Shinsou in kisses saying things like ‘you are so kind’ ‘you’re an amazing person’ ‘I love you so much’ ‘You’re my hero’ and just a bunch of stuff so by the end of their heart to heart Shinsou is feeling a lot better

Denki gets insecure about how ‘dumb’ he is and how he’ll probably just end up hurting civilians or himself before he hurts a villain

Shinsou hates how that’s how Denki views himself because Denki is one of the kindest people in the world and doesn’t even realize it like the first time Denki told him that insecurity, Shinsou looked at him and was like ‘are you..you’re serious? Denks, You’re one of the most clever people I know’

Whenever Denki mentions it, Shinsou he just squeezes the blonde and lets him cry out his frustrations before telling him that ‘he’s not an idiot or stupid and that it’s okay not to understand something as fast as others and that it’s okay to learn differently and it’s okay’ (Shinsou will always try not to cry but a few tears fall anyways bc he just wants denks to be happy without feeling like he’s a fuckup)

Shinsou never lets Denki call himself an idiot or stupid, even in a joking way.

They don’t fight a lot because of their personalities like

Denki is a people’s person and is really in tune with other’s emotions and by default is a pacifist unless otherwise

Shinsou isn’t a people’s person but he’s observant due to his quirk bc of how he’s been treated in the past, he’s also good at picking up on people’s body language

Most times it’s just small disagreements and even then they communicate the best they can and try to compromise

If that doesn’t work then they’ll give each other space so the disagreement won’t turn into something ugly

They’ve only fought once and it was the worst (and best) thing for them

The fight happened after a mock rescue mission goes wrong and there were weeks of stress and tension leading up to it

It was messy and bad like really bad

“I just don’t get why you have to run into danger!” Denki screamed. The whole dorm could probably hear them but he didn’t care, not when his boyfriend was looking at him like he just lost his mind.

It was supposed to be a simple training exercise. Simple. Go in, defeat villains, rescue the ‘hostages’. It was not that simple.

*insert how badly the mission went and Shinsou ran towards the danger to help or smth idk*

It gets pretty rough between the two of them because they’re both pretty emotional people

Shinsou thinks denki doesn’t want him to be a hero and denki thinks Shinsou doesn’t want to be with him

It’s a lot of insecurities + stress + yelling

Denki is the first one to break, he’s a lot more emotionally sensitive than Toshi and everything is just crashing down and he hates it

“Do you just not want to be with me?!” He cries, unable to keep the tears at bay any more. He hates arguing with people, especially when that person happens to be his boyfriend. He gets it, he does! Toshi is training to become a hero and so is he but that doesn’t make it easier. Doesnt stop the shot of fear whenever he watches the other get hurt, doesn’t stop the late night self deprecation, doesn’t stop the anxiety he gets whenever he sees Toshi run head first into danger.

But he gets it and somehow it’s a bitter realization.

Because Hitoshi’s priority is the job they signed up for and Denki’s is Hitoshi.

The fight ends with tears on both their parts and they call it a night, too tired to scream anymore

They sleep in their own rooms that night

The next morning they agree to take a break, not a full break up, but some time away. Space away from each other to prioritize and think.

(Now ive seen fanfics where everyone picks denki over Shinsou and i hate that so fuck you, class 1A are both their friends and they’re all family and try and to help each other I will die with that statement)

Surprisingly the two most helpful people are Bakugou and Kirishima

(Actually not that surprising, they’re the longest couple in the whole class, dating immediately after Kamino)

Bakugou and denki have a heart to heart

“You’re both dumbasses” Katsuki sighs heavy, passing another tissue over to the sobbing blonde. He’s not good at these kinds of things, but Kirishima told him he could help the electric blonde more than he could so here he is. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or just cry?” He asks, not without a hint of worry though. He pretends to ignore it.

So denki tells him everything and his insecurities

Oh. Yeah, Kirishima was right.

“You think I’m an idiot” Denki mutters quietly, harshly rubbing his eyes.

“No” The older blonde shakes his head, plopping down on the bed next to the other. He doesn’t turn to meet yellow eyes, his own trained on the All Might poster hanging directly across from them. He feels Pikachu’s curious gaze on him so he decides to elaborate more, knowing the sooner he helps the sooner he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore. It’s totally not because he’s gotten soft. Absolutely not.

“Trust me, Zombie Eyes looks at you like you put the fucking stars in the sky. It’s disgusting to watch.” He crinkles his nose in disgust earning a small laugh. “People like him and I, we gotta work twice as hard. Not saying that no one else does but it’s different.” He stresses the last word. “People like Ei or Deku or even you, people already see you as good so all you gotta do is get stronger. They don’t question your character, your morals, they don’t look down on you for having a weakness. People like Zombie Eyes and I though?we gotta work hard just to prove that we’re good. That we were meant to become heroes. Every action we do is put under a microscope and analyzed.” He explains.

“We’re assholes by default, It’s how we were raised. Not saying it as an excuse though. He was in the shitty system and I had shitty parents, no adult taught us shit like love or how to properly deal with feelings.”

Stupid Deku tried with him but he didn’t even know how to deal with his own much less some angry blond kid’s.

He takes a deep breath, pushing back faint memories of his childhood. The younger hasn’t said a word but he can tell he’s listening so it’s fine. “We can’t just turn off how we are. If it’s frustrating for you and Ei, It’s worse for us. Like we know logically that we’re good people, that we changed but that’s now how our brain sees it. We push ourselves because that’s all we know how to do, it proves to us and everyone else that we bled for our spot here. That we made it. Having friends is hard because we compare ourselves to them and draw our own conclusions to their actions. Being nice? Our brain says it’s a trap. Showing some human fucking decency? Our shitty brain says it’s an act. Being in a relationship? Laughable. We’re just villains pretending to play heroes to everyone else.”

He takes another deep breath, forcing himself to look away from the poster, flashbacks to their first year briefly passing in his head. Okay yeah, not going down that route. He looks over, making eye contact. He wonders if this is how Kirishima feels whenever he’s trying to cheer him up. Wonders if it’s just as hard. This better be worth it, everyone has been miserable. (Shitty thing about having been through life and death situations together is that everyone has bonded and become close like a family so when one of them is sad it’s like everyone is fucking sad.) (He loathes it because even he gets worried.)

“But despite that he still loves you.” He says softly, almost whispering like he’s telling the other a secret. “Fights his demons to hold your hand and all that shit”

Shinsou loves him? Loves him?

“How do you.. how do you know?” Denki whispers, throat sore. “We fought so badly last night, we were screaming at eachother.”

“He treats you the same way I treat Ei.” He answers,

“He changed his priorities around to try and accommodate for another person in his life, you became more important than training or studying. He takes days off to be with you, cuts his studying short if you need a break. It might not seem much to others but for him that’s huge. He came in with this one track mind but then you came along and he scrambled to balance everything. And then you two got your shit together and started to go out and I’m pretty sure he got scared”

“Scared?” Denki asks, the thought almost funny to him.

“I did.” Bakugou admits as Denki’s eyes grow wide.

“I was petrified. When Ei started to become more important than hero work, I freaked. It’s not that loverboy is choosing being a hero over you, It’s because he doesn’t understand that he can have both. He thinks everything important is a choice- that if you want something you have to give something up. He chooses hero work and he loses you. He chooses you and he loses hero work.”

“But he’s not going to lose me or hero work”

“Kinda sounded like you did give him an ultimatum though”

The realization hits him like cold water.

Shinsou gets a similar talk with Kirishima

It helps, a lot

They don’t immediately go back to eachother, instead spending the week with their everyone else and just taking time for themselves

Shinsou knocks on Denki’s door Sunday morning and they finally talk things out

It’s also the first time they say ily!!

Anyways after that fight they work harder on communicating especially when it comes to things like hero work

It’s not perfect bc their dumb traumatized teens but they’re trying and they know their lil family will always be there

I haven’t slept but yes thanks for sticking around if you’re reading this

If ur interested in shinsou’s talk with Kirishima lmk

#shinkami headcannons #shinkami #drabble #snippets #shinsou x kaminari #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou #denki kaminari #kaminari #my hero academia #kiribaku #Kirishima #bnha bakugou

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joyful-witch · 3 years ago

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I would like to preface this post with a disclaimer. This is in no way meant to offend anyone. I know there are good Christians out there. This is just about my experience as well as my journey into paganism.

I went through years of religious trauma as a child. My parents knew nothing about said trauma until later years. So I will not fault them for that. We were taught not to question authority. So I didn’t. And I didn’t ask my parents any questions.

I was raised by conservative Christian parents (who are good people. They accept me for who I am. Besides the whole paganism part) so I grew up going to a church with a very toxic kids program that taught us from the very beginning, “you must blindly follow God”, “God is the most important thing in your life. Even more important than family”, and the classic “All gays are monsters that go to hell”.

I knew deep down from a young age that I was not straight. I was not “normal”. And I hated myself for it. I tried to have crushes on boys. I tried so hard to fake crushes for them thinking “this will make me straight”. I even thought about killing myself in middle school because of it (and other problems that I will not go into detail about here). I finally accepted myself for who I was in high school. (And though I am in a “hetero” relationship which is my first relationship. I am still queer. I am still bisexual). My gender issues also started in middle school. Which I basically ignored until this year, when I finally came out as genderfluid.

Needless to say. I will not deny that being queer and suffering religious trauma has affected how I view religion. But I think I would have still ended up here even if I wasn’t queer.

I was always drawn to paganism. And I had been developing a growing interest in it for a while. And then, January 6th happened. That pushed me to finally take the plunge. And after spending almost all my free time researching, I finally converted in February of this year. The pagan community was so welcoming and accepting right away. I had never received this much love from any community before. And I continue to experience an insane amount of love from everyone.

I’m still a “baby witch” as some may call it. And I’m still for the most part, “in the broom closet” when it comes to anyone that is related to me. But that hasn’t stopped me from exploring my craft.

In June of this year, I began worshipping the Celtic Irish Goddess, The Morrígan. Funnily enough, She was trying to get in contact with me before I even started practicing my craft (and though this is just speculation, there is a chance She had been trying to contact me since I was very young, seeing as I’ve always had a large obsession with Crows, Horses, and Wolves). She sent me countless of signs for months and when I received the sign of dead birds 3 times in a row within only a few days of eachother (2 of them on the same day), I finally took out my pendulum and pendulum board, and asked questions. I eventually figured it out. And after a few days of researching, I decided to start worshipping Her (I definitely was not and still am not ready for actual deity work).

My experience with The Morrígan has been great so far. Though She is normally depicted as a scary goddess of death and war, She is also a goddess of sovereignty. And She has most definitely helped me embrace my own sovereignty. She has been nothing but kind, caring, and compassionate to me.

Despite the fact that I do not “work” with Her and only worship Her, She still talks to me (through tarot. Though I’m hoping to work on astral soon. It would be nice to have an actual conversation with Her and get to thank Her face to face), She still sends me signs and warnings (which I haven’t been the greatest at listening to but I’m getting better at it), and She still sends me support whenever I need it. Despite the fact that I haven’t had much time for Her during the past few months due to college and just the stress of finally being an adult, She’s still there for me. She knows I am stressed so she doesn’t ask anything of me other than to take care of myself.

I suffer a chronic illness and disability called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, which causes severe chronic joint and muscle pain. And that can feel very lonely sometimes. But when I’m feeling at my worst She is always there. I have had…bad thoughts over the past few months. And She always manages to pull me back. Whenever I have these bad thoughts, I can feel Her presence right away. I can feel Her at my side, telling me it will be okay. Hell, a couple of weeks ago, I injured myself badly. I dislocated my knee, hip, and SI joint. And I felt very hopeless, and apathetic. But She was there for me. Every time I went outside, even if the weather was horrible, I would either hear very loud crows, or see crows everywhere I looked. Or I would look up and see an entire Murder flying overhead.

When I was “Christian”, I never felt this cared for. I never felt any connection to God. I never experience any communication with God. It all depended on blind faith. But with The Morrígan it’s different. She is here. We communicate. And honestly, though it’s been rough the past few months (health wise), I have never been happier spiritually.

Once I graduate college and have my own place, I will likely start working with the Morrígan. And once I have enough money, I will definitely take a trip to Her sacred sites. And eventually, I might even become a priestess of The Morrígan. Though that is many many many years in the future. I don’t know if I’ll even have time when I become a teacher. But it is something I have considered. And who knows where the future will take me?

All in all. I want to say thank you. Thank you to 8th grade me for not taking her own life. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and helped me through this journey. Thank you to my boyfriend who, despite being an atheist, doesn’t discourage me or belittle my views, and encourages me through this journey. Thank you to my friends and dorm mates who have been supporting me through the past few months. And thank you to The Morrígan for being so patient and kind, and for always being here for me.

I look forward to continuing this journey with everyone <3

#celtic paganism #oministic paganism #pagancommunity #paganism #the morrigan #the morrígan #deity worship #religious trauma #queer #lgbtq #lgbtq+#genderfluid #she/they #bisexual #my post

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fannishcodex · 3 years ago

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How does Shadow Weaver factor in your Spacebat Adora AU? Is she still a terrifying influence over Adora and does she control her by using her ability to hurt Adorda's childhood friends over her - to secure her compliance? Or is her influence minor, only as a shadowy scary lady in the background?

I've been brainstorming a third option. :3 @soranis-sunshadow

Thanks for asking! I have been writing up a longish post sharing more of my current brainstormed thoughts about the Spacebat!Adora AU and how it further diverges from canon, but I think I want to share part of it now, the part that concerns Shadow Weaver in the AU (though this is a big AU-specific change so I'll just bring up some other aspects that relate to it).

Shoutout to @revasnaslan for inspiration from her great take on Hordad AU. (Will link below in a comment.)

More under the cut:

Due to Mara's DNA, Adora has a sort of high magical power level that Shadow Weaver can sense. Instead of canon where Hordak (disappointed that the portal wasn't a chance to go home--I more think that deep down Hordak just wanted to go home to Prime and his other brothers [tbh I keep thinking of season 1!Lapis from Steven Universe] and earn Prime's acceptance/love/permission to live and not be sent to the frontlines to die--and with his other issues) at first intends to leave baby Adora in the infirmary and then just lets SW have her when SW essentially volunteers to take her in--instead of that, Hordak keeps Spacebat!Adora along with Imp in the AU. But SW still wants Adora in the AU, she can still sense the potential of great power from her.

So while Spacebat!Adora's still a baby, SW tries to kidnap her, and is willing to try to overthrow Hordak and take over the Etherian Horde for this. SW in the AU is also backed up by the fact that in another divergence (probably part of her plotting to kidnap Spacebat!Adora/overthrow Hordak) she actually manages to find and take the Sword of Protection from the Whispering Words in a lone excursion (on her own, she's able to get into the forest), and then manages to extract power from the Sword/the Sword's runestone like she does with the Black Garnet, increasing her power.

With power from both the Sword of Protection runestone and the Black Garnet, along with her own manipulation/intimidation of a number of Etherian Horde members, private recruiting/manipulation of other dissident Mystacor mages, etc. in her planned coup, SW is actually pretty successful--she seizes control of the Etherian Horde, but fails to kidnap baby Adora. Hordak escapes with baby Adora and Imp, prioritizing his younger clone-hybrid kin before everything else when push comes to shove. Some Etherian Horde members reject SW and escape with Hordak, chief among them Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt, who escape with a very young Scorpia (I have specific thoughts on my fix-it for timeline with her, but that's another post). Huntara also joins them. (I headcanon that in canon, it's actually partly SW manipulation that drives Huntara away from the Horde. But this doesn't happen in the AU because Hordak is sent into exile before that can happen.)

So, an internal civil war splits the Horde apart when Spacebat!Adora's a baby, and it partly started because Hordak wanted to keep Adora along with Imp, SW still wanted her and the power she sensed from her, and SW decided to try kidnapping her and seize control of the Horde:

-The Shadow Horde: The larger part of the Etherian Horde SW now controls. They stayed in the Fright Zone, and possess both the Sword of Protection and the Black Garnet. They continue the major fighting against the royal kingdoms of Etheria and also attack the rival Horde faction that was forced out with Hordak. SW still wants Adora. SW and her Shadow Horde are the ones to launch a major assault on Castle Bright Moon, and sooner. SW's assault is more successful--both Micah and Angella are exiled to Beast Island, SW captures the Moonstone and takes a baby Glimmer. SW raises Glimmer as her own, and later C*tra too. In this AU, it's Glimmer largely in part of canon!Adora's situation, and C*tra fixates on Glimmer instead, especially when Glimmer eventually abandons the Shadow Horde after she gives the Sword to Spacebat!Adora.

-The Renegade Horde: The part that rejected SW and escaped the Fright Zone with Hordak, Imp, and baby Spacebat!Adora. They largely flee to the Crimson Waste (since in canon Huntara was an ex-Horde member that fled there, and it seems like a place where a lot on Etheria escape to; also again draws inspiration from @revasnaslan 's take on Hordad AU, even with SW's role). They fight more with SW's Shadow Horde than Etheria's royal kingdoms. (Tbh got the idea for using "renegade" from some old original '80s She-Ra promo material----it mentioned the "renegade Horde"----I found online somewhere, think still have the link somewhere but I'd have to find it ^^;)

Hordak does a lot of rethinking/revaluating, as does the Renegade Horde in the Crimson Waste. Hordak continues to prioritize the safety of his younger clone siblings, and starts questioning his past life under Horde Prime more and sooner (e.g. how will Prime really react to Adora and Imp?). Hordak's vulnerabilities are more exposed to Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt, and rather than them rejecting him/taking advantage like he feared, they prove truly trustworthy.

Power and command between Hordak, Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt becomes more balanced both in public and in private among the new Renegade Horde. And they really do become friends. (Headcanon that in canon Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt had more power and sway with Hordak, but they actually thought maintaining Hordak as a more singular authority would be better in the long run, and Hordak feared exposure of his physical weakness to them and others/had his giant Prime issues.) Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt advise going back to techniques pre-"things escalated" (going back and forth on my own internal view/fix-it AU of how past events went, like if Hordak was actually there for this part or not)--more effort to negotiate/more efforts at diplomacy to recruit people/get allies.

The Renegade Horde's more focused on surviving in the Crimson Waste, and eventually actually start improving the Crimson Waste overall and uniting the region more as a community. Again, the Renegade Horde end up fighting more with SW's Shadow Horde than Etheria's royal kingdoms. This does eventually lead to some reluctant partnerships with the Etherian Royal Alliance against the Shadow Horde, and it's a relationship gradually changing and in flux for a while.

Spacebat!Adora largely grows up in the Crimson Waste with her brothers Hordak and Imp. In this AU, Adora and Imp are like equivalent to Hordak meeting Entrapta sooner--his Prime-induced views are challenged sooner and he's exposed to something more positive that he ends up prioritizing more. (But Hordak and Entrapta do get to meet sooner when the Renegade Horde has a diplomatic mission in Dryl.) Protecting and caring for Adora and Imp becomes the first priority for Hordak. Adora and Imp are very close as the younger siblings in their clone family; they were playmates since they were very young and have become close companions as the years pass, even if Adora is the only one to visibly age/get taller. (But Imp is happy to point out she can't fly.) Adora and Imp both love Hordak dearly, and he reciprocates with them. Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt are even more uncles and aunt to Imp and Adora. She and Imp make friends with Scorpia, who's largely raised by Grizzlor, Octavia, and Cobalt. Adora hero worships Huntara, and Huntara remains a part of the Renegade Horde. There's no SW or C*tra in her childhood and they're not there for most of her life until she's in her late teens. SW's just a distant danger Adora is warned about; Adora is unaware of C*tra's existence for a long time. Spacebat!Adora largely grows up happier and more free/less restricted.

Spacebat!Adora knows the Crimson Waste well and feels that it's beautiful and a wonderful place to explore--I keep seeing Spacebat!Adora in the changing Crimson Waste with vibes of the games Sable and Journey, even Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (and those vibes are still just felt throughout other parts of the AU still, especially Nausicaä which I need to rewatch/reread).

A devastated Castaspella is wary of anything Horde-related, but over the years becomes a more stable ally with the the Renegade Horde against the Shadow Horde, and grows very fond of Spacebat!Adora and Imp. Castaspella likes sewing toys for Imp and desert clothes for Adora. Castaspella is relieved when she finds Glimmer, and hopes she can become friends with Spacebat!Adora and Imp.

#spacebat adora #spop #shadow weaver #hordak #adora

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i-see-you-now-you-see-me · 4 years ago

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Baby don’t stop

(oneshot (part3? :D), can be read separately, but also, if you want, check out the other two parts)

Pairing : Wayv Ten (Nct Ten) x Reader Y/N, (wife)

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: proper filth alright, sex, double penetration, oral (f&m receiving), overstimulation, mentions of abuse on another character, creampie, Ten has two dicks, he’s an alien, ok? (stay safe people, use protection!)

Side character: y/n (used small letters when talking about this girl, one of the ten girls, who is now with Hendery-Guanhee)

Thanks to all the people who wanted to see more of Detective Ten, well, here he is, hope you all like it. Thanks.

enjoy reading, under the cut!

*10043567901;1102033149001, Planet DYVLONY*

Out of all the mundane things that occurred everyday, Ten was there. And the days, when he wasn’t, well, you did it by yourself. Dishes. Cleaning the house. Mopping the floors. Re-arranging the shelves. Sometimes you wanted to creep a bit in Ten’s drawers, but they always had a lock on.

-What’s in them drawers? – you asked one time while having dinner.

-What do you mean? – he responded chewing on his food.

-Those… uhm, in your room, - you said and Ten looked up.

-Have you been naughty?

You giggled. When Ten said this, you knew soon after you would be on his bed, naked.

-Me? – you laughed, - never, Ten, what are you talking about? I was just being curious….

-Aha, - he watched you now, more than usual, his eyes wondered from your face, down to your exposed V line, thanks to the jumper you wore. His eyes were like a mirror of truth though, you could read him so easily. – let’s go to our room and see, shall we?

Ten stood up, walking your direction, just to take the dishes to the sink, and then pulling you up, his hand around your waist, just under your breasts. He leaned in, whispering:

-You know what gets a naughty Y/N? – you couldn’t help but laugh, but when he licked your earlobe, you bit your lip, nodding a “no”, - Y/N get’s a big…

This was interrupted by his phone ringing. He sighed stepping away from you. Checking the caller id, he stepped back.

-I have to take this, - he informed and left. You only nodded.

-How did you get this number? – Ten asked the caller.

-Ha, - on the other side a voice spoke, - I get what I want, now, now, don’t be scared Detective, it’s not you who I am after.

-The hell you are not, Guanhee, - Ten knew who he was talking to straight away. After the outbreak of a politician being killed, Mr. Tieger, who in fact owed money to the “great twins”, Ten looked deeper only to find that one of the human females was now with him and his crazy alter-ego.

-So, you know who I am, - she giggled, - I am impressed, detective, you have done your homework.

-What are you after? – Ten snapped.

-Ah, so impatient, you see, your girl Y/N, is a sweety isn’t she?

-Leave my wife out of this.

-That’s the problem Ten, I cannot, - Guanhee turned around to see y/n (other one of the girls who were on the ship, so…), tied up to the wooden post like always, naked, and pussy on display. – the poor girl tried to help us, but you see, it’s not that simple, so I ended up, fucking her every day, one day me… the other… my brother. But now, I need someone, because… well, none of your business, but I hear you might know the location of Sicheng.

Ten arched a brow.

-Sicheng? – he re-asked, - why do you need him?

Guenhee licked her lips, pushing her glasses up her nose, eyeing y/n body again, she was drooling at the sight of her glistening cunt. Walking over, Guanhee dropped to her knees, y/n was coming awake slowly.

-Yes, Sicheng, well, if you must know, I would need his help for some small job, with a microchip.

-Guanhee, what is on your mind? – Ten asked, - you can’t harm the girl, you need to promise me that.

-Oh, but Ten, I can’t, - with her phone pressed to her ear, she leaned in, licking y/n’s mound, - a simple modification with her chip, so she would be a good girl and behave is all I need.

-Guanhee, no, - Ten warned, - there are other ways, how to do that, I am sure you can talk with y/n, and she will do whatever you tell her to…

Ten was grabbing onto his hair now, he felt the responsibility of all aliens, wherever they might be. Even YangYang didn’t seem like a bad person now, that he heard Guanhee’s story.

-You hear, y/n, - Guanhee spoke to y/n, while tears left her eyes, - Detective Ten here thinks, I should ask you to behave, and you will.

She (y/n) nodded frantically, at this time, she would do anything to be on Guanhee’s good side, after all she’s been through. Ten heard the wet licking sounds in the phone, as bad as it was, it made him lick his own lips, somewhere in his mind, he wanted to tie his wife up as well, and not only that.

-Don’t look for Sicheng, - Ten said, - go old-school, please?

Guanhee sighed, getting up from her position, her two fingers entering her captives’ vagina, moving in and out, to get a better angle, she pressed her palm towards the girl’s clitoris, pressing on her vaginal walls from the inside, the part that made her roll her eyes from the pleasure.

Dropping the phone on the floor, Ten could only hear moans and slapping sounds, before hanging up. He rested his head against the wall. Gunahee was crazy, god knows, what she has done to the girl, and Ten closed his eyes.

Your hand touching his shoulder, startled Ten.

-Sorry, - you said, - didn’t mean to scare you. Everything alright?

Ten nodded a “no”.

-Can I help?

Again, he nodded a “no”.

-Tell me, Ten, I can listen, you know that, right?

He nodded, taking you with him to sit on the sofa.

-Dong Sicheng, - Ten spoke, and you looked at him.

-Sorry, I don’t understand, what’s that?

-He is a CEO of WinWin enterprises, he is the person, who made you microchips to be able to communicate in our language, - you nodded understanding now, - he can, however, change the purpose of the chip inserted in you.

-What do you mean?

-Let’s say, if you, - Ten was thinking what to say, - when we asked him for help, since I have known him for a while, he offered various forms of the chip. One included, giving you robot like performance, you would be alive, but you would not be you. You would be owned and treated as that by your owner, making you do whatever they please.

-Ew, - you nodded, - why did he even suggest that?

Ten bit the inside of his cheek.

-He wanted to have one of you for himself, so he had made a chip, that would make his partner, perfect for himself.

-That’s messed up, - Ten agreed, that’s why, Sicheng didn’t get none of the girls.

-I made sure he would never get close to any of the girls, concealing your identities, giving you away only to the right people, and that’s where I fucked up.

You touched his hands.

-Don’t beat yourself up, Ten, it’s not like you know everyone…

-I know, I know, but still, I could have done things differently…

That night for some reason, he couldn’t fall asleep. His mind was clouded with Guanhee. What if she did find Sicheng? She would turn y/n into a robot of her own liking.

Your hands touched Ten’s stomach, this time you were the big spoon. He turned around to see you, kissing your lips as soon as he turned. Silence was between you, as he caged you in his arms, his lips attending to yours. His tongue entered your mouth, your own tongue finding his, brushing at each other in a slow like motion.

Ten’s hand caressed your waist, to your hip, his fingers brushing at your pajama trousers, until he stopped.

-No panties? – he asked, a rare sight to see, you tended to go to bed “the more layers the better”, so when his grabby hand touched your soft skin of your hips, going inside of your trousers, not finding another clothing barrier, made him bite his lip.

-Just for you, - you whispered.

The room was dark, and the only light illuminating the place was a little purple light coming from the air purifier. You could only feel the intense gaze Ten had on you.

-Let’s get you out of this, - he whispered, giving you a quick peck on your lips, helping you strip from the hoodie that you wore for bed. Accidentally bumping his nose in your forehead, you both “ouched”, until Ten turned to switch on the bed side table lamp. – this won’t do. I need to see you.

You took of your top, letting your breasts fall free.

-Is it me, or are they getting bigger? – Ten asked looking at you (more like eyeing you with thirsty gaze). His lips latched onto your nipple straight away, attending the other with his fingers and then swapping over. Kissing down your stomach, he pulled your trousers down your body, as he moved, worshiping every inch of your skin. Wet kisses left a trail on your legs, insides of your thighs would probably bloom with purple tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. His love and affection were all you cared about at that time.

You kissed his lips again, switching your position, your body hovering his, undressing him now. Wasn’t much to take off anyways, just his trousers and boxers, letting his treasure out of his clothing, licking the head of the first one of his cocks. Ten looked at you with a hungry gaze, moaning a “such a sweet girl for me”, while you sucked him deeper in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, only to try getting him deeper down your throat.

Then you switched his cocks, taking the other one in your mouth, repeating the action, Ten’s abdomen was clenching, he was trying hard not to come like a teenager who experience a blow job for the first time, but your lips made it very hard for him.

He pulled you off him, your lips leaving his cock with a plop. Sitting across his lap, Ten made himself comfortable, his head resting on the pillows.

-Are you going to ride me? – he asked, being cheeky, you nodded, positioning yourself.

Ten licked his lips, giving you a hand, but to his surprise, you reached for his other cock first. Sliding it up your wet pussy lips, you gathered enough nectar for it to be slippery enough, then you closed your eyes, positioning it to your tight ass hole, pushing it in ever so slowly. Your bottom automatically grinded down on him, till his dick was deep enough in your tight hole, and Ten breathed out.

-You are making me crazy, baby, - he moaned, all the times he prepped you with a butt plug were paying of now.

Lifting yourself up, only to get back down, stretching your body to accommodate his length, you set a nice rhythmic movement, leaning in to kiss Ten’s lips. He was patently waiting for what was next. So, when you lifted yourself again, touching his other member, Ten indeed went to help you. His own hands reached for his other counterpart, sliding it between your lower lips, his own precum, providing even more lubrication.

The tip prodded at your entrance, your core clenching again, your hand reached for Ten’s, both of you sliding his cock into you, still, in a position like this, it wasn’t fully in, so you gave yourself a few more seconds to adjust like always. While at it, Ten’s lips drank from yours, his hands squeezing your bottom cheeks, spreading them apart, making you moan, and giving your butt cheeks a small and gentle slap.

Starting to move was a bit difficult, you had never felt so full, and this time it felt right with every fiber of your being, Ten smiled like a kid on the inside, your breasts were bouncing with every movement, and he got up in a seated position to suck on your nipples again.

You were rolling your hips, circling them around slowly, while his dicks slowly moved inside of you. Ten was nipping at your neck now, one of his hands fisting your hair, pulling you closer. Like always, this was not just a trip to pound-land, every inch of your skin now covered in sweat, enjoying the feeling of Ten so close to you.

Changing the tempo, to a bit faster, Ten moved back down, to see you riding him, your eyebrows raised, head thrown a bit back, erect nipples standing proud, as his hands held your hips, pushing deeper with every thrust, his cock brushing against your sensitive walls. Ten used his strength to give you a ride of a lifetime, as you continued bouncing on top of him.

-Are you close, - he moaned, lifting his legs up a bit, so he would reach deeper in your vagina, his cock now repeatedly hitting your cervix.

-Yes, - you moaned out, - oh yes, - holding your hands against Ten’s torso, you kept on circling your lips to slow down your approaching orgasm, until Ten’s fingers found your small bundle of nerves, providing your clitoris with a circular motion from his fingers.

As you came, Ten didn’t let you stop riding him, he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, earning an explicit amount of moans and swear words, pushing you off of him now, Ten pushed you on your stomach, your ass in the air, as he found his way, pushing his cocks back in, the top one sliding through your folds with ease, and the other, with a more forceful thrust down your butt.

He was holding onto you now, you were not able to say anything.

Not only this took you by surprise, but you found yourself drooling onto the pillows, trying to make yourself comfortable. Moans spilled from your lips, as Ten was aiming to reach his own extasy, his hand reached for your clit again, finding it in no time, only to hear you cry out from overstimulation.

-Puh…lease…. – you tried to say, hot tears streamed down your face.

Ten felt your orgasm approaching again, and just when you were about to cum, he pulled out of you, seeing how the liquid from your body squirted out like mad, your legs were shaking, mouth fell open, a strained cry left your lips, and Ten jacked off seeing you like this.

Reaching his peak, he positioned his cock just enough between your abused cunt, to fill it up, while the other dick, sheathed it’s nectar just above your butt hole, dripping down your but crack, and mixing with your own juices.

Ten smirked, satisfied, watching again, how your pussy was soaked with his thick cum, he licked his lips, leaning down. You saw him move vaguely, when you felt it, a shiver going down your spine. His lips once again found your cunt, drinking in all of your mixed juices, making you cry out again. Once he was done, he flipped you over to see your tear- stained face.

-Oh, baby, - he cooed, - was it too much?

You were about to smack him, if you would be able to, another tear left your eyes and Ten kissed it away.

-Let’s get you to shower, hmm? – you only nodded, and Ten picked you up, taking you into the bathroom, sitting you down on the washing machine, - hold on for me a bit, ok?

You nodded again, holding tightly against the machine. Ten ran a warm bath, while you waited, once in the tub, he brought you some juice, giving you it slowly, sip by sip. A warm cloth was soon accompanied with some soap, as he lathered your body with it, his hands wandering a bit more on your breasts and in between your legs, but you were too weak to protest.

Kisses on your lips, shoulders, even your legs, as he nursed you back to normal, small talk, asking you if you were ok, and are you better, left his lips. He washed your hair, massaging your scalp, pouring the water, holding your head in his arms as he washed you.

You finally were ready to open your eyes. You were greeted by Ten’s brown pupils and a soft kiss on your lips.

-Was I too rough? – he asked.

-A little bit, - you said, - but I enjoyed it, very much as you could see…

Ten nodded, getting up. He was still naked, his softened cocks now hanging down, you licked your lips out of habit.

-Not satisfied? – Ten giggled seeing your reaction. You playfully hit his thigh, - can you move your legs a bit?

Ten got into the bath on the opposite side, leaning towards you, he made his way in between your legs. His chest was pressed against your chest now, his lips kissing yours again.

-We can arrange something to quench your thirst, I suppose, - he giggled, your cheeks burned a bit now from his teasing. He sat back on his heels, and you grabbed the wash- cloth to give him a hand.

-My turn now, - you smiled as you touched his body, wiping the sweat from him, you also wiped his mouth and jaw, since it still was smeared with your essence and his, and to your surprise, his body came alive again, - what on …?

Ten laughed at your reaction.

-I am DYVLONY after all, Y/N, I can make love to you all night if you want me to… - he smiled, kissing you again.

- I would probably like that… - you smiled. Minutes later Ten helped you out of the tub, wrapping you both in a towel, he led you back to the room. Letting you sit down, he removed the soiled bed sheets, and changed them for new ones, you watched his naked body move around. – Ten?

-Huh? – he answered.

-How did you get two dicks?

He started laughing.

-Why?

-Just wondering if our baby would … you know…

Ten went to pick you up and place you on the bed, lying you down with him next to you.

-If that’s a boy, - he started, stroking your hair, - I hope he will inherit that, and make a girl very, very happy, - earning a giggle from you, - if we have a girl, I do hope she will be as beautiful as you…

-What a charmer, - you said and kissed Ten again.

-But to answer your question, there is only a couple of DYVLONY who has something similar to me, also, very rare to have both of them so equally big, like mine, so I am one of a kind… and this is the question you wanted to ask me… wahhhh, what do I do now?

His hands tickled your sides, and you let out a laugh, his hand now touching your side and stomach tenderly, he leaned down, to be eye level with your stomach.

-Hey, you, - he spoke, all of the sudden, for some reason, tears threatened to leave your eyes, - I cannot wait to see you, to hold you in our embrace, to teach you and to love you… - he kissed your tummy, - doesn’t matter who you are, we are waiting patiently for you, little one.

Looking up back at you, Ten saw the tears.

-Baby, baby, what’s wrong? – he got back to you, you shook your head.

-Nothing, - you cried softly, - it’s just so sweet, must be the hormones…

-You know what else my hormones want?

You watched in belief, Ten wiggled his eyebrows and got on top of you.

Let’s just say, he didn’t lie about making love to you all night…

#wayv smut #nct smut #wayv ten smut #ten smut #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #nct fanfic #nct chittapon #wayv ten #wayv chittaphon #nct fics #nct fiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #dyvlony series

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reveriequill-rai · 3 years ago

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Shroud: Withered Soul

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while. As of right now I’ve just been uploading stories I’ve written in my newspaper club, and now that I’ve graduated I hope that can now expand to short stories generally. I’m not gonna promise that posts from now on will be more consistent, but I would like to at least speed up my uploads a bit before they actually wind down, as I imagine I will be working on more stories in the future. Everything being uploaded right now is previous work, but nothing too old--probably like, from last year tops. This was completed sometime in May, I believe.

This is an introduction to a character I created called ‘Shroud,’ an amateur self-proclaimed ‘detective’ who exclusively investigates occult-based crimes and malefic.

Content Warning: death, descriptions of corpses, graphic descriptions of violence and pain, cults

[My blog will usually contain PG-13 stories, and as of right now I am writing some darker content, but I will tag anything that may be especially disturbing or uncomfortable. I’ll include this warning in my bio, too.]

----------

The corpse in front of me wasn’t all that disturbing by itself. I had seen dead people before–comes with the territory. I had been dead before. Murder rates in Twilight were, naturally, much higher than any other district in New Fable–especially further south of the district where I was–considering how much wild magic was around, and not even the police force sent here from the northern district of Bastion could do anything about it. So the corpse itself didn’t bother me, all things considered.

What did disturb me, though, was a number of other things.

For one, the corpse just being there was a problem. They weren’t stopping, and they were getting far too close to home.

Its eyes were still open, for another thing, and nearly colorless, and looking at me specifically, and I can swear to you that had not happened when I first laid eyes on it. Even worse, like me, the man lying dead in front of me appeared to be wearing a few bandages like I was, perhaps just recovering from an injury.

And for yet another thing, and perhaps the worst part of this, was the connection I felt with this dead man. Something about the state he was in struck a familiar chord that only I and a select unlucky others knew. As if we were kindred spirits–undergoing the same fate, yet with (probably) different outcomes.

I had been at this–whatever you would call tracking down cults as someone with zero prior detective experience with the help of almost no one–for…a few months now? And I’ve made a bit less progress than would be expected from someone who has seen just about everything the darker sides of magic had to offer. I did have one solid lead, though, and hopefully one that would lead me to exactly who I was looking for.

“Everyone move,” I ordered, pushing my way through the crowd.

Ignoring their complaints, I made my way over toward the body and began to examine it, hoping for any hint of who had done this, and more importantly, if it was exactly who I had suspected. There didn’t appear to be much damage, but what first caught my attention was the note tucked into the man’s pocket. I took it out and unfolded it, and immediately flinched.

Demon tongue.

Hellish whispers ran through my head, and I wasn’t sure if they were just in my head or not. It was hard to tell these days.

I honed in on the note, written on some old paper as if torn from an ancient book. The more I stared, the louder the whispers got. I ignored the throbbing in my head as best as I could–humans were not mentally equipped to engage with the infernal language at all, and I much less so. My hands shook as I read the brief message, which I must have read dozens and dozens of times already; I wasn’t counting and didn’t care to.

Some people studied demon tongue despite…well…everything, even the illegality. It probably didn’t matter to them. It didn’t matter to me, either, but someone had spoken to me in demon tongue before–though, in their defense, likely not out of their own volition–and the trembling and rapid heart rate was not worth the ability to communicate with infernals. (Nothing was, honestly.)

For these reasons–and also not wanting to be arrested or have my mage license revoked–I personally didn’t speak or write demon tongue, but I at least knew a little bit and could recognize some of the infernal runes. And those runes were enough for me to know that this was the exact same message that the abyss had been trying to send me in my last moments.

—

Can’t run home, I thought. They’ll follow me.

Just gotta run until I find a phone booth.

I ran until I finally spotted one on the street corner near a bridge. I let out a sigh of relief, taking a quick moment to catch my breath. Then, I quickly crossed the street and ran toward the phone booth, quickly dialing the police station.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as quietly as I could manage. “My name is [……………………………] I’m at the corner of Coral Avenue by the Armada IV Memorial Bridge. I’m being pursued by a group of kids in demon-charmed cloaks and shawls, please I need your help they have knives and they’re trying to kill me-“

The tears stinging at the edge of my eyes began to overflow as a human voice at the end of the line responded in perfect, uncharacteristically calm demon tongue. It was a short sentence, repeated over and over again, but with the little knowledge I *did* have, I could translate it by about the sixth loop:

“You are going to hell.”

I hung up the phone immediately, resisting the urge to yell, “I KNOW” directly into the phone.

Humans can’t speak demon tongue here. It’s illegal.

So how did an officer know demon tongue?

—

Unsurprisingly, the body was still in semi-good condition. After all, little damage was done to the body—only the soul. The only physical marks I could make out were marks around the wrist and neck, likely to restrain the victim. Couple of bruises here and there, too, but nothing was broken.

This…disturbed me, to say the least.

Cults around here were usually known to be violent. After all, a lot of them stood for violent causes–executing the ‘impure,’ plunging everyone into the dreams of a volatile eldritch creature, usurping the throne and forcing everyone to convert, rallying the youth to their bloody cause with claims that they alone possessed special powers…I had heard it all, all of them violent to some degree. But the ones that had gotten me…they seemed to worship oblivion itself. Or maybe whatever was in it. That was beyond even my knowledge.

But…even then, they still had arguably the least violent cause. The deadliest, yes–they seemed to just be destroying souls–but strangely not as bloody. Yet their means of carrying out this objective has historically been, well, bloody.

Or maybe that was just me.

Either way, this victim had certainly not gotten the worst of it. There were no twisted limbs, no bloodied nose, no wounds from blade or bullet, basically no magic-driven attacks aside from the terminating consumption of the soul…only marks of the initial restraint, bruises from the subduing, and the abyss claiming and destroying the soul.

I could almost picture it in my head: they likely jumped him in the middle of the street, kicking him around a bit to possibly weaken him, throw him off balance, but not too much as to rouse resistance, then restraining him–to the floor? A wall? I couldn’t tell, but there were no rope burns so they must have done this by hand–and calling, somehow, for their god, for lack of a better word, to devour its newest victim’s soul.

What did he see as he died? Did their eyes turn as colorless as his would become? Had they shown any sign of enjoying his torment? I doubt it; it didn’t seem like a very ‘fun’ kill. And likely not as personal as it was for me.

They were getting much better at their kills. It probably wasn’t as fun, but more precise.

And a lot less violent than I had gotten.

—

I caught a glimpse of the charm from earlier out of the corner of my eye, but just as I looked it vanished. Just then a cold breeze hit me as the door behind me opened, and I was yanked out onto the street, leaving the phone dangling by the cord. The book dropped from my hands.

The four delinquents appeared in front of me from nowhere, likely having turned off their Moonlight Shroud charms.

“Gotcha,” Ransley said, smiling as he picked up the book.

“Give it BACK!” I roared, lunging for him. Ransley hit me hard across the face with the book, sending me flying a few feet back onto the brick road. Quickly I realized that my safety was not worth keeping that book. I didn’t know where or how Ransley learned to hit that hard but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. As he and the others examined the book, I began to scurry away as Ransley gave an order to the others:

“Get him.”

An instant later, I heard something click far behind me, and a sharp pain ripped through my knee. I collapsed to the floor, letting out an agonized cry. I examined my knee, and saw a hole much bigger than a bullet hole should be. I looked up at my attackers.

A gun?!

“What the HELL?!” I shouted. “You’ve already got what you want! LEAVE ME ALO-“

Ardent appeared behind me and punched me square in the face. I held my probably-broken nose as a muffled shriek of pain escaped me. Each of them vanished and took turns raining blows and slashes on me as I tried to step back and run. They gave me almost no chance to react. My body ached everywhere; the knife wounds, though shallow, stung just as bad, if not worse, as any bee. I could barely stand. I used my remaining strength to try and push them off of me whenever I felt them, but I stumbled each time I did, giving them room to knock me around further. Finally I collapsed, and Ardent grabbed my shirt and dragged me to the bridge.

“W-wait-“ I cried, still wincing and crying from my bruises and decayed knee. “STOP IT!-”

—

I examined the bandages on my hand and knee. The ones from that night must’ve been amateurs, or at least new to the cult’s way of doing things.

Focus, Shroud.

The victim’s eyes were still open, and almost completely empty.

Almost.

The body must not be entirely empty, then. This wasn’t exactly a kill—whoever this person was, they would not be dead for much longer, or at least depending on your definition of ‘dead.’

How long ago had this attack been, then? I touched the skin—still warm-ish. This had to be recent.

By that logic, if this was meant not as a lethal attack, but as one of induction into their group…

I wasn’t sure how long I had been out, but I at least knew it wasn’t for very long.

So…I didn’t have much longer, then.

I instinctively jerked away from the body. Would he come back? He wouldn’t be under anyone’s control, at least for the first few minutes–how long does it take to kill someone? Would it be long enough for him to kill me?–no, he probably wouldn’t go after me; I had barely any soul left for him to long for…unless he’s just that desperate enough to take scraps from a near-husk.

What would he do when he came back? Would he wander around, lost, confused, until they welcomed him with false promises of salvation and freedom from the ‘burden’ of having a judgement-tied soul? Would he be violent, as they had been to him?

Then again…I came back after one of their attacks, but with a will of my own. Did they want me to come back? Why would they want me of all people to come back?

—

“You know how much trouble you caused us, […….…]?!” Ransley shouted as he kicked me in my injured leg. “Don’t act like you didn’t have this coming, you little weasel.”

“I didn’t-“ I tried to say.

Ransley propped me up on the sidewalk, just by the edge of the bridge, right above the river. He placed his hand on my bruised shoulder, looking at me with a bone-chilling grin.

Again, I got a good look at his eyes. This time, everything except the pupils was entirely white. As I looked I almost felt like I was staring at something beyond; further, even. But the harder I looked the more I could see how much nothing there was. And yet, in spite of that, this nothing seemed to be staring back at me.

The others had the same white eyes too, looking on with a horrible satisfaction.

“What…” I barely managed to say, “…what are y-you…?”

“Free,” Ransley answered, without his usual cruelty and instead with an uncharacteristically sanctimonious tone. “And with our help, so too will you be free.”

With a hard shove, I was pushed off the bridge.

I grabbed onto the edge with my hand, barely having the strength to pull myself up.

“T-this is insane-!” I cried. “Ransley! Please! Y-you can keep the book; I won’t call the police, just help me up-“

Ransley frowned and put his boot on my hand. He leaned in as he brought his foot down harder, crushing my hand. Bone splintered and crumbled under the weight of the shoe, and I let out a shriek as a cold look crossed his face.

“You really should stop holding on so much,” he said. “That’s your problem. That’s why you’re here. Just let go, and face oblivion.”

Ransley took his foot off finally, but my hand had run out of strength. I slipped, and fell into the river.

—

Either way, I had to work fast.

“Hey, kid!” Someone from the crowd called. “What’re you doing? Leave this to the professionals.”

I turned around, and maybe it was the speed at which I had whirled around to face them, or he did just flinch.

Was it my eyes?

“The police won’t find them,” I explained. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve studied demonology for a few years.”

I went back to the body.

“You mean you know who did this?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I just wanna be sure…”

I pressed down on the bruises on their shoulder and arms. Hollow. I felt no bone or extra layer of skin or muscle underneath.

Just as I suspected, I thought. Soul devouring.

My only question now was, how much of the soul was left?

—-

The bridge wasn’t particularly tall; just enough for any small cargo ships to run under. But the fall felt much longer than it had any right to.

I never hit the water. I was swallowed by something but it certainly wasn’t the river. It was as cold and sharp but nothing wet ever touched my skin or clothes.

I did not fall into water. I fell into something foreign, something dark, something alive, something evil.

Its eyes were beady and attentive, focused, eager, and it had long rows of sharp fangs. It appeared to smile at me, expecting me, welcoming me. Whispers in demon-tongue surrounded me, and I overwhelmed myself trying to find a single word I could understand. The only thing I could catch was “going to hell” again…was this it? Was this hell? What circle was this?

I was immobile, unable to look away from the creature in front of me, unable to scream as it opened its fang-filled mouth. I couldn’t even let out a scream of protest; no, not against this, as it brought down its jaws and took a large bite out of a deep part of me even I could never access. The pain from my bruises and wounds no longer burned; only ached, as if the pain had been there forever.

I was hollow. If there was anything left, I barely even felt it. My wounds glowed a hot white color and became shallow. I felt nothing but an aching nigh-emptiness that seemed to have no origin I could place; no past; only a present and a long future.

I didn’t know how long I was in that void. But as much as I despised that thing for robbing me of my life, I was grateful that it chose to let me go.

—-

 I took out my pen from my pocket and a couple of mini-candles from my satchel. I flicked a lighter and lit the candles, surrounding them at different points around the body. I began to draw an evocation circle around the body. I’m not sure what had stopped this cult from performing forced evocations as opposed to beating everyone into submission until they blacked out enough to face the abyss and have their soul devoured, but I wasn’t about to find any sense in a group of people who literally worship the abyss.

I took my time with the intricate webs of the circle, carefully connecting whatever remained of the soul to the points where I would draw in the runes, and connected those to the candles.

I then drew in symbols in the language of the spirits at the different sub-points that would draw up souls from the afterlife, adding a desperate prayer in each pen stroke that I evoke the right thing and not something unwelcome. I had to steady my hand as I did this, reminding myself that this was merely a human soul who was recently killed, so the chances of him having ended up in hell – was he that kind of person? – were slim; they had to be, of course they were; there was no need to panic so stop panicking. Yet knowing I was drawing the same symbols, the same webs, lighting the same candles as the deadly evokers around town who would break into people’s houses and draw evocation circles under their beds to call up who-knows-what from the pits of hell to torment the living…to think I was drawing the same circle that I checked for every night when I went to sleep…

The pen snapped in my shaking hand against the concrete, getting ink all over my hand. I swore, and rubbed some on my finger tip so I could start to finish the circle.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?!” someone cried, making me jump. “You’re tampering with evidence! That’s illegal!”

“You’re gonna screw up the investigation!” someone else shouted.

I steadied myself from being startled.

“This…this is the investigation,” I replied bluntly.

“Wh–okay…? Are you a detective or something?” the first guy asked.

I shrugged.

“I think so,” I said.

“You think-”

I could hear further shouts from the crowd as I turned the body over to draw the rest of the circle underneath, but I held up my hand to stop them from getting closer.

“Just let me work!” I cried without looking back.

That’s when I noticed some of the rapidly-decaying skin near the shoulder and side of the ankles. The skin had withered and given way to bone, the effect cutting through flesh and muscle. Even the bone had begun to decay.

Well, so much for minimal damage.

I unzipped the victim’s jacket and pulled back the shirt just slightly to get a better look at the damage. The withering had spread further—the entire shoulder seemed about ready to decay. I took a camera out of my bag and took a picture of the decaying wounds.

With the remaining ink, I drew another sigil on the bandage of my injured hand, a heart-shaped eye-like symbol with two lines running up my index and middle finger. It was a painful process and I was just careful enough to have the pen not tear through the bandage, and I placed my shaking hand on the decaying shoulder and closed my eyes. I saw all of the injuries on the man’s body, including where he had been injured–he had a broken arm that had almost finished recovering, and a fractured foot that was also healing, but wasn’t as near completion as his arms. Either way, both of these had stopped healing, and had actually gotten worse, with the bones beginning to decay in both areas.

What was the point of beating people up, breaking them, letting them decay, and then expecting them to join you after you had broken them? My attackers probably went through the same thing as this man had–as I had, if this cult was larger than them. So why do the same thing to others?

But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?

They knew what it was like to be soulless, and only they knew not only how to recover from the injuries suffered, but how to disguise themselves as living to avoid trouble with the law.

I looked again at the bandages on my hand, and unraveled it slightly, careful not to let the crowd see. There, too, did my flesh begin to decay. This was the primary issue with not having a soul: without the very essence that gives us life, our bodies aren’t capable of self-healing anymore. Any injuries are permanent unless fixed by a doctor, or if we tend our own wounds.

Fortunately my bones—at least in my hand—hadn’t completely withered away. I managed to revive just in time, fortunately.

Just in time.

——

I don’t remember much about the day I woke up. Just the excruciating, aching pain.

What I did know was I had washed up on the shore of the city, and I couldn’t stand up for a very long time. A burning sensation enveloped my entire hand and knee, and I felt a throbbing sensation in both areas. The bruises from the beatdown stuck on me like a leech, but most vividly, my chest felt hollow. And it hurt. The emptiness gnawed at the inside of my chest, and it, too, burned and ached. Like a stomach ache in the wrong place.

With my good hand I crawled my way off of the shore until I found a lamppost. I grabbed onto it, and propped up my good knee. I swung my arm toward the lamppost, grabbing onto it with my bad hand, shocks of pain running through my body. I tried to haul myself up, but the weight of my body caved my knee in, and I collapsed. That’s when I got a good look at my hand.

Bits of skin had completely come off, seeming to have withered away. Pieces of bone underneath had chipped off.

I grew nauseous and I felt the blood drain from my face. I let out some inhuman noise that I reckoned was some attempt at a scream but came out as a cross between that and a moan of agony.

How had this happened?

It was a horrible sound, but at least I had been found. Otherwise, who knows what would’ve happened?

Or who else would’ve found me?

——

Finishing the circle grew tricky as my hand trembled, though I was unsure if it was from the injury or from the reality of the process itself.

“Kid, we don’t even know who you are,” the guy from earlier said. “Are you even a licensed detective?”

I ignored him and wiped some of the ink from my pen on my hand, pressing my hands together to activate the circle. As the soul fire candles flared, what little color was left in their eyes drained slowly, and a small, glowing, deteriorated wisp of a soul rose out of the victim’s body.

This was all that was left…

Somehow this dead man was just the same as I, who could still breath, still walk, still talk, still live—but only just.

What had this man’s soul seen before it was decimated? If, in fact, the same people who killed me are responsible for this, did he, too, see the same grinning face in the abyss that I had? Was he as afraid as I was? Or did he accept this as death?

I took my mage’s license out of my pocket and showed it to the crowd.

“I’m a licensed magic user,” I said, “is that enough?”

“…that’s not a detective license,” the same guy said. “I’m calling the police.”

“Great!” I said. “Tell them the Brotherhood of Abyss Walkers did this.” At this point it was all but confirmed.

“The…what?”

“The cult that keeps tormenting this forsaken town,” I explained. “The one behind all the unexplained murders.”

The guy—along with the rest of the crowd—stifled a laugh. Some of them couldn’t hold it in.

“There’s no cult in New Lumanore,” someone else said. “Our security’s airtight; no way they would’ve been able to form a guild without a license.”

“Just call the authorities, Aaron,” a lady in the crowd said. “This kid isn’t worth persuading.”

“W-wait-“ I said before letting out a resigned sigh. I packed up the candles and pocketed my pen, and took off. I knew who the culprit was. What the police had to say didn’t bother me.

They’ll believe me when I put the culprit behind bars.

—————

In previous investigations I managed to pin down the general area where the Abyss Walkers operate. Prior murders took place at least within a mile’s range of Eclipse Avenue, an area further south of New Lumanore. It was a relatively quiet and empty area; there were quite a bit of shops and buildings of unknown function that no one ever seemed to go into, not even during the day.

The entire place screamed occult activity.

Sure enough, just as I hit the corner of the avenue I caught a glimpse of a Moonlight Shroud charm, pinned to the outwear of a hooded figure. They were walking along the other side of the street, hanging close to the bare wall of a wide building.

Once they were some distance along I crossed the street quickly and began tailing them.

Confrontation wasn’t new to me, just…unfavorable. Is that why I trembled? Either way I knew the procedure: Walk with the same beat. Same path, same pattern of step. Stop when he stops. Walk like this until the shadow is close enough for contact.

Once I did I took out a capsule from my coat. It contained shadow ink, allowing me to either create my own shadow, or to hide within someone else’s. I didn’t have enough of a soul to perform any magical feats on my own–whatever I could do would probably just come out as sparks–so this was the best I could work with. Unfortunately the capsule was nearly empty, and I made a mental note to contact my supplier after I was finished. In the meantime, I used what was left to lather my hand in ink as I silently crept behind the lone cultist, and pressed my hand against his shadow. I latched on and eventually got pulled in. Inside the shadow realm, I had a black-and-white view of the street from inside the wall. I couldn’t breathe, though, and I couldn’t hold my breath for very long so I knew I had to jump him sooner rather than later.

I took a coin out of my pocket and tossed it outside behind the cultist. He stopped and turned around, as expected, and I took the moment to lunge out and grab him by the throat.

—————

The cultist narrowed his eyes, and an amused smirk came on his face.

“Hey…” he said. “I know you.”

I flinched. How?

He kicked me off and stood up.

“You…you’re the kid we got that book from!” He chuckled. “You don’t quit, do you? This is really what you chose to do after death? Vigilante work?”

I felt the blood drained from my face.

“…what are you talking about?” I lied. “What book?”

“The demonology book, stupid,” he said. “The thing damning you to begin with. You forgot already? Or did you lose your memories alongside almost all your soul somehow?”

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to charge at him again. I couldn’t take him in a head-on fight. I was too weak for that.

“Tell me,” he said. “How’s it feel? Being so close to freedom, so close to ridding yourself of that moral creed weighing you down…no fear of rapture…just your life and your…well, I suppose now broken…body, and your heart and mind.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Good thing you came back, though. We’ve been slacking on our initiations recently…Ardent went a little too hard on too many people. We’re behind on our quota.”

“Wait a sec…” I took a step back. “What do you mean ‘too hard?’ Aren’t they supposed to come back?”

“The idiot decided to use magic to slow the initiates down,” the cultist explained. “As if that wouldn’t damage the soul at all. I’m sure you of all people know. You’ve taken enough beatings form him, right, D–“

I punched him in the face. The second I made contact I realized I had used my bad hand without thinking. Bone snapped, collapsed, and even shifted through the hole in my hand. I let out a far-too-loud shriek of agony as I recoiled and caressed my hand, trying to relocate the bone.

The cultist looked at me and laughed, and I raised a finger on my good hand and threatened him:

“Don’t try that again,” I said. “I’ve still got one—ahh…—perfectly functioning hand.”

“Fine by me,” he replied. “You hit hard for a dead person…”

My hand still ached from the punch. I imagine it probably hurt me way more than it hurt him.

“Do you mean to turn me in, Shroud?” the cultist hissed. “Just try it. I know who you are. They’ll find out you’re undead and investigate you to hell and back. Whatever decimal of a soul you have left won’t save you. Not even close.”

“I can’t trust you with that information even if I let you go,” I said. “But even if you do…I’ll know sooner or later if you’ve said something. You best not try it if you don’t wanna die twice.”

The cultist grinned.

“I’m shaking,” he said, deadpan. “I’ll just come back again.”

“What, are there no revival limits in your little group?”

“Nope. He’ll bring us back again and again as long as he needs us.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“Oh, you’ve only been resurrected once, you big baby,” the cultist said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not joining you.”

“You have no reason not to,” the cultist said. “We can fix your broken body; make you look and seem as alive as the next person. Those remnants of a soul may not matter to the police, who’ll mark you as soulless anyway, but you know who it does matter to?” He pointed at the sky and at the group. “Them. Someone like you, who’s spent hours learning about heaven’s enemies…you think you have any chance of reaching heaven? HA!”

I fell silent. Just when I thought being registered as ‘dead’ to everyone you know meant they wouldn’t bother you about being a (rookie) demonologist anymore. That reminder worked my last nerve, yet every time it was brought up I could never muster up a proper defense.

“…I’m aware,” I mumbled.

“Besides, I’m sure you’re just livid at the police, who never caught who got you. I’m sure you’d like your vengeance against them for failing you…we can help you out with that, if you’d like. After all, why should we fear death, or judgement, from this life or the next? Like I’ve said, we’ve got no soul to weigh us down to heaven or hell. No death, no judgment. Just you, whatever you wanna do, and a welcoming oblivion who’ll spit you back out as many times as needed. As long as you keep it fed, that is.”

“It doesn’t matter if the police know or if they don’t know,” I said. “I know. And I’ll know more than they ever will. Besides, why the hell would I trust you to give me closure about my death–the death YOU caused?!”

The cultist frowned.

“And that’s just the trouble, isn’t it…you’re just about soulless, and the only soulless person New Lumanore who isn’t with us and…for what? You lose nothing by joining us!”

“First of all,” I shouted. “I am not soulless. Your stupid demon didn’t take all of it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why that happened,” the cultist replied, “but who am I to question the great abyss–”

“Oh, shut up. And second of all–just in case you forgot–YOU KILLED ME! I don’t owe you loyalty, or gratitude, or mercy…I owe you nothing.”

“You may be upset now,” the cultist said, “but you’ll learn to thank us later.”

“I will not.”

His frown turned into a scowl. He took out a small cylinder from his pocket.

“I was gonna use this the day of the attack,” he said, “but I didn’t see any point. Seemed like the others were doing just fine without the staff.”

Sure enough, the cylinder popped open into a metal bo-staff. He walked towards me, twirling it through his fingers.

“You’ve been chasing the wrong thing, Shroud,” he said. “You think you need vengeance, but what you really need is security. We all know what being soulless is like. You’re weaker, you can’t heal your wounds, you can’t do magic, and it’s pretty obvious when you’ve just come back from the dead. I don’t care what three-percent of a soul you do have; it’s nowhere near enough for you to enjoy all the privileges of being fully human. Face it. You’re basically the same as us.”

As I stepped back, he stopped spinning the staff and instead gripped it with both hands.

“So you can either let go of those remnants you have the audacity to still call a soul, then come with us and let us give you the safety you so desperately need,” he said, rearing the staff back, “…or we’ll just break you further and let oblivion do what it wishes with your remains.”

He started to bring the staff down.

“WAIT!” I yelled, bringing my hands to my face.

Surprisingly enough, he actually froze, the staff a couple inches from my face.

“Okay…I get it…” I said. “You’re right. I won’t turn you in. Just…promise me you won’t tell anyone who I am.”

“What’s stopping me?” the cultist asked, cocking his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“Look. I didn’t turn you in,” I said. “You owe me.”

“No I don’t. I’m not tied to anything but oblivion.”

I let out an annoyed huff.

“Like I said. I’ll know if you exposed me,” I reminded him. “I don’t care if that scares you or not, just…let me go.”

“Let YOU go?! You jumped ME!”

“And I had—I…thought…I had the right to. Look…I’m backing down. You go about your night. I go about mine. We don’t speak of this.”

The cultist hesitated, then put the staff away.

“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll still come back for you. Whether or not your initiation goes smoothly is entirely on you.”

With that, he pulled out the same charm he had on the day of the attack, and vanished.

“See you around,” he said.

That was the last I heard of him that night.

Once I thought I was safe, I let out a loud groan of annoyance.

I had him. He was literally a few feet away. If I *just* had more shadow ink that would’ve been it for him.

But…he was right. I was at every possible disadvantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I shouldn’t have jumped him. I should’ve just taken note of his appearance and went from there. That was foolish on my part.

But…I did have his appearance now.

But he had my identity.

I still wasn’t at a complete advantage. And I couldn’t work like that. I had to lay low, and rebuild. My hand was wounded and I was lucky I didn’t get my skull bashed in. There was no way I could have recovered from that. But I wouldn’t give up. I had a lead and I wasn’t letting go of it.

I didn’t care about their ‘freedom’ or ‘not being tied down’ or anything like that. Fact of the matter is, they were hurting people, and their demon lord had more control over them than they’d realize.

They were beyond redemption. The demon didn’t bind them through any soul manipulation or contract–it was some weird combination of free will, gratitude, and the threat of permanent death.

These cultists had to go, and quickly. They had to pay, and dearly.

I know I’m weak, but once I’m back up and running I would do as much damage from the shadows as humanly possible.

They weren’t bound by any rules, so why should I have to be?

I didn’t care how many times I would get hurt. They ruined my life, and I was going to pay them back tenfold.

#original story #fiction story #creative writing #dark fantasy #urban fantasy #violence cw #death cw #cult cw #death tw #violence tw #cult tw

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

Text

What if...10b

Okay, so this ‘epilogue’ became... a monster. I decided to split chapter 10 into two parts because it was already so big, and, uh, yeah, now I’m splitting 10b into three parts. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ENABLE ME, PEOPLE. Your lovely comments, your kind reblogs and support turned this from what was supposed to be no more than 4 chapters into 90 000 word ramble.

*ahem*

So part 10b is Dulcy POV, 10c is chaotic everyone POV, and then there will be a bonus part for someone who didn’t get to join Dulcy and Dav’s little family.

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10a

Epilogue; Dulcy

“We’ll be back later, dad!” Corin exclaims from where he’s standing next to Din in the doorway, eager to call Davarax that at every occasion he can find.

Davarax nods and gives a light wave to the two teenagers about to step out of the house they have rented on this obscure, little planet and head into the nearby town. (Having picked up a bit of Motti credits makes things a lot easier.) “Duly noted, son.”

The slight smile on his face tells Dulsissia that Davarax is well aware of Corin’s need to constantly reaffirm their new relationship and indulges him with never-ending patience. But what she also notes is how Din hesitates half a second while Corin turns to leave and she sees there is hurt in his dark eyes as they linger on Davarax.

That evening, while Barthor wraps up his conversation with his father via the holo-communicator, Davarax holds Raga back until the boy is done and the line is free for her to call her parents.

Dulsissia glances after Barthor shuffling back towards their house, helmet held low and shoulders slumped. Just like during previous calls, his parents show close to no interest in their son and he is equally disappointed every time. “Dav?”

Davarax turns his attention away from Raga and over to Dulsissia. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you adopt the others too? Like you did with Corin?” Her heart breaks every time she sees these children with sadness in their eyes and Davarax is the one who always brings smiles to their faces.

Sighing, Davarax leans against the door frame. “It’s not that easy…”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, Paz and Raga have their families. The Saxons are… unique, but they love her. And Dez, well, I hope that maybe he’ll come to his senses.” Davarax looks over at Barthor’s retreating shape as well. “Barthor… I might have to talk to him about it.”

Dulsissia frowns as he doesn’t mention the most obvious one of all; “What about Din?”

“Din…” Davarax looks down at the floor. He looks guilty. “I messed that up. Big time.”

“He’d forgive you in a heartbeat.” Dulsissia declares. “He worships you.”

“Maybe.” Davarax replies, not sounding convinced. “But I don’t deserve his forgiveness. And after what he’s been through, I think Din needs to be allowed to hold on to his roots before another adult tries to pressure their identity on him.”

What that boy needs is a father, Dulsissia thinks, but before she can voice her thoughts she’s distracted by someone shouting. Looking over, she sees Raga’s mother in the holo-projector screaming at someone out of sight before turning back to focus on her daughter again.

“What was that, Raga? You said something about how many push ups? You’re up to what now?”

“Fifty-”

“PUT THAT DOWN!” Raga’s mother bellows to her right and then makes a frustrated grunt and reaches out to grab someone. “Here. Talk to your brother. I have to murder your other two brothers for a bit.” She steps away and a smaller Mandalorian with a green helmet takes her place.

“Raga. Still ugly I see. You really should have kept the helmet on.”

“Sioben. Still a moron, I hear. I was kind of hoping dad had followed through on his threat to dropkick you into space.” Raga counters. “Paz taught me some new tricks. I’m going to kick your ass when I see you again.”

Sioben shakes his head. “I don’t know why he puts up with you. He could have anyone he wants, he’s a huge badass ‘and’ a Vizla. I can’t think of a single reason why he lets you stick around.”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying to think.” Raga snarls.

“At least I have a brain. Unlike you.” Sioben fires back.

A hand appears and smacks into Sioben’s helmet and he goes toppling out of sight and Raga’s mother appears again. “Listen, I have to go. I’m a bit busy here. Say hi to Davarax from me. Be careful out there, Raga. Byebye.” The woman’s holo-image dissolves and she’s gone.

When Raga walks out of the room, Dulsissia reaches out and touches her shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“What for?” Raga asks with a huge grin. “Didn’t you hear that? She didn’t yell at me once!”

Dulsissia looks over at Davarax with a look of slight belief while the girl walks away, humming happily and he can only offer a weak shrug in return.

And on the subject of Paz and Raga...

While there are still sides to the Mandalorian culture that are still a mystery to her, Dulsissia remembers more than enough about what it was like to be a human a teenager to see what is happening there.

The two have been drawn together as friends since they were small children, as far as Dulsissia understands. They always gravitate towards each other. If you see one, odds are good that the other is nearby or about to appear. And Dulsissia feels both compassion and amusement as she sees the growing awkwardness as a different kind of attraction between them starts to enter the picture.

Dulsissia tries to hide her laughter when she sees Raga pretending to need a water break but only so she can let her gaze roam all over Paz as he continues his intense training next to her. Raga has always been climbing him like a jungle gym, but these days it brings a flush to her cheeks when he holds her close or play-wrestle with her, and Raga even smiles in her sleep the times she drowses off with her head resting on his chest. It’s a shame she seems unable to voice what she feels.

This leads to the seething anger in Raga’s eyes when Paz mindlessly flirt with the local girls and basks in their attention. An anger which causes her to pick fights with Din and the others, violent fights that always ends badly for at least one of them and Davarax has to patch them up while trying to calm Raga down.

At the same time, with a stealth worthy of admiration, Paz’ gaze discretely seeks out Raga with an interest and longing he doesn’t show any of the local girls desperately trying to hold his attention. His attention trail along her curves, he flushes at glimpses of her skin and it is kind of cute how he’s only happy if Raga is happy.

Unfortunately Paz seems too insecure, which is absurd, to actually show how her how he feels.

His temper is as bad as Raga’s, though, which causes Paz to one day actually punch a hole in a wall. He flat out refuses to explain why he’d done it, even when Davarax wraps up his bleeding hand and asks in a frustrated voice what is going on with him, but Dulsissia accidentally overheard earlier when Raga agreed to go out on a date with a suitor of her own and suspects that is why.

“I’m going to help them.” Dulsissia declares one morning after Raga had managed to draw both Din and Corin into a vicious brawl the previous evening, just after Paz had gone out to meet some girl.

Davarax grunts, half-asleep on his stomach with his face partly burrowed into the pillow. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

She sends him, or his back to be more precise, a dry glance. “Are you kidding me? Those two? If someone doesn’t help them along, it’ll take yeeaars.”

Davarax snorts a laugh. “At your own peril, cyare.”

Dulsissia thinks about all her excellent work as a matchmaker back on Seswenna. That included family ranks, politics and enough credits to buy a minor planet. These are two teenagers. She’s got this.

It’s a delicate mission. First Dulsissia establishes through a little research that there is absolutely no doubt that these two feel the same and are just too emotionally constipated to do something about it, then she goes to work on them separately. Hints, questions and light nudges.

It takes a surprisingly short time for them to admit to her what she already knows, but neither is willing to make the first move.

“Why not go for it?” Dulsissia eventually asks..

“I don’t think he/she thinks of me that way…” Raga/Paz replies. Her face bright red as she half-heartedly trains defensive moves with Dulsissia one sun-soaked day. Him with quiet sadness when Dulsissia delivers some clean laundry to his room one evening.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Dulsissia teases and winks.

After that, they become a little braver. Instead of just friendly bickering, Raga and Paz both add a little intent and teasing to their interactions, and that eventually develop into outright flirting.

During training Davarax sends Dulsissia a dry look when Paz, instead of following through with his attack, merely keeps his hands against the wall, fencing in the grinning and uncharacteristically passive Raga and hovers there with a slight smirk of his own. Davarax rolls his eyes when Raga, after flipping Paz over and have him land on his back, simply straddles his stomach and pretends to hold him down with her hands on his shoulders instead of following through with her attack and Paz, also uncharacteristically passive, looks like he’s enjoying himself more than anything else.

Dulsissia regrets nothing.

Barthor is in heavy denial, Din wrinkles his nose and Corin is incredibly oblivious as Paz and Raga keep inching their way closer to what they both dream about having. They push things as far as they can go and then some, before one of them finally dares to cross the line...

Sitting next to each other on the stairs behind the big battle arena, Paz and Raga had decided to sneak outside the building instead of staying with the others to watch the final game. Usually they both live and breathe for such big fights, but for some reason it seemed more tempting to sneak off like this.

They sit in this dark back-alley, her shoulder bumping lightly against his upper arm, talking.

It’s silly. They see each other every day, they talk every day, and yet they struggle to look at the other right now. Words tumble a little awkwardly. Hearts thump hard.

Then there is a huge cheer from the crowd inside the arena and Paz looks over at Raga. She looks back over at him, and after a moment of hesitation, he cautiously leans towards her.

Raga’s eyes light up. Oh. But just as she lifts her chin a little to meet him, giving him an unspoken invite, Paz abruptly loses his courage and quickly withdraws to stare down at the ground again.

Raga exhales, disappointed. Suddenly her eyes flare with angry annoyance and she thumps her shoulder against his arm, and when he looks at her, she quickly leans over and presses a brief, hard kiss to his lips. After that, she’s the one to turn to stare at the ground while heat burns in her face.

Stunned, Paz stares at her. He stares for what feels like a small eternity, then he slowly reaches out his hand, touches by her jawline and eases her into facing him again. And that is when he finally has the courage to lean over, his fingers still resting on her skin, and ever so softly touches his lips to hers.

It’s a gentle, trying thing. Raga draws a shivering breath, her lips trembling a little as well but soon they move to meet his as he cautiously coaxes a response from her.

After a little while, Paz pulls back and scans her face for her response.

Raga grins.

That makes him smile as well.

Dulsissia is obnoxiously pleased. Declaring herself the matchmaking champion.

Davarax only regrets not stopping her when stolen kisses in secret between the two becomes public make-out sessions. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded if had taken yeeeaars before he had to see that.

But he draws the line of having to watch it in their house. Entering the living room and finding them at it again, Davarax kicks at the sofa, making them jump apart. “Tongues in separate mouths when I’m around. Not negotiable.”

Paz flushes deep red. Raga glares.

And Dulsissia wonders who she can match up next...

While Dulsissia’s stop on Seswenna had resulted in them having a nice amount of credits to use on their family, Davarax knows they won’t last forever and he’s too used to support his family to stop, so he takes on the occasional job. And it’s easier now than before Dulsissia came into his life.

It’s strange not be be constantly exhausted. It’s even stranger not to have nightmares any more but wake up in the mornings with a sigh of satisfaction or even a smile on his face.

His favourite jobs are the ones where Dulsissia joins him. She’s come far from the helpless beauty he’d met what feels like a lifetime ago. Now she’s a deadly beauty. And the sight of her in Mandalorian armor is the best bonus he’s ever gotten on a job.

This is an easy contract. Just head up to a damaged cargo ship floating just above the planet, pick up the shipment and bring it to the owner on the surface. It’s the rumours of pirates in the area that makes them want to hire a couple of Mandalorians.

The ship is where it’s supposed to be, there are no signs of pirates, and Davarax does the mistake of thinking this mission will go without a hitch. He and Dulsissia board the ship and walk towards the cargo hold to secure their target.

It is years of experience combined with quick reflexes that saves Davarax’ life when something drops from the ceiling in the hallway. He jolts backwards and sparks fly as something sharp slides across his breastplate. Davarax tries to lift his blaster to fire at his attacker, but a boot kicks his arm and the shot goes wide.

It becomes a wild dance of attacks launched at him, sparks flying again and again when his armor takes the brunt, and he frantically back-pedals to stay alive. A streak of yellow spins in front of him and Davarax gets his arm up just in time for the vibro blade to impale it instead of his throat. The pain rages through him and instinct makes Davarax turn to the best weapon he has in such a close encounter; a harsh kov’nyn.

His opponent collapses while he stumbles backwards and clutches his arm. The blade is still vibrating and sending waves of agony through him while tearing more of his flesh. He yanks it out, fighting back the intense urge to scream with pain, unable to respond right away despite hearing Dulsissia calling out his name in fear.

Once his eyes clears again, Davarax realizes Dulsissia is by his side and trying to make him let her look at his arm and he sees the crumpled shape on the floor.

A skinny Twi’lek youth around Raga’s age. Her skin under layers of dirt looks to be pale yellow, her clothes are rags and even unconscious she looks angry.

Well, that was unexpected.

“She’s just a kid.” Dulsissia whispers with quiet disbelief, wrapping his arm.

“I was too busy trying to keep her from cutting my throat to notice.” Davarax rumbles, twitching slightly when Dulsissia tightens the bandage. His heart softens. “I wonder what her story is...”

Her name is Zev’sonya and she’s anything but friendly. Sure, his own kids have a habit of baring their teeth every once in a while, even at him, but this one? She’s outright hostile and extremely dangerous. And while his kids’ trust in others has been severely damaged, hers is non-existent. Whatever her story might be, she’s not telling them anything beyond her being on her own.

Davarax has absolutely no idea how Dulsissia manages to persuade the girl to come with them.

It takes over a standard week to make her stop trying to kill and rob them. A lot longer for her to actually trust them, especially Davarax.

Zev’sonya and Raga end up in a fist-fight two minutes after the initial introduction. Paz watches her with some cautiousness but he’s not unfriendly. Barthor avoids her like the plague. Corin is terrified of her and claims she keeps stealing the blades in the house. (Dulsissia knows he’s right as she keeps retrieving them from the twi’lek’s room.)

The only one she instantly connects with is Din, who seems to share her way of communicating in as few words as possible and have no fear of her scowls.

They renew their rent on the house and Davarax recruits Din to help build a couple of sheds and do some repairs on it.

After a scorchingly hot day, emerging from the refresher room, Dulsissia saunters over to the big bed in their room where Davarax is reading something on his datapad. She crawls into the bed and rolls over to face him with a dramatic sigh. “Dav? Cyare?”

“Mmh?” He replies, not looking up from his datapad.

“I’m hungry…”

Davarax lowers the datapad and reaches out to run his hand gently over her hair. “What are you in the mood for?”

“There’s leftovers from dinner...”

She rarely asks him to bring her things because she knows he will stop whatever he’s doing and get it and she doesn’t want to abuse that kindness. But this is a special occasion. After he’s padded out of the room, she slides the medical scanner out of her pocket and places it on his side of the bed.

A few minutes later, Davarax comes back with two plates. “Food for my love. And I brought some sweets for dessert too. Might as well make it a proper meal when we’re dining in bed.” He hands her one of the plates with flourish.

She leans up and gives him a kiss, which he is very pleased to accept, and waits as he circles the bed to get in on his side.

Davarax frowns a little when he sees something in his way, reaches down and picks it up so he can settle in his spot again. “This yours?” He holds it out to her.

Sighing, Dulsissia fails to hold back a smile. “Look at it.”

He studies the device but the numbers on the screen doesn’t make sense to him. Davarax glances over at her again, now a little worried. “A medical scanner? You’re not sick, are you?”

She shakes her head, losing the battle against a bubbling laugh. “No. Look at it, silly.”

Davarax looks again. “I’m looking, but what am I supposed to…” Finally the information on the screen makes sense to him and what it means. His gaze snaps back at her. The plate in his other hand is completely forgotten. “Y-you’re…? Are you…?”

Taking a bite of her food, Dulsissia nods and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “I’m pregnant.” It’s almost funny how happy she is with this fact. After Corin was born, the mere thought of having another baby offended Dulsissia after she had come to realize that was the only reason why Macero wanted her. But that was in the past. Things are so very different now.

Davarax nearly drops his plate, only his quick reflexes prevents him from spilling it all over the bed. He cautiously, but as quickly as possible, places his plate on the night-stand so he can hold on to the medical scanner with both hands, reading the information once again. “You… You’re sure?”

“You’re looking at the evidence, mister. I scanned ten minutes ago.” She takes another bite, endlessly amused by the whirlwind of emotions visibly rushing through him. He keeps wobbling back and forth between intense happiness, paralysing fear and blind excitement. It is so painfully sweet to see how much he wants this. “Breathe, baby.” Dulsissia advices.

Davarax gulps down some air, then puts the scanner aside and turns all of his focus on her. “Are… are you okay? Do you need me to do anything? What do I do?”

Laughing a little, even more charmed by him being so uncharacteristically clumsy and helpless, Dulsissia glances over at him. “I thought Mandalorians were experts on children. They didn’t teach you about how this is going to work?”

Davarax hesitates and then he reaches out and touches her hand. “Sort of, but all I care about is what you need me to do. Weapons and flowers, remember?”

Dulsissia feels the usual wave of warmth and adoration when Davarax is his sweet self and she curls her fingers around his. “I remember. And we’ll work this out as well.”

That seems to reassure him and his shoulders relaxes a little. Enough so that she lets go of his hand and goes back to eating. Maybe it is just knowing she’s pregnant again that makes her so hungry, but at least it is a very valid excuse to indulge.

Davarax is silent. Too silent.

After a while, Dulsissia has to laugh again as she realizes what he’s doing. He’s staring at her stomach. “There is nothing noticeable going on there quite yet. It’s too early. You’re going to have to be patient for a while before things get exciting for you.”

Davarax gives a tiny shake of his head. “This is already one of the most exciting things I’ve ever been a part of.” He looks like he’s about to say something more but loses courage.

“What?” Dulsissia asks, taking another bite of her food.

“Can I…?” He lifts his hand a little in a mute request.

Stars above, she loves this man more than she thought was possible. Dulsissia lets out a soft laugh. “There’s nothing much to feel right now, like I said, but… if you want to, go ahead.”

Davarax inches closer, reaches out further and cautiously places his hand on her stomach, below her bellybutton. His hand is warm and so very careful and lingers there for a while. “Hey, you…” Davarax eventually says in a quiet voice, a little strained with emotion. “Welcome to the family.”

Dulsissia doesn’t make a sound as the first tears trail from her eyes, overwhelmed by how right this feels, how much she loves him and their unborn child and their beautiful family. This time, she knows, this time everything will be perfect.

When Dulsissia tells him, Corin is incredibly excited to become a big brother. Paz declares he’s mighty pleased their clan is growing, sounding like the adult he now looks like despite still not having enough years on his back to deserve that title in Dulsissia’s eyes, and the other Mandalorian youngsters eagerly agree with him. Davarax looks a little awkward when they start talking about how they can create a Covert of their own at the pace their clan is growing.

Half an eternity later, when the evening comes where she feels the first barely noticeable change, Dulsissia calls Davarax over and slides his hand over her stomach. She feels him shiver and he looks at her with breathless awe. She has to laugh and then kisses that look off his face.

A little over six standard weeks after that, Davarax feels the first curving before she notices herself, on a sleepy morning when he, as usual, runs his hand over her stomach.

Corin and the other boys hover near her with innocent curiosity and watch the development with bright fascination, while Raga and Zev’sonya stay a little more in the back and observe with cautious interest.

When Dulsissia really starts showing, that is the point where Davarax’ self-control starts slipping. He has tried his hardest to act normal, yet now he becomes downright clingy. Others might have gotten a bit annoyed with the man’s behaviour, but Dulsissia knows the sadness of going through this with someone who doesn’t care, who can’t even bother to be there, so she happily suffers through his tactile presence.

Dulsissia even has to hide tears one evening when he inches close, runs his hand over her stomach yet again and softly hums a Mandalorian lullaby to their restless child.

Then she gets even bigger and Dulsissia realizes she’d forgotten this part. She gets grouchy, her feet aches, her back aches, everything aches, she has to pee all the time, she can barely get up if she does the mistake of sitting down, she can’t sleep like she wants to, and Dulsissia decides the thought of delivering the child isn’t all that bad if she can just get back to normal, please!

It is all worth it when the time comes after seven hours of hard work and sweet, sweet pain killers, and Dulsissia gets to meet her daughter as she’s placed in her arms.

She is absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way and so very, very loved!

Looking up at Davarax by her side, Dulsissia is both crying and laughing at once. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Davarax, pale as a sheet, nods with a look of awe on his face.

Allowing herself another moment of holding their child, admiring her, kissing her, Dulsissia makes herself look up at Davarax again. “You want to hold her?”

To her surprise, he hesitates and looks like he’s about to take a step away. Catching himself, Davarax remains where he is and tries to remember how to speak. “I… Are you sure?”

Laughing a little, Dulsissia is far too exhausted to untangle the mystery of his mind at the moment. “Of course I’m sure. She’s your daughter too.”

“It’s just…” Davarax reaches out a cautious hand only to withdraw it before he can actually touch the wailing baby. “I don’t know how. I mean, I don’t want to hurt her. I-I’ve never held a baby before. She’s so tiny, Dulcy.”

“She’s tougher than you think.” Dulsissia replies, then turns a little to make it easier for him to pick up the baby. “Support her head, careful with the neck, like that, yeah… Perfect.” She leans back, exhausted and strangely enough a bit hungry, but for the time being she is satisfied to just take in the sight of her husband and their child connecting.

“Hello, ik’aad.” Davarax looks nervous, awkward and absolutely devastated by the intense adoration he feels for the still screaming bundle in his arms. The baby really do look tiny in his embrace, fragile even, but that doesn’t prevent her from aimlessly raising her tiny fist in what looks to be a threat.

Mandokarla from the birth.

Dulsissia sees how tears well up in Davarax’ eyes and he leans down to place a feather-light kiss on the baby’s head.

Corin is staring wide-eyed at the baby and eagerly reaches out when his mother eases her over into his arms.

“Say hello to your new sister.” Dulsissia says in a quiet voice, hoping not to wake the sleeping baby.

Din hovers over Corin’s right shoulder and reaches out to ever so gently run his fingers over the dark tufts of hair on her head. “She’s cute.”

“So tiny…” Paz observes, hovering over Corin’s left shoulder, sounding a bit worried.

“She’ll get bigger, idiot.” Barthor mutters, tilting his helmet as he studies the baby too.

“Are… are you okay?” Raga asks Dulsissia while the boys block the view to the new arrival.

Smiling, reaching out a hand and curling her fingers around Raga’s when she takes it, Dulsissia gives her a reassuring nod. “I’m fine, baby. Corin gave me a lot more trouble than this one.”

Corin blinks and looks up to focus on her for a moment. “I did?”

Dulsissia nods. “Yeah, you were not inclined to come out to greet the world. It took over two days to persuade you.”

“Two days?” Raga blurts out, with no small amount of horror.

“It sounds worse than it was.” Dulsissia reassures her. “Without the pain meds I’m sure it would have been a nightmare, but with them, it’s mostly just uncomfortable and boring.”

“Two days and you still decided to have another child?” Davarax asks from where he is hovering in the background.

“Well, yeah.” Dulsissia shrugs. The amount of joy her son has given her was well worth it. And without him she would never have broken free from her golden cage, so, no, she had not hesitated to do it all over again. Her daughter is already worth it too. “Zev. Baby. Come say hello. Don’t just hide over there.” She waves the Twi’lek over and fails to see everyone there stare at her with the kind of awe saved for the most impressive of Mandalorian warriors.

They call the baby Nemi.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #What If #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Teenage Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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any tips in writing a yandere midoriya? i’m currently writing this book — and honestly the way you write midoriya is spot on! it’s hard for me to grasp characters, especially since they’re gonna be tweaked since they’re yandere. it’s not only midoriya that’s a yandere, it’s poly, so how do you think he would go about sharing his darling as well?

How to write yandere ! Midoriya Izuku

First: let’s look at the basics, as in key personality traits.

Midoriya is seemingly two things personality wise: he is optimistic and passionate. These two things however are strictly based a certain mindset, certain emotions, emotions that are highly volatile, as in changeable. What we can take from him being optimistic and passionate, is that he is calculating, observant, diligent and tireless. These traits, as opposed to the emotional traits, lack needing to be fueled by certain emotions such as happiness, and will therefore survive no matter his emotional state, which in turn makes them his key personality traits. Viewed in other ways: these are his key personality traits because they are unshakable as opposed to his awkwardness, anxiety and self-doubt, which are also things he can overcome, (things he has overcome in my take of him). All in all, no matter his emotional state, he will always remain calculating, observant, diligent and tireless.

Now: having these traits calls for different abilities, a.i. they add up and award him with certain titles. Titles such as Hero, Genius... God.

Being a genius, where his experience as one of the most revered people in the world has led to many opportunities in dissecting and analyzing all his peers, meaning he has a great understanding of the human psyche, which in turn distances himself from them and makes him feel above them. Because, despite being superior, he is still human and still vulnerable to all human faults, and when humans are worshipped, they will think they are God, forgetting their purpose in the light of glory, forgetting that he is a Hero for the people, of the people, by the people and beginning to believe he’s above the law, (which eventually leads to him justifying kidnapping for his pleasure). He genuinely believes no other human can achieve his level of strength and smarts. And having a God complex as well as being psychopathic-smart, will lead to the bending and eventually breaking of morals, where he can excuse his depravity with it being conscious and not mindless, he can excuse it for being for the greater good, something above regular human understanding. Thinking that: because he’s aware of it being wrong, that it is somehow allowed, somehow less dangerous and justified. Completely blinded by his own sense of superiority, never once seeing just how dangerous his feelings of being above the law can become, (definitely not seeing it when eventually regarding his darling).

Secondly: we have to take a look at how Midoriya views love.

Because Midoriya is such an intelligent person who knows the natural laws and works behind love, knowing how it’s simply a chemical reaction made to make animals breed with nothing supernatural or mystical or heavenly about it, he’ll naturally have a very unromantic and practical approach to finding a partner. He’ll want to resist falling prey to dependence.

But, even he cannot fight the vicious bite of loneliness. Finding a perfect someone after so many years of resisting and ignoring and denying those primal urges obviously gets to him in the end, where finding his darling feels almost like godsend. Which was exactly what he was trying to avoid falling prey to, where he was aiming to rise above regular human needs, regular human beliefs regarding love: a concept he had no faith in, a concept he didn't want to have any faith in, but fell for anyway.

However, while beholding his darling as something precious, his own God complex gets in the way of viewing her as his equal, where she’ll often feel as though he doesn’t even view her as human, more like a pet or even a plant, not something to communicate with, but something that should sit still and look pretty, something to maintain and admire, not intelligent like him.

But, there are different types of smarts in the world. Whereas Izuku has practical, social and analytical intelligence, he’s more or less let go or forgotten about true emotional intelligence. Which is something that will surprise him about his darling, or something that will surprise him about himself, how much he enjoys her presence, her humanity, her basic straightforward moralistic compassion, her need for contact, things he’s long ago forgotten, things he’s only now realizing that he’s missed dearly. At first he believes he’s simply entertained by her, but then he realizes he quite admires her, envies her even, because she’s innocent enough to feel things that he no longer can.

Thirdly: we have his yandere characteristics: sadistic, obsessive, possessive.

-Sadism (groundwork)

It is simply my belief that all yanderes have an inch of sadism dwelling inside them, because I find it hard to digest that any other human without such desires would enjoy controlling another human being. However, the amount of sadism inside may vary drastically.

Midoriya’s sadistic tendencies lies dormant, yet can come out at any given moment, making him rather radical, as in unstable or unpredictable. Though, not like an animal is unpredictable, as he will never act without finesse, he will never act without having complete control over the situation, including himself. We have to remember that Izuku takes great pleasure in knowing how he can rise above impulses. His sadism is more like a hunger that arises every now and again, where which Izuku realizes he is hungry, followed by Izuku luring and trapping his food then playing with his food and finally eating his food. Executed with finesse.

-Obsessive (one side of the coin)

Obsessiveness in general: is not just about laying worship, not just about adoring someone so much that it hurts, it’s about needing someone, needing someone so much that it outweighs and overcomes all obstacles that stand in his way to achieve having them

Obsessiveness in Midoriya: is slightly delusional, where which it tells him that him and his darling belongs together, where he’s optimistic that time will eventually gift him with her love in return. This is his softer side, his more lenient side, his understanding side, his tolerant side. And despite it being slightly delusional, this is actually his more logical side as well, where he’ll bare patient understanding that it’ll take time for her to reform herself, where he takes her emotional status into mind.

-Possessive (the other side of the coin)

Possessiveness in general: is not only about ownership, not only about restrictions, it’s about fear, it’s about reassurance, it’s about finding security in knowing that he and only he will ever have the liberty of having his darling, where he finds an inane amount of uneasiness in thinking she wasn’t always his, needing to find a way to make him forget that disgusting thought by having her belong to him in every single possible way.

Possessiveness in Midoriya: is slightly denialistic and protective, where it tells him that she belongs to him, no exceptions, no room to misunderstand, where what she feels doesn’t really matter because he loves her, he’s chosen her, and she’s simply not allowed to love anybody else, where any refusal will be corrected, will be proven futile.

Fourthly: what is Midoriya’s attitude towards his darling:

Here we add up everything we’ve just considered!

His intelligence calls for a type of deserved arrogance, a vain imagery of himself, making him a narcissist, which again makes him prone to dumbification when approaching his darling, manipulative suggestive language constantly making her feel like her rightful place is beneath him. This can be done in many ways, more so than degrading verbal comments. In visual effects: he can dress her up in innocent clothing just oozing with childlike naivety, braid her hair, decorate her with pastel bows all making her look like a sweet harmless little thing, but more importantly making her feel like a sweet harmless little thing. He can also act out degradation: through head-pats, carrying her places, bathing her. One can even take it so far as infantilization.

Obviously, the creation of rules and laws will build, also the product of his degrading nature, where the list of things his darling can and can't do or should or must do will grow longer over time as he finds that he quite enjoys having this type of control. I believe Izuku is quite lenient but has a breaking point. He won’t enjoy punishing his darling for every single little indiscretion she dares make, believing that this is both time consuming and a waste. His method is to wait until his darling has made a certain amount of faults, her mistakes topping each other like building blocks until the tower eventually tumbles, where which he will deliver a rather large punishment meant to correct her attitude once and for all, or at least until the tower topples again.

He’ll constantly be making a case of how much smarter and stronger he is than her, not in an aggressive way, but in a demeaning, patronizing way, often accompanied by him smiling a chiding smile that looks sweet yet when accompanied by his threatening eyes just look like teeth. Exercising dominance will become like a drug to him, where I’d say he’ll develop both a daddy-kink and a size-kink. His daddy-kink calling for patronizing behavior, teaching her manners and posture and punishing her when she refrains from doing what daddy tells her. And, his size-kink evokes the love to measure everything of his up against everything of hers, often comparing her soft petite precious hands to his deadly scarred ones, how she has no chance of pushing him away whereas he’ll have no problems in crushing her skull if he so wished.

Then of course, his feelings of entitlement call for him taking giant liberties when he’s craving she give him something she’d rather keep to herself. These entitlement feelings coming to fruition through his status as the world number one hero, his morals disappearing in those seconds he manages to twist his view of his darling as her own person into seeing her as his reward, as the world’s way of saying thank you, made simply to please him and having no purpose outside of him.

But, his idealization of his darling encourages him to pamper her, or at least in a way that he views as pampering. He’ll often ask her if there’s anything that she may want, either it be a wish for activity such as art supplies or reading material, or accessories such as jewelry, lingerie, cute little dresses. And when she never asks for anything he wants her to ask for, when her response is always a demand that he let her go, he’ll give her something anyway, something she’ll cry so preciously for to make him stop.

Obviously, I have expanded my view of him here, but I believe the key attitude he’ll carry towards his darling is simply being sweetly degrading, demeaning and patronizing.

Fifthly: how would he go about sharing?

In order for him to feel comfortable enough to share his darling with someone, they have to be someone he respects, someone he can almost look at as an equal or someone he looks up to and idolizes.

In other words: Midoriya will have to love his yandere partner in some form or way to share his beloved darling with them, either it be through mentioned respect, or through loyalty, where platonic or fluid friendship could also be a possibility.

Here are some examples I see being possible poly relationships:

MIDORIYA - ALL MIGHT - relationship based on idolization MIDORIYA - BAKUGO - relationship based on equality/respect MIDORIYA - SHINSO - relationship based on admiration/respect MIDORIYA - “FAN or FREIND” - relationship based on loyalty/trust MIDORIYA - URUAKA/TENYA - relationship based on friendship

I don't see sharing being much of a problem, unless the darling picks favorites. But, because Midoriya is likely much softer than the other yandere, I’m presuming, the favorite will probably be him and not his partner. In that case, he might really like having a parter to compete with! He’ll enjoy how she’ll resort to pleading with and appealing to his soft nature as opposed to the other yandere. He’ll probably love that sort of attention.

I also think Midoriya will like cornering his darling with the help of his partner, trapping her together. I can definitely see him love playing good cop/bad cop. Perhaps even sharing the daddy-kink. Dynamics like Daddy/Master/”DARLING” or Sir/Boss/”DARLING”.

Also, I think he’ll love gossiping about their darling with each other behind her back, talking about how cute she is when she does this or that, how lovely she looks in that specific dress, how well-behaved she’s gotten, and all sorts of stuff, kind of like parents talking about their child.

#yandere midoriya #yandere mha #yandere midoriya izuku #yandere my hero academia #yandere deku #yandere izuku #yandere izuku midoriya #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #mha midoriya #bnha midoriya #midoriya #midoriya headcanons #midoriya izuku #mha izuku #izuku x reader #izuku

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collecting-stories · 4 years ago

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I Feel it all Over - t. 04 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Kiara surprises you at church and you spend the day with her, JJ, and Pope.

A/N: If you haven't ever listened to them...can I just highly recommended listening to The Maine (whose album You Are Ok this is based on)? They’re music is amazing...You Are Ok, American Candy, and Pioneer are probably my favorite albums of theirs. Plus they did an incredible cover of Watermelon Sugar...if you’re a fan of Harry Styles.

You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✞ I swear to every god I feel everything tonight with you ✞

New patrons to the church were usually whole families that came to services, whose fathers or mothers agreed your father’s lesson and felt drawn to the “community” of the Baptist denomination. They responded to the clickbait phrases and did feel lost in their everyday life. It was very rare that any new member, or anyone testing the church out for the first time, would be a single person, a teenager far removed from the beliefs and traditions of the church. But there was Kiara, walking up the few steps into the vestibule. She wasn’t here because of any lost feelings; she was here because she wanted to get to know you more. What JJ had told her, and what she had seen for herself on Friday, was someone that she definitely wanted to be friends with.

She had no bet to dictate how or when she became friends with you. She slipped into the line of people entering the church, catching sight of you standing by the door handing out pamphlets for that morning’s service. Making sure she was at the end of the line, she waved as she approached, happy to see you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, glancing into the church before giving her a quick hug. If your parents or any other family saw they would ask how you knew this complete stranger and why you seemed so friendly with someone who had never been to the church before.

“JJ stole you on Friday,” she shrugged, “thought maybe we could hang out after church?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a story already formulating in your head to tell your parents. Your mother always said that a lie was the devil on your tongue and the first time she’d said it you were convinced that the devil had taken out real estate because you lied constantly, and with ease. Sometimes just to see if you could get away with it. “That would be amazing.”

As far as friends went, you had very few. Your main source of companionship had come from your brothers and sisters, other friends were just acquaintances from youth group or church retreats that you never really felt any deeper connection with. The further away from the fold you felt, the less you found a community for yourself. You had been doubting for so long now that anything within the church felt like a show you were putting on for other people’s amusement, the emotions weren’t real and niether were you.

JJ wasn’t the first boy you had ever let yourself like but he was the first person you had ever felt comfortable being yourself around. There was no fear of judgement or rejection with him, nothing you said was turned into a weapon to make you feel guilty or unworthy, you didn’t have to pretend to be someone you weren’t. You had been nervous to meet his friends, feeling so different from them, but Kiara and Pope had been nice, welcoming, and all you felt was ease. Even now, seeing Kiara had put a more genuine smile on your face than seeing your family visiting for church.

“I wore my best ‘church’ outfit,” Kiara said, gesturing to the maxi dress and sweater she was wearing. The dress was backless and strappy but it was the only thing she owned that wasn’t short. She’d thrown a sweater overtop, hoping she could play off the dress better.

“You blend right in,” you laughed, “I’m relegated to sit up front...I don’t know if you wanna sit with me up there?”

“Lead the way.”

The “peace be with you’s” weren’t too bad and you lied to your mom when she asked how you knew Kiara, telling her that you had met at Heyward's and invited Kiara to church because she was interested in the tract you had. Your mother’s love for testimony and her conviction that people really did want to be approached on the street and harassed about their faith were enough to convince her that your story was solid. It was enough, even, to give you permission to go to lunch with Kiara after service was over.

Kiara hadn’t been to church since she was thirteen and her mom decided that she was old enough to choose whether or not she actually wanted to be there. That sort of power and responsibility had been all Kiara needed to ditch Sunday service altogether and spend her mornings out on the waves with the pogues, worshipping a different sort of force. She was a lot less religious and a lot more spiritual now though she listened intently to your father preaching. The opinions were hogwash, nothing to bat an eye at, but the actual teachings were interesting. You seemed relatively invested in those parts too, your notes, Kiara realized, looked a lot more like a theology lesson than a preacher’s condemnation of society.

“You know a lot about the bible,” Kiara mentioned once you were out of church and back at her house, changing into jeans and a shirt of hers.

“I like studying religion, theology,” you clarified, “my grandfather knew a lot about the texts. Not like my dad, he’s just...got his own ideas. My grandfather knew the Greek and Hebrew translations and spent years studying other religions as well. It was so cool to talk to him about it. I like that part, the history, the context, more than the ‘fundamentalist/evangelical crap’ my dad touts.”

“Is that something you’d study?” She asked, pulling a tank top on over her bathing suit, “like in college?”

“My parents won’t let me go to college.” You replied.

“That’s so crazy, my parents would kill me if I didn’t go.”

You spent the drive to Kiara’s dad’s restaurant explaining your parents future plan for your life, including telling her about the boy that your parents wanted you to marry. When she asked if JJ knew you admitted that he did and that you weren’t really sure what was going to happen when you turned eighteen. You knew what your parents wanted, for you to get engaged and then quickly married, but that wasn’t what you wanted at all.

“If I say that though...there’s a good chance I’d be ex-communicated. Not just from the church but from my family. One of my cousins defected and no one speaks to her anymore.” You said, “it’s like a massive stain on her family’s reputation.”

“Yeah but if she’s happy, does it matter?”

“It’s...it’s not just that I haven’t worn jeans or drank a soda,” you said, following Kiara out onto the back deck to eat, “it’s that I don’t have anyone outside my family. It’s not just being sheltered, it’s being isolated. And I know that, and I hate it but...it’s all I know.”

“None of your siblings have done it differently?”

“No.” You shook your head, “I think I would’ve been fine coasting too...I was pretty much set that this was it ya know? But then...JJ asked me out.” You admitted.

Kiara frowned, “yeah but you don’t know what’s gonna happen with JJ in the future.”

You shrugged, “it’s not just about him...it’s me, feeling happier and more confident.”

“Talking about me?” JJ’s voice came from behind you and you turned around, watching him and Pope walk up to the railing of the deck. He put his hands on the railing, pulling himself up so he could lean over and kiss your cheek.

“I should’ve known you guys would crash.” Kiara said, rolling her eyes as JJ climbed the rest of the way up, hopping over the railing onto the deck.

“What’re you guys up to?” Pope asked, staying on the other side.

“Kie mentioned taking the ferry to Chapel Hill.” You replied, “I have to be back before dark though.”

“So what’re we waiting for?” JJ said, grabbing your soda and taking a sip.

The four of you rode the ferry over to Chapel Hill, standing on the back deck the whole time talking. Kiara suggested shopping the moment you got off the ferry, telling you that all she wanted was to see you pick out an actual outfit.

“Nothing hand-me-down or borrowed, just like a real, honest outfit that you pick out.” Kiara said, taking your hand in hers as she pushed open the door to one of the small stores along the main road.

JJ followed you to the back of the store where the sale racks were, skimming through clothes, holding up different things that were still a little too far out of your comfort zone. You shook your head at a spaghetti strapped mini dress, pulling a crossover out to show him, “I like this one.”

“Try it on.” He shrugged.

“Where’s the changing area?” You asked, looking around the small area.

JJ grabbed your hand, “over here.” He led you to the curtained off stalls, pulling you into one of them and hanging the dress up.

“I have a very strong feeling that if anyone caught us we would be in massive trouble.” You whispered, biting your lip to stop from laughing as JJ moved so that you were looking in the mirror and he was behind you, hands on your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, nudging his face into the space between your shirt and your neck, kissing the exposed skin.

“Yeah but you’ve never been shopping so what do you know?” JJ replied, as if it was obvious and he wasn’t just bullshitting you to stay in the changing room.

You turned in his arms, putting your hands over his, “I’m not changing with you in here.”

“Fine,” he groaned, “If I leave will you try on something for me?”

“Fine.” You mimicked. You kissed him, initiating it for yourself this time, before pushing him into the curtain. He gave another exasperated sigh as he swept the curtain out of the way and left you to change.

Alone in the dressing room, you changed out of your clothes and tried on the floral wrap dress. It tied off at the waist, cutting a deep V and a slit up to your thigh. It was a dress but not like any you had ever worn before. You pushed the curtain enough that you could peek out to see JJ. He was slouched in the chair, texting, while he waited for you.

“I thought you were picking something out?” You said, looking over at him.

He shrugged, “I’d rather see what you like then pick something out for you.”

“Thanks,” you nodded.

JJ watched you as you pushed the curtain back and stepped out of the changing room. “Holy shit,” he mouthed. “Wait, don’t move!”

“What? Why?” You asked as he lifted his phone in front of his face.

“I wanna picture of this.” He replied. Sure, he had seen you in a dress before but he had never seen you in a dress like this, one that actually fit you well, that wasn’t trying to hide your figure but accentuate it. One that you looked so incredibly happy in.

“So I take it I don’t look half bad?” You joked, stepping further out when he had stashed his phone and stood up.

“Half bad? You look...incredible.” JJ replied. Deciding it was worth mentioning, he added, “you look really happy.”

“I really like this dress. I’ve never really...liked anything I’ve worn before. Like, it’s just always felt like, clothes. This is different.” You admitted.

Your clothes were just whatever hand-me-downs fit you. From siblings, relatives, church members, it was never your stuff, you never chose it, never got to say what you liked or disliked.

“Oh my god!” Kiara exclaimed, coming over and interrupting your moment with JJ, “you look so pretty.”

“Thanks.” You nodded, smiling at her, “I think I’m gonna get it.”

“Let me.” JJ piped up and you looked over at him.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He insisted.

There was little further discussion to be had about it, JJ purchasing the dress for you and the four of you wandering around the rest of Chapel Hill, heading in and out of a few different shops. Pope talked to you about his future college plans and you listened intently. Being with JJ was amazing but being able to be friends with a guy, just sitting with Pope and not having to consider anything other that friendship, was so underrated in your life. You had never been friends with a boy either.

Kiara drove you back to your house after you changed, just getting inside as your sister Praise was setting the table. “Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late!” You apologized, “Kie and I were just chatting and I lost track of time.”

“That’s okay Ace, mom was just telling us about Timothy’s visit. Are you excited?” Praise asked, wrapping her arms around you in a hug.

You hugged her back, “I’m very excited.” You lied.

Robert gave you a hug as you walked further into the house, handing off a baby and soon you were outside, supervising kids while your other siblings sat and chatted with your parents around the table. You were only two years younger than Robert but he was married with a kid and another on the way and that automatically made you still a kid. Though you felt less and less like a kid every day.

Your parents talked about Timothy’s visit and their own upcoming trip, ignoring anything that actually had to do with you or your interests. Even Praise, in talking about your upcoming nuptials, mentioned that her dress was still in good condition if you needed one.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing Ace? You could wear Praise’s dress?” Your mother mentioned from across the table, smiling at you as if all her dreams were being realized right there at the table.

“Amazing.”

The sound of tapping at your window startled you as you sat on the bed, reading before sleep. You walked over, lifting the blinds to see JJ standing there. He waved as you opened the window for him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you, I wanted to see you.” He replied, leaning into the window space.

“You just saw me earlier.” You pointed out.

“I also wanted to know if you wanted to go for a ‘midnight swim’ with me, Kie, and Pope?” JJ said, “we’re taking the HMS out. John B and Sarah don’t feel like going out and I figured you might.”

“I’m lucky no one caught me last time JJ,” you replied, “I don’t know if I can risk it.”

“That’s fine,” he said, “you don’t have to.”

You bit your bottom lip, glancing back over at your door. Your parents were asleep for the night and the thought of getting to spend more time with JJ was just too tempting for you to say no too. You were sure your dad had some bible verse to offer for you as proof that this was an evil infatuation but you could care less, agreeing to go and grabbing the swimsuit that JJ had given you. “Just let me change.”

“Can do.” JJ turned around, back to the window, and you almost laughed.

You changed quickly before climbing out the window, “I better not get in trouble for this.”

JJ led you through the woods to John B’s house, just like the night of the kegger, taking you down to the jetty. Kiara waved when she saw you and Pope helped you onto the HMS.

“I can’t believe you let him sneak you out.” Pope joked as JJ boarded the boat.

He drove you out on the marsh, parking in an open area where they couldn’t be seen by lights at the edge of anyone’s yard. The HMS didn’t have lights itself and they banked on that to keep themselves mostly out of trouble. Kiara lit a lantern in the middle of the boat but otherwise it was dark as they jumped in, JJ hanging back with you.

The two of you sat on the bench together, in your own little world seemingly. “Can I try a sip?” You asked, holding your hand out for the beer he was drinking.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Yeah, positive.”

He passed the beer over, laughing when you took a big gulp and then practically spit in out. “Oh my god, that’s horrible!” You cried, sticking your tongue out.

“I warned you.” He laughed.

“Not enough,” you replied, “that’s really gross.”

“Sorry babe,” he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him and kissing your cheeks and then your lips. “We’ll stick to soda for now.”

“Yes please.” You replied, kissing him back.

“Quit macking on each other and get in the water!” Pope shouted, grabbing on to the side of the boat and pushing himself up so that the HMS would rock slightly.

You grabbed onto JJ more, laughing as the boat swayed.

“What the fuck Pope, we’re coming.” He grumbled. “I’m trying to spend time with my girlfriend.”

taglist: @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @outrbanks @mendesmaybank @thehomeiknow @minnie-bby @katiaw2 @2kayla64

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dramaqueeenamby · 4 years ago

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Waves: The Dinner

A/N: Not a single soul asked for this, but I couldn’t shake the idea, so here we are. Let me know if you like Waves content where the twins are older or naw.

Words: 3.5K

Warnings: None

TAGS: @babe-im-bi @notacamelthatsmywife @missyperle @queenoftheworldisdead @tashawar @valkryienymph @letsshamelessqueen-m @liquorlaughslove @lettytheletdown @hello-therree @missdforever @mani-lifes @toni9 @koko-michelle

Waves

“You ask him.”

“Me?”

“No. Doggy. Yes, you, dummy.”

Elysha ignored the insult and settled for her initial follow-up question. “Why me?”

“Because he likes you better.”

“Bullshit,” she scoffed, reaching to steal one of Emmett’s pretzels. She scowled, however, when he snatched it from her and swallowed it whole. “Creep.”

“Lee, you know the rules.” The twins neglected to hide their surprise when Christopher sauntered into the kitchen, a faux stern expression on his face. “No bullying each other when the other person can hear it.”

While Elysha smirked, Emmett rolled his eyes and muttered, “told you.”

Christopher chuckled and walked to the fridge, leaning over to pull out the pack of meat he’d pulled from the freezer the night before. “So, I take it you don’t want us to go to the dealership this weekend, eh?”

As Emmett’s eyes lit up with excitement, Elysha groaned and crossed her arms. “Papa, that’s not fair. Why is it he gets a new car and I don’t?”

“Because your brother held up his end of the bargain, while you, my beautiful little girl, did not,” Christopher reminded, handing the meat to Emmett who placed it on the counter and waited for his dad to reach him the rest of the ingredients. He checked the time on his Apple watch and mentally cursed. Damn, it was already time for dinner.

Elysha was seconds away from pouting and stomping. “Papa, I saved up money, too.”

“Yes, you did,” Christopher agreed, closing the fridge with a bottle of beer in one hand. “And you spent it all on a pair of boots.”

“But they were Gucci!”

“Good luck driving Gucci to school next week.”

“Shut up, Emmett!”

“What did I just say about bullying?” Christopher lectured as he instructed Emmett to hand him the stainless steel skillet. “Not when the other person can hear it.” A beat. “And you’ll be driving your sister to school, mate, so don’t be too smug.”

Elysha rolled her eyes and caught the way Emmett nodded his head in their father’s direction, eyes widening to convey the unspoken but urgent message.

Do it now!

Clearing her throat, she sauntered over to the counter where her father was starting to prep, hopping up, and earning a sideway glance.

“You’re lucky your mom’s not here,” he murmured, failing to tell her to get down. “Alright, what is it and how much is it gonna cost me?”

She shrugged casually. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Christopher wasn’t even trying to hide his disbelief. “Elysha, do I need to call our lawyer?”

“Papa,” she interjected with the sweetest smile that she could muster. “Emmett and I were wondering, if, well-” She took a deep breath while playing with her fingers. “We want to invite two people over for dinner.”

Christopher looked over at the meat. “How much do you think they’ll eat?”

“Not tonight,” Emmett interjected. “Maybe this Friday?” He took a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck. “And it’s not just any two people, dad. It’s….the two people we’re talking to.”

Deep down, Christopher knew what his kids were trying to tell, err, ask him. However, if he wasn’t anything else, he was stubborn and could play the hell out of the obtuse role. “Jesus, all the people you have in my house for parties and you mean to tell me you two only talk to two of them?”

“No, papa, he means talking to, as if, ya know, dating.” A beat. “And mama said this is her house, you’re just a renter.”

“What? When did she say--never mind.” He could come back to that. One problem at a time. “So, why invite them over for dinner? Why not just throw another party you think your mother and me won’t find out about?”

Emmett ignored the sly remark about the parties. His dad was right. “Because we actually want you guys to meet them.”

Christopher carried the bowl over to the sink, turning on the faucet. “Is that so?” He saw the kids nod out the corner of his eye and asked, “have you asked your mother about this?”

“Not yet,” Elysha answered. “We figured we’d ask you first since you actually do all the cooking.”

“And because we were also hoping you could ask her for us.

“See, push long enough, and the truth always comes out from you two.” As the twins exchanged nonverbal communication, Christopher pondered their question. In the long line of expensive and wild things his kids had requested over the years, this was relatively tame, and it would cost nothing. Nothing monetary, at least. “Fine. Friday at 5. I’ll talk to your mother.”

“Seriously?” Elysha didn’t want to give him time to rethink his answer. Hopping off the counter, she gave him a tight side hug. “Thank you, papa. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively, seconds before Elysha buzzed out of the kitchen to call Jason and tell him that they were on.

“Thank you, dad.” Emmett kept it brief, squeezing his dad’s shoulders while sliding his phone out his pocket to see if Madi could Facetime when Christopher called out.

“Where are you going, mate? It’s your night to help me fix dinner.”

“But--”

“Unless you want to switch shifts with your sister, so you clean and she helps.”

He could have put up a fight, but considering Christopher had already agreed to both the dinner and talking to Summer for them, Emmett realized he had to pick his battles.

“What do you need me to do?”

------

“What are they even doing dating in the first place? They should be focused on school.”

“Babe, they’re straight A Honor Roll students.”

“Well, then, their sports.”

Summer sighed, securing the silk scarf around her edges. “Both are captains.”

“Work with me here, Elsa.”

She looked at him through her vanity mirror, eyebrow raised. “You want my help?” Standing up, she sauntered over to her husband, placing her arms around his waist. “Let it go, Kristoff.”

“Summer, our children are in the middle of a teenlife crisis. This is no time for games.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away, going to remove the decorative pillows from their bed. “Most parents would kill to have their kids let them know who they’re dating--”

“They’re not dating them. They’re talking.”

“--Our kids are inviting them over just so they can meet us, and you’re upset?” Hearing it aloud made her laugh. “Baby, people are dying. Find something else to grow gray hairs over.”

Christopher paused, watching her peel back her side of the blankets and climb in. “That’s low, swimming pool. Even for you.” A beat. “Maybe they’re being blackmailed.”

Summer sighed as he finally joined her in bed. She moved her body across the mattress, pressing herself into his side as he wrapped his arms around her. “You need a hobby.”

“How can I enjoy life when my children are suffering?”

“Oh my god.” Summer sat up in the bed and forced him on his back, climbing on top of him, hands restricting his wrist. “Christopher, the kids are alright. You, however, I am starting to worry about.” Any trace of humor depleted as she frowned while caressing his cheek, fingers playing with the hair of his beard. Scruffy Christopher was always her favorite. “Our babies are growing up, babe. We can’t stop it, no matter how much we may want to. We just have to be there for them, be supportive of them, so long as they’re not hurting themselves or anybody.” She moved her index finger to his mouth to silence him. “You will be fine, sir.”

He sighed, gently moving her hands up and down her sides. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Oh, I’m imploding on the inside,” she admitted casually, lowering herself so her lips grazed his. “But, I’m also an EGOT winner, baby.” She moved her mouth to his ear, giving a slight tug with her teeth. “I can fake anything.”

Summer yelped when he switched so that his body was over his. “Not anything.”

------

“This is a bad idea. A terrible idea.”

Emmett looked over at Madi who was currently looking into her compact mirror, applying another unnecessary layer of mascara. She caught him looking and motioned to the road. “Focus.”

Emmett rolled his eyes and reached over, placing a hand on her lap. “Would you relax? They’re going to love you.”

“That’s easy for you to say. They’re your parents.” She leaned her head against the car window, mindful of her bun. It wasn’t easy fighting box braids in a bun, and she surely did not have time to do a redo. “You don’t get it. Your parents are….you freaking mom is….she’s my idol. She’s every little black girl’s idol, and now I’m just supposed to walk up to her, extend my hand, and say, ‘Hi, Mrs. Hemsworth. I worship you. Also, I’m dating your son.”

Emmett shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” Madi reached over and shrugged him when Emmett grabbed her hand and brought it to her mouth. “I promise it’s going to be fine.”

She sighed, leaning back and looking at him while she gently asked. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled. “Do what?”

“Make me feel better so easily.”

Emmett smiled and winked. “I got my daddy’s charm.”

Madi smirked and lowered the armrest. “You also have his car.”

Emmett sucked his teeth. “I’m getting mine soon.” She laughed. “I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are, baby. I’m sure you are.”

------

“Are you insane, Elysha?”

She sighed, switching out her textbooks. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Jason’s eyes nearly doubled in size as he stared down at her. “Your dad is going to kill me. That’s the big deal.” Elysha laughed, checking the time on her watch. Being late for class was a pet peeve of hers. There was no excuse. “Oh, I’m glad you find my upcoming murder funny. Why don’t you just livestream it, too?”

“You are completely overreacting,” she sighed, shutting her locker and keeping her hand flat on the locker. “My dad isn’t like that. He’s super chill.”

“Chill?” He repeated her term while accepting the books she handed him so that she could adjust her uniform top. “I’m sorry, but have you seen your dad? He’s freaking huge.”

Sighing, she relieved him from the books after being satisfied with her tie. “Okay, and?”

As she began to walk, Jason kept the same pace with her, lowering his voice so that the other students couldn’t overhear. “Wait, are your uncles going to be there too? Fuck. I’m so screwed.”

While she understood his concern, she couldn’t help but find the whole thing humorous. Everyone seemed to believe her dad’s size meant he was a holy terror when it was the complete opposite. “Jason, my uncles are even more chill than my dad. Trust me.”

“On your mom’s side too?”

She laughed. “Oh no, they’re all crazy.” Elysha placed her arm around his waist when he moved his around her. “No, I promise my parents are going to love you, and that includes my dad.”

“I’m the first guy you’ve ever introduced to them, huh?” Her silence didn’t help. “Even better.”

She stopped walking, forcing him to do the same. Naturally, people walked around them, no one wanting to interrupt one of the “it” couples on campus. “Look, Jason, if you don’t want to do this, then you don’t have to. I just-I just wanted you to meet my parents, because I want them to know about you.”

“Stop,” he interrupted, shaking his head and cupping her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just, I really like you, and I just-I want to make the best first impression that I can.” He dropped his hands, taking hers in his. “I want them to know how crazy I am about their daughter.”

She smiled, looking down to hide her bashfulness, only for him to bring his finger under her chin. He matched her smile. “What time do you want me to be there?”

------

“They’re here!”

Summer and Christopher shared a look, his sigh of exasperation forcing her to walk over to him, placing her hands on his chest. “Be nice.”

“I’m letting them in my house, aren’t I?” Summer slapped his arm, forcing him to relent. “Fine. I’ll be fair. For now.”

“There will be no embarrassing stories or threats of violence issued, do I make myself clear?” Summer wagged her finger and turned away, purposely switching her hips, hiding her smirk when her husband slapped her ass and whistled.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Coming,” Summer called out, speeding up her pace as she made her way out the study and down the hall, allowing a kind smile to grace her face as she was met with her children and their friends.

Elysha was the first to speak, clearing her throat. “Mama, this is--”

“Jason,” she guessed, withholding her laugh when Elysha seemed surprised, while Summer pointed to the tall young man with striking green eyes and dark brown hair that grazed past his ears. Strangely enough, he reminded her of Christopher in some of the family albums she’d been shown during one of the many family dinners with her in-laws.

“I told you I have eyes in the back of my head.” Jason gave a nervous laugh that prompted her to take it easy on him. He seemed terrified.

Finally, he spoke, giving a weak clearing of his throat.. “Yes ma’am. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Elysha cleared her throat, reminding him about the flowers in his hands. “I’m sorry. These are for you.”

“Thank you.” Her smile widened as she sniffed them. “Gardenias. One of my favorites.”

He seemed relieved by that information, prompting her to turn to the young wide eyed girl who also looked as though she was close to passing out.

Emmett took advantage of the opportunity to introduce Madi. Summer smirked when she saw he had his hand on the small of the young lady’s back. “And mama, this is-”

“Madi.” Again, Summer was correct and almost offended by the surprise on their faces. “Do ya’ll not believe me when I tell you that I know everything?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s so nice to meet you as well--”

“--Madi.”

“--I love you.”

They spoke at the same time. Summer laughed and placed her hand on Madi’s shoulder who was clearly mortified by her unintentional confession.

“I mean--I don’t--I mean, I do, but….” Madi shut her eyes and quietly murmured, “I’ll just shut up now.”

Summer shook her head, never once dropping her friendly smile.

“You both need to relax. I promise you have nothing to be nervous about.” She nodded in the direction of the dining room. “Come on.” Summer guided the four to the room, stepping aside to allow them to enter while she turned around to direct them to their seats when Christopher finally decided to make his presence known.

“Sorry about that.” He rubbed his hands on the towel in his hands before tossing it over his shoulder. He approached Madi first. “Madison?”

She was clearly awestruck, eventually shaking her head to accept her handshake. “Please, call me Madi, Mr. Hemsworth. It’s so nice to meet you.”

He waved her off and smiled. “Chris is fine.” That smile dimmed when his eyes landed on Jason. “Hello.”

Elysha grabbed his hand, giving a light squeeze. “Papa, this is Jason.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” Christopher forced, squeezing Jason’s hand tighter than necessary but just enough to get his message across. “You play any sports, mate?”

“No. I mean, yes--basketball.” He swallowed deeply, remembering something else. “I also surf as well, Chris.”

“Mr. Hemsworth will be fine,” he corrected.

Summer rolled her eyes and shoved him. “Pay him no mind. Ya’ll sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

“I’m sure you already have, though.” Christopher joked, earning a glare from Summer. “Come on, babe. No one throws a party like the twins.” A beat. “Speaking of, I’d say we could give you a tour, but I’m sure you both already know your way around.”

“Ignore him,” Summer interjected, shooting him a glare. “He’s still upset that you kids are able to throw a party better than we ever could when we were your age.”

That seemed to alleviate more of Jason’s nerves. “You used to party, Mrs. Hemsworth?”

“Boy,” she laughed. “If you don’t call me Summer.” Elysha smiled up at him, giving him a slight squeeze of his hand. “And what do you mean used to?”

Madi was also fully invested in the conversation, her fangirling almost impossible to contain. “You really are even nicer in person.”

“Don’t be fooled. It’s all an act.” Christopher interjected, walking over to pull the chair out for her. He noticed how Jason did the same for Elysha, and of course, Emmett with Madi.

“Ignore him. He’s actually hired help.”

Summer and Christopher shared a look as he rolled his eyes while murmuring. “Cute.” Sitting in his own seat, he jumped into the questions. “So, kids, tell us about yourselves.”

Madi and Jason shared a look when he told her to go first. Again, something else Christopher noticed.

“Well, I’m a junior, an only child, and my dad is in the Navy--”

“So, your family is stationed here?” Summer surmised.

“Yes ma’am.” Christopher and Summer exchanged a look, but unlike the previous ones, this was not a warning from wife to husband. This one was of silent concern. Madi wasn’t an Australian native. She would eventually return to the states. Both mother and father quietly wondered if that was something Emmett was taking into consideration.

After briefly discussing the shared commonalities of having active duty family members, Christopher turned the question back to Jason. “And what about you, young man?”

Summer contained her sigh at the way his eyes widened before he tentatively spoke. “Well, sir--”

“Chris is fine.”

Both Summer and Elysha looked over at that last statement, Summer with a smirk and Elysha with a small smile. Chris looked at his daughter and shot her a wink.

Jason, to Summer’s happiness, seemed thrilled by the stripping of the formal address.

“I, well, my family is originally from Melbourne--”

“Melbourne native, eh?”

“Yes, sir. My, uh, dad got a job up here when I was eight, and we’ve been here ever since.”

“Any siblings?”

Jason chuckled. “Believe it or not, two. I’m the middle child.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Christopher shrugged. “I’d say we’re the best.”

“Elysha and Madi.” Summer stood up and nodded to the kitchen. “Help me prepare the toss salad.”

“Yes ma’am.” Elysha also stood up and shot a reassuring look to Jason while Emmett gave one to Madi as well. As soon as the ladies were in the kitchen and the swinging doors shut, Summer released a sigh of relief. “Finally, that was too much testosterone.”

Madi laughed. “You and Mr--Chris are really nice, Summer.”

Elysha nodded and playfully bumped Madi with her hip. “Told you they were chill. Even my dad is being surprisingly nice to Jason.”

“Ladies, trust me, if Chris didn’t really like either of you, he would let you know. He’s just giving Jason a hard time because Elysha is his little girl. He’s always going to be protective.” She reached the bowl to Madi while speaking. “Just how I’m protective of my little boy.” Madi’s smile dimmed. “So you can imagine how proud I am to see his amazing taste in women.” She winked and laughed when Madi placed her hand over her chest.

She straightened up and spoke truthfully. “I really do like Emmett, Summer. He’s….he’s amazing.”

“He’s a jerk.”

“Shut it, Elysha,” Summer warned with a small head shake. “You know, Madi, you should join Lee and me on one of our spa days.”

Her jaw dropped. “A-are you serious?” She looked at Elysha who seemed just as thrilled by the idea of a spa day with her mom and good friend.

“Of course, and Emmett told me you’re in theater with Lee, so if you ever need any advice or have any questions, I’m always available.”

“I’m going to pass out.”

Summer laughed and gave Madi a side hug. “Welcome to the family, Ms. Madi.”

Just as Elysha and Madi shared excited squeals, Emmett stuck his head in the door.

“Mama, ya’ll almost done?”

“Boy, don’t rush us.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Sorry, mama, it’s just that Uncle Liam is here--”

“What?” She interrupted, hand on her hip. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“I don’t know, but dad just asked Jason how he feels about weekly, random drug tests.”

“Christopher!”

#chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfiction #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth x black!reader #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x black!oc #fic: waves

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val-aquenta · 4 years ago

Text

Mace Windu Appreciation Day One.

Prompt: Serenity/Acting

Here on ao3

Mace Windu sat on his seat in the council, hands steepled in front of him. He let out a long breath. The problem of Ryloth was complex and with multiple faces. The Senate was pushing for one side, and while he in part agreed, he could see and understand the other side. He shook his head. He had already spent long on this issue even though the Senate’s push had solidified what the Order would do. They disagreed, but if they made it known, the Senate would be quick to order them. As he walked from the seat into the centre and then to the door, he shed the mantle of authority that came with his seat. He was still the Master of the Order, but away from the seat of decision making there, he felt more free, closer to his family. As he exited the room, Mace took a deep breath of relief. The room was somewhat stifling after so long. “Padawan Aleya, you’re free to go if you wish.” The twi'lek smiled widely. “Apologies for keeping you so late. I should have signalled.”

“No worries, Master Mace. You aren’t that late.” Aleya assured, bustling at the desk and picking up a stack of datapads. Mace lifted a bemused eyebrow. “I had some work to do.” He mutters, blushing a bright green in embarrassment. Suddenly, he perked up, clearly remembering something. “Oh… Knight Depa had a message, Master. There’s an opening in the play they’re doing soon if you want to join. Not sure about the play, though. She just said you should meet her at the theatre.” Aleya stumbled slightly to the side, the datapads tilting precariously. Mace moved forwards, drawing the Force around the Twi’Lek to keep him from falling.

“Well, I look forwards to the play. Perhaps you’ll even see me on stage, hmm?” Mace grinned, bemused at the bright green flush again. Aleya had only recently been assigned to the Council desk as Shaak Ti’s padawan. He still had, despite his older age, that youthful hero-worship of some members of the Council. Shaak herself, though, was an exception. “And yourself? It’s nearing exams, isn’t it?”

Aleya cringed, his face twisting into a displeased frown. “Yeah. I’m busy, but still managing. The exams come up soon.” He frowned, fiddling with his stack of datapads. “I still don’t get the Ryloth War in 406. Elya seems to be the cause of the revolt, but then the Rila commune also could be part of it, and the-” He stopped suddenly. “Sorry, Master. I was babbling.”

“No worries, Padawan. I’m afraid I’m not too well-versed in Ryloth’s history. I had not studied it. Cyslin, my Master, she studied Ryloth, though it was a while back before I became her Padawan.” Mace explained, a contrite look on his face.

“Oh! That would be helpful. I’ll talk to her.” They reached the end of the hall. Aleya tried to manage a wave around the datapads. He was… somewhat successful. “Well, see you tomorrow, Master!” And with that, he walked down the left corridor.

Mace raised a hand in an aborted way. “Good luck with your studies!” He called back, receiving a smile his way. Alright, now for the theatre. It would be fun to act again. Even for just a moment.

Depa was outside the arts centre, waiting for him. She smiled widely as he neared, looking up from a holo and placing the datapad in her robe pocket. “Master! You got my message.” She had changed her hairstyle from a braided crown into four looped braids.

“Of course. Padawan Aleya is nothing if not diligent.” Mace commented, close enough to feel the gentle warmth of his former student. She shuffled a bit closer, her youthful features lighting up in happiness.

“Indeed.” She paused for a while, simply soaking in the familiar presence of Mace before speaking once more. “Well, the younglings were putting together a show, and they need a Master and a Knight.” She pointed to Mace and then to herself. “I already volunteered you.”

Mace sighed, of course. “Depa, you know I am quite busy now-” He started only to be interrupted by Depa.

“I already checked your schedule, Master.” She grinned unashamedly. Mace had idly wondered if knighting Depa would lessen the amount she pestered him. It appeared not. “I’ve cleared it for practice and rehearsal. As Master of the Order, shouldn’t you be spending some time with the younglings?” She raised an eyebrow slyly.

Mace snorted, “That’s Master Yoda’s job.” Still, he followed Depa into the theatre centre, hands folded into his sleeves. If she had, in fact, cleared his schedule, it would be silly for him to miss this. Depa shot him a smug smile, unfazed by the dry look she received in response.

“Master Windu, Knight Depa!” The crechemaster, a tall mirialan surrounded by a small gaggle of younglings. “Thank you for coming.” Mace bowed, Depa copying him, her hair bobbing playfully. She shot a smile at one of the younglings, a young nautolan who smiles hesitantly in return. Mace takes a glance over the group. There are nine children of various ages, spanning until probably 12. He can’t truly tell. “We’re acting out the tale of the caves for the day of discovery.”

“Ah, a lovely choice,” Mace assured, trying not to feel too sad when some of the children seemed to startle. It appeared he had been missing creche supervision because of all the paperwork from the council seat he had gotten right after knighting Depa. “I’m quite familiar with it. I’m sure you are too, Depa?”

Depa nodded, a hand reaching out to move her braid out of the way. “Yes, we acted it a few times when I was younger. You played the knight if I recall?”

“Indeed.” It had been where he first met Depa. A fond memory he kept close to his heart. “So, when will we begin?” He asked the crechemaster, Tirna if he recalled correctly.

Tirna was about to speak before a flimsi was pushed into her hands. She looked down to peer at it for a moment. “It’s lovely.” She murmured with a soft smile to the small twi’lek, returning the drawing and receiving a bright smile in return. “We were waiting for you two, so I suppose we can go in.

The younglings were corralled in, excitedly whispering to each other. The theatre was a familiar place. When he was younger, he had spent most of his time here being taught the art of acting on stage. He’d even dabbled in music on stage, though he preferred to simply speak and not sing on stage. Both Cyslin and himself were surprised when he had gotten an offer from the theatre to become an instructor here. Sadly, his path to knighthood had gotten in the way and Instructor Rhuy had been disappointed, but not exactly surprised by Mace turning down the offer. Sadly, the chiss had passed to the Force a few years ago in his few missions offworld. He had not become familiar with the new instructor, too busy with Depa’s final years of apprenticeship. Mace looked at the brown and gray walls, breathing in the familiar scent and soaking in the warmth of the place. It was a place for entertainment. While, yes, people were driven to tears with some performances, the imprint left in the place was one of happiness and joy.

Depa, at his side, watched him with a sideways glance. She had not seen him act much in recent years. In the middle of their years, when they were on rotation at the Temple for Depa’s studies, Mace would find himself often in the theatre, but a lot of those memories were hazy, just long enough ago that Depa could only recall them with a blurriness on the edges. A striking image of Mace in full attire of older Jedi, the ornamental robes and rather fancy modified training hilts came to mind. He turned in an elaborate fighting dance with another Jedi, a crechemate in the story. Another image, this time of Mace in more modern Jedi robes, a Nautolan next to him as he acted out a confession scene. She recalled the way she had cringed away from the stage. By the Force, it was her Master up there with that knight. Cyslin’s soft chuckle and a warm hand on her head finished the memory, the faint murmur of Mace’s voice in the background.

He belonged in the theatre, she concluded, watching his eyes light up as they saw the familiar sight around him. Just as he belonged in the Council chambers, or in some blaster fight on some war-torn planet, or at some negotiation table, impassively looking between the two sides. Mace was many things, and that included being an actor. He looked at home here amongst the rows of seats, the stage as a backdrop, but he also belonged elsewhere. His eyes caught hers. Depa lifted her brow in question. Mace shook his head and followed Tirna up the stairs to the backstage and rehearsing room. Depa took one more look at the theatre, lit up with a warm yellow light, before following the group.

The rehearsing room was, essentially, a large room, somewhat soundproof and almost large enough to duel. There were mirrors in one corner. The kids stood with Tirna in the corner where she handed out papers. The play was short, most of it being a question and response play. It was a kid's play after all. Depa and he stood in the corner, Mace trying to relax his back. Sitting in the Council chair for so long is a painful experience. He would rather not be there sometimes. Depa eyes him sympathetically, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulders. They both turn to Tirna, in a strange synchronisation that is a result of their partnership. The mirialan blinks before offering the script. Mace accepts it, though he thinks he can recall all the words. “Thank you.” He says softly, flicking through it. The flimsi flutters under his fingers. He looks up to catch the woman smiling at Depa as she hands the flimsi. It occurs to Mace that he never asked why Tirna had asked Depa for her help first. It appears Mace muses with a bemused smile, that Depa is hiding something from me. And that she is doing a rather poor job. He turns back to the script

Tirna floats through the class as they read through it dramatically. The exaggerated expressions and voices of a few directly contrast the other side who read with a bored monotonous voice. It is endearing and familiar. Depa shuffles where she’s seated, rearranging her clothes, a nervous tell Mace has noted for a while. Mace shuffles a bit closer to her, hand going out to rest on her free one. Depa settles, easily leaning into the familiar warmth. They continue reading this way. The nautolan boy near them shoots him a look before returning to his rather exaggerated fearful voice. “But, Master, it’s too cold. I’ll freeze here.”

“Worry not, I feel a heat coming forth.” He tries to be comforting. “Knight Lea, you feel it too?” He asks Depa.

“Indeed, Master.” She responds, easily falling into a lightheartedness as a part of her character. “Younglings… see the light, it comes through the chamber and… through the ice.” The children act as though they are surprised, and relieved.

“It will save us from the caves. The ice, it’s going down.” A young mirialan says, veil pushed quickly to the side from where it falls on his face. “Melting.” He’s rather good at it, Mace muses. The mirialan boy looks awed. And so, the play ends. Mace finds himself clapping happily much to the embarrassment of the younglings who end up blushing and sharing glances. Depa hands out compliments easily, the children used to her mannerisms indicating she’s been here often.

The mirialan, Lameo, comes up to him. “Knight Depa says that you were once part of the theatre, but you chose to become a council member instead.” Mace blinks from where he sits, looking slightly upwards at the boy.

“Indeed, I did.” He confirms, his head tilting slightly to the left.

Lameo seems to perk up, sitting down in front of Mace. “What was it like, the theatre I mean, not being a Master? I want to join the theatre club, Master Windu, and I was wondering if I should or if I shouldn’t.”

Mace hums thoughtfully, hands unconsciously steepling in front of him, “If you desire it, and you feel that it is your path, join it. I must say, you have a knack for it as well.” He grins a bit, happy when the young mirialan smiles back. “The theatre would benefit greatly if you joined.”

“You think so?”

“I would not lie, young one,” Mace says.

Lameo breathes in deep, furrowing his brow for a moment before he stands and bows thankfully, “I’ll think about it.”

The performance happens two weeks later. Mace wears slightly more traditional robes, extra ornaments and embellishments on the cream robes. The children, all decked out in their own gear, like all children do, love the elaborately designed hilts, not made for comfort in dueling, but made to look flashy and beautiful. He turns to welcome Depa and is taken aback for a moment. Her robes are designed differently from what she usually wears. The sleeves are more poofed, less easy to fight in, the pants billow before coming to a close at the boots, and there is a pattern on the fabric itself, intricate little swirls that seem to fit. He recalls a younger Depa in cream coloured tunics before she became a Padawan. It appears, he muses, that she has grown up. Her hair has been intricately plaited on top of her head, in a style that Mace would say tops even the most intricate Naboo hairstyles. When he looks at her, he feels happy, yet also sad, yearning for the time when she would only reach his elbow.

“Master?” Depa asks as she sides up beside him after praising enough of the initiates for their costumes. “Are you alright? You seem… off. Are you nervous?” She seems genuinely concerned.

“No worries, Depa. Just… thinking.” She shoots him a confused look, obviously not exactly understanding at all. Like he’s done before, he starts explaining. “You’ve grown up. It is… novel sometimes.”

Depa snorts, reaching out to smooth non-existent wrinkles on his robes. “You knighted me a year ago.” She murmurs. “I was far from my Padawan years then.”

“I suppose it is only hitting now,” Mace admits, shifting the tunic a bit from where it sits skewed to the left. It was a tradition to make sure they were both dressed properly before leaving the apartments. It has carried on to this day. “In many ways, I can still see the little you.” Depa laughs lightly, a small chuckle really. Her eyes sparkle like they always do when she finds something humorous.

“Oh dear, I must have a long way to go then, before I am fully grown in your eyes, my Master.” Her affectionate tone accompanies her hands squeezing his. “Well, are you ready?”

“Of course,” Mace says. Depa smiles and joins Tirna in corralling the kids onto the stage. Mace takes a moment to breathe before following her on the stage.

#mace windu #mace windu appreciation week #depa billaba #Jedi appreciaiton #pro jedi #duna writes #star wars fanfic #fanfic

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harrysweasleys · 4 years ago

Text

best teacher // d.m

Request: if you take requests- i’ve always wanted to read a fic about a ravenclaw reader tutoring draco and she’s muggleborn and v intelligent and stubborn and proved that she belongs in the wizarding world and doesn’t let draco walk all over her but lowkey she’s insecure and wants people to like her. draco falls hard for her and it’s angsty but a super happy soft ending 🥺 would you be able to do something like that?? all my love 💕💕💕

Warnings: none

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: so i know that cho is a year older than them, but just for the sake of the story, she’s in the same year. bear with me! xxx (gif isn’t mine)

—

The soft glow of sunlight peered through the large library windows, illuminating the thin layer of dust that sat on the window ledge and many of the books surrounding it. The warm autumn light was comforting, considering it was too chilly to stay outside for elongated periods of time.

Y/N was huddled at the back of the library, mindlessly flicking through the pages of The Standard Book of Spells: Chapter Four, making sure she was prepared for the upcoming test that Flitwick had spontaneously thrust upon them.

Not only that, but she was also waiting for the student she was about to tutor for History of Magic. The ghostly Professor Binns had told her that one of her fellow classmates, a Slytherin by the name of Draco Malfoy, needed assistance. And of course, with the highest grade and academics in the class, Y/N was put to the job.

It’s not like she necessarily hated Malfoy, but he did take any chance he could get to remind her that she was, in fact, a muggleborn witch. He had never gone so far as to call her a ‘mudblood’ — which he had called Hermione Granger in their second year — but he didn’t exactly make her life a walk in the park every time he was around her, either.

So, as she sat patiently in the back of the library (away from Madam Pince so they wouldn’t get shouted at) she prepared herself for what should be a rough few hours. When the familiar head of platinum blond hair made its way through the long aisles of books at sat across from her, she braced herself.

“Good afternoon, Draco,” she smiled politely, hoping that if she were kind to him then he would be an easy pupil to work with.

He scoffed, taking out a blank piece of parchment and a quill, “I prefer it when people call me Malfoy. Especially people I hardly know.”

Y/N frowned, but nodded her head, “Right, sorry,” she pulled out her large textbook, flipping to the page that Professor Binns had marked specifically for this tutoring session, “Well, I guess we’ll get right into it.”

She scanned over the page, “So, I hear you struggled on the quiz about the Wizarding Community in America, correct?” She looked up from the book, no judgement on her face, but Draco continued to glare at her.

“I don’t exactly care that I didn’t do well,” he spoke lowly, as if not wanting other students to overhear that he was struggling in school, “Besides, I don’t plan to have a career that involves History of Magic in the future.”

Y/N nodded, her face dropping, “I get that, neither do I, but you still need to pass this class if you want to continue on to your next level of education.”

Her fingers started playing with the corner of the page, her nerves slowly starting to overcome her calmness. She knew Draco Malfoy would be a hard student to work with, but she didn’t exactly know how to deal with him. He was making her nervously fidgety by just sitting here staring at her, his face void of all interest.

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” he placed his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand, his features laced with obvious boredom. Y/N cleared her throat, turning back down to the page.

“Okay, well, should we do a quick quiz to see what you know or do you just want to go over everything?” she asked, avoiding his gaze and scanning over the page, the words already familiar to her.

“I don’t care.”

“Malfoy, I want to help,” she pleaded, finally facing him again, “you need to cooperate with me.”

He scowled at her, “I have to cooperate with you? I’m pureblooded. You’re muggleborn. If anything, I need to disassociate with you as much as possible.”

Y/N bit her cheek, trying to fight back the sting that settled into her chest. She blinked at him, a blank expression on her face.

“Thanks for reminding me I’m muggleborn, almost forgot,” the tone in her voice had changed from kind to hostile, her knuckles turning white from her tight grip on the book in front of her, “Now, what’s the equivalent to the Ministry of Magic in America?”

Draco roller his eyes, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “If I knew, would I be here?”

“It’s the Magical Congress of the United States of America,” Y/N turned the book to face him and tapped the page, “Also known as MACUSA. Founded in 1693.”

Draco didn’t even look like he was listening as he gazed out the window. Y/N’s patience was starting to wear thin, and it had barely even been five minutes.

“Are you even listening? Take notes or something.”

Draco’s eyes snapped back to her, “I’m not taking orders from you.”

Slamming the book shut, she grit her teeth together, “If you’re not going to work with me, Malfoy, I don’t want to waste my time.” She hastily stood up, snatching her backpack off the ground, and started placing her books into it, ignoring how Draco was still seated.

“How is Professor Binns going to feel knowing the one student he can count on has let him down?” Draco leaned back in his chair with a smug smirk on his face, eyebrow raised. Y/N stopped packing, turning her head up to face him.

Damn it. The git was right.

“Fine,” she sat back down begrudgingly and pulled the book out of her bag once more, turning back to the page that they left off on, “Are you going to at least listen?”

He shrugged, twirling his quill between his fingers, “I’ll try.”

She sighed, nodding her head and taking his answer as an agreement of cooperation. She scanned over the page again, remembering what was said in class about certain topics so she could formulate a teaching strategy.

“What was the Theory of Uno Mass?” she asked, resting her head on her hand and gazing at the boy across from her, who seemed to be both deep in thought and bored out of his mind, his quill still spinning between his pale fingers.

He clearly fought the urge to roll his eyes, “You’re supposed to be teaching me, Y/L/N, not judging. Or quizzing.”

Y/N lifted her head and sat back in her chair, an amused expression on her face, “We learned this in second year, Malfoy.” When she still didn’t get an answer from him, she flipped the book in his direction once more, “The Theory of Uno Mass states the belief that all magic originated from one single wizard. Or witch. It’s translated from ancient Aramaic — it means The First Magi.”

Draco nodded, scribbling the words down messily on the piece of parchment. Y/N fought the urge to tell him he had spelled ‘Uno Mass’ wrong.

“You know,” she began, pointing the the shelves around them, “You should really read A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. We even have it in the library.”

Draco shook his head, “You expect me to check out a book? Are you mental? I have more important things to do than reading, thanks.”

Y/N slouched back, rolling her eyes, “Just thought it would help.”

“I’m just trying to get through our lessons,” he mumbled, “This is torture enough.”

Y/N ignored the stinging sensation his words left behind. She wasn’t expecting him to be so warm and open to her in the first place, but if he kept treating her like this, her patience would start to wear thin incredibly quickly.

“I have better things to do too than sit here and tutor someone who voluntarily doesn’t pay attention in class,” she snapped back, missing the way Draco’s eyes widened at her change of tone. She had been speaking so quietly and kindly up until this point.

“Like what? You’re a Ravenclaw. All you do is sit and read all day, isn’t it? Aren’t books your only friends?” he squinted his eyes at her, knowing he was pushing his luck.

She bit her cheek. He was starting to get on her nerves and she didn’t know how much longer she was going to put up with it.

“Coming from the Slytherin. Aren’t you supposed to be in your common room worshipping the Dark Lord?” she pressed angrily, immediately regretting it as she watched Draco’s lips press into a thin line, his face becoming paler than before. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the floor.

She tried apologizing, but her attempt was cut off by the loud squeak of his chair as he stood up forcefully, his face locked in a glare.

“You know nothing about me. Don’t you dare act like you know anything, and don’t you dare speak to me like that ever again,” he growled at her, crumpling his sheet of parchment and dropping it in the trash, storming out of the library while shoving a group of third year Hufflepuffs out of the way. Y/N sat back in her chair, letting out a defeated sigh, and stood up as well. If Draco had left, there was no point in her sitting around twiddling her thumbs.

Her blood was still boiling, but she did regret what she said to him. She knew that he didn’t come from the best family. Hell, everyone knew that. But she was sick of him acting like he was better than her. Really, it was about time someone knocked him off his high horse.

She packed her bag silently and sulked off to the Ravenclaw common room, taking the quickest way possible so she could just sit and relax, brushing off the strange events that had just prevailed. She wasn’t sure if she would end up tutoring him again — Draco had a certain power in this school, so despite how much Binns insisted she continued tutoring, if the Malfoy son didn’t want it, he’d get his way.

She entered the common room and took her regular seat by the window, slouching into the arm chair next to one of her closest friends, Cho Chang.

“Wow,” Cho held back a laugh, “You look like you’ve had quite the afternoon. Weren’t you supposed to be tutoring Malfoy until six? It’s not even three o’clock.”

Y/N nodded, “He has too much of an ego to sit still. So he took off.”

Cho closed the notebook she was writing in, “He left? Did you tell Professor Binns? Are you going to get into trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Y/N shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair, “It was kind of my fault but also kind of not. He initiated it. I just... snapped back. Guess he’s not used to that.”

Cho nodded, sitting straighter and staring at her friend with an intense gaze, “You spoke back? Good on you. Don’t let him walk all over you. I’ve seen how he speaks to Harry.”

Cho was right. Y/N had also seen the way Draco Malfoy tormented Harry Potter and his friends. It was kind of horrible to watch. She felt bad every time. There was no way she was going to let him to the same to her, but somehow he always found a way to hit the perfect nerve to irritate and fluster the person he wanted to. It was incredible infuriating.

“Well, that’s if he choses to continue his lessons with me,” Y/N said calmly, already nervous about how Binns was going to react upon finding out what happened during their first lesson. Without a doubt, Draco would have told him something along the lines of ‘Y/N insulted me, my family, and my house’ and then Binns, who didn’t care much for confrontation, would just tell Y/N that he was disappointed in her and call the whole thing off. And that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Well, if he doesn’t, he’ll fail and it’ll be his fault,” Cho shrugged again, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she stood up, “I’m off to Quidditch practice but I’ll see you later!”

Y/N waved bye to her friend and watched her leave the room. She peered our the window, which looked down upon the Quidditch pitch, and regretted her decision not to return to the team this year.

She stood up off her chair and made her way towards her dorm room, where she flopped down on her bed and decided to write a letter home.

— —

Entering the Great Hall after a Quidditch match was always a bit of a hassle. Students rushed to congratulate teammates and talk about the moves they pulled during the matches. This afternoon, Ravenclaw had played Slytherin, who ended up beating them by a decent amount. Malfoy, much to Y/N’s dismay, caught the Snitch before Cho, leaving the Ravenclaw dinner table sulking while the Slytherin one was rowdy and chaotic.

Y/N was sat next to Cho, who was slouched over her empty plate with her bangs hanging in her face, ashamed of having missed the Snitch by inches.

“Stop pouting,” Y/N placed her hand on her friends’ shoulder, “The more you sulk the more they boast. You played well, we only lost by a hundred and sixty.”

Cho’s head shot up, “Only? That’s a big score difference. Could have won if I wasn’t distracted.”

Y/N pulled her friend closer, shaking her gently with a smile on her face, “Cho, seriously. Don’t beat yourself up over this, please. You’re a brilliant Seeker and one game won’t change that.”

Cho smiled lightly, nodding her head and silently thanking Y/N for her support. Y/N grinned and brought the plate of pork chops closer to them, starting to fill up her plate with food, Cho doing the same now that her mood had improved slightly.

“Y/L/N,” Y/N’a head snapped up at the sound of her name, and she came face to face with Draco, who was wearing a proud grin on his face as he gazed at a pissed off Cho before turning his attention back to the person he was here to speak to.

“Yes?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t about to retaliate the comment she made the other day.

“I spoke to Professor Binns about cancelling our lessons,” he spoke slowly, the smirk faltering from his face, “He said we couldn’t do that. So we’re meeting tomorrow at noon in the library.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, “We’re still holding lessons?” She was shocked, she didn’t think Draco, nor Binns, would let the lessons continue after the train wreck that happened in their first and only lesson.

“Apparently,” Draco replied, turning away and stalking off, not saying another word to her. She watched him walk away, confusion laced in her brain. Why did either of them allow the lessons to continue?

She brushed it off, already nervous for tomorrow. Was it going to be like last week? Should she be nicer? Would he be nicer? She almost laughed at the thought of someone forcing Draco to be nice so he could pass a class.

She dug into her food, mentally preparing for the following afternoon.

— —

“So Heka is what the Ancient Egyptians called the concept of magic,” Y/N explained, her quill resting in her hand, “They believed Heka was this magical force that created the universe and the gods.”

Draco nodded, continuing to scribble down the words quickly. Y/N was to lost in her explanation she had barely noticed how quickly she was speaking. But Draco, too busy trying to remember her words, didn’t bother telling her to slow down.

“Heka was also a strategy — a way of practicing magic. In order to perform it, though, one had to be considered ‘pure.’ It was very popular back then,” she rambled on, tapping her quill against her cheek as she studied the drawings in the book, still deeply fascinated by the beginning of magic.

“Slow down,” Draco finally said, wiggling his fingers as his hand was starting to cramp from the constant writing he was doing. Y/N apologized, taking a short break from talking while he noted down the rest of what she said.

They had been sitting here for about an hour. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly friendly. They greeted each other briefly, no one mentioning their last session, before Y/N dove into the topics they had studied so far this year to avoid any off-topic discussions.

“You speak really fast, you know,” Draco mumbled, placing his quill down and gazing at his red fingers, “I don’t think I’ve ever written this much.”

“Not even in class?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile. Although he probably didn’t mean it as one, she took it as a compliment.

“I’ve never written a note in class,” he shrugged, looking up to her, his face still slightly laced with boredom but more awake than it had been last time. Y/N grinned, hiding it by looking out the window. She prided herself on being a good speaker. She had tutored a young Hufflepuff in potions last year and even Snape was impressed by the kid’s improvement. That was possibly one of the proudest moments of her life.

“You played well yesterday,” she said suddenly, not sure why she decided to take the topic away from academics. Her eyes widened after she heard herself, turning back to Draco, who happened to now be wearing a grin, his quill and parchment forgotten.

“Even though we beat you?” he raised an eyebrow, taking his elbows off the table and crossing his arms. Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing she shouldn’t have said anything. His ego was clearly boosted. And they weren’t exactly friends, either.

“I didn’t say I was glad you did,” she spoke quickly, hating the fact that she could feel her cheeks warming up under his gaze, “I’m just saying you played well. That’s all.”

He chuckled. Y/N stopped what she was doing and stared at him. She was almost certain she had never heard him laugh before.

“What’s your friend Chang going to say when you tell her you thought I played well?” he grinned, somewhat too pleased with the turn in conversation.

“She isn’t as obsessed with her reputation as you are,” Y/N quipped back, wanting to change the topic, “Now, back to work.” She flipped to the next page of the book, hiding her gaze from the boy across from her. Draco, sensing that their break came to an end, picked up his quill once again and sighed.

“We also have the Clovis. Which were named by the Magihistorians, and the Clovis are the first people to have arrived in America,” Y/N tapped a page in the book, speaking slower this time so Draco could write without struggling, “The original term for them was Kaia-Vana. The name changed to Clovis in 1935 after a Wizarding conference in Vienna. They changed the name so both Muggles and Wizards could agree on one term.”

She was glad that the chapter on the Clovis was a long one, as it prevented another awkward conversation between her and Draco to occur again. He was scribbling away, so Y/N gave him a moment to catch up. As she did, she looked him over. His tongue was swiping across his lower lip in concentration, a strand of blond hair falling into his face, and his blue eyes darted between his quill and his parchment, taking note of every last word Y/N was saying in his messy yet readable handwriting.

He was, Y/N reluctantly admit, rather attractive. And she hated that.

“Y/L/N?” Draco asked, waving his hand in front of her face, causing her to blink and return to reality.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, fumbling with the page of the book in between her fingers, “Was distracted — thinking about the, uh Clovis — you know.”

She cursed herself for getting distracted by Draco Malfoy’s stupid looks.

“Right,” he nodded, not fully believing her, “Well, its about the end of this session. So, I’ve got to get going. Got other plans.”

Y/N hadn’t even noticed it was almost two thirty. Time had slipped right by her.

She nodded her head, closing her book after marking the page, “Sorry, didn’t even notice the time.”

Draco shrugged, “I’m keeping track. Want to get out of here as fast as I can.”

“Right,” she smiled softly, putting her book away and glancing out the window. The rain was heavily pouring down and the rumbling of thunder was growing louder by the second.

“When should we have the next lesson?” Draco asked, turning back to face her before making his way out of the library. She snapped her eyes back to him, shrugging.

“We can do same time next week?”

Draco nodded before leaving, the strand of hair still dangling in his face. Y/N watched him go, this time not out of shock, but because she had rather enjoyed today and wondered why he had still wanted to rush out of here. They hadn’t argued, and he had even been tolerable. Which was saying something, considering she expected him to be ruder than ever after what she said to him last time.

Her eyes looked out the window once more, the heavy drops rolling down the stained glass, dark skies looming overhead and the crack of lightning causing a few students throughout the library to jump.

Y/N chuckled, her mind swirling with how she was feeling. Something about her was regretting only offering a session next week. Why not sooner? She brushed off her eagerness as the fact that she was glad to be helping Professor Binns, but a part of her knew that despite this only being her second time tutoring Draco, she was looking forward to the next lesson.

— —

“This is stupid,” Cho groaned during their walk to Transfigurations a few days later, “I can’t believe Quidditch practice is cancelled because of rain. So what? We’ve played in worse weather before.”

“Sorry, Cho,” Y/N grinned, amused at how riled up her friend was getting, “Guess the rain is just really bad.”

Cho glanced over, “You seem way too cheerful. Thanks for reeling in my sadness, Y/N.”

“Oh, come on,” Y/N poked her side lightly, “Cancelled practice means that you and I can hang out! And you can tell me everything that’s going on between you and Potter. And don’t deny anything!”

Cho’s cheeks went pink, “Shush! Don’t announce it to the whole school!”

Y/N tilted her head back in laughter, strolling into the Transfigurations class and taking her usual seat. They shared this class with the Slytherins, and although Y/N never cared much before, she found her eyes absentmindedly wandering over to wear Draco was seated next to a girl she recognized as Pansy Parkinson. Y/N had hated her since first year. Pansy had it out for Y/N — probably because she was muggleborn — but Y/N didn’t understand why her. However, Y/N also knew Pansy had a thing for Draco. Half the school knew, she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Are you — oh my god,” Cho whispered loudly, slapping Y/N lightly across the shoulder and startling her out of her daze, “You’re staring at him! Don’t tell me—”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N shushed her, eyes wide, “I’m glaring at Pansy. She’s such a little pig. Do you see her stupid face?”

“No, you’re staring at Malfoy,” Cho smirked, pointing a finger at her friend, “Remember though, you used to call him a git.”

“Yeah, that was when he called me a stupid muggleborn in second year, he was just a kid,” Y/N found herself defending her feelings for some unknown reason, “Look, we got along last lesson and it was easy. I just want to keep it up.”

Cho was about to retaliate, but Professor McGonagall made her entrance and began the class, silencing any whispering and talking that might have been going on. Cho gave her friend a look that said ‘this isn’t over’ before beginning to take down what McGonagall was saying.

Y/N groaned, dreading the conversation already.

— —

Saturday was the day that Y/N had been annoyingly anticipating. Her lesson with Draco was at noon, and so she made her way down with Cho for an early breakfast, the two ladies laughing as they entered the hall. Cho was giddy as ever now that the clear sky and cool breeze meant perfect practice conditions, but also because Ravenclaw shared the Quidditch pitch with Gryffindor today, which meant Harry would be there.

Y/N, however, abruptly stopped laughing as she collided into a body. Steadying herself and mumbling apologies, she came face to face with a glaring Pansy Parkinson, who looked ready to rip her apart.

“Sorry, Parkinson,” Y/N said rapidly, brushing off her robes even though they weren’t dirty, “I didn’t see you.”

“Are you blind?” Pansy screeched, unfortunately catching the attention of quite a few students, “Watch where you’re going, mudblood!”

Without another word, Pansy stormed past her and out of the Great Hall, leaving Y/N standing there both traumatized and humiliated. The students who were watching turned their heads quickly, whispering to their friends and trying to act casual. Y/N was rooted to the spot. She had never been called a mudblood before. Ever. It was the worst feeling she could have possibly experienced.

“I’ll — I’ve got to go,” Y/N turned to Cho, who was glaring daggers at Pansy’s retreating figure, and took off down the hall. Her heart felt heavy and the scratchy feeling in her throat was irritating. She didn’t want to cry. But as she thought of her parents and how they were living their normal lives while she was here, being called out because of something she couldn’t control, she felt her heart sunk further and further down.

She took off down the halls and finally reached an opening, where she marched down towards a large rock next to the still water of the Black Lake. She climbed onto it and sat silently for a long time, thinking up ways she could get back at Pansy Parkinson for the way she had treated her. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time somebody’s words had affected her so much. It wasn’t a good feeling.

She kept her eyes glued to the lake, watching the giant squid swim around in all her glory. The scenery really was peaceful at this time of the morning, and luckily for Y/N, the only person out at this time was Hagrid — who was too busy caring for his chaotic Blast-Ended Skrewts to notice her.

After what felt like an hour, maybe even longer, Y/N decided she’d trek back into the castle and make her way to the library. She did still have a lesson, after all. But she found she was no longer excited about it.

Making her way back into the castle and avoiding her fellow Ravenclaws — who had no doubt heard about what happened between her and Pansy — she headed straight for the library. Upon entering, she walked straight towards the table at the back where she usually sat with Draco, but nearly stopped in her tracks when she noticed he was already sitting there.

“You’re late,” he gazed up at her, eyes following her every move as she sat down across from him, “And you don’t have your backpack.”

Y/N was so bothered by what happened this morning that she didn’t even bother to bring her book. She wanted to slap herself over the forehead for how stupid she was being.

“It’s okay, I brought my own book, actually,” Draco grinned sheepishly, leaning down into his own bag and pulling out his own personal copy of A History of Magic by Bathila Bagshot.

“You have your own,” Y/N grinned slightly, proud of the fact that she had influenced him, “Which is good, I didn’t bring mine.”

Draco frowned, placing the book down on the desk between them, “Why is that? You’re usually so organized.”

Y/N felt defensive, “Sorry, Malfoy. Guess I’m just being stupid.” She wasn’t sure why she snapped at him, but her emotions from this morning were still boiling right beneath the surface, ready to explode.

“What? Why would you say that?” Draco asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he leaned closer to her over the table, “Wait, is this about what Parkinson said this morning?”

Y/N flushed, looking up at him, “You heard about that? Did she go around bragging about calling me a mudblood? Wouldn’t be surprised.”

Draco shook his head, “I, er, was actually in the room when it happened. I saw it all.”

If she wasn’t already humiliated, hearing him say that made her feel even worse. She blinked, trying to hold back tears, and gazed out the window to the familiar view. Of course he saw it all.

“I’m sorry she said that,” he said softly. So softly, in fact, that she barely even heard him.

She peered back around at him, “Why are you sorry?”

“You didn’t deserve that,” he gazed down at the table where he was twiddling with his thumbs, “She was out of line. But she’s seen me do it so many times that I guess she just... caught on.”

“You shouldn’t do it either, you know,” Y/N’a voice was soft, thinking back to when she saw Draco shouting at Hermione in second year, calling her the same foul name Pansy had just called her, “Just because you’re pureblooded doesn’t instantly make you better than everyone else, you know—”

Draco nodded, cutting her off, “I know.” He looked apologetic, and she took it as a sign that he was indeed sorry.

They sat in silence for a little while, neither of them knowing what to say next, before Y/N leaned over and opened Draco’s copy of the book, continuing on from where they left off last week. She didn’t want to sit here and sulk, but Draco seemed distracted this lesson, paying more attention to her than to writing everything down like he had the last two times.

Y/N wasn’t complaining, but her curiously was piqued. Was he just zoned out, or was he paying attention to her on purpose?

She wasn’t sure, but she also wasn’t complaining.

— —

Their next few lessons went quiet smoothly. They had been getting along more and more, to the point where they had even shared a few conversations outside of class. They chatted about things other than History of Magic, and he even came to greet her at her table during dinner one day, not even caring that his Slytherin friends looked disgusted by him breaking a house barrier.

However, as he started improving, Y/N knew their lessons were coming to an end. He was a surprisingly quick learner, making Y/N wonder why he had struggled so much in the first place.

As they entered their History of Magic class for their mid-term quiz — which they had studied for together all weekend — he strolled in with confidence, thanking her for being such a great teacher.

The quiz was easy for Y/N, so she kept gazing over to Draco, who had a smile on his face. He seemed to know the answers, and she prided herself on being the reason for that.

As they left the class, Professor Binns called them both up to the front. Draco gave her a thumbs up, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ for helping him pass, and they listened to what their professor had to say.

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, you did a great job,” Professor Binns’ voice sounded dreamy, “Mister Malfoy gained a perfect score on the test, thanks to you.”

“I did?” Draco’s face broke out into a grin, and so did Y/N’s, “Thank you, Professor.”

Y/N patted Draco on the back, “I told you you had it in you!” He grinned back at her, and that’s when she noticed how close to each other they were standing. Her breath caught in her throat and she pulled away, luckily Professor Binns was too distracted by the air around him to notice.

“I think we can end tutoring lessons,” Professor Binns spoke loudly, floating up above them, “So thank you both for your hard work.” Without saying bye, he floated up through the ceiling and disappeared, leaving Y/N and Draco standing there in awkward silence.

“I guess I knew lessons would have to come to an end soon, but this is sooner than I thought,” Draco turned to face her, his face soft, “You really did help me. And I’m very thankful.”

“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” she smiled sadly, ignoring the strange feeling in her chest now that the private lessons between them were over, “You were a surprisingly good student.”

“Only ‘cause I had a great teacher,” he retaliated without missing a beat, causing both of them to flush slightly, “And you — you can call me Draco, you know.”

She beamed up at him, “And you can call me Y/N. Not that you will, I know you’re more of a last name kind of—,”

He cut her off by pressing his lips on hers. Y/N stayed frozen, eyes wide, she processed what just happened.

Draco pulled away after realizing her shock, “I’m sorry — I don’t know why I did that.”

Y/N shook her head, blinking rapidly, her heart going crazy inside her rib cage. She looked up at him, the blue in his eyes seemed warmer than they ever had before, and so she knew he really did feel something for her and it wasn’t just a ‘heat of the moment’ kiss. So, she did what any girl would do.

She grabbed his tie and pulled his lips down to hers once more. Butterflies erupted in her chest as his hands wrapped around her wrist, pulling her closer and keeping their lips moulded together. He was a really good kisser.

She reached her hands around his neck, tugging lightly at his hair. She felt him shiver lightly, pulling her closer and continuing to press his lips against hers as if his entire world depended on it.

After a good moment, the two of them pulled away to catch their breath. Their lips were swollen, but they both wore grins.

“Well,” Draco smirked, “I should have done this before kissing you, but would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade next weekend? Now that we don’t have to study together, that is.”

Y/N grinned, her breathing still heavy and her heart still soaring out of her chest.

“I’d love to.”

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