#its interesting to see just how language is weaponized violently

[dragynkeep]

honestly repeatedly calling csa survivors pedophiles should be considered an act of targeted violence. just, putting that out there lol

[sugar-and-pearls]

Howdy Hedone! I come bearing many questions ♥︎

For Gomez :>

- what is a comforting thing or piece of advice your parental f/o has told you that you still hold on to?

For Storyteller :>

- what is your grandparent f/o's favorite dish and have they taught you how to make it?

For Grandmama :>

- what kinds of activities do you like to do with your grandparent f/o?

For Cardan :>

-what's your favorite fun fact about your cousin f/o?

- tell us about the different occasions you would see your cousin f/o growing up- what brought you together initially? Bonus: what's a favorite memory of yours with Cardan :D?

For Eren :>

- how does your sibling f/o show they care for you?

For Jack :>

- how do you and your sibling f/o like to playfully annoy each other?

Clover @tex-treasures

Thank you for the ask Tex!!!

- What is a comforting thing or piece of advice your parental f/o has told you that you still hold on to?

"Hold your head high. We are Addamses. We live for the unconventional!"

- What is your grandparent f/o's favourite dish and have they taught you how to make it?

My lovely grandfather favourite dish is mash potatoes. With butter and spring onions mixed in. I'm a terrible cook, probably could burn water if you left me in a kitchen long enough, so its safe to say that I don't really cook that often. He's not that great either to be honest but he does make a mean dish of mashed potatoes.

- What kinds of activities do you like to do with your grandparent f/o?

I could spent hours with Grandmama, sitting on top of the Kitchen table as she looks through her spell cook- book. Cook I am not, witch I am and in this way I enjoy helping her as she mixes her cauldron.

Spell by spell, potion by potion we create wonders and horrors alike; Chocolate miracles, storms in votka bottles, ruby red poisons that strike with a snap of the fingers- the list are as endless as the sky above.

-what's your favourite fun fact about your cousin f/o?

In the books Jude (the main character and love interest of cardans) remarks that Cardan smells like moss, oakwood, and leather. I often associate the scent of Honey and Hazel with Cardan to be honest. I just think its neat.

- tell us about the different occasions you would see your cousin f/o growing up- what brought you together initially?

I met Cardan at a family reunions, the first one since I joined the family. Asha, Cardan's mother, couldn't resist going to it to gloat about her position in the high court's. She brought Cardan along with her as an afterthought. I was still new to the family and there wasn't many children at the time. He was a cruel child but I stuck to him like glue and I guess we kind of grew on each other.

Bonus: what's a favourite memory of yours with Cardan?

There are so memories to choose from but my favourite is this story here . Its not the prettiest memories but than doesn't make it any less precious to me

- How does your sibling f/o show they care for you?

Eren has n odd love language. He fight for me, if anyone said anything bad or catcalls me Eren goes into a violent rage. It's cooled over the years but it's still there.

Encourages me to eat more. Food is scarce in the walls and during the time before Eren, Armin and Mikasa joined the military there were times where we didn't have enough to keep the four well feed. In order to keep them healthy I often didn't get to eat. Now that they're is more food Eren always encourage me to eat more, to make up for all the lost meals.

- How do you and your sibling f/o like to playfully annoy each other?

Jack does things like throws snow balls into the back of my head, putting his unexpected chilly fingers on the comfortable warm skin at the back of my neck, using his staff to push me

Thats not to say I'm a saint; Pulling at his hood, throwing snowballs at his face and stealing his staff are common weapons in my arsenal with dealing with Jack.

[subbyfoxelf]

[movie review] predator (1987)

(cw: extremely frank discussion of homphobia/politics & some horniness for murdering space aliens.)

homoerotic macho posturing (with requiste homophobia to reassure the audience none of them are actually gay) and then imperialist adventures in the jungle of an unspecified central american country and then a kinda underwhelming stretch where the predator is shooting guys dead one at a time and then finally we get to the only good part of the movie and it just kind of isn’t even worth it?

the good part, the actually kinda good part is arnold vs. the predator, and it’s good mostly because the predator has so much personality despite spending most of the movie as an invisible killing machine. that little moment where arnold is basically begging him to come fight him (and walk into a trap in the process) and the predator, despite presumably not understanding the words he’s yelling or anything else about his cultural context, shrewdly stepping back and approaching from a completely different direction. that was so small but it was so effective. and the preceding parts of the movie that went from “when is the predator going to show up” to “when is the predator going to do something interesting” as he just killed soldier after soldier 

the preceding portions were entertaining often in spite of themselves, in the way that insecure macho homoeroticism always is when you’re watching it as a queer person. it’s funny, but it’s sad, but it’s just slightly funnier than it is sad. but also at the back of your mind is that the exact same societal forces that demand these characters be given a convincing case of the not gays are the ones that are currently working tirelessly to strip you of all the rights you’ve gained since stonewall.

and no matter how much you can make them a joke when you’re watching a movie that was made under the auspices of their repressive culture of violent conformism, they can and will make you a joke with more deadly consequences. say did you hear the one about the f****t who walked into the bar. we joked about jesse ventura and bill duke’s characters being married and arnold schwarzenegger and carl weathers’ characters being ex-husbands whose arm wrestling contest was to see who was going to top when they had their platonic makeup sex. the culture that demanded the movies’ increasingly implausible “no homo”s is working on outlawing the first two’s marriage, and if they get that they’re gonna come for the second two’s makeup sex.

alien with its genderblind scripting or aliens with its background reference (in 1986) to a character being transgender, this is not. (yeah the language used in aliens was outdated, but was it still rad as fuck anyway considering the context.)

it might be some consolation that some idiots decided to put these two franchises next to each other which just begs for comparison and having watched predator after the first two alien movies yeah wow there is just no comparison. the first two alien movies are having predator do their homework after they free it from the locker they shoved it into at the beginning of school. it lives in that locker now. it somehow magically gets lunch money transported to it every day just for alien and aliens to take it from it.

on a more petty note, i’ve always wished the predators had more bondagey weapons. i don’t know, it just seems weird given the whole hunting focus that they don’t use nets and whatnot, and they only ever boringly kill their quarry rather than capturing them. i guess it’s still kinda kinky that they’re treating humans the way humans treat animals or whatever, but it still feels like a missed opportunity.

also, arnie is an idiot. the predator isn’t nearly as cute as a xenomorph, but he’s cute enough.

c-rank

[crazydoughnutlady]

I'm bored, take some sci-fi found-family

I was trying to write something but I got bored and distracted so I decided to write this as a way to say f-you to writing block enjoy!

***

The Terran were new to the greater Galaxy. odd beings are small and had large round faces with big eyes. Instantly making them desired pets as are from a new strange planet and are a lower life-form. As for the space-faring group known as Vinlik, which is Featherdeten for close-knit-family. Terrans had little consequence to the crew, they had heard those who would try to keep me adorable species as pets had been horribly ripped to shreds and killed as apparently, Terrans were vicious. The crew of Vinlik consisting of 4 members, Never thought that they would encounter a Terran. They were wrong...

After an incredibly odd raid, they had a human on board. It had a few things with it a strange instrument likely from its home world and of course the fabric they were so they were known for being so protective of.

Captain Lilen, a tall Featherdeten and owner of the ship and considered the mother of the motley family, Decided to keep the being as they tended to look at least somewhat similar to the Featherdetens. Just lacking the titular win, feathered faces, or the slender legs that made landing from a flight so easy for the species.

Borek, a Snoutrump one of the strongest known species in the galaxy had argued that it was dangerous to keep but the captain always won out over the security guard/weapons professional.

Whimper a Phasmon, the ship scientist/medical professor stated how most Terrans about 89% killed their masters Within 30-day Cycles The other 19% killed their masters not long after. Keeping a Terran on board results usually in a 4% survival rate.

The youngest of the ship a Buzzkin, not even a proportional adult in his species. An excited genius prodigy who made his way onto the ship by being an engineer. He was curious, Terrans were unique next to nothing was known about them and maybe they only acted that way because they were scared. There was just so much unknown about this new species. Tolvin wanted to know more…

***

Three cycles, three cycles, and I broke my promise. I told the captain that he would not interact with the Terra, but I couldn't help myself. I was curious and it was kind of interesting seeing such a tiny featherless Featherdeten-like being. So I found myself standing in front of the door where the Terran was being kept I shifted the door from opaque to translucent, still strong just now I could see the Terran. It looked up at me noticing the different time as it was not its scheduled meal time it wouldn't be for a little while. “Hello, there you probably can't understand me b-but I wanted to say hello! It is proper etiquette to introduce oneself to all members of the crew… your species interesting did you know that?”

I stood there for a moment before the Terran begin to bark back at me it was strange yapping noises but there was somewhat of a pattern to them almost like it was speaking but that's silly Terrans didn't have a language, they weren't a sentient species. The Galaxy Bureau of Investigation of New Species (GBINS) already tested, too violent. I sat down and began to talk about meaningless things with the Terran just to hear the odd pattern of its barks we ‘chatted�� with each other for a while. Eventually, I had to leave as he would get caught talking to the Terran the one thing I was strictly told not to do. “I have to go now but we'll talk next cycle promise,” I kept my promise returning to the Terran every day.

“Hello, Featherless!” I decided to call it Featherless deciding it shouldn't go without a name. “Hado!” “Did you just say hello?” “Hado! Hado!” it repeated. Terrans could mimic. No one else has ever documented to this it’s a fascinating discovery, Terrans can mimic others! “That's so cool Featherless! what if you said my name?” Then pointed I pointed at myself and said in a slow but clear voice, “Tolvin.” “Toe-van” “Tolvin.” “Toe-van.” “What close enough you're faster on the uptake than most mimics.” It then pointed to itself and made a barking noise, “Sarah” “What?” It just shook its head from left to right, “Sarah” “Sarla?” “Sarah” “Sarla” Featherless - no Sarla released a breath and moved its eyes in a circle before refocusing on me.

“Well, it's nice to meet you then wait if you have a name that means you have a sense of self which is only present in sentient beings but that doesn't make sense the GBINS had proclaimed that humans were too violent to be sentient which doesn't make sense because it has a sense of help self! we-we've been keeping things that were- that is- oh no, I've been calling it, an it! They are a sentient being and I've been treating them like a pet-” “Toe-van” Sarla's front appendages were pressed against the force field their eyes were blown wide (wider than they usually were) and they were staring at me intently. “Sorry… I had a bit of a freak-out. I should go.” Turning the door opaque, I turn down the hall and ran back to the engine room.

The engine room is my favorite place in all of the ship no one bothers me here free to tinker. To busy myself with the mundane things that keep the ship running.

It takes me three recycles to return to Sarla’s room. The other members of the crew are still debating on what to do with the human. Earlier that cycle Borek come by with a faulty communicator he has a backup, but he prefers his main one. However, I couldn't just get the right kind of focus in the engine room (Something that's never happened before) so before I knew it I found myself wandering back to Sarla. Turning the door translucent I began to fix the communicator one of my proudest works simple AI that analyzed language and then translated it. Sarla was returning conversation in that odd barking ‘language’ of theirs and I would often say a few things back. Suddenly silent barked a few things and the translator buzzed to life “…you gotta understand how lonely I was! You are the only nice person I've met in space!” They quieted as they saw me jump at the translation. We sat in silence for a few seconds before it began to bark again, “The [thing] you're fixing is it okay? it's not going to ---- right?” I stared at them then the communicator then back at them, “What? why are you looking at me? What is that thing doing?” Turning on the two-way communication feature I slowly began to speak, “It's a way for different species to communicate with each other it's for one of my crewmates but it started translating your language.” “Wow, I can understand you! Wait you understand what I'm saying now! This is amazing so can you take me home?” “I don't think so it is really hard to get to your home planet. With how hard the government mandates what goes through airspace there… I don't know if you've noticed but we're not very legal. The captain is planning to just give you to someone as a pet once we find somewhere cheap to drop you off. “I'm sorry, please tell me the [communicator] got what you were saying wrong, my people are considered pets!?!” Their voice begin to get louder and the communicator began to register the emotion as possibly angry. “Yes…?” Sarla out a string of words that the communicator could not translate, but I felt they were curses.

Just then I heard a strangled noise coming from just down the hall turning I lock eyes with none other than Whimper. “What are you doing?” The scientist said showing the typical Phasmon signs of confusion and fear. “Toe-van who's there? That's a different voice of the communicator. what are you looking at?” “Is it translating the non-sentient being?” I click my mandibles (a sign for yes among my people), "I believe they're actually… a sentient species... and the GBINS incorrectly labeled them as non-sentient.” “Wait! A bunch of letters said that my people were non-sentient!?!” “I think that was an incorrect translation we were referring to an acronym.” I clarified for Sarla. “Didn't catch the last word sorry.” “It's okay the more you talk the communicator will be better at translating your language.” “Oh cool!” the Terran flashed their teeth something I have something they do a lot around me, I think it's a sign of friendliness among Terrans. It usually isn't put with other aggressive behaviors such as tensing muscles, which are common among predator species.

“How many how long have you been spending time with it?” Whimper asked exasperated. “Didn't last more than three days before I said hi…” “Oh, you're hopeless!” “Why is that bad?” Sarla trying to get a glimpse of Whimper. “Your species are Infamous for being incredibly dangerous.” “Can you repeat that with small words? the communicator is not that good.” “You're dangerous.” “Try again.” “You cause pain?” “You saying I'm [Dangerous/violent/harmful]” The communicator listed the possible words that Sarla could have been saying. “I think so but the communicator is not very clear.” “They're friendly to me! they've done nothing that is then possibly threatening to me yet.” Whimper shook his head up and down a sign of frustration among his people, “yet did you forget that it bit Borek?” “I would like to not be referred to as an ‘it’ anymore I'm not an object I prefer to be referred to as [she/her/referring to a female].” “Sorry!” I say as I twitch my antennas in a sign of apologies and happiness. “Why are you apologizing you're not the one I was referring to me as an object.” “Well, I was earlier before I knew you were sentient.” “[Acknowledgement/surprise/confused/stunned]” “We should probably tell Lilen about this she is the captain after all. She'll want to meet her new crewmate properly -as long as you promise not to hurt us” He said gesturing to Sarla “you get that Communicator up and running,” he gestured to me. “it'll be lovely to talk and study the ins and outs of humans and I can ask you medical questions how fascinating!” He said Clapping (a common sign of joy happiness or excitement for Phasmons) before turning down the hallway in excitement.

70 Cycles later and Sarah (as her name was actually pronounced) was an integral part of our crew-of our family. She was able to go toe-to-toe with Borek in a fight. Could eat a lot of things in higher dosages than anyone else could, making her an effective poison tester. The strange instrument she had brought along with her? It was a common device humans used to make music called a ge-tar. Although she did many things with the different members of the crew, most of the time we could be found in the engine room. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn't bothered by someone else in my space.

[80s4life]

The Thought Of Losing You

Word Count: 2,507

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}

A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)

Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader

Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.

Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk

Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist

Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)

{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}

Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.

Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.

But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.

Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.

Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.

"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.

Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.

"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.

As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.

"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.

//Some time later//

Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.

The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.

Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.

Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"

Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.

Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"

"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.

//Some time later//

Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.

This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.

The words shocking me to the core;

"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."

Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.

Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.

I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.

With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.

Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.

Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.

"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.

Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.

Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.

Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.

"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.

"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.

"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.

"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.

"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.

"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.

"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.

"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."

"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.

He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.

Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"

Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."

With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.

"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"

"I told you. I. Don't. Know."

"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.

"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"

"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.

As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.

Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.

During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.

//Some time later//

Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.

Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.

"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.

"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.

"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"

"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.

Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"

Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"

Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."

Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.

"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."

"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 6

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 6: Encounter

The crescent moon shining on the equator moves and brings darkness to the world of "U". In the city of "U" that continues like a big river, Az and others were overflowing more than usual today. There is a mysterious feeling of exhilaration here and there, and it seems that everyone is restless. Countless net news is broadcast in various languages. "... Soon, at 20:25 standard time on 'U', Belle's biggest live concert will take place here at 'U's spherical stadium."

The city of "U" is basically a "skyscraper" and a "park."

It consists of repeating two types of modules, "(Park)". However, there are some other special modules. One of them is a spherical module called "Stadium". "..... The number of Az that can watch at the same time in the world is said to be 100 million or 200 million, which is unusual for a newcomer who appeared within 6 months ..."

As you approach the spherical stadium, you can see that many small units are gathered together to form a sphere. It passes through the gaps of each unit and enters the inside. Each unit has multiple windows. The shape of the window matches the shape of the screen of the smartphone, and you can see Az in it. That is the audience seat of this spherical stadium.

A myriad of Az are waiting for the start of the live. The start time has come. The space of the wide sphere gradually darkens with the driving sound. The units are getting closer to each other and the gap is narrowing. Eventually, a roaring sound was heard. The gap between the units was completely closed, and the space was surrounded by darkness. A red line like the equator emerges in the darkness. It's the beginning of the live. Music starts. A huge drop of water can be seen floating in the center of the space. In front of this mysterious sight, the audience grabbed a sight of what was about to begin.

The huge water droplets began to emit light from the inside, shaking the surface with surface tension. A number of glittering lights are generated and are stored in water droplets. Eventually, the water droplets filled with light burst like a big bang. When a large amount of droplets diffuse into the space, a mysterious object that reflects light appears behind it. A huge splash with a dozen meters, assembled from delicate beads.

At the tip of the dress is Belle, me.

"Woooooooooo ...!"

The cheers of Az and others like the rumbling of the ground boiled up. Mosaic-like light is emitted from the countless windows of the audience seats. In response to the light, the color of the beads that make up the dress changes in a complex way. These are special beads whose brilliance changes depending on the light. It's the best outfit, coordinated by the best designers, from headdresses to high heels. I swam in the space, changing to various colors in response to the light. The parts of the huge dress are separated like a multi-stage rocket. In the meantime, it will be separated. The beads swirled like the swell of the sea, transforming into a virtual fluctuation of the sea surface.

Three whales with headphones appear there and slowly snuggle up to me in the center. The whales are top-notch dancers hired for this concert. When one of the whales hits the surface of the sea with its tail fin to the music, a beautiful wave appears. The crest has spread. Another one also hits the surface of the sea. The ripples overlapped. The other one blew up the tide from his nose. Next is my turn. Like the whale I mentioned earlier, I surrendered myself to music, twisted my body, and hit the surface of the sea. Ripples spread beautifully. I twist my body again and hit the surface of the sea, ripples piled up. And, like the squirting of a baby whale, I rushed out of the sea. The whales come in again and swim and dance in the calculated combination. I sing at the center. The sparkling flash of the audience seats reaches the dress, changing the color of the beads one after another. What a beauty. The colors that would never appear without each of the light from the windows of smartphones are a collaboration between me, the designer, and the audience. And again, it's a one-time art that can never be reproduced in the digital world where reproduction is natural. I finished singing proudly.

"Ooooooooooooooooo!"

The roaring cheers of Az and others shook the spherical stadium. The flashes in the audience seats disappear all at once, returning to the darkness of the equator. The prelude of the second song begins, and the next set of graphical steel frames slides from above and below. During the blackout, the producer of this live, Hiro-chan’s Az, slipped in.

"Belle is the best. I'll go next."

"Yes."

Hiro-chan’s Az threw a piece of cloth in her hand. It fluttered around my body and turned into a patchwork dress. This is also the work of the same designer as the bead dress, and is woven with fibers that change when exposed to light. Suddenly, there was a strange noise.

"ah…"

The gap between the rugged stadium and the spherical stadium opens a little.

"Who? You opened the door without permission!" Hiro-chan’s Az yells.

Someone invaded through a small gap in the unit. A lone Az at the beginning.

And then a group of Az. They are moving at high speed just past the audience unit. I can tell that the audience in the window is upset by this happening.

Hiro-chan’s Az is very angry. "Get out of here, asshole!”

The lone Az appears to be escaping from the group chasing him.

"Is he being chased?"

They go around the perimeter along the equator of the spherical stadium. The group of chasers was divided into two.

"Jeeze! What is that guy?" Hiro-chan’s Az looks up in the air and asks. Avatars all over the world instantly raise chat balloons:

《Dreki》

《Long》 《continuar》 《naga》 《Dragon》 《lass》

《Ejderha》

"Dragon?"

<<It's an ugly monster-type Az that lives in “U.”>>

Two protruding horns. Long nose. Sharp fangs and claws. The characteristic is exactly the dragon itself, and the impression is like a violent beast. Still, the crimson cloak with a raised collar and the white frills peeking through the sleeves of the suit reminded me of something like a nobleman. A mysterious balance in which this opposite nature coexists. The thin, sharp look that I could see in the gaps between his long, curly hair seemed mysterious to me. On the other hand, all his chasers have the unified appearance of a white battle suit with a red line. It looks like a group of justice heroes. The dragon flipped the cloak and I thought that he had soared, but then he twisted and plummeted. With a tricky move, he tossed the chase and swung it off in a blink of an eye, and this time he headed for the other group, which was split into two. Really. The stone mask Az, who leads the fist chaser group, thrusts in without fear. The two collided violently at the front. A fierce spark is scattered. The dragon extended his fist at a speed that my eyes couldn't follow. The chasers flew like pebbles. As it was, it emitted light like glitter and ice crystals, and stopped moving. The data was corrupted by too much blow and it froze.

I watched the dragon in a daze.

"Amazing…"

"What is he?" When Hiro-chan’s Az asked, the balloons answered immediately.

<<A few months ago, he suddenly appeared in the martial arts hall of "U" "He’s been breaking the record of consecutive wins since then" "But he has the worst fighting style">>

"How?"

When Ryu landed on the unit on the wall and turned around, he attacked the other group that he had just shaken off. He does not give them a chance to escape, and defeats them one after another with a quick move. Iconography of crystals, showing freezes, floats here and there.

《Spoil the game》 《Attack until the data is corrupted and unusable》 《It's like trying to get rid of my anger》 I was stunned and stared at the dragon without words.

"Ah..”

I noticed a lot of patterns on his tattered back.

"That is……?"

<< This is a nasty guy who is like the bruises on his back >> Adds a balloon. I saw it to make sure.

"There are so many bruises ..."

The group of chasers is increasing in number before I know it. When the Az of the dreadlocks led by him points to go, more than 10 members scream and head for Dragon all at once. It is one versus ten, but he heads for the fight without hesitation. The dragon rolled out his knife at a blazing speed. The chasers are beaten one after another.

"Waaaaaah!”

Even the last one - bang, smashed down in a breath. The dreadlocks Az was shocked to see that his allies were wiped out in an instant. While making a strange voice, "Woooooo!", He headed for the dragon in the dark clouds. However, immediately after that, Dragon knee-kicked him in the face. Then the upper combo is decided. The dreadlocks Az was blown off.

Hiro-chan’s Az listens with interest. "Who is chasing him?"

《The Justices》

"Justice?"

<<They insist on keeping the justice and order of U.>>

There are Az looking down from a distance. Like the Stone Mask Az and Dreadlocks Az, they were the executives of the Justice Corps. They are strong people who seem to be allies of justice. Half are female. Hiro-chan’s Az made a convincing voice when she saw them.

"Hmm. That's why they look like heroes."

A large number of the justice corps surround the dragon with various weapons such as spears, hammers, and blue swords. The members screamed and attacked all at once. It seems that there is no chance for the dragon to win. The dragon slowly crossed his hands. And he slashed the space at a tremendous speed. He slashed the men as if he were really manipulating a sword. A dense army corps bursts out all at once. "Waaaah!”

At the same time, it gave off a glittering and crystal-like light. The overwhelming strength of the crowd is breathtaking. The dragon turned his back and slowly got up. Justice corps executives were stunned and said, "What a terrible thing ...!"

"What can they do if you hurt them that much?"

"Is it okay that you’re the only one who is not wounded?” With that as a trigger, some spectator Az and others booed.

"That's right!" "You messed up Belle's concert!" "How will you take responsibility?” The voices eventually spread throughout the spherical stadium.

"Apologize to Belle!" "Give us back the time you wasted!" "Get out of here!" "Get out!" I looked around the stadium in a kind of strange atmosphere. Most of the Az on the spot are throwing a fierce boo like a rumbling at just one person. A dragon standing alone in the center. The bruise on his back seemed to me like a wound that had been hit by countless boos. I asked him unintentionally.

"You…"

The dragon turned around slowly and looked at me with a keen eye.

[............]

"Who are you..…?"

I asked unquestioned questions at will. Then the dragon opened his mouth for the first time. It was a muffled voice, like a filter.

"...Don’t look.”

"Huh?"

"Don’t look at me."

The dragon's gaze peeking through his curly hair indicates refusal. I can't hear any more.

At that time, there was a sharp voice that echoed in the spherical stadium.

“Dragon!!”

A man is standing. "I can't forgive you anymore ... I can't forgive you! If I don't defeat the dragon, I can't keep the peace of 'U'!"

"Is that the leader?" Asked Hiro-chan’s Az.

<<Yes. He is Justine>>

It was a blue-eyed Az with blonde hair. His toned, muscular, majestic body reminded me of strength and courage, and the white battle suit that wrapped around him represented his noble personality. He deserves to be called a hero, a mighty man, an ally of justice, a savior.

Justine raised his right arm and pointed to the coat of arms on his wrist. "Look!"

The Metamorphose coat of arms was wrapped in light and became huge, transforming into a winged metal lion head. A jewel-like lens body pops out from the lion's mouth by bolt action. It's like a cannon. Justine raises the gun and shows it off.

"This is the true light that protects the justice and order of 'U'! We will definitely unveil the evil dragon!" He declared in a voice that pervaded the entire "U". Then, banners with the names of the companies came flying one after another and piled up behind him. It seems that these supporting companies support his activities. Hiro-chan’s Az pointed with her eyes rounded.

"Look, the number of sponsor logos!"

"What is Unveil?"

To my question, Hiro-chan’s Az answered "Unveil" with the gesture of Peek-a-boo. Justine holds his right hand to aim at him, and the inside of his lens body shimmers like a mosaic. The particles focused and emitted a green light. Pow! The light cut through the darkness and headed straight toward the dragon. The dragon barely avoids the light. The particles focused again on Justine's right hand and fired two shots in quick succession. The dragon kept a sufficient distance and avoided it carefully. It seems that he is very cautious about this unknown light. "Nuu ..." Justin groaned, lowering his right hand. A long, thin light that moves far away. There is too much distance to hit Dragon.

He signaled, "Door!" In response, the justice executives scattered in all directions. Soon, the gap between the unit and the unit begins to move, and the interval narrows.

"Eh ...?" As it goes on, the brightness disappears. The spherical stadium was engulfed in darkness, with a completely closed sound. Many searchlights owned by the executives turned on all at once. It illuminates a dragon at one point in the center of intersection.

"You can't run away anymore, dragon! I'll uncover your origin right here, you ugly thing!"

Justine's speech wowed the audience.

"Ooooooooooo!"

The field is in full favor of Justine. Hiro-chan’s Az also goes along.

"Good, do it ~~!"

Origin? Uncover? Can he do that? I wondered. Justine said earlier, "The true light that protects the justice and order of 'U'(that green light) will surely unveil the evil dragon." The meaning may be "to clarify who the real person who controls the dragon is.” It means that there is no privacy that should be equally protected by the security of "U". I understood that was what he meant by "unveiling." If it's aimed at the dragon, which is hated by all over the world, everyone will be convinced it’s the right thing to do. But what if I was in his position?

Then, the story is different. I don't want to be unveiled. Anyone wouldn’t. Shouldn't that be the case? Shouldn't security equality be maintained? Executives approach the dragon with a searchlight. The dragon blocks the light with his hands, as if he hates the dazzling lights. However, the executives continue to shine a strong light without mercy. The dragon moves because of the glare, looks like he can't get rid of it. Justine aims carefully from a distance. The searchlight is caught. It seems very easy to shed light on the dragon that has stopped moving. Kuun ……, and the inside of the gun lens shines brilliantly, and the light is focused.

"Get him!!” Hiro-chan’s Az screams with excitement. Next to that, I kept staring at the dragon.

[.............]

The dragon looked up at me as if he had noticed me. His eyes met mine and my heart pulsated.

"Huh?"

From the narrow center of the searchlight, the dragon jumped towards us. The search light suddenly loses sight of the dragon and sways in a confused manner.

"Uh!"

Once Justine lowered his gun in the situation, but quickly repositioned it, he fired two consecutive shots. However, passing through it, the dragon rises at high speed and heads straight toward us.

"Ahhhhh!"

I and Hiro-chan’s Az are upset by the oppressive feeling and cannot move. The dragon approaches at a tremendous speed. Collide!

"Kyaaaa!" We screamed. But the dragon barely slipped beside us. A violent gust of wind occurs with a slight delay. The dragon rose as it was, turned around, and landed on the steel frame of the set. Hiro-chan’s Az was angry and looked up. "You’ve got to be kidding me, you idiot! What if Belle had been injured?"

Dragon approaches us again. "Ah!" The dragon rubbed right next to Hiro-chan’s Az and I, who were shrinking tightly, at a tremendous speed. His goal is the executives of the Justice Corps.

"Waaaaah!” The executives screamed, throwing out searchlights and escaping in all directions. As soon as the dragon did not let them escape, he swung a steel frame over his head and approached.

The light of the searchlight went out, and the area was surrounded by darkness again.

Only the cruel hitting sound and the painful screams of the executives echoed there. What's happening in the dark? Invisible horror dominated the field. Justine shouted, unbearably. "Open the door ..., open the door!"

A gap in the spherical stadium opens to follow the instructions. When it got brighter, I saw the sad appearance of the executives who were knocked down and couldn't move. How many Az did the dragon beat in this short time? It was overwhelming and strong. Justine stepped back, stiffening his face.

"This ... this shouldn't be allowed ...!"

The dragon flew with recoil when he released the steel frame he had in his hand. I look up at him with my eyes. Justine shouted to swear revenge.

"I will be sure to unveil you!"

As if he couldn't hear such a voice, the dragon went out of the stadium through the gap between the units on the ceiling and disappeared somewhere. I kept looking at the empty space where he had disappeared into.

"Who are you……?"

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

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[onewomancitadel]

I have been looking for strong arguments for my cinder's redemption theory and your posts just completely blew me away. Thank you so much for writing all of this. One thing that baffles me though is the fandom obsession with violence and murder as the solution to her story. I just do not get it. Where does this crap come from? It is like they will not accept anything other than the most violent murdery bloody end for Cinder. In their eyes anything less would be shitty writing. I do not get it.

Hi anon, hope you're having a great day. <3

Aw, that makes me so pleased to hear! Happy I could help out and you resonated with my posts. I know the feeling, when I find other people who really 'get' the same things I am interested in and have a critically good approach.

You touch on something really interesting here about violence and murder as the only answer, because I think that's kind of the great irony of Cinder's character: that's part of her worldview. Kill or be killed, you're the one in pain or someone else is. That's why I find the ending to her story validating that worldview so unsuitable; it's basically begging for deconstruction and reconstruction.

It would be really easy to draw from a psychoanalytic viewpoint here and say that most people view violence and murder as the answer because might is right in society. Compassion and understanding is devalued, and even in conversations where it is seemingly valued, it can be used in performative ways to obfuscate true justice, true compassion, true atonement, and true forgiveness. It makes it hard to have real conversations about that kind of thing because it can seem like a weapon of the enemy.

I think there's genuine value in this analysis. But I think it becomes reductive to say this is the only thing motivating it, especially when I don't think that fiction necessarily validates or creates these atittudes, but rather reproduces them.

I also think that a more simple answer is that it's normative narrative values. Violence is part of narrative language; it's not always directly literal, but often can be metaphorical. Adolescence or adulthood can be reached by literally, and symbolically, killing a parent or parental figure, or usurping parent figures in the story - for instance, Cinder kills Ozpin, and then she kills Pyrrha; these both represent the father (who reincarnates into the son) and the symbolism of childhood and innocence herself. Sometimes you have instances like with Adam, where the bull sacrifice - and the killing - is a type of metaphorical sacred marriage for Yang and Blake. "Marriage and killing are related... the marriage is the killing of your separateness." (Joseph Campbell, from an interview released after his passing). That is specifically from the context of bull sacrifice.

Violence is also a way to communicate sexuality, because there is a sense of anxiety in media about conveying sexuality beyond subtextual means - and subtextuality means you can be more subtle about it, and make it more age-appropriate anyway. But violence is how you can convey two characters very close together, and convey this intimacy. There are manifold ideas motivating violence-as-sex: firstly, because I think sexuality is not taken seriously as an idea on its own, and sex can be seen as a power negotiation and not 'making love', or that is to say: sex is violence; secondly, violence is already an acceptable narrative language; thirdly, subtextuality can just be fun.

So violence in narrative can do a lot of things, beyond simply portraying... well... violence. Those metaphorical implementations sometimes go over peoples' heads, though. It's what (seemingly) makes Pyrrha's death so unforgivable, for instance. No matter how much you might be able to convey that Pyrrha is the killing of childhood, and Cinder represents the complicated morality of an expanding worldview as you come to see adults as people/the world beyond black and white, the inevitability of change and growth (ooh! Autumnal theming!), the violence of change, the complete unseating she symbolically represents in the story, it doesn't change what textually happened. That's why the only answer to that is that death pays for life. Pyrrha died. Cinder's got to die, too.

The answer is Cinder's death for her crimes because themes don't matter, story structure doesn't matter, there's not an intelligible framework to these viewers' eyes that does not go beyond 'bad thing happen, even badder thing must happen'. Violence and more violence! Flat readings! Kill death murder!

If you ignore what the whole story is saying, of course. Like how they can't kill Salem, and the answer will never be killing Salem... not because it's impossible but because her curse must be broken. They don't really know that part yet, but that's part of the ironic prophecy. You can never kill Salem, because you must not kill her. Nevermind the overtness of what they're doing with Neo's story and revenge, or anything else in the story... which are all arguing for this final thematic statement... which Cinder is a part of.

Of course, I could see the argument that Cinder's death could realise an idea metaphorically, but as you go through my Cindemption tag you'll see that a) no b) no, the Maiden power won't work like that, and it's doing a lot of different things in the story and c) no and d) the tragedy of Pyrrha's death, and others in the story, have to eventually mean something, and answering it with more death - not learning from that - is depressing. Pyrrha's death 2.0 with Cinder is just bad, and you can't really kill childhood twice over. If Cinder learnt cynicism in her childhood... then yes, perhaps I expect some themes of innocence to be reprised.

But it's really about established narrative language and expectations, but part of what really annoys me is that the wrong methodology of analysis is applied to R/WBY in particular. R/WBY is a fantastical fairytale gunsword diet-anime show and they have gone to pains to establish the rules of their story. If you want it to be some grimdark, deconstructionist type of deal, you're in for the wrong story. I would certainly say R/WBY reconstructs tropes, but it is not cynical, it is not nihilistic, and it is playing with story magic. It's hard to believe a story about stories would insult the very fabric of stories.

They think Cinder deserves a death because they a) don't pay attention to her character - Cinder is a severe fandom blindspot, b) don't understand remotely anything about anything at all thematically or what the Maiden powers are doing in the story or Salem or Ozma or the stories or the purpose of her backstory or ANYTHING, and c) expect that with the established narrative language as violence begets violence, then the damn evil bitch should be put down despite that already being rejected in V5 with Jaune. The lattermost of these points is also complicated because writing redemption arcs is REALLY HARD. Writing good ones. Writing stories with a different structure that doesn't end in one of the baddies dying (including redemption-by-death) is REALLY HARD. Because it's not just good guys win bad guys die. It's structurally more complex than that. You need to be arguing for it, and argumentation is hard! Especially when you're going against the established grain narratively in Western media! There is a separate post here where I discuss recent trends in narrative nihilism, and a rejection of metaphor...

So I am compassionate towards the viewpoint that Cinder 'must die', because I think it does come from more of a complex place than people being stupid or bad or having bad opinions. It's not really narrative convention to sympathise with villains either (in a sincere way which involves the expectation of redemption), broadly speaking. I am sure that they are people who care about the characters they are used to caring about. I am however very swift to point out the faultiness of their analysis if it goes directly against a textual reading, and R/WBY is really fucking unsubtle.

So that's my opinion on it. I think there are a lot of contributing factors, and hey - maybe I am wrong, and maybe R/WBY will do an about-turn and go back on everything it has established. But between you and me, it's not about being right, it's about being invested in a story and letting that story make you think about things. This is why I dislike the aversion to critically thinking about what a text is actually SAYING. Read, watch, and think for yourself! That includes my blog most especially.

Thank you for your ask! If there's something I've missed in my Cindemption tag, let me know, and feel free to send more asks about Cinder, her redemption, and redemption arcs in general. <3

[lucrezia-thoughts]

The Lesson - How to Admit You’ve Fallen in Love

Pairing: Pero Tovar x (F) Reader

Warning(s): 18 +, light Dom Pero, brief almost sexual assault, feelings

Summary: You never expected an intimidating lodger to teach you the ways of pleasure…

Link to Master List

“Sleep, amor. I will teach you more when you wake.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Pero realized both his mistake and the truth of it. Amor... Love... There was no room for love in his life.

Sitting up in bed, he put some physical distance between the two of you as his mind spun. You were just so beautiful... so... responsive... so innocent... and you'd wanted him. Him. A man whose hands were stained in the blood of innocents and sinners alike. And yet, you'd allowed him to touch you, to taste you, to guide you.

Pero suffered no delusions about what kind of a man he was. He was a killer. A liar. A thief. A mercenary. He lived hard, fought harder, and fucked harder still. There was no room for innocence in that reality.

Getting off the bed, he padded quietly over to the table and grabbed the hunk of bread from the dinner tray you'd placed there. Seeing the neglected meal only served to strengthen the guilt beginning to run through him. You'd just been doing your job. Feeding a lodger... and he'd dared to touch you.

Ripping off a piece of the bread, Pero sighed as he turned to watch your sleeping form. He could still see the shine of your arousal and his saliva on your sex and he cursed his manhood for its rising interest.

Chewing unnecessarily violently at the bread, he silently vowed to himself that he would no longer taint you with his corruption.

¤¤¤¤

Soft pressure along your cheek gently roused you from your sleep and you leaned towards the feeling. You heard some soft mumbling in a language you didn't understand and smiled as you remembered the previous night and whose bed you were in. "Pero..." You whispered as your eyes slowly opened to take in his handsome face above you.

"Good morning, mi amor." You frowned slightly as you took in his closed off body language. He'd donned his pants while you slept and he moved away when you'd opened your eyes. "Pero?" You questioned as you sat up to get closer, but he got up off the bed and bent down to pick up and hand you your dress. You felt the tears begin pooling in your eyes as you got up and took your dress from him with shaking hands.

"Amor..." Pero sighed as he reached out, cupped your chin, and lifted your face to look at him. Your damp eyes locked on his and you tried to express everything you couldn't formulate the words to say. He leaned forward and kissed you softly before stepping away. Turning his back to you, he picked up your dagger and pulled a whetstone from his pocket. As he began sharpening the blade, you knew you'd been dismissed.

Swallowing your tears, you dressed quickly and ran from the room. You hadn't even bothered to get the tray. You took a few deep breaths and did your best to train your face into a neutral expression as you made your way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

When Gwendolyn stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, you kept focused on the dough you were kneading to prevent her from seeing your face.

"Isn't it a lovely morning?" She mused cheerfully as she grabbed a pail to go collect milk.

"It is certainly a morning." You acknowledged, tossing more flour onto the counter top to keep the dough from sticking.

"Did you manage to learn your lodger's name?" She asked conversationally and you shut your eyes as you tried to keep your voice even.

"Yes...I did."

¤¤¤¤

Pero scowled as he saw William's beaming face approach him in the hallway. "What right have you to be so cheerful, amigo?"

"What right have you to be so dismal?" William countered, coming close enough to clap him on the back. Pero shrugged his hand off as they made their way down the stairs and into the main room. "We need only collect our weapons, then we may be on our way." William grinned and Pero grunted non-committally.

As they made their way towards the stables, a loud bell rang through the room and you emerged from the kitchen. Your eyes locked with Pero's for a moment that pierced through his heart. He saw such pain and sorrow in their depths and he knew he was the cause of it.

As you turned your head away, he wanted nothing more than to disappear. You'd allowed him a glimpse at heaven and a man like him had no right to want or expect more, but when you opened the door of the inn to let in two new mercenaries he knew he wasn't going anywhere. He may not deserve to have you, but he would do everything in his power to keep you safe from other men like him.

Tugging William back from the hallway that lead to the stables, Pero slapped his hand over William's mouth and pulled him out of view. William struggled for a moment before he saw the problem. William nodded his head and Pero took his hand off his mouth as they watched you greet the mercenaries.

¤¤¤¤

"Good Morning, sirs." You couldn't help the uneasy feeling that settled like a stone in your stomach. These men were just as heavily armed as William and Pero had been and infinitely more sinister in manner and appearance.

The taller one circled around you and your hand blindly sought out your dagger, only to find the sheath empty.

"We require lodging, little lady." He sneered and reached out to stroke a hand down your cheek where Pero's fingers had been just that morning. You moved your head back from his hand, but kept your eyes trained on the man.

“Your weapons will have to stay in the stables.” You responded and stepped back when he tried to touch you again.

"I don't go anywhere without my weapons, woman." The man's sneer turned to a scowl and your eyes darted from his face to the kitchen, trying to gauge the likelihood that you could make it past him, when William and Pero appeared from the fireplace room.

"That's no way to treat a lady." William grinned as he grabbed the man's shoulder, but you saw the flash of a wince on the man's face. When you felt a presence behind you, you hadn't needed to turn to know it was Pero.

"Now, I believe the lady gave you the condition for lodging here." William's grin widened. "So, either comply or my friend and I will escort you out."

You watched carefully as the man's eyes swept from William to the other mercenary at his side to Pero behind you. Scowl widening, the two new men began to strip off their weapons. "Excellent choice." William gathered up the weapons and nodded to you before disappearing through the hallway leading to the stables.

You took a deep breath before addressing the men. "Please follow me." You lead the men to their rooms without incident, but you were quick to realize that was because of Pero when you caught him watching from the end of the hall.

Your stomach clenched and your heart ached when you saw him, but he disappeared down the stairs before you could thank him.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you stepped into the room quietly before hurrying back out when you found William and Gwendolyn locked in a passionate embrace. Silently walking back to the stairway, you made an effort to make as much noise as possible as you made your way back to the kitchen. "How is the meal coming, Gwendolyn?" You all but yelled as you crossed the threshold to find them at complete opposite ends of the room now.

"Gwendolyn?" You asked again when the silence in the room became awkward.

"Oh!" You sighed as the plate she'd been holding fell from her hands and shattered on the ground.

"Let me help." William offered and was across the room before you could object. Shaking your head, you gathered a few more plates and loaded them with food for the lodgers. As you left the kitchen, you felt Pero's presence again as you made your way to deliver the food.

The next few days passed in much the same manner. You'd taken to loudly announcing yourself as you approached the kitchen and knew Pero was tailing you everywhere you went, but he hadn't so much as addressed you since that final kiss in his room.

On the evening of the third night since William and Pero arrived, you and Gwendolyn were finally alone in the kitchen as you prepared dinner. "So..." You started as you finished chopping the vegetables. "William?" You asked his name as a question and held your hand out to catch the jug Gwendolyn had been holding.

"What about William?" She asked as her eyes widened. You smiled as you set the jug on the table before pulling her into a hug.

"I am happy for you, Gwendolyn." You explained and smiled wider when she squeezed you tight.

"I really like him...he said he was going to ask my papa for my hand when winter is over!" She sniffled  and pulled back to beam at you. "Me, he wants me!" She added excitedly.

"He's a very smart man." You assured her before pulling away to add the vegetables to the stew.

"May...may I go spend time with him while the stew simmers?" She asked tentatively and you nodded your head. She practically bounced from the room in excitement.

Stirring the stew, you heard someone enter the kitchen and assumed it was Gwendolyn until a rough hand tugged at your waist. Turning around, your entire body tensed as you realized it was the larger man who'd tried to touch you before.

"You're a hard one to get alone, little lady." He grinned and your eyes darted around the room to find an escape path, but he'd rested one hand on the counter top and the other on the wall to effectively block all your exit paths.

"Please...sir...I need to-" You tried to plead with him, but he cut you off.

"It can wait." He grinned wider as he stepped closer to you and your back hit the wall. Your stomach churned in fear and you turned away from him and started to shut your eyes when the man's scream rang out through the room.

Whipping your head back around, you saw your dagger protruding from his hand and Pero's hand was wrapped around the hilt. "Do not touch what is not yours." He growled to the man and twisted the dagger until the man cried out and nodded. Tugging the dagger back out of the man's flesh, Pero stepped aside as the man scrambled from the kitchen clutching his bleeding hand.

"Did he touch you, amor?" Pero asked as he walked over to you. You shook your head and felt tears fall from your eyes as he tentatively lifted his hand to cup your cheek.

"Pero..." You whispered and leaned towards him, but he just stroked his thumb along your skin.

"Good, amor." He breathed as his eyes searched your face and your body trembled at the praise.

"Pero, please...I need you." You whimpered and reached up to cup your hand around his.

"Mierda...te amo." Pero groaned at the contact and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, but quickly pulled back.

"Hermosa...Amor, I can't." He grunted and watched as more tears spilled from your eyes. Tears that he'd caused. No matter what he did, he was hurting you.

"I want you to..." You breathed and leaned forward to press against him.

"Amor, I am not a good man." Pero tried to cling to his vow, but his resolve was quickly fading with you being so close and wanting him.

"You are to me." You whispered as you gently pressed your lips against his.

"Hermosa..." He groaned and swiped his tongue along your lip just to hear your moan. "If I do not walk away, I will take your maidenhood." He warned.

You pressed closer to him and brushed your nose against his.

"Take it."

----

A/N: Ask and you shall receive! I hope this meets your expectations @kiwi-the-first! I'm sorry I had to break it into two parts...As always, comments and feedback are love!! And if you have an idea, please send it in!! ALSO, if you guys want this one to continue, please send in some ideas!!

TAG LIST: @prideandpascal @paintballkid711 @artsymaddie @computeringturtle @northernpunk @clydesducktape

[just-a-real-human]

Stress

(heya! this is my first story and i’m still not that good, so keep that in mind as you read ‘^^ please give any constructive critisism you can give to help me improve! i’ll write in mostly metric to make it easier on myself, let’s chalk it up to the translator being extra nice today) (extra note, i’m Dutch and English is actually my second language, so keep that in mind as well)

The classroom was filled to the brim with all kinds of aliens, from the wonderful to the weird, speaking in all their exotic languages. all the conversations differed and the translators they had really started to prove their worth! the only thing that truly stayed constant was the subject of their conversations...Humans. That was because this was a special class all about Humans, given by the head of research on humans, or ��anthropology’ as the humans call it, an alien called Kr’kn. Kr’kn was one of the first to spend an extended amount of time in the company of humans, going on to become a famous figure in the galaxy.

After a couple minutes of this exitement in the classroom, it all suddenly went silent as two figures walked onto the speaking platform. the first being Dr. Kr’kn himself, a Molusk-like creature having some resemblance to an earth octopus, but with about 12 tentacles, 4 for locomotion, which are place under his body, giving him an upright gait and making him stand about 1.4M tall and 8 tentacles for manipulating the environment. But perhaps even more exiting, behind him followed a Human! The human followed Kr’kn closely, fidgeting with something grey in his hands. when they reached the speaking platform, The human promptly took seat in a chair next to the speaking platform, continuing to play with the thing it was holding, yet hiding it from view, looking around the room, but never looking directly at any of the students. Dr. Kr’Kn looked over the room and took a deep breath before saying.

“Humans, strange creatures aren’t they? Very, very complicated ones as well, there is much more to them then any sensory organ could perceive. They are loud, but can be almost entirely silent. They are social, but they need privacy and alone time frequently. They are tall, yet can blend with many environments, even without technology. I could go on for HOURS about the uniqueness of humans, and i probably will sometime! But not now, because over the course of these months i will teach you all i know of humans, starting not with the very basics, but the more advanced things as through (their equivalent of internet), reading and lessons you’ve learned the basics of them. So let us start with a subject not often touched on in education, stress and, unavoidably, rage.”

The students sat, watching the doctor, and occasionally the human, with wide eyes. they had indeed learned the basics of human biology. they had briefly touched on hysterical strength and subjects like that, yet they still didn’t have a very good understanding of humans, simply because nobody had. Except of course them one teaching them.

Dr Kr’kn continued. “We all know stress, most species have it. But in humans it can be especially prevalent. Stress in humans can drastically affect their mood, emotion, sexual interest, concentration and even lifespan. It can induce depression and loss of interest and a whole managerie of different effect on humans, nearly none being benificial. Often stress quickly can lead to anger, and is oftened compared to a rubber band, each thing that stresses them out tightening the band and if they are too stressed, they get angry. Humans have dubbed this stress-overload as ‘snapping’, and it can range from shouting at someone to assault and even death, both for the human and the one who made them ‘snap’.  Humans can be quite easily stressed, for instance my dear friend here gets stressed by crowds, eye contact and meeting strangers, as well as a looong list of other things. this is partially due to mental disorders, but mostly due to personal differences.”

Many of the class nervously eyed the human after he said this, the human did seem a bit uncomfortable, what if he ‘snapped’ here? This seemed to be a stressfull environment, why would he be here? Was he forced?

The Doctor looked around, noticing the nervous glances and chuckled. “No worries, my friend here is calm as can be. This actually leads very well into the next part, how do humans relieve stress? Well, there’s some ways, that you’ve probably already learnt, and seeing as that’d be a little embaressing to go over for my friend, i’ll go to the less well known ones. A very popular one, maybe even more popular then any other, is music. An immense amount of emotion can be transferred into music, ranging from happiness to sadness, even anger can be put into music! The best example of ‘angry’ music is probaly a kind of music humans dub ‘metal’. Anyone sensitive to rythms, loud noises or things like that, please cover your ears.” He said, swiping a few times on the tablet infont of him, a large hologram raising infont of them before saying once more “I repeat again, if you are sensitive to fast rythms or loud noises, please cover your ears!”

He then pressed the play button and the music started playing, and indeed, as he said, the pure rage put in that music was so overwhelming some students actually seemed afraid, as if the humans on the hologram could jump out and attack at any moment! The human accompanying Kr’kn seemed to enjoy it, moving his head up and down in the rythm of the music a little.

Dr. Kr’kn paused the music, swiping it away. “Well, i suppose you get what i mean about anger being conveyed in the music? And despite its seemingly simple nature, metal often has deep symbolism, especially compared to the simple first impression. It also happens to be one of the most difficult forms of music to play. Another good way to relieve stress for humans are video games, especially either calm and cute ones, or the most violent ones they can create!”

The class laughed a little, assuming the doctor was making a joke. As a reaction the doctor pulled up another hologram, showing the class a cute, calm game about finding many orb like creatures with (human) smiles on their faces. It seemed to be a good example of what the doctor meant.

“now, if you are bad with blood, violence or dismemberment, please look away, and if you are sensitive to rythms and loud noises, cover your ears again.”

He then pulled up a video as one specific game, one set in a red, fleshy cityscape, destroyed and overrun with the most disturbing creatures you could imagine. But worst of all, a human was running through! With more of that ‘metal’ in the background the man was running through the creatures, shooting them with ballistic weapons, energy weapons and cutting them apart! It even ripped them apart with its bare hands! Many students looked at it, horrified, some even needing to look away. Kr’kn laughed, swiping away the hologram. “that there is a favorite game among many humans, including my friend here, he is quite skilled at it, in fact, the footage there is my friend playing that game!”

The students looked at the human, terrified. Humans ENJOYED murder and destruction!? They liked such violence and that music?

Dr. Kr’kn laughed again. “Anyways, yet another way of relieving stress, or more accurately, prevent stress, is in the form of a mental support thing. Often that is an object, like in the case of my friend here! If you would please look to him, he will show what his emotional support object is.”

The human seemed a bit aprehensive before revealing the grey thing he was holding and had been playing with...it was a small, grey teddybear with a white scarf. it was clearly quite old, it was clear it used to be coloured something else then grey, but due to years of hugging and washing, it had lost it’s colour, only it’s snout being a little brighter grey with a brown nose.

“Yes, that little thing is one of the most important things in my friends life, so important, in fact, that he has once killed someone for taking it.“

The students gasped, looking at the human, who looked away a bit, now holding the bear closely, clearly regretting what happened back there, and speaking for the first time. “Not JUST for taking teddy...he was a pirate”

Kr’kn laughed, shaking his head “True, true, the fact remains that it is an incredibly important object to him, anything else and he would have waited to sneak up on him, but he instead took the pirate on without bothering to sneak, he shouted so loud the pirate was stunned for a moment before my friend here beat him with a glass and stabbed him to death with the shards! none of us would dare approach him for hours after that...well, the humans kept their distance claiming he needed time alone, but we all noticed even the humans were fearfull. He only truly calmed down when his chosen mate, or ‘girlfriend’ went to speak to him. And that brings me to the most important and effective ways for a human to relieve stress.

Kr’kn let the students stare at the human for a little bit, he knew how they must have felt, humans were terrifying when you learn such stories, and even more if you experience them!

“there are 4 most important ways for a humans to release stress. And they are: Screaming, crying, talking and love. Screaming lets them simply release all the rage in their system in a simple roar, it can be one scream or many, but they are almost always effective. Talking means to simply share their troubles with someone, be it human or not, even talking to a pet, friendly wild animal or book(by writing it down) will help them as they aren’t the only ones stuck with it anymore, and the other might be able to help in some way. And now the two most important ones, Crying and love. Crying is a strange thing, humans will leak water out of their eyes and make a repeating sound, often accompanying screaming, but even more often it is silent, and they usually cry when safe. It releases all their stress and sadness over a period of time and is a very clear way for others to see how they feel, and Love is often a result of it, or what causes it, which is good. For instance the previous story, my friend here told his Girlfriend everything, and a human often gets repetitive when telling something, which you should deal with if you truly care for them. He then simply got a hug, which is one of the most primally loving and caring things a human can do. You all know kissing is something that human mates do, but a hug can be done by any human they care about. Physical contact is important for a human, and a good hug will often make a human cry their worries away, which is an important part of bonding and caring. Now do not go about hugging humans every chance you get, it’s something special, and not every human likes it. For instance my friend is a bit sensitive, so there are few people he allows to hug him, and i just so happen to be one of them.” He said the last part with a certain pride, having his race’s version of a smile as he looked at the human.

“Anyways, this is where my job ends for today, and yours starts. I want you to write a simple list of stress-relieving things for a human, write it as accurately as you can. And even if it isn’t very accurate, as long as your tried, it’ll be good enough for me. Next time i will go over the dangers of a human and what you should do to avoid it. I hope you have a good day and enjoy your time, goodbye!”

The students wished him farewell and Kr’kn walked away, the human joining him, still holding the bear closely. The students exitedly started talking to one another, having learned many things about humans that they didn’t know before. After many minutes of conversation, they slowly started to leave, and after about an hour or so the classroom was entirely empty.

WELL! that was my first story, i hope you enjoy it! again, give your opinions and constructive critisism down there, any ideas and suggestions are welcome as well! have a nice day c:

Good news! I fixed the comments (i think). :D

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh. 

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again… 

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole? 

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone. 

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…” 

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart. 

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t. 

“I wish you were here, noona…” 

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum. 

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?” 

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.” 

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven. 

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh. 

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.” 

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?” 

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.” 

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.” 

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting. 

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips. 

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze. 

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom. 

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place: 

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?” 

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything. 

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.” 

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?” 

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain. 

This subject, however, has been a brick wall. 

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—” 

“(Y/N)?” 

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face. 

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch. 

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger: 

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.” 

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop. 

“Did you need something?” 

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—” 

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.” 

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue: 

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…” 

“Then you met Jackson.” 

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.” 

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring. 

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” 

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?” 

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…” 

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…” 

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—” 

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care. 

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?” 

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You smile at his apology. 

“I’m sorry too… for everything.” 

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.” 

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders. 

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?” 

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.” 

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.” 

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.” 

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.” 

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly… 

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.” 

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way. 

“(Y/N)—” 

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…” 

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey. 

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill? 

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips. 

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.” 

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—” 

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.” 

“Help is on the way—” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows. 

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.” 

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison. 

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment. 

He needs to have hope, if nothing else. 

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?” 

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.” 

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?” 

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head. 

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?” 

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.” 

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see: 

Im Jaebeom. 

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk. 

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.” 

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?” 

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?” 

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.” 

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.” 

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff: 

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.” 

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” 

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?” 

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.” 

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.” 

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest. 

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return. 

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?” 

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet. 

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?” 

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.” 

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—” 

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities. 

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...” 

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing. 

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.” 

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!” 

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!” 

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!” 

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.” 

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!” 

“Every war has its casualties.” 

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?” 

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!” 

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.   

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?” 

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!” 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer… 

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward. 

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.” 

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder: 

“Not yet, hyung.” 

“But Jinyoung—” 

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.” 

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party: 

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.” 

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.” 

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?” 

Jaebeom’s face darkens. 

“...So there is a cure?” 

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.” 

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.” 

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.” 

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world. 

“You know she doesn’t have much time—” 

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”  

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead. 

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.” 

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far. 

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!” 

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn. 

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch. 

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph: 

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.” 

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.   

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something… 

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.” 

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?” 

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave. 

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why. 

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?” 

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.” 

“He never told me that.” 

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.” 

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—” 

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.” 

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further. 

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway. 

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight. 

“Everything okay…?” 

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.” 

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—” 

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress. 

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh: 

Die. 

“Shit—we need to go. Now.” 

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.” 

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation. 

“What is it?” 

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…  

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?” 

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”  

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal. 

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!” 

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight. 

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.” 

“Watch your ears.”  You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire. 

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise. 

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand. 

“Mark—” 

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand. 

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat.  You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!” 

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—” 

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!” 

“I understand you—” 

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!” 

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.” 

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality: 

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two. 

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable. 

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…” 

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears. 

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.” 

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips. 

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!” 

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.” 

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?” 

You nod.   

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.” 

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…” 

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!” 

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…” 

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing. 

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile. 

“Thank you, Changbin…” 

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…” 

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.” 

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head. 

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.” 

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.” 

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer. 

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…” 

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.” 

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?” 

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question. 

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?” 

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…” 

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.” 

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.” 

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—” 

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!” 

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…” 

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.” 

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—” 

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...” 

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips: 

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else. 

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse: 

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand. 

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—” 

“Tzuyu…?” 

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?” 

“It seems so.” 

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one. 

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?” 

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.” 

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…” 

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart. 

“Everything is taken care of, right?” 

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear. 

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”  

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…” 

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.” 

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.” 

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?” 

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.” 

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.” 

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation: 

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues. 

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!” 

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears. 

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!” 

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out. 

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?” 

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!” 

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...” 

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts: 

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!” 

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground. 

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground. 

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!” 

“(Y/N)! Don’t!” 

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white. 

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms. 

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!” 

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips: 

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out. 

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so. 

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?” 

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.” 

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.” 

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent. 

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?” 

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest. 

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.” 

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that… 

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human. 

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.” 

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.” 

“Then let me be selfish with you.” 

Tzuyu smiles. 

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.” 

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.” 

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

[themangolorian]

look how long this love can hold its breath (ALT part 5)

I’m a mess and wasn’t happy with this as the final product so, for lack of a better word, the canon Chapter 5 can be found below. I won’t take this down just to be fair, but I’ll unlink it from my masterlist and the other chapters. i’m so sorry for being all over the place but thank you all for being so understanding.

Real Chapter 5

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

words: 5.7k

warnings: (18+ only) strong language, violence, sexual/explicit content.

a/n: all i can say is thank you all so much for being patient and waiting for this update. 💖 i know it’s been forever and i hope to have part 6 out much sooner than that. 😩 i hope there are still interested readers! please mind the warnings. 🛑 this chapter contains especially explicit sexual content so please please please don’t read if you’re under 18. 🛑 please enjoy! 💕��❤️💖(p.s. not all the tags below actually linked but i’ll do my best to let anyone it didn’t tag know individually that i updated b/c i can’t think of a better system 😩)

You sucked in ragged breaths as you ran, your side starting to pinch painfully. The warm humid air of the jungle made it impossible to fill your lungs as you ran. You could hear Peña’s panicked breathing at your side and just behind you. Urging you on under his breath as low as he could. Every time you thought the voices of the men behind you had started to fade, one would yell. Each time, they sounded closer than the last. The roar of a small engine, like that of an ATV, sounded suddenly. Instinctively, you knew headlights would follow. A split second before it would have been too late, you dived sideways into Peña. And then you were both falling, tumbling down a steep ravine. Bright lights pierced the now empty air where you’d just been running.

30 Hours Earlier

“Are you alright?” You jumped in your skin when Peña barked the question at you, but your eyes were still darting in terror between Mario’s body and the half-open barn door behind which would appear any second a dozen narcos.

Luckily Peña was not so frozen in fear as you. He was suddenly in front of you, drawing your attention away from what you could only think of as looming doom. He studied you with eyes too soft given the circumstances but when he seemed satisfied, he swiftly moved into action.

Before you could stop him, not that your trembling hands would have allowed it, he was ripping the band and gun from around your exposed thigh. Then he was dropping to his knee and scattering hay out of his way. You opened your dry lips to question him when you suddenly understood: he was hiding the gun.

Peña dropped the weapon in a loose patch of dirt and shifted the hay back over the spot until it was piled high, then pulled you away from the wall.

The shouts and sounds of men talking excitedly were growing louder. They were almost to the barn. Peña pulled you behind him as he made his way to Mario’s body. There, he crouched down and swiftly pulled the now dead man’s gun from the back of his jeans, flipped the safety off, cocked the hammer and then shoved it into the man’s slowly stiffening grip.

Then Peña was turning toward the barn door.

“Espérate,” you managed to croak, your throat almost too tight with fear to speak. Your hand went to the strap of your dress, and you yanked, but your hands were shaky and you couldn’t-

“Déjame.” His voice was nearly tender but then he was roughly ripping the dress strap, jolting you off-balance.

Before you could stop him, Peña was scooping you up in his arms.

“Tienes que llorar.” He reminded you quietly as he strode towards the door of the barn, and you swore you could hear your heart beating through your chest.

You’d never before had to improvise while undercover to this extent, but as you felt more unbidden tremors pass through you, you knew suddenly it was not going to be difficult.

You curled into Peña’s neck as if seeking protection, your nails digging into his shoulder. Before you could stop yourself, the flood of fear and adrenaline you’d been holding back was released. For the first time in Peña’s presence, you began to weep. You were grateful that he merely thought you were putting on an act.

Cradling you in his arms, Peña strode out of the barn. He managed to make the power of his stride appear to be borne out of anger instead of urgency.

“¡Te lo dije, Pacho!” he raged at the man, only one among the many of those approaching.

The group of mostly men, some wide-eyed women, froze in their tracks.

“¿Qué es esto?” Pacho looked bewilderedly past the two of you into the barn where you were sure he could see- the results of what had transpired.

Peña didn’t slow his stride. “Ese hijoeputa tocó a mi mujer. ¡Te dije que iba pasar!” Peña spit out, rage evident in his tone.

“Mario. Muerto.” You heard called out indistinctly from the barn by the men who had rushed in.

Something went hard in Pacho’s jaw, but he was looking at the barn, not at either of you.

Still cowering into Peña’s shoulder, you could feel the tension in the air. Could hear through omission the way everything had gone quiet. As if the entire surrounding jungle was aware that a single sound might break through the lull, transform it into an explosion.

You felt someone brush past and knew from the heady scent of cologne it was Pacho.

Peña you were sure gave no outer indications that he was worried, but you could feel his arms tensing around you.

Then-

Pacho spit in the direction of the barn.

“¡Al fin!”

You released the breath you’d been holding when you felt Peña’s arms go slack with relief. But then he was pulling you closer, his hand cupping the back of your head gently.

The gesture alone brought fresh, real tears to your eyes, and you released a sob you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You heard the murmur of distress among the women.

Then Pacho was commanding his men to get rid of the body.

“¿Estás bien, ángel?” You felt a hand brush your arm but ignored the sentiment. Pacho could put on the appearance of being kind, but he was still dangerous.

Then Pacho was putting his arm around Peña’s shoulder and leading you both back towards the mansion, murmuring apologies under his breath and commending Peña for killing the son of a bitch.

Several yards later, Peña put you down gently but drew you into his side covering the back of your head with one large hand, letting you hide your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. While part of you hoped the gesture was convincing, there was another part of you that knew the embrace was genuine - at least for you. Although his holding you was necessary for the charade, you weren’t sure you could get through the next several minutes without his arms around you.

When Peña attempted an explanation as to why he’d taken things as far as he had, Pacho waved it away, reassuring him that Mario had had it coming for years, almost as if he didn’t want to hear what kind of monster he’d actually had in his employ.

Once back at the mansion, Pacho barked out instructions to his staff, directing them to start a hot bath in your room and to provide you with strong warm brandy.

At the foot of the stairs, he clutched Peña’s shoulder and apologized again, assured him that had Peña not killed Mario, he himself would have.

“Que se sientas mejor, mija,” he murmured, a hand lightly at your back, before departing.

You thanked Pacho in a choked voice and Peña draped his arm protectively around your back as he held you at his side now.

You clung to Peña until the two of you were back in the familiar bathroom, and even then you didn’t detach yourself completely. He too seemed reluctant to let you go. Instead he dismissed the staff kindly, thanking them warmly. Only when the door was closed did he extricate himself - gently - from your grip, so as to lock the bedroom door securely behind the staff. Then he was crouching next to the sink to ensure the gun you had stowed there remained in place.

Peña turned to you as if to express disbelief about having survived the ordeals of the last hour. But when his eyes landed on you, something in them softened, and he closed his mouth, as if changing his mind about what to say.

It was then you realized you were shivering despite not being cold. You lifted a hand and stared at it, watching bewilderedly as it shook of its own accord. Then your teeth were chattering.

Peña was in front of you in the next second. He seemed to hesitate, but then his much larger, warmer hand was enveloping yours and you closed your eyes at the warmth that simple gesture brought to your entire body. The next thing you knew, his other hand was taking your chin and lifting it. You opened your eyes narrowly to see him staring down at you in concern. The softness in his eyes struck you with a tenderness so intense that it almost hurt.

“You’re alright.” He promised. “He’s dead.”

And you had to close your eyes again to prevent him seeing your tears. The hand at your chin went to your cheek, and you felt his long fingers brushing against your temple lightly. You let your cheek rest heavily in his palm.

He squeezed your other hand and you felt a surge of panic when he began to withdraw both of his hands away from you, sure his intent was to leave you alone in the bathroom. But you suppressed the urge to keep hold of him, frightened somehow that such an attempt would make you seem weak.

You barely noted the regret his eyes held as he backed away towards the bathroom door. “Bañate…y hablaremos.”

You stared at the door as it closed behind him, saying nothing. Your teeth chattered violently as shivers ran through you though you were not actually cold. Your eyes drifted blankly towards the bathtub, the surface of which was steaming, but there was something foreboding and dark about the bottom of the deep tub. You eyed the shower now instead but couldn’t seem to draw forward the strength you needed just to move toward it.

So you stood there in place, shaking. Later you wouldn’t be able to say how much time had passed during which you just stood there with your eyes closed trying to keep your mind blank. Trying not to think about Mario’s cold blank eyes, about the moment you’d seen the life leave his eyes. You’d been around death before, but never so close.

You didn’t hear the door open, but you felt his warm presence, heard the slip of his bare feet on the cold tile, and so were not startled when he took your hands in his. You didn’t open your eyes, too afraid to look at him, afraid of what your reaction might be, could not stand to break in front of anyone again, least of all Peña.

He let go of your fingers and suddenly his large warm hands were running up and down your biceps as if trying to rub warmth into them. “You’re okay,” he said hoarsely, his tone of voice so different than usual. “You’re okay.”

He seemed to make a decision then. He let go of you again but then you heard the shower door squeaking open, heard the water blast to life. Not a minute later you could feel the heat and steam emanating from the open door. The next thing you knew, he was draping his arm supportingly around your waist, shifting most of your weight to him and leading you into the open shower.

You gasped in both surprise and delight when the steaming water hit your still clothed body. Slowly the cold that had somehow seized you began to dissipate.

Peña did not leave you. You stood, leaning against his broad chest, his hands gently clutching your arms. He began trailing his fingers lightly up and down the surface of your arms, displacing water as it fell. His touch was gentle, so gentle; it was hard to equate such softness with Peña.

So you opened your eyes to see it for yourself. His long fingers trailed over your wrists, then circled your hand so that the backs of your hands were resting in his palms. He used his thumbs to rub soothing circles into your palms for several seconds. He relaxed his grip on your hands and ran his fingers back up each of your arms to your shoulders, his nails lightly grazing your only now slightly tremoring skin.

You followed Peña’s hand with your eyes until you found your head turned, your gaze meeting his. You’d expected to find him uncertain, hesitant. Instead, you happened across a sweet openness and understanding. His dark eyes were wide open and viewing you with an intensity you weren’t used to, that made your eyelashes flutter now in your own uncertainty. There was concern and worry there too but they seemed secondary to whatever else was happening in his gaze.

Peña’s hands continued to traverse the planes of your skin, one skimming lightly across your collarbone, the other sliding down along the back of your arm. The shivers now racking your body were vastly different from those you’d had before. His hand fluttered up your neck until your jaw was resting in the large palm of his hand. His thumb brushed your cheek. You wanted to close your eyes again but could not tear your gaze away. Had his eyes always been so expressive and mournful?

His other hand found its way to your stomach as he furtively pulled you the last inch back into him. The movement, finding yourself flush against him, awoke something more in you now than just curiosity or relief. You found yourself hit suddenly with an onslaught of lust, a wave of bright hot desire that threatened to envelop you fully if you did nothing to satisfy it.

His eyes darkened at whatever flash he saw in yours. In the same moment, you were turning in his arms and he was swooping down at you.

The kiss was nothing like the brief one you’d shared before for show. Instead there was a clashing of teeth and a bruising of lips. You fumbled desperately at him, your arms clutching the back of his neck, dragging him down to your lips. He was scrabbling at you just as urgently, clasping your body tightly against his as he plunged his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned involuntarily, and Peña’s hips bucked into yours at the sound. A growl tore its way from his throat and he was backing you into the shower wall, water spraying every which way from the abrupt movements of your bodies beneath its stream. Without relinquishing the kiss, he was pinning your wrists almost gently against the cold shower wall, pressing his wet t-shirt and boxer shorts up against your torn dress.

You cried out into his mouth when you felt the stiffness of him at your hip. You grinded against him as you sucked on his tongue, trying to make the kiss as deep and intense as possible. No matter how much you gave into your desire, you felt as if you could not get enough. He seemed to share the sentiment- because then he was letting go of your wrists and dropping his hands to your behind and squeezing the flesh of your ass roughly, pulling you into him. Your hands dropped into his hair and you gripped it tightly, eliciting another husky groan from him.

Now he was lifting you with a fervent urgency, hooking your legs around his waist so that you were pinned against the tile only by the weight of both his body and desire. He broke the kiss to a moan of disappointment from you but was then sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue along your flesh before letting it go and nibbling gently on it, all the while rocking his hips into yours, creating a frantic friction that was building both your desires to an anguishing high.

Then Peña’s lips were trailing down your chin to your neck where he kissed, sucked and nibbled at the skin there. All you could do was clutch his hair and surge your body forward into his.

You dropped one hand down to clutch desperately between your bodies, wanting to feel his length with your bare skin.

He let out a choked groan when you found the outline of his cock in his pants and squeezed.

“Please,” you begged, forgetting how to voice precisely what you wanted from him and hoping the appeal would be enough. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Peña’s voice was rough, as if he was drunk or had just woken up.

You nearly shrieked when he dropped you, but you landed agilely on your feet, gripping his hips. Then you were helping him peel the tight wet t shirt up and away from his skin. The shirt landed with a loud slap against the shower floor when he threw it, but you were already yanking his boxer shorts down, falling to your knees as you went.

You found your lips level with his cock and did not think twice before surging forward, your lips eagerly open. He gripped your head roughly with a guttural moan as you took him into your mouth. Your lips formed a tight o around his girth as you pulled back to run your tongue over his tip, enjoying the taste of his arousal on your tongue. He sucked air sharply in through his teeth, his grip on your head almost painful, but it was as if you could no longer feel pain.

You kissed the tip of his cock and then took him back into your mouth and began bobbing up and down, hallowing your cheeks and lapping at him with your tongue as you went.

“Así,” he grunted. “Así.” The word set your cunt to throbbing and you moaned.

When his hips began jerking almost involuntarily, he stopped you with a rough grip at your jaw. He thrust twice into your mouth, until his cock hit the back of your throat and you gagged.

“Fuck,” Peña rasped, jerking backwards.

He slipped out of your mouth with a loud pop but you had only a second to breathe before he was hauling you back up to him and capturing your lips once again, somehow more passionately than before. He ran his tongue over your teeth, tasting himself, before pulling away to take the hem of your ruined dress in his hands. Then-

Peña hesitated, his eyes going soft as he glanced up at yours, no doubt clouded with desire. A question. As if he was worried about being too forceful with you. Your chest went weak and you licked your swollen lips before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, then another directly on his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth as you broke the kiss.

You lifted your own dress now up and over your head. His hands joined yours, taking the torn dress from your grip where it joined the discarded t-shirt in a soaking pile of forgotten clothing.

Peña focused his eyes on yours for a second more, as if ensuring this was what you wanted. Then he dropped his gaze to take in the sight of your body. A sharp intake of breath that somehow made you more shy than had he not reacted at all. He seemed entranced. When he met your now bashful gaze, his eyes had darkened somehow further, desire dilating his pupils fully.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Peña said slowly, deliberately. He was at his gentlest now, cradling your face in his palm as he leaned down again to take your lips with his. This kiss was sensuous and so much more intentional than all the others. He took his time, devoting attention to every inch of your lips and tongue, even running his own tongue across the roof of your mouth. “So fucking beautiful,” he repeated deliriously after breaking the kiss again.

Too shy and unsure how to respond, you grasped his hand and brought it to your lips, wanting to somehow show the same level of devotion without words. You brought his fingers to your lips and kissed them softly all at once, then each individually, all the while keeping eye contact with him. His eyes flashed inscrutably with something more than just desire.

Peña’s index finger snagged on your lips, and he traced the outline of them briefly before you were opening your mouth to allow him access. His middle finger joined his index and he groaned. You closed your eyes in pleasure at the sound and sucked the digits, wetting them with your spit, running your tongue between them, letting him briefly fuck your mouth.

Then he was pulling his fingers out and you opened your eyes just as his fingers found your clit. You cried out, feeling your knees go weak, as you clutched his wrist, though you did not stop him. Using the fingers you’d wet with your mouth, he rubbed light circles over your clit. He had only to dip one finger lower to find you inconceivably wet.

“Fuck,” Peña gasped, gathering the wetness and dragging it over your clit so that you were almost crying his name.

You pushed desperately at his hand until he lowered it further again and you gasped loudly when his middle finger entered you first.

“Please,” you begged, catching his gaze, glad to see your hunger for this reflected overtly back your way.

“Fucking- so tight,” he muttered as if stringing words together incomprehensibly.

With your grip on his wrist, Peña began to pump his fingers into you, curling them inwards, hitting a spot that made your vision go half blurry.

“Please,” you sobbed again and Peña’s fingers stopped, still buried inside you.

He was suddenly at eye level, gave you one long blazing kiss, then whispered into your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

The tenor of his voice, the demand, almost made your knees buckle. Your head dropped to his shoulder. But you were no more than your want in the moment.

“Fuck me,” you breathed into his skin, wet from the still running shower.

Peña nudged your head aside and put his lips to your neck, kissing, then gently biting the exposed skin there. “What?” He said softly into your skin.

You bit back the frustrated moan, not wanting to give in, not wanting him to see the depth of your desire. But then his fingers began thrusting into you again, curling up into that spot that made you forget yourself.

“Fuck me,” you groaned again. He nipped at your earlobe and you cried out at the sensations coursing through you. “Fuck me,” you begged, louder. “Please fuck me.” You nudged at his jaw with your forehead until his lips were visible then surged up at him, capturing his lips in another bruising and demanding kiss. The movement dislodged his hand and his cock brushed lightly up against your slit.

Peña stiffened and let out a painful groan. Now he was the one losing control. He ran his fingers roughly up against your clit once more. Before you could even cry out in pleasure, he was pulling you behind him as he threw himself down on the built-in shower bench, dragging you after him. He sat on the edge and jerked you to him, directing one knee, then the other to the tiles on either side of his legs, so you were straddling him.

You could feel his stiff cock brushing the inside of your thigh. You were so drunk with want that you felt one more touch without completion might break you. His hands were on your hips but he made no move to sheathe himself in you. He leaned back, indicating you were free to continue at your own pace. You gazed down at him wondrously, studying the depth of Peña’s expressive eyes, the way shower water made his eyelashes sparkle with drops of wayward water.

Your cunt was throbbing with need, but you found yourself soft, yet again so soft, in the presence of a man you’d never thought you could feel such things with. You’d been with your fair share of men, but not one of them had made you feel a fraction of the emotion currently coursing through you. Surprising even yourself, you leaned forward to kiss him deeply, willing into it what you were feeling that he might understand the gift he was giving you, one you hoped you were adequately reciprocating. Before breaking the kiss, your warm hand found his dick and Peña gasped now into your open mouth and you smiled against the outline of his lips, laving at them once with your tongue.

His grip on your hips tightened almost painfully as you guided his cock to your entrance. You met his eyes with yours, intent to watch him as you sank down on him.

Peña let out a ragged, harsh moan, his fingers digging so deeply into your skin you were sure he would leave bruises. But the pleasure you felt drowned out the pain as your eyes shot closed, your lips forming an o of pleasure. He was so big and filled you so fully. Your cunt pulsed around him, though you did not move, and he groaned again almost as if in disbelief.

You only realized you’d been holding your breath when you let it out and began breathing shakily again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, anchoring you as you lifted yourself back up until only the tip of his cock was within you. You could feel him slightly shaking beneath you from the pleasure of it all as you sunk back down on him. He filled you impossibly more than before and your back arched as your cunt sucked in his length greedily.

Peña’s eyes rolled back in his head as you began to ride him and his hips began to grind up into you each time you sunk down. Almost as if not knowing what to do with his head, he turned it to kiss the hand you rested on his right shoulder. Briefly he helped you bounce up and down on him, his hands tightly gripping your hips, but as you caught momentum, his hands traveled up to yours, taking them. Your fingers linked together and that was suddenly your leverage as you rode him up and down. His hips jerked upwards again and again.

You could feel yourself tensing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, almost as if any one movement could shatter you as you held yourself together so tightly. Peña’s breathing grew ragged as you sunk down on him over and over, squeezing your muscles as you went. Both of you were shaking. Any second now-

You cried out in frustration when Peña lifted you completely off him. Your pussy pulsed almost painfully at the loss of his cock. But you had no time to react. Suddenly you were sitting in Peña’s place and he had fallen to his knees and twisted around. Before you could say or do anything, he was burying his face-

You cried out jaggedly, your spread thighs trembling uncontrollably as Peña’s tongue hit your clit, already sopping wet. He sucked your clit between his lips, then ran his tongue downwards and blessedly towards your entrance before dragging it upwards and running it over your clit again. The sounds his mouth were making against your cunt, even with the shower running loudly still in the background, were obscene. He moaned in satisfaction, as if he’d been waiting impatiently to taste you.

“You taste so fucking good,” his groan reverberated through you.

Then Peña’s fingers, wet with your juices, were plunging into your cunt. You whimpered loudly at each and every sensation. His mouth on your clit. His fingers pumping frantically into you. The way his nose brushed against your clit every time he furled his tongue downwards. Suddenly his other hand jerked out of your grip and he was pushing down on your belly just as his fingers curled upwards inside of you.

Your cunt pulsed intensely then and you lost your vision, seeing only black for several seconds as something within you shattered. Your release hit you in waves and you melted backwards into the glass and tile of the shower. A cross between a growl and a scream left your throat, the rest of the noise trapped in your throat. You felt wetness spurting from between your legs. Almost distantly, as if from above, you saw Peña hovering open-mouthed just above your cunt, licking his lips, saw the wetness of your juices smeared across his lips, chin and cheeks, caught in his mustache. You whimpered weakly, barely managing to breathe out his name as your body quivered in the aftershock of it all, feeling almost too weak to move.

You cried out when Peña leaned forward to lap at you one last time. The sensation was too much and gave you enough of a jolt to make you sit up and pull away from him. But at the same time, you were urging him up to face level so as to kiss him yet again. You could taste yourself on his lips and found your tongue darting out to catch remnants of your orgasm from his chin and lips, wondering what his reaction would be. His groan did not disappoint and you made a point of kissing along his upper lip, cheek and chin, gathering your own juices before returning to his mouth and kissing him deeply, tongues swirling around one another.

You were the one to break the kiss this time, and Peña’s lips followed yours upward, searchingly, wanting more. But it was your turn to take control. You pushed him away gently so you could stand unsteadily on shaking legs. You found his dick blindly with one hand and pumped once, twice, so he was bucking into your hand. But then you were turning away from him swiftly and bending over, against the cool shower tile, arching your back and spreading your legs wide.

“Fuck.” He spit. “Fuck.”

“Fuck me,” you ordered him now, looking back from where your cheek was pressed up against the tile.

He wasted no time in gripping your hips and sliding his cock along your slit. You yelped when his head slid over your clit. Then he was positioning his cock at your entrance and sinking into your wet cunt. You couldn’t stop the sharp cry that left your lips. The sensation was once again too much and not enough all at once. But Peña seemed past thinking. He pounded into you, sinking deeper than you had even managed to get him while riding him.

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you cried desperately into the cold tile, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure. His fingers gripped your ass tightly, as he snapped into you.

“Carajo,” he was muttering, his words slurred. “Fuck,” he managed as he slammed into you one more time before-

You swallowed half a scream when he hit your cervix, feeling your own pleasure building yet again. He stiffened behind you, freezing in place. A guttural groan. Then you could feel his cock within you spurting his pleasure deep into your core. He was coming inside of you. The realization itself, the throbbing of his cock within you and the noises he was making drove you once again to the edge. You gasped in surprise, then let out a long loud keening moan when your climax hit again as your cunt began pulsing around him.

“Jesus fuc-“ Peña’s hand slapped hard against the shower wall as your walls clenched tighter around him. Then he was half collapsing over your back, his cheek resting against just the back of your neck. You felt his shuddering breath against your wet skin. Then- a kiss. And another. Soft and sensuous as his cock slipped out of your still pulsating cunt.

You felt your knees beginning to give out. He seemed to anticipate that and before you could fall, one strong large arm came around your middle to hold you up to him.

Then Peña was standing you both up straight. He watched you with wide, soulful eyes. His hands came up to run lightly over the sides of your face. He took your chin in one hand, tilted your head up and kissed you once, twice. Then the tip of your nose. Your forehead. Fully sated, you let your head fall against his chest now. He held you like that for a few more moments, then leaned away briefly to finally shut off the stream of water behind you both.

The sudden silence in the shower did nothing to stop the roaring in your ears at the earth shattering orgasms you’d just experienced, especially not when it was magnified by the way Peña leaned down again to kiss the side of your neck, your shoulder, his mustache tickling you slightly.

Then he took your hand and led you on your trembling legs out of the shower. He was gone briefly before returning with two large warm white towels. Letting you just stand there, he wrapped one cozily around you, folding it over to keep it in place before wrapping the other around his waist. His arm went around your shoulder and he led you as if in a trance back out to the bedroom where he’d thrown the covers back so all you had to do was climb in. When you did, you shifted over to the middle of the bed. Without question, he slipped in after you, covering you both with the blankets.

His arm went sturdily around your waist as he curled his body around yours from behind. You shivered once, now with only pleasure and contentment. Your eyes closed when his lips pursed against the back of your neck once more.

“Duérmete, corazón. I’ll watch over you.”

Feeling more content than you had in years, you let yourself finally melt into him and give in to the demand of sleep hanging over you. Your last sensation of consciousness was the way Peña was rubbing the back of your hand that he held in his.

[arts-and-drafts]

Legacy (Part 2)

(Continuation of my first FWT fankid AU fic, in which Dream faces his consequences and Fundy goes after his reckless son before it's too late to save him. Enjoy!)

(Tagging @midnightmagi @rose-icosahedron @amazonprimebox @colorfulsiren @strawberrylemonz)

-

Dream shifted, the first real movement Theo had seen from him. "...I don't have a son." He spoke, his tone low with an unreadable emotion. Theo flattened his ears.

"Actually, you fucking do." Theo snarled, his anger overriding his caution. "But you wouldn't know, since Dad was too afraid of you to say anything."

Dream went still, his mask tilting up to seemingly search Theo's face. "'Dad'...do you--Fundy?" Dream asked, a shred of desperation present in his question.

"Yeah." Theo spat. "Fundy is my dad. He ran away because you cheated on him, and you were gonna start another fucking war."

Dream flinched, only barely, but Theo caught it with a fierce satisfaction. He found the nerve.

"I thought--I thought Fundy was dead--" Dream muttered. "And you...you're mine?"

Dream raised his hand towards Theo, but snatched it back when Theo raised the trident to his throat. "I'm not fucking yours. I'm here to hurt you the way you hurt my dad. Don't get fucking chummy."

Dream paused, again. Theo wished he could rip that mask off to see what he was really thinking.

"What's your name?" Dream asked, slowly and carefully. Theo's lip curled.

"You don't deserve to know."

Dream gently pushed the trident aside, putting his hands up as Theo jerked it right back to his vulnerable chest. "Kid--" Dream started, but Theo cut him off.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you did?! He loved you, and you just threw him into the dirt!! I'm ashamed to share your fucking blood." Theo exploded, spitting all the venom he could muster.

"Listen--" Dream tried to interrupt, his body language tensing the more Theo ripped into him. Theo silenced him by jabbing the trident points against his godly father's chest. "No! YOU fucking listen!!" Theo snapped.

Dream's energy suddenly violently shifted, making the fur on the back of Theo's neck stand on end. Dream grasped the neck of the trident with an iron grip and easily twisted it out of the fox's paws as if he was snatching a toy from a child.

Theo stepped back with wide eyes as Dream advanced, throwing the trident aside carelessly while keeping his undivided attention on his son.

Theo's back hit the strong stalks of bamboo, halting his frantic reversal to escape Dream. He bit down a yell as his other father grabbed his arm and pulled him close, his grip tight and unyeilding.

"Where is Fundy." Dream said. It was not a request, it was an order. Theo bared his fangs. "Fuck you."

"Tell me where he is!!" Dream yelled, yanking Theo closer as he tried to pull away. Theo clenched his free fist and felt it charge with green magic.

"Get off me!!" Theo snarled, his glowing fist being Dream's only warning before it swung dead center into his smiling mask.

Dream flew backwards, Theo crying out in pain as the god pulled the fox's arm hard enough that he heard a small pop in his shoulder before Dream's grip finally broke. Theo's vision blurred with white stars of pain as Dream landed in the pond below, thrown a significant distance from the force of Theo's blow.

Theo gasped and clutched at his arm, a throbbing ache from his shoulder forcefully taking his breath from his lungs. He staggered over to the discarded trident and picked it up with his left paw, holding it close to his chest as his right arm lay useless at his side.

Theo's eyes slowly widened in fear as Dream rose from the pond, crackling bolts of a familiar green energy encasing his entire body. Theo could feel his fury from 50 blocks away.

Theo tightened his grip on the trident, his ears flat to his head as his father started to float menacingly towards him. He was lightheaded with pain and one arm short, but refused to admit defeat. Theo stood his ground and bared his teeth as Dream closed in.

-

Fundy paced the length of Logstedshire's walls, his mind addled with worry. Theo hadn't been seen since he awoke, something that wasn't abnormal. His son liked the early morning. What worried Fundy was the fact that there was no note telling where he ran off to like there usually was, and he was not in his regular places of comfort outside the walls. He just simply disappeared.

"Could've forgot." Tommy wondered aloud to Fundy from his spot next to the Prime Log. His uncle had been looking for guidance from the vessel all morning, but was met with silence from his deity.

"No." Fundy instantly shot him down, turning in place to pace down the south wall again. "I rammed it into that kid's head to always tell me where he was. He wouldn't have forgotten."

A gust of chill from behind halted Fundy's nervous movement. He sighed and flattened his ears.

"What do you want, Wilbur."

"Hello, Fundy!" Ghostbur greeted cheerfully, unperturbed by his son's cold acknowledgement. "Is little Theo back yet?"

Fundy turned to face him. "You saw him leave?"

"Yes!" Ghostbur said. "He said he needed to take care of something and told me not to tell you--...oh." Ghostbur's face flickered. "Frick."

Fundy moved to grab Ghostbur's arm, his paw passing right through his father's transparent form. "Wil, tell me where he went." Fundy demanded, his voice rigid with fear. Ghostbur's face twisted in guilt.

"He said not to say anything," the spirit said hesitantly. Fundy flattened his ears tight to his head.

"Wilbur. My son is in trouble." Fundy said, driving every spot of desperation he felt into his words. "He's gonna fuck himself over and he's gonna get himself killed if you don't tell me where he went. For once in your fucking existance, Wil, be a good dad."

Fundy exhaled and looked at the ground, blinking tears from his eyes. "If not for me, then--at least for Theo."

Ghostbur had gone very transparent, his eyes far away. For a tense second, Fundy feared his dead father would disappear until he forgot again.

"He went to Technoblade." Ghostbur murmured dazedly, blinking. "He said he needed a weapon."

Fundy ran his paw over his head, his core filling with dread. "Shit. Shit." He tried so long to keep Theo hidden, to protect him, to keep him safe, and it was all falling apart.

Fundy cursed himself. He never should have told his son the truth. This was all his fault.

Fundy looked back up to Ghostbur, desperately searching his eyes. "Is he still there?"

Ghostbur shrugged, and Fundy wanted to tear his fur out.

"He...asked about Dream? I don't know why. He seemed very interested in your marriage." Ghostbur commented. Fundy squeezed his eyes shut, old scars flaring up at his father's words.

"He's going to the SMP." Fundy breathed. He snapped his head to Tommy, who mirrored his look of fear. "Tommy, we have to find him--oh shit, shit, he's going to get himself killed--"

Tommy's hands grabbed Fundy's arms, though the fox didn't notice him rise from the Prime log.

"Fundy--I-I can't go there. Dream will kill me." Tommy said, his voice only imperceptibly trembling. Fundy's shoulders began to shake. "He'll die if we don't, I--"

"Fundy, I can't go with you." Tommy reiterated in a pleading voice. "But you're not exiled like I am."

Fundy blinked. "So--I'm--I'm on my own." He realized. Tommy didn't respond, only pressed his mouth in a thin line.

"I'm--I can't. I can't die." He said, and Fundy could see regret and shame and fear behind his uncle's eyes.

Fundy stilled. "I...understand."

"You won't be alone!" Ghostbur piped up from behind them, his voice already back to its raspy happiness. Fundy set his jaw.

"Ghostbur. You need to stay with Tommy. You'll just fuck it up." Fundy stated, disdain dripping from his words. He turned away from his uncle and the ghost of his father, steeling himself for leaving Logstedshire for the first time.

"Fundy." Tommy said, and the fox paused. "Take whatever you need." His uncle said. Fundy turned to see Tommy gesturing to the storage house.

Tommy was a hoarder. After the visits from Dream, the boy had squirreled away everything he could get his hands on, hidden from the explosive fate that all the rest of his belongings had suffered. Tommy was possessive and greedy, but here he was, opening his entire supply of preperations to his nephew.

Fundy swallowed, a task that had suddenly become difficult. "Thank you, Tommy." He struggled, never one to know how to express his gratitude in his words. His father was the poet, after all. Not him.

Tommy nodded regardless, and Fundy got the feeling that he knew what his nephew was trying to convey.

Fundy made quick work of packing. Food, armor, axe. A golden apple just in case. He stopped, and then grabbed a second.

There was no such thing as too careful against Dream.

Before he sealed his pack, Fundy took a deep breath. Time was a medicine, and had helped Fundy heal from his former husband shattering him into pieces.

Going right back to the man who hurt him so badly could only end as such, and Fundy would never attempt it on his own.

But the greatest gift that came from Dream was Theo, and he meant more to Fundy than anything else in the realms. He was not about to abandon him to the fate of his divine father, no matter how bad it would hurt to go back.

Fundy clipped the top of his pack together and slung it over his shoulder.

For Theo, he would do anything. If that meant facing his hell to save his son, then so be it.

Ghostbur was gone when Fundy returned, and he didn't care. Good riddance. In the past, he would have felt a small twinge of guilt, but that was a long time ago.

Tommy saw him off, waving solemnly from the walls of Logstedshire. Fundy knew Tommy had done all he could, but the fox couldn't help but feel a very small twist of abandonment. Fundy was more than willing to risk his life for Theo, and a part of him wished Tommy was too.

Fundy shook his head. That was unfair to think. He focused on the horizon, his breath fogging in the morning air, and sent a silent wish to whatever god would listen that his son would be okay when he found him.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

I

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

II

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd. 

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.  

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

IV

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away.  It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C��mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

__________________________________________

Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

[snicketstrange]

Rereading The End chapter 10

Rereading: Chapter 10 One of the biggest mysteries for me in Chapter 19 is what the end of the story Ish started to tell about his student who had only one eyebrow would be. - "Did you know I used to be a schoolteacher?" he asked. "This was many years ago, in the city. There were always a few children in my chemistry classes who had the same gleam in their eyes that you Baudelaires have. Those students always turned into the most interesting assignments." He sighed, and sat down on one of the reading chairs in the center of the room. "They also always gave me the most trouble. I remember a child in particular, who had scraggly dark hair and just one eyebrow... This was a little girl. only one ear. She was an orphan, and she lived with her siblings in a house owned by a terrible woman, a violent drunkard who was famous for having killed a man in her youth with nothing but her bare hands and a very ripe cantaloupe. .. the student in my class began to be very suspicious about the tea her guardian would pour for her when she got home from school. Rather than drink it, she would dump it into a house-plant that had been used to decorate a well -known stylish restaurant with a fish theme... The Bistro Smelt. he houseplant's owner was whisked off to Peru aboard a mysterious ship [,The Prospero,] even though at the time the ship was called the Pericles. But my student didn't know that. She only wanted to avoid being poisoned, and I had an idea that an antidote might be hidden—"... What is happening now and what happened then is part of the same story, If I don't tell you how I came to prefer tea that's as bitter as wormwood, then you won't know how I came to have a very important conversation with a waiter in a lakeside town. And if I don't tell you about that conversation, then you won't know how I ended up on a certain bathyscaphe, or how I ended up shipwrecked here, or how I came to meet your parents, or anything else contained in this book." What I can deduce from this story is this: Ish was a VFD teacher. Ish was informed by his student that her tutor was trying to drug her. Knowing this stopped Ish from drinking sweet tea. Also, because of this attitude, Ish had to talk to a waiter in a town near a lake. This is very similar to what Lemony had to do after being told that Olaf wanted to kill him and Beatrice. Lemony had to take a special ticket to a ship and flee abroad. Clearly Ish had to do something similar, perhaps in the same place, as the consequence was that he stopped on the island, meaning he was at sea at some point. Parallel to this, we know at what time this happened: at the time of Gregor's Schism. In other words, Ish's student would be drugged in preparation for being kidnapped by one side of Gregor's schism. We can see that this plan to drug children to be kidnapped during a VFD fragmentation is basically the initial plot of ATWQ. It is true that the times when this happened were different, but the attitude of S. Theodora Markson shows that this type of situation was already common and this was repeated at the time of Gregor's Schism. Professor Ish ended up having to flee so as not to be harmed by the possible violence that would take place during Gregor's schism. He was a total pacifist at this time, and Olaf knew it. When he arrived on the island, he was still with the aftermath of the violent world he was forced to flee from, and more determined than ever to establish a community based on total pacifism. According to Ish, The Island Book is where castaways write their stories. This shows how Lemony Snicket has access to stories experienced by the Baudelaires since before their house burned down: the Baudelaires wrote about it in the island book, and Lemony found this book later. The Baudelaires' parents arrived on the island a few months before Ish. In all, they only spent a few months on the island. Beatrice probably arrived on the island pregnant with Violet and left it pregnant as well. Is it possible that Lemony is Violet's father? Talking about possibilities, yes it is possible. Coitus would have had to have taken place not around the time of the canceled quasi-marriage, but around the time of Gregor's schism, around the time Lemony fought over the salmon along with Kit and Jacques. However, I find this unlikely. On TBL we have access to a letter from Lemony to Beatrice. In this letter, we learn that Lemony was informed of Beatrice's pregnancy, and it appears that the person inside Beatrice was Violet. In the letter, Lemony indicates that he hasn't seen Beatrice in a few years. This suggests that Violet is indeed Bertrand's daughter. (You can always think of a grand scheme involving lies, but I find that unlikely. If Lemony wanted to hide the fact that he might be the father of Beatrice's baby, the smartest thing he could do was do nothing. , Beatrice's hasty marriage would have already hidden any suspicion as to the paternity of Beatrice's baby). "They wanted to dig a passageway that would lead to a marine research center and rhetorical advice service some miles away." The Baudelaires exchanged amazed looks. Captain Widdershins had described such a place, and in fact the children had spent some desperate hours in its ruined basement. "You mean if we walk along the bookcase," Klaus said, "we'll reach Anwhistle Aquatics?" Ishmael shook his head. "The passageway was never finished," he said, "and it's a good thing, too. The research center was destroyed in a fire, which might have spread through the passageway and reached the island. was contained in that place. I shudder to think what might happen if the Medusoid Mycelium ever reached these shores." Beatrice and Bertrand arranged to begin construction of a tunnel connecting the island to AA's facilities. The justification was to take the documents to Dewey's library. If we are to believe that Beatrice's genuine interest was in providing content for the library, we also need to believe that at this time, Beatrice did not yet know of the danger Gregor A posed to the world. On the other hand, Beatrice and Bertrand's interest in finding a cure for the deadly MM fungus, as well as the precautions they took in case the deadly fungus reached the island, is evidence that they already knew about the possibility of the fungus being used as a weapon of mass destruction and start a great pandemic that could reach the island somehow. So it is more likely that Beatrice and Bertrand's real interest in building the tunnel was to see that the cure for the MM fungus reached the place where the fungus was contained. In fact, if everyone on the island had immunity to the fungus, they could provide for the controlled destruction of the deadly fungus, without having to resort to wildfire to eliminate that danger. Ish's narration makes it clear that Beatrice and Bertrand have found allies on the island. In fact, it's possible that their arrival on the island was not accidental. They were perhaps looking for a safe place for their experiments involving finding a cure for the deadly MM fungus. That Beatrice had already begun to perform tests that she considered dangerous is evident from the prior knowledge she had about the hybrid apple. After all, neither apples nor the roots used in the experiment have abortive properties in themselves. Some exotic substance was formed in the genetic crossing between species, and Beatrice was already aware of this substance to the point that she never ate her own bitter apples. I have a hypothesis that this information could have been gleaned from Mrs. Widdershins' studies, but this is still very speculative. If there had been no schism on the island at the time of Beatrice and Bertrand, Gregor's schism would not have had so many consequences, for the weapon of mass destruction would have been destroyed without the need to resort to Olaf's incendiary methods. I think this plot also explains another mystery of ASOUE: "the great truce." From Violet's birth until the Baudelaire mansion burned down, Olaf was apparently not chased by the VFD and he maintained a town house and theater group. This truce must have been a kind of reward Olaf received for helping to destroy a bigger and more powerful enemy of VFD: Gregor A and the deadly fungus MM. "In my experience, the Snickets are as much trouble as the Baudelaires" So, this is hard to understand. Ish considers the Snickets problematic, and he considers this based on his personal experience. His experience is with Jacques or Lemony, as in his writings he had claimed that Kit was someone's sister. This reveals exactly what I had previously thought: the Baudelaires and the Snickets were part of a different faction than Ish was. Ish preached total pacifism with the help of librarianship. His behavior on the island for all these 15 years only demonstrates that he has taken this philosophy to the max. He became like a monk during the Middle Ages, who retreated into its mysteries surrounded by manuscripts, while laymen were prevented from learning to read. Ish reveals in chapter 10 his entire philosophy of life: to keep the peace it is necessary to alienate the people of the world. He really considers himself a father to the island, and it's interesting that father is a religious term in many languages, including English. The answer to this way of thinking was said by Sunny: "I don't believe that bridging the freedom of expression and the free exercise thereof is the proper way to run a community." "This ring," he said, "once belonged to the Duchess of Winnipeg, who gave it to her daughter, who was also the Duchess of Winnipeg, who gave it to her daughter, and so on and so on and so on. , the last Duchess of Winnipeg joined VFD, and gave it to Kit Snicket's brother. It to your father, who gave it to your mother when they were married. Learned from her grandfather. The wooden box turned to ashes in the fire that destroyed the Baudelaire mansion, and Captain Widdershins found the ring in the wreckage only to lose it in a storm at sea, which eventually wa shed it onto our shores." This is a delightfully intriguing story. This story spans hundreds of years. Firstly: what is the importance of the ring? It appears to be originally a family heirloom. After that the rings are given to other people. We know Lemony gave the ring to Beatrice and in his mind it must be an engagement ring. I wonder why R gave this family inheritance to Lemony. He could have used any ring to ask Beatrice to marry him. Did he want something special, but being poor R decided to give him something dear? In this case, was Beatrice already rich? Among the reasons Beatrice would return the ring was certainly the fact that she would not marry Lemony. Was differences between social classes an important factor? Why did Lemony give the ring to Kit instead of keeping it, or instead of giving it back to R? And why did Kit give the ring to Bertrand? Did she want Bertrand to marry Beatrice? And why did Beatrice keep the ring so carefully instead of displaying it on her finger? The only answer I can think of is that Beatrice kept the ring as a symbol of the forbidden love she could have lived with Lemony but didn't. She was his bride at heart. I believe that Beatrice's marriage to Bertrand was not motivated by love, but it was a suggestion that VFD gave her, especially since she has inherited a large fortune. But in any case, Bertrand gave this ring to Beatrice only on the day they were married, not on their engagement. At the time, Beatrice believed Lemony was dead. No wonder she decided to keep a memento of her true love. Of course, these are all hypotheses. But the most important question is: How does Ish know all this? The last information he has is that Captain W took the ring from the wreckage of the Baudelaire mansion and left it lost at sea. How does he know it was exactly Captain W who took the ring? This information can only have been generated by Captain W himself. Did the captain drop his logbook overboard? Chances are, yes.

[wheres-sam]

I binge-watched the spn anime because of the brain rot

It’s bad except for the parts that are good, and it’s pretty to look at. Here’s a comprehensive list of pros and cons. Spoilers ahead!

Pros:

- more psychic kid backstories: Max (Nightmare), Lily (Darkness Calling), Jake (Loser)

- more psychic Sam

- more Azazel

- basically if you want more about the psychic/demon kids, watch the anime

- more young Winchesters

- the monsters, the superhuman abilities, the fight scenes, it all looks really cool animated. (But PSA it’s violent. It doesn’t shy away from blood and gore.)

- Sam and Jessica backstory

- more of the brothers being cute and funny together

- Missouri isn’t forgotten

- includes some Japanese legends/mythology

- the impala looks great in every scene. They did Baby good

- the “Supernatural” intro title

- the outro sketches of the boys hanging out with Baby

- Episodes adapted from the original show are different, but I like some of the changes? It’d be boring if it was an exact retelling and the visual medium wasn’t utilized. (I know I said spoilers before, but this is when they get detailed. If you wanna skip over, I’ll tell you where they STOP.)

Nightmare goes more into the abuse Max has suffered. Instead of locking Sam in a closet, Max sends Sam through the floor and covers the hole by breaking his bed in half, and it’s extremely sexy how Sam shoves the 2 halves apart with his mind. Later on Dean puts bandaids on Sam and they talk about demons loudly in front of a fast food intercom.

In My Time of Dying highlights the guilt Sam feels over Dean. In both the og and the anime John verbally blames Sam for not shooting Azazel, but where in the og Sam goes right on arguing, in the anime he reels back for a moment like he was slapped. Dean’s spirit touches Sam’s shoulder, and Sam knows immediately that it’s Dean. He doesn’t even question it. Instead of “Are you here?” it’s “I know you’re with me. I can feel it.” And I love that. Dean figures out right away he’s dealing with a reaper, and the reaper takes on the appearance of Mary to convince Dean to move on to the afterlife. Instead of a Ouija board, Sam uses a laptop to talk to Dean, and the first word Dean types is “Sammy!” Dean is so fond of his little brother and Sam is so baby.

Rising Son is an anime only episode, but it draws inspiration from John’s journal. Dean has a proper breakdown over his dad’s death and the possibility of having to kill Sam. Ms. Lyle, Sam’s favorite teacher who turns out to be possessed, is explored. John takes Dean hunting, and in the journal Dean hesitates to shoot a buck, and little Sam shoots it thinking it was endangering Dean. In the anime, Dean’s cornered by a moose and Sam makes it explode with his mind and it’s so !!! How little Sam’s first words are, “I’m glad you’re okay. It didn’t hurt you?” The boys are covered in blood and guts and Dean’s like 👁👄👁 “Why are you here? Did you do this?” And then Sam starts freaking out a little, the shock sets in. “I don’t know. I don’t know, honest.” And he’s staring at his hands, and I am a big fan of Sam showing superhuman signs as a kid. Like in the journal, Ms. Lyle tries to take Sam. She gives Sam the illusion of a choice to come with her or stay with Dean, and Sam chooses Dean. This ep is pretty much when John figures out Sam has demon blood. He kills another hunter that wants to kill Sam.

Crossroad is based on Crossroad Blues, and I love how the crossroads demon shows up. It’s hard to describe, but it’s so neat, like she’s walking underneath Dean in this mirror world, and then the mirror world takes over the regular world, so you really get this sense of otherworldly seclusion, existing outside of time.

What Is and Should Never Be shows Dean is a firefighter in his ‘Mary never died’ world, and Sam got to play soccer growing up like he wanted. The brothers hold each other after Dean is saved from the Djinn.

AHBL part 1. When Azazel shows Sam that he fed Sam his blood, Sam gags and slaps a hand over his mouth, and I like that reaction more than the live action. The psychic kids get to go more anime with their powers, and that’s a lot of fun. They don’t need weapons. Ava slams Sam into the brick side of a building and cuts him without touching him. Jake snaps Ava’s neck with one hand and then catches Sam in his arms. When Jake attacks Sam, there’s no gun or knife. He’s relying on his super strength, his fists. Sam throws his arms up to protect himself, and (accidentally?) pushes Jake back with his mind, and the collision creates a crater in the ground. Jake puts his fist through Sam’s chest to kill him. It’s brutal and it’s rad as fuck. These kids are terrifyingly powerful.

The Sam and Dean reunion before Sam is killed is not as emotional as the live action imo, but what the anime does intrigues me. Hurts in a different way. Because Sam is stunned after he uses telekinesis again, on Jake, and when he hears Dean behind him Sam freezes. He doesn’t look relieved to see Dean, but wary and weary. It’s Dean taking steps towards him, not the other way around, and it has to be because Sam doesn’t know if Dean saw him push Jake back. Sam doesn’t know how Dean’s going to respond to all this, to him, having powers that come from a demon, the demon, Azazel. Sam hasn’t had a chance to process anything. He’s scared. He’s tired. And the way the anime focuses on Sam’s eyes here. Gah. “Dean. Dean, I’m...” I’m sorry. I’m all right. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m a monster. There’s also this one shot between Sam and Azazel that sends me because of how anime it is.

AHBL part 2. I love how Sam brought back to life is animated, with all the color returning to his face and a light wind rustling his hair and his lips parting to indicate his soul returning to his body. Jake attacks Dean, and, a lot like how Sam activates telekinesis to save Dean from Max in Nightmare, Sam gets a burst of superhuman strength. He rips Jake’s arm off and tackles him to the ground and beats him to death, punches holes into his body, and it’s so savage and bloody and scary, and I love it. The Devil’s Gate opening looks so cool animated. Same goes for Dean shooting Azazel with the Colt.

Not to turn this into a meta post, but I also noticed how the last couple times Sam uses his powers they’re colored green-yellow, the same colors as Mary’s ghost when she reveals herself in the anime’s Home, and I don’t know if that’s intentional, but it’s neat how it draws a connection to Sam’s biological family instead of Azazel’s blood.

The Spirit of Vegas is like Bad Day at Black Rock, but Dean has all the bad luck instead, and it shows off the silly cartoony physics that make animation fun. The boys sleep outside and split a chunk of bread for dinner. Also this lil bit of Dean’s hair tied in a bow.

- (STOP) the brothers are pretty. I am not immune to animated Sam and Dean Winchester.

Cons:

- Jensen doesn’t voice Dean until the last 2 episodes

- The English dialogue is really bad sometimes. I wish I could’ve watched the sub, but I couldn’t figure out how to change the language

- Some character designs are really different from the live action, and maybe that’s petty, but if you’re gonna change the characters diversify them? Don’t just make them unrecognizable white people

- Missouri’s design as a stereotypical witch doctor is racist

- Gordon is replaced by some British guy named Jason?? Why

- There’s an LGBT character who is not accepted by her family and, while that bigotry is always shown to be negative and she dies the hero of the episode, she still dies ://

- In the English dub Lily’s gf is made into her roommate instead. Idk about the sub

- Bobby’s pretty much a totally different character

- Sam and Dean are OOC sometimes

- Dean’s hair usually looks darker than Sam’s and it drives me crazy

- The storytelling is, overall, not nearly as good as the live action

- The non-Japanese lore in some episodes makes no sense. Sometimes it’s just plain ridiculous?? Like there’s a giant robot made of cars and scrap metal controlled by a demon? ? I wish I was making this up

- Meg’s role is severely reduced

- No Harvelles or Roadhouse

- Shadows are overused, but maybe that’s because the og show is so dark?

- I don’t mind the art style. I like the aesthetic, but I wish it was a little more expressive. It doesn’t do Sam’s puppy eyes justice.

- AZAZEL’S SHADOW?? PROPORTIONS?? PEA SIZED HEAD

- Idk why they mashed season 1 and 2 together? The story feels rushed

- there’s not as much chemistry between Sam and Dean, but that’s a given without J2 on screen

- Nobody tells you!! That there’s scenes after the credits!! And some of them are important! Why are important scenes after the credits??

The anime would not be good on its own, without the heart and depth the live action brings, but it works as supplementary material you can cherry pick from. I would watch more if there were more episodes.

It hasn’t turned me off from wanting an spn anime. I’d like to see it continued or redone, with updated animation and better scripts. There’s a lot of potential in exploring more about the psychic kids and Sam’s powers, storylines that were cut short in the og show. Animation is a great medium for showing off the supernatural, getting creative and creepier with the designs, dramatic with the fight scenes, without having to worry about bad CGI. I don’t want a live action reboot, but I think a redone animated series could be a lot of fun! (As long as it’s not an excuse to make any romantic ships take over. SPN is a platonic love story, and I like it that way.)

If you made it to the end here and are interested in watching the spn anime, you can watch it for free on the CW Seed app! You can probably stream it elsewhere, but idk where!

[thatboomerkid]

Giff -- SpellJammer Race for Pathfinder

Giff -- SpellJammer Race [19 RACE POINTS] for First Edition Pathfinder

Known to the gnomes of Markovia as the nilski konj vojnici, to the Hin plantation-owners of Covington Farms as los mercenarios gigantes del río, and to the human field-workers laboring near New Arvoreen most-often simply as “those big goddamn bastards,” the giff -- as they are called in their own guttural, roaring language -- represent a recently-contacted species of huge, violent, powerfully-built, terrifyingly-focused, and dangerously cagey combatants.

In the little-over-a-century since their discovery by the Hin, platoons of giff have already carved a bloody name for themselves across the wilds of Verdura -- and far beyond -- as unparalleled river-guides, rowdies, strike-breakers, mob debt-collectors, private enforcers, heavy-weapons units, siege engines, bodyguards, and elite soldiers of fortune.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

original image by the incredible Claudio Pozas, here

Type: Monstrous Humanoid (3 RP)

Ability Score Modifiers: Mixed Weakness (-2 RP)

+2 Strength, -4 Dexterity, +2 Constitution, -4 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom

Size: Large (7 RP)

Giff gain a +2 size bonus to Strength and a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (already included above). Giff also suffer a -1 size penalty to their AC and a -1 size penalty on all attack rolls; they gain a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks and to their CMD, and suffer a -4 size penalty on Stealth checks.

A giff takes up a space that is 10 feet by 10 feet and has a reach of 5 feet.

Base Speed: Normal speed (0 RP)

Languages: Standard (0 RP); giff speak their own eponymous, curiously poetic language, and most are -- in the modern day -- also conversant in Low Kozah-Talosii (usually spoken with a thick, pompous Verduran accent).

This bastardized dialect, the so-called “Common tongue” favored across Pyrespace for use in international, intercultural, and interplanetary trade, is a degraded mongrel variant of High Kozah-Talosii: the ancient root-tongue of both Arvorean and Brandobarin, still employed by the Church of Yondalla for use in sermons, hymns, and in all official records.

Big Damn Guns: Giff are treated as gnomes for purposes of the Experimental Gunsmith Archetype. (0 RP)

Darkvision: Giff have 60 ft. darkvision (0 RP); giff have relatively poor eyesight while out of water, which is easily corrected with simple lenses -- such as a monocle -- for use while reading. This vision is not poor enough to impart a mechanical penalty on Perception checks or attack rolls made by the giff.

Natural Armor: Giff have +3 natural armor (4 RP)

Natural Attack (Headbutt): Giff receive one natural attack, which is treated as a gore attack that deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage. (1 RP)

Natural Swimmers: Giff have a swim speed of 30 feet and gain the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. (1 RP)

Powerful Charge (Headbutt): Whenever a giff charges, it deals twice the standard number of damage dice with its headbutt plus 1-1/2 times its Strength bonus. (2 RP)

River-Sense: Giff can sense vibrations in water, granting them blindsense 30 feet against creatures that are touching the same body of water. (1 RP)

Slow On Land: Giff often select the Clumsy, Easy Target, Magically Inept, Nearsighted, and Slow Reflexes Major Drawbacks (0 RP)

Spell Resistance (Greater): Giff have spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level. (3 RP)

Sporting: The species-wide love of warfare exhibited by the giff draws a sharp line of distinction between “sporting” and “unsporting” combat (see below). (-1 RP)

Sporting combat includes arm-wrestling, fisticuffs, darts, cards, dice, checkers, chess, billiards, cricket, rugby, skeet shooting, tennis, and golf, alongside tests of boasting, carousing, headbutting, toast-giving, swimming, push-ups, and a complex, ritualized sort of thunderous, unarmed mixed martial-art performed solely while stripped down to breeches & undergarments, usually in ankle-deep to waist-deep water, ending in pin or submission, which -- up to a point -- also serves as a type of flirting.

The military mentality of the giff even makes special allowances for a variety of “sporting” duels to the death. Establishing a proper duel requires a huge number of complex ritual elements that -- in the end -- mostly boils down to both giff formally acknowledging that:

Both giff are armed with approximately the same quality of weapons & armor (warhammer, combat knife, pistol, full plate, etc.)

Both giff have equal access to military support, including healing

Both giff have a grievance, no matter how petty

Both giff are suffering approximately the same level of injuries

Both giff have made arrangements for their estate, and for the treatment of their body after death

Once a “sporting” challenge to the death has been agreed-to by both parties, anything up to and including outright murder of one’s opponent is considered fair game.

Several major holidays each year celebrated by the giff include a “violent dueling festival” as part of their celebration; to outsiders, these events have a very bizarre, genteel, 1800s-Victorian-Teddy-Roosevelt-meets-The-Purge sort of feel to them:

“Happy holidays, friend; best of health this year to you and to your kin. And I say, old chap, don’t suppose it’s high time for a kukri-duel, eh, wot wot? Seeing as you got drunk on my finest brandy, made a pass at the missus, wiped your prodigious buttocks with my table linens, and micturated in my hedge-row as of Christmas last, well ... in lieu of an apology, what say I have Jenkins fetch the carving blades, eh? See which of has the moxie, shall we? Cheerio and have at thee then, old sport?”

If this formal challenge to a lethal sporting-duel is declined, the challenger must make all possible accommodations to guarantee the immediate physical safety of the giff she just challenged (at least until such time as the two giff part ways once more): providing the giff with weapons, armor, food, water, medicine, reading materials, a place to sleep, liquor, smoking tobacco, and anything else a gentleman or lady of high breeding could reasonably expect to have access to (even while imprisoned).

In short: if the challenged giff dies immediately after declining a duel, it is considered very embarrassing for the challenger.

For his own part, the declining giff must treat her challenger with the very utmost level of respect ... or risk being guilty of unsporting conduct, a fate far worse than mere death.

Any giff who finds herself about to violate the terms of properly “sporting” conduct instantly becomes aware of the error, just as if she were wearing a phylactery of faithfulness and, at all times, actively contemplating the thought of doing bodily harm to another giff: this behavioral limitation is not built as a trap for players to accidentally stumble into, but -- instead -- as an interesting roadblock to navigate around.

If two or more giff find themselves forced into a position of armed conflict against one another on a battlefield, both groups traditionally retire for at least a day of drinking and sorting-out ranks; on rare occasion, one platoon will join the other; more likely, all giff involved in any part of the operation will quit their current hirings and look for work elsewhere.

Any giff who engages another member of her own species in any type of unsporting combat -- attacking another giff with a weapon, for example, or with magic -- immediately suffers a -2 penalty on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls and saves; she continues to suffer this penalty until such time as she is able to make amends: presenting her victim with a formal written apology, or seeking our her victim’s family to beg their public pardon.

Each month, this penalty increases by 2. Guilt is a poison that grows by degrees, after all: ever-gnawing.

While she is suffering penalties in this way, if the giff is presented with the chance to punish herself – or a non-giff opponent! – while presented with something that reminds the giff of her betrayal, she may find herself compelled to do so regardless of the consequences:

Any time her betrayal is directly brought to her attention, the giff must make a Will save (DC = 10 + her character level + the Charisma modifier of the wronged giff). Failure means that the giff falls into a rage of abject self-loathing, completely focused on her own guilt for a number of rounds equal to the DC, above. Until she has finished with this exercise in hate, the giff can take no action other than to harm the reminder of her failure or enable herself to harm it: grappling a human shipmate who mentioned her old friend so that she might headbutt the human while strangling them, for example, or calmly loading a shotgun so that she might shoot the human dead in cold blood.

Note that the giff, while wracked with guilt & grief, is not required to do anything or harm anyone: she may simply stare at an old photograph and feel sad, for example, ignoring everyone around her.

During the fury of this black tempest, the giff suffers a -2 penalty to her AC.

Once the giff successfully makes amends, either with the wronged party or with the victim’s next-of-kin, all of the above penalties are removed. Entire subsets of giff society -- mediators, arbitrators, and negotiators -- are explicitly adapted to making absolutely certain that any errors in sporting conduct among giff are resolved quickly, and to the satisfaction of all parties. 

Should she fail to make amends before her death, any giff who has harmed another giff in an unsporting way invariably rises again as an undead horror of some kind (often a blood knight or graveknight): reborn as a rotting, lurching mountainside of infinitely destructive hated.

Note that the Sporting Racial Trait is not purely social, but rather acts as a species-wide ingrained psychological virtue: two giff living on Fenris who never expect to see the wide rivers of Verdura again are still bound by the rules of “sporting” conflict; neither could shoot the other in the back any more than either of them could grow wings and fly to the moon.

Undead giff do not possess the Sporting Trait, which is seen -- by living giff -- as the most abhorrent and disturbing quality imaginable.

Note, also, that the desire to behave in a sporting manner extends only to fellow giff: Chaotic Evil giff will routinely massacre unarmed non-giff by the thousands, bellowing with laughter as they do so, and even a Lawful Good giff will rarely think twice before sucker-punching a crude human making drunken threats and impolite remarks at the bar.

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Giff Timeline:

1603 A.D. (118 years ago): The colony of New Arvoreen is established on Verdura; giff make contact with Hin (and their human servants) for the first time.

1620 A.D.: First generation of giff who have always known about the existence of Hin, humans, and -- most importantly! -- firearms fully comes of age.

1636 A.D.: New Arvoreen is significantly expanded.

1667 A.D.: Nation of Markovia -- the technological-marvel nation named for its Founder, Monarch and Supreme Leader, Dr. Adlai Markovitch -- founded on Verdua; diplomatic trade established with New Arvoreen.

1669 A.D.: City of New Arvoreen significantly expanded.

1702 A.D.: New Arvoreen significantly expanded; land officially cleared for Covington Farms, soon to be the largest agricultural facility in the system; rates of forcible immigration of indentured humans to New Arvoreen tripled.

1721 A.D.: (current year)

original image here

Giff Ranks: Lieutenant, General, Colonel, Major General, Lieutenant General, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain General, Brigadier General, Field Marshall, Major, Captain, Sergeant Major, Commandant General, Wing General, Lieutenant Colonel General, Staff Sergent, Master Sergent, Master General, Grenadier General; note that “Lord” may be added to any military rank, alongside the designations of “First” and “First Class” (for example, “First Lord Brigadier General First Class”)

Giff military ranks are, effectively, meaningless noise to everyone except the giff themselves: every member of the species is a decorated officer of some complex rank within some elite military company or another, but such ranks are largely ceremonial and may be inherited, purchased, or passed through elaborate, bombastic ritual.

Further, the only thing preventing a young giff from forming an entirely new military organization & immediately naming herself -- of example -- Supreme Acting Field Commander and Secretary General of the Armies and Navies at Wartime is -- up to a point -- her own willingness to do so.

Male Giff Names: Any invented male Hin name.

Female Giff Names: Any invented female Hin name.

Giff Family Names: Any invented male Hin first name

Society

The giff are military-minded, and organize themselves into squads, platoons, companies, corps, and larger groups. The number of giff in a platoon varies according to the season, situation, and level of danger involved.

A giff "platoon" hired to protect a gambling operation may number only a single soldier, while a platoon hired to invade an illithid stronghold may number well over a hundred.

The giff pride themselves on their weapon-skills, and any giff carries a number of swords, daggers, maces, and similar tools on hand to deal with troublemakers.

A giff's true love, however, is the gun. A misfiring weapon matters little to the giff (occasional fatalities amongst soldiery are simply to expected); it is the flash, the noise, and the damage that most impress them.

Even unarmed, the giff are powerful opponents. Against non-giff, they’ll often wade into a brawl just for the pure fun of it, tossing various combatants on both sides around to prove themselves the victors.

Once a weapon is bared, however, and the challenge becomes “unsporting,” the giff consider all restrictions off: the challenge is now to the death.

The giff prize themselves as top-quality mercenaries, and to that end take great pride in owning -- if not always wearing -- elaborate suits of full-plate armor. These suits usually include massive helms featuring hyper-detailed, semi-realistic images of exotic monsters on the crests, inlaid with ivory and bone along the largest plates.

Armor repair is a major hobby among the giff, although great skill at the craft is surprisingly rare.

The giff are deeply suspicious of magic, magicians, and magical devices; their legendary foes, the Five Tiger Princes, are despised for their esoteric abilities as much for their wicked deviltry.

image here

Family

The giff are, for the most part, happiest among fellow members their own race, intermingling broadly with the Ghoran -- whom the giff utilize as an edible, inexhaustible workforce -- and the Tengu: another unofficial “servitor race” of the giff, most often used as messengers and household servants.

Ghoran living on giff lands are stoic: dutifully tending the fields of the giff in exchange for protection from ten-thousand other, vastly more predatory dangers. For all that giff treat the ghoran as disposable -- a ghoran living on Verdura produces one seed each year, and can grow a new member of the species in a single month -- the giff do not want the ghoran hunted to total extermination. That, for the ghoran, is saying something,

Tengu, on the other hand, are deeply prized by the giff as staff, usually in the roles of personal assistants, groomers, decorators, butlers, bartenders, man-servants, attaches, major domos, and maids. Since all giff are “wealthy land owners,” to one degree or another, the true power & prestige of a giff can be accurately measured by the number of tengu he employs.

Giff otherwise consider anything larger than them deeply threatening, yet also complain bitterly -- in private -- about the fragility of the smaller races. Outside their own platoons, the giff are happiest among military organizations with a strong chain of command.

For this reason, giff hold the Church of Yondalla in exceptionally high regard.

Giff especially despise the catfolk: although they don’t speak of it to outsiders, a century ago the giff were on the verge of extinction: hunted for sport and trophy by servants of the Five Tiger Princes, their people nearly cut to nothing and their lands held by only a few remaining families. Since their acquisition of firearms -- and the arrival of the Hin -- the catfolk have broadly retreated.

Every giff -- male, female, and giffling -- has a rank within their greater society, which can only be changed by a giff of higher rank. Within these ranks are sub-ranks, and within those sub-ranks are color-markings and badges. The highest-ranking giff gives the orders, the others obey. It does not matter if the orders are foolish or even suicidal: following them is the purpose of the giff in the universe. A quasi-mystical faith among the giff -- who claim to worship, in a vague way, the Golden General Bahamut, who was killed and eaten by the cowardly Five Tiger Princes in order to steal his strength -- confirms that all things have their place, and the place of the giff to follow orders.

This makes the giff very happy.

Giff platoons can be hired from their sprawling, palatial riverside plantations and mountain hunting-lodges by anyone looking for muscle. The social leaders among the giff are contractors: these specially-trained giff review prospective employers according to ability to pay, then make a recommendation to powerful warlords and famous adventurers among the giff. The leaders, in turn, consider the danger of the job, and whether taking it will enhance their giffdom.

Giff jobs are usually paid in firearms & gunpowder, though they often will accept other weapons and armor. Aboard ship, the giff require their own quarters, and will often request to bring on their own large weapons. They favor fire-projectors and bombards for ground work, and will happily blaze away at opponents regardless of the tactical situation.

The giff require the ships of others because they have -- for the most part -- no spellcasting abilities among them.

Giff of both sexes serve in their platoons, and both fight equally well. Giff young are raised tenderly until they are old enough to survive an exploding arquebus, then are inducted fully into the platoon.

The giff practice equality among the sexes in battle and in childrearing. They live about 70 years, but do not take aging gracefully. As a giff grows older and begins to slow down, he is possessed with the idea of proving himself still young and vital, usually in battle.

As a result, there are very, very few old giff.