#mark don’t you know you can never escape your fathers blood?

[crismakesstuff]

I Am The Face Of Love’s

RAGE

[dipperscavern]

Lord dippy!! Congrats on 1k they're soooo well deserved <3 you're ensuring the safety and well-being of your people (stark men's wives) and keeping us warm and well-fed (writing tons of amazing stuff), without you we'd never manage to survive trough the unforgiving long winter (the lack of good fanfics & blurbs)...anyways :3 may I humbly ask for an angst/comfort blurb with Jon?? In my mind he never left Winterfell and was forever happy with his alive siblings and he never had to feel like a bastard outsider. he didn't deserve all dat

hi baby!! this was so sweet omg thank you so much :( i hope you enjoy <3 (spoiler alert i got carried away) (as per usual)

jon snow x gn!reader

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jon winces, a small noise emitting from his throat as pain seeps up his torso.

his cuts run deep; they’ll scar, melisandre says, but stannis’ closest thing to a maester insists on jon using a paste and bandages to allow them to heal. the paste certainly helps, but it still aggravates the skin when applied — no matter how soothing it was crafted to be.

the process is dreadful. it took minutes of him staring at the marks where he knows his blood left him, hesitation clawing up his throat before he worked up the ability to even begin. the open wounds have scabbed over, allowing the paste to coat them, but to jon, it doesn’t make the sight any prettier. he thinks the marred flesh a grisly spectacle.

memory of his fathers words echo in the back of his mind. lord eddard stark always appreciated scars on a man, saying it not only told a story, but spoke of how they survived it. a sick part of jon wishes there was no story of survival to tell.

a sharp intake of air passes through his lips as his hands shake, making his movements sloppy — accidentally pressing on the sensitive area more than he wished. he remembers when arrows pierced his skin, having a similar maintenance process as this; only these daggers wound unseen layers.

a knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts. it’s soft, tentative. he knows who it is before your honeyed voice rings from behind it. “Jon?”

he hums in question. “Can I come in?”

a second passes, a brief thought of covering himself enters his mind — a flash of insecurity pooling in his gut. it’s you, he reasons. but a different voice raises the question, would you reject the ugly parts of him?

his eyes flicker to his abdomen, another part of him now unworthy.

against his own better judgement, he hums in approval. he doesn’t turn to face you as the door opens; that small, aching part of him always wins one way or another.

he hears you turn the lock after you come in. he pretends not to know it’s because you realize he’s compromised, and you’re the only person he’d let see him like this. if he acknowledges it in full, he doubts his ability to keep his breathing steady — and these days his hands shake enough already.

another thumb-smooth of paste over a gash, another sharp ache. he grits his teeth in effort to conceal any noises that threaten to escape him. not in your company, not now. the atmosphere since his prominent death and return is tense as is.

unfortunately for him, you’re far too attentive to let it go unnoticed. a small turn of his head, and he sees your look of worry; the way your fingers grasp one another, no doubt in attempt to keep your qualms to yourself. it doesn’t work, it never has. not when it comes to jon, anyway.

“Jon, please let me help you.” a plea, a whisper of comfort you wish to offer him in the form of your saccharine hands. even as children, you insisted on bandaging his small cuts. putting cream on his bruises, dutifully checking on them until healed.

he stills. his voice a low, quiet rasp. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” your voice comes closer, and he feels you enter his space. what he wouldn’t give to make sure you never leave. “I want to. Can I?”

your hand wraps around his bicep, thumb moving slowly across his skin. a small, soothing touch that sends a warm feeling crawling up his spine. he’s lucky you don’t face him now, as you’d see the way his lashes have fluttered shut. such a seemingly simple thing you give him, and it makes his breath hitch all the same.

it doesn’t take much lately to set his emotions in disarray, and your touch is the only thing that helps. you seem to know this too, for your hands seek him now more than ever — and he would be a liar if he said he doesn’t cling to the respite you bring him like a lifeline.

his agreeance is nearly unheard, a small murmur accompanied by an even smaller nod. jon’s always had a hard time accepting help, especially it in the form of gentle touches and kind words; the kind he thinks himself undeserving of.

but you know jon. you know what he needs, even if he can’t bring himself to ask for it.

you press a small kiss to his bare shoulder, moving to stand in front of him. goosebumps trail his body at the feeling of your lips, and he bites back the want to close his eyes. he wants to savor the feeling, but he cherishes the moments gets to admire you even more.

your brows pinch ever so lightly when you see his abdomen, even with some of the severed skin already covered in paste. though you take the bowl harboring the medicine, a pang of embarrassment courses through him at your disdain. when your fingers reach to make contact, he expects pain, but none ever comes.

you touch him with a gentleness thats featherlight, and he subconsciously relaxes under your fingertips. he feels like his senses are on overdrive, feeling every touch, every breath. every unspoken word communicated through your treatment of him.

the silence is comforting, even as you frown. all of jon’s attention is on you, so much so that he doesn’t even feel the usual dull ache of torn skin healing itself. even so, you can’t seem to help yourself.

you whisper an apology, a hesitant confession. one that jon is caught off guard by. he almost doesn’t know what you mean, until he tears his gaze away from your expression enough to notice yours is trapped on the place where four daggers took his life. something clicks into place for him.

he stops your hand, his own wrapping around your wrist. not harshly, jon never is. “Hey,” he says. your eyes meet his. “You didn’t do this.”

though not directly said aloud, you know his true meaning. he doesn’t like when you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. even in his current state, he’s ever quick to reassure. “Y’ hear me?”

you nod, and while it’s not enough to remove the pity from your gaze, you don’t have that guilty look in your eye — like you did something wrong. jon knows you carry his death on your shoulders, even when the weight isn’t yours to bear.

he brings your wrist to his lips, kissing it before allowing you to continue. he can see the ghost of a smile grace your lips, and that’s enough for him.

minutes pass like that; you, tending to his wounds with the touch of embodied delicacy, and him, soaking up every piece of you he can. jons content to spend a lifetime in this very moment.

his wish isn’t granted, and soon, he’s reaching for fresh bandages. deja-vu of the arrows shot by a red archer lingers in the back of his mind, but the back is where it stays, as you’re forefront. always.

when he’s finished wrapping the white material, he turns to face you. “You don’t have to do that. Again.”

“Do you not want me to?” you’re sincere in your asking, and he knows you wouldn’t if he asked you not to — but he doesn’t, and his silence is telling.

you can’t help the small smile at his lack of words, and when you smile, jon can’t help but follow suit. mere days from being released from the strangers clutches, and you have him smiling. you’re a godsend. angelic. he’d tell you so if he could ever find the words.

but you’ve never relied on things only spoken. you step forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wrapping your arms around him; careful to avoid your torso touching his. jon’s appreciative of your effort, but he’s less hesitant, pulling you flush to him regardless. his head finds the crook of your shoulder, and he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon — unless there’s another knock on the door.

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[asvterias]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣: 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾, 𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖠𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗒

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4 || chap. 5 || chap. 6 || chap. 7 || chap. 8

‼️  DISCLAIMER FOR THIS CHAPTER  ‼️ 

Just Some Cursing

Bold Italics are the Flashbacks

Bold Italics with the ‘Single Quotation Marks’ are spoken in 1st POV

word count: 4.5k+

tag list: @starvviss @lov3rgirllll @starless-nightz @random-girls-loves

author’s note: so...first chapter, how are we looking?? 👀 Also, there’s no way for me to be this consistent with my book 😮, let’s hope i can keep this up!

🌊 🐚 ✘ 🔥🗡️

CHAPTER 1, EPISODE ONE

✧.* ࿐ CHAPTER 1’S MIXTAPE ! ꩜ ·˚ ༘₊· ✿ ೀ ➳

001, IT GIRL . . . aliyah’s interlude

002, SWEET ESCAPE . . . gwen stefani & akon

003, WE R WHO WE R . . . kesha

004, PARADISE . . . coldplay

Born from the same father but different mothers, your sibling bond with Percy was unbreakable, certainly unconditional. Your mothers were very close, growing up as best friends from when they were teenagers, accomplishing every achievement together for the sake of you and Percy’s life.

Of course, your moms fell in love, hosting a small spring wedding when you were 10 and Percy was 6 years old.

‘Look…. I didn’t want to be a half-blood. Being a half-blood is dangerous, it’s scary. Most of the time it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. If you think you might be one of us, my advice is to turn away while you still can because once they know who you are, they’ll sense it too and they’ll come for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘My name is Y/N Jackson-Matthews, I’m sixteen years old. Am I a troubled kid? Depends on which context you put this in.’

‘To my parents, I’m the easy and less rebellious child, never causing fights unless provoked, maintaining good school grades, and protecting my brother from trouble. I didn’t mind any of it, rather enjoying being the protector of the family. It makes me visible and seen as an equal to my other family members. Don’t get my parents wrong, they love and care for me very much, but I always felt invisible, blending into the sidelines, due to my shy nature. Luckily, I’m still growing out of that mindset and managing to be an outspoken girl and not a pushover.’

‘So what happens when the protector is unable to protect? Do they give up instant hope and cower in shame? Or do they fight back, willingly seeking a second chance to redeem themselves? The answer to this question is unclear. Whether you make a change or just bystand like others?

With everything going on, from the upbringing of your heritage, both of your mothers went through thick and thin. Developing from friends into lovers hardly changed anything, presumably their love maintained massively for themselves and shared children. A loving family of four was maintained by dark secrets that cost lives.

After many years of moving from states because of unexplainable sightings you and Percy witnessed in confusion and never properly settling down in schools, Yancy Academy was persistent. You and Percy managed a full school semester at Yancy, and your parents were proud of it.

Everything was going well, Percy finally found a friend, Grover Underwood, the boy was a little peculiar but his personality was a sweet innocent one. Yes, you didn’t have any friends but you were fine with it, half of your schoolmates weren’t even worth the time. So, you just hung out with Grover and Percy, defending them against bullies, particularly a redhead named Nancy Bobofit, who was your classmate.

Despite the girl bullying your younger brothers, she never bothered you to the extent she did with others. You shared most of your classes with her, due to being assigned to AP Classes because of your academic gift. Perhaps, maybe she’s always flustered by your mere presence, her rosy cheeks, giving her true feelings away. Even when it’s with a single glance from you, the redhead girl would duck her head and turn the small smile she had on, plastering it with a hardened frown.

‘Until the day that changed, too…until the day one of them decided to come for me and my brother too. My family’s fate will all be in my hands. And maybe I wasn’t prepared for it, nobody was prepared for it. I’m a protector and nothing we hate worse is an unprepared attack.

Yancy Academy hosted a field trip to the Met Museum about Greek Gods for History Week. Standing beside your younger brothers, Grover and Percy, observing about the many Greek God statues on display while Mr. Brunner briefly discussed Greek History.

Keeping a clipboard in your hand with a worksheet attached to it and you fidgeted with the pen in your other hand. You couldn’t concentrate on anything.

“What you see here, they are not fictions. They are not fantasies. What you see here are the truest and deepest parts of yourselves. Friends…the gods, the monsters, the heroes, you see here in this room are reminders of what we are capable of.” Mr. Brunner explained to the students.

You released a tired sigh, throwing your head slightly back as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and leave to buy snacks.

Greek Mythology wasn’t your favorite thing to learn about but surprisingly your brother, it’s the only subject he wholeheartedly admires.

“Now, on your worksheets, I want you to choose one of the subjects you see here and describe it. Not just how it looks but how it makes you feel. Hmm…okay, c’mon.” Your History teacher claps twice, urging everyone to disperse and start the assignment.

You blinked down at the clipboard holding your assignment, trying to read the instructions. Your vision goes blurry as you squint your eyes, not believing the sight. Were you seeing things now? Since when do words start to rearrange themselves on paper? That whole ordeal caused even more confusion and an even further increasing headache.

Suddenly, you feel a tap on your shoulder which brings you back to reality as you turn around to face the person. You shake your head, realizing you are in a public place and daydreaming again.

“Hey, Matthews,” Nancy smirks.

“Hey, Bobofit.” Your eyes slanted at the girl’s presence, wondering why the sudden intrusion.

“I was wondering if you had another pen that I could borrow. I seem to have lost mine,”

You nodded with a small smile, about to grab the extra pen from your sweater pocket before your brother joined in the conversation.

“Isn’t that the pen behind your ear?” Percy points out.

You raised your head and scanned the girl’s face as her red hair made it harder to decipher the pen. Nancy’s face flushed in embarrassment as her eyes widened at the blonde’s attempt at humiliation. The redhead absolutely hated that he succeeded in embarrassing her, and in front of you, too. Finally, you spotted the well-hidden pen, observing the writing utensil, safely tucked behind the bridge of her ear.

“Oh yeah, you do have a pen. You don’t need mine.”

Your brother smiles in satisfaction at Nancy’s embarrassment and your cluelessness in the entire situation.

“Yeah, so can you get lost now?” Percy says with a disdained face.

Nancy glares and scoffs at your blonde brother before turning her attention back to you with a half smile. “See you later, Y/N,” she waved with a flirty tone.

You nodded, watching the redhead saunter off to her friend group once again.

“I still don’t get why you even interact with her,” Percy exhales.

“Trust me, I don’t know myself.” You answer him, “Maybe, I want to kill her with kindness,” You joked with a dry tone.

“My sister is always the jester,” Percy rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, doofus,” You shove him. “Let’s hurry up and finish this worksheet so we can buy snacks, I’m starving.”

“I swear you think through your stomach,”

“Whatever, Perseus.”

You two chuckle to yourselves as you both look up at the statue in front of you. It was Perseus, standing victoriously while holding the decapitated head of Medusa.

“What do you see?”

The whole scenery changed, and instead of the museum being crowded it was empty, just the family of four. You, Percy, your mom, Jessica, and your mother, Sally. However, your ages also regressed there too, you were 10 and Percy was 6 as you all stood before the statue. It was a past memory.

“Perseus…that’s me.” A six-year-old Percy answered his mom.

“Mm-hmm, that’s who you’re named after.”

“Is that why you named me after him? Because he was a hero?”

“What makes you think he was a hero?”

“Because he kills monsters.”

“And what makes you think that she was a monster?”

“Mom…”

“Not everyone who looks like a hero is a hero, and not everyone who looks like a monster is a monster.” Your mom, Jessica continues with the conversation.

“This Greek talk is sooo boring,” You mumbled to yourself.

“I named you after him because when he was a very little boy he and his mother were placed in a wooden chest and cast out into the sea by a very angry king.”

Your mom looked at her two children as she spoke, “All alone, afraid, and at night, his mother would whisper in his ear; “Hold fast Perseus. Brave the storm that was made to break us for we are unbreakable as long as we have each other.”

“And against all odds, he managed his way to find a happy ending,” Sally concludes.

You and your mom shared a glance of boredom as she grabbed your hand, sneakily walking away from your brother and mother. You two left the museum and headed towards the food stand outside, ordering two medium-sized pretzels.

“We got pretzels,” You cheered, chewing on the pretzel in your hand as you skipped back inside the museum with your mom.

“And you didn’t bring me any!” Percy yelled in astonishment.

“Why yes, of course, because you and mother were boring me and mom about all this Greek mythology.”

“It’s not my fault your attention span is so short!”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk, Perseus!”

“Just shut up, Y/N/N.”

Before you two could argue again, your mom hit your arm, silencing any of your upcoming words, and replacing it with a hurried yell. Soothing your arm in pain as the impact still subsided, and you pouted at your mom.

“In public places, we use our inside voices, remember.” Sally gently reprimands her two children.

“But—“

Her warning tone was to be carefully treaded with. “Y/N…”

“Why didn’t Percy get hit too?”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother, missy,” Your mom lectures you with a firm stare. “Don’t make me get the belt.”

Neither of your parents were wearing belts and you wondered where she was gonna find one. For once, you decided to keep your smart mouth shut and avoid the consequences this time.

“Fine, we’ll be even.” Sally sighs, briefly hitting Percy’s arm harshly, wincing when his eyes start to water.

“Sorry, mom.” You held your head down in shame and bashfully took another bite of your pretzel.

He cries and you walk over to him, rubbing his back with your free hand, attempting to comfort him. Soon enough, you soothed and wiped his tears away and gave him a huge bear hug.

“Don’t cry, brother. I’ll keep you safe from our mothers.”

He sniffles at you, still staying silent, reciprocating the hug back and not budging.

Pulling away from the bear hug, you grinned softly at the young blonde. “We’ll share my pretzel if you like.” You shoved the half-eaten pretzel into your brother’s face.

Percy wipes his remaining tears away, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reaches for the desert.

You smiled at your generosity and so did your parents at your kindness shown towards your younger brother. They loved seeing you two get along, too bad that wholesome moment quickly diminished as you began to shout again.

“Not a big piece, you hoarder!”

“How about we get you two separate pretzels?” Sally bargained with an unsure shrug and her wife, Jessica stared at her in disbelief.

“We’re not getting them separate pretzels.” Your mom, Jessica, shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Can’t you tell, Percy, we’re broke?”

“How broke are we?”

“We’re not broke.”

The family of four started to leave the museum as you walked hand in hand with Percy as he munched on the remainder of your pretzel. You weren’t going to fight him about it because you were getting another one.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sweetie, I’m sure.”

“You’re not very convincing, mom.” You skipped to the pretzel stand with Percy by your side.

Sally smiles down at you. “Y/N takes after you,”

“Oh, please, no she does not.” Your mom scoffs in disagreement.

“Mom!” Percy yells out and he breaks his pencil in the process, startling some nearby students.

You glance at your brother in confusion, seeing he’s finally out of his trance state, returning to the harsh reality.

“I’m right here, sweetie,” Percy searched for the voice and internally shrank upon the actual voice of the person. It was Nancy, who was just publicly humiliating him in front of everybody. “Mommy’s here!” She fakely cooed, drawing out some laughs from her friends and others.

You glared at the redhead, smirking to yourself when she backed down and turned away from you two.

“Just ignore her.”

“Well, it’s getting quite hard not to. She’s like a pest, a human-sized annoying pest that you can’t get rid of.”

“Mr. Jackson and Ms. Matthews, you two will learn to control yourself, do you understand me?” You wince at the sudden harshness of Mrs. Dodds’ tone.

“Us?” Percy asked in shock, pointing to the group of girls, ready to defend himself.

“Listen here, lady, we didn’t do anything wrong—“

Mrs. Dodd sharply cut your statements off. “Do you understand me?”

“He can’t help it, Mrs. Dodds. Percy’s special.” Nancy wanted to be desperately involved. Oh, she’s definitely going to get what’s coming for her.

“I will fight you in front of everyone here and show you who’s really special.” You start to walk closer to the posse of girls but a strict voice halts your actions.

“That’s enough!” Mr. Brunner rolls over on his wheelchair to the two of you, “Pay them no mind. When you’re ready to hear what the gods have in store for you, they’ll tell you. I believe in you, in the both of you.”

“Thanks for the unnecessary inspiration, I guess,” You shrugged.

Mr. Brunner pulls two black pens from his suit, “And I believe you two will be needing this.”

Immediately, Percy accepts the pen from his teacher but you aren’t easily impressed or gullible by a basic pen.

“No, thanks, I already have an extra pen.”

“Take the pen, Ms. Matthews.” His demeanor was serious as you gulped, taking the pen out of his hand.

“It’s a pen, though.” You spoke dumbfounded, looking at the pen skeptically.

“Why, yes, Y/N, it is a pen,” Mr. Brunner nodded in agreement. Was he being sarcastic with you?

“Do you want us to write something with it for you?”

“Hang on to them. ‘Tis a mighty instrument,”

“It’s just a pen.” You argued. “If you’re that lazy to write, that’s not my problem, Mr. B.”

“Good day, Y/N.” He rolled away in his wheelchair. “I never knew a girl could have so many questions for a simple thing.” He murmurs to himself.

“What’s so special about this pen?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, observing the simple black ink pen.

“Just let it go, sis.”

“I’m only doing that because lunch is finally here.” You shoved the pen into your sweater pocket.

“All you’re worried about is food.”

“Of course, what else is there to worry about? Food won’t hurt or pretend to love me, food is life.”

“Why do you always do that?”

“What do I always do?”

“Get real depressing when you’re hungry.”

“It’s either a depressing state or a bitchy state, be grateful.”

The trio sits by the huge water fountain and begins to eat their sandwiches while everyone else is talking and standing around with their friends.

“There are all sorts of schools of thought about what drives that kind of bullying. Childhood trauma, a feeling of inadequacy..” Grover lists off.

“Look I get that Nancy has issues, I’m just getting tired of her taking them out on me.” Percy exhales, “I feel like maybe it’s time we do something about it.”

“You could make an appointment with Mr. Kane.” Grover suggests, “He’s really great at talking to—“

“I was thinking more of shoving Nancy into the nearest dumpster,” Percy confesses with an innocent smile.

“Oh…” Grover raises his eyebrows, “That’s not what I really had intended in mind.”

“I like it, let’s do it.”

“No, no, no, Y/N, Percy, have you two learned nothing?”

“Hey, I do learn stuff, I just forget about the consequences…sometimes.”

“If there’s one thing I know about bullies, is that you should never ever stand up to them,” You frowned at that piece of advice.

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“It isn’t right.” You piped up. “That’s a stupidass logic, Grover, you’ll just give them more power than they actually need. The only way to stand up to them is to fight, make them scared of you after you beat their ass.”

“Look…I know this place is hard for people like us but we’re not gonna be here forever. There are better places out there.” Grover reassures his best friend.

A slice of cheese comes hurling your way and it lands on Grover’s face, echoing a smacking sound.

“Oops…” Nancy smirks, balling up the piece of garbage in her hand and walking away.

“Percy….”

You piped up, opening the bag of chips, “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”

Percy abruptly stands up, frustration consuming his mind, storming over to Nancy and holding his hand out. At first, Nancy stared at him unimpressed with a teasing smile to further anger your brother. Seriously, what was going on with your eyes today?! First, words were disoriented on your paper and now Percy had telekinetically thrown Nancy into the nearby fountain. He did all that within a few feet, possibly two feet away from the redhead girl.

The girl went flying back a few feet in the air, screaming at her sudden height before landing into the fountain. You stare in pure amazement at the sight, laughing slightly at the girl’s hysterics.

How was he able to do that? Did you have that same ability?

“Shit…I would have done the same thing.” You admitted.

“Percy pushed me!” Is the first thing she shouts that causes you to rush over to Percy’s aid.

“What, no I didn’t!” Percy stammers.

There were murmurs and crude looks sent in your brother’s direction but you ignored it.

Judgmental looks were the least of your concerns, moreover, the annoying buzzing sound getting louder. You found the source, furiously shaking in your sweater as you hesitantly pulled the shaking pen out.

“There you are.” A familiar voice rang out, capturing the siblings’ attention. It was Mrs. Dodds’ voice and she was walking menacingly toward you two. The woman still telepathically speaks.

“We’re not fools, Percy Jackson & Y/N Matthews.

“Mrs. Dodds, you okay?”

“It was only a matter of time before we found you two,”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gripped Percy’s wrist on instinct by your protective nature, pulling him behind you. Both watched as she stalked closer…and it looked like she was transforming into a creature. Slowly but surely, wings started to sprout from her back and her true body revealed itself.

Mrs. Dodds wasn’t even a pretty creature either, yet you only appreciate her color of scales.

“Where is it, half-bloods?” She steps on the stairs of the fountain, “Where is it?” The creature flies above you as the sibling duo stumbles back, fearful of current threats. Too appalled by the sight of everything, Percy held onto your hand tighter as he hid behind you, resting his face in your sweater. As long as he had you by his side, he’d be fine, that’s what his parents said.

‘Protect each other and you’ll be fine. Love and care for each other and you’ll be fine. Don’t ever turn your back on each other, you’re blood siblings and that’s never changing.’

All of a sudden, she plummets down at the two of you with the intent of attacking. Her height is as intimidating as she looks and you internally bite back a gulp. You just hoped she couldn’t smell emotion, and use that to her advantage because your fear was too distinctive right now.

“Hmmm….not you…you can put up a fight,” She glared at you.

Instead of attacking you first, she decided to take Percy, knowing he was too young to understand anything. So she uses her wing to shove you away from your brother, her strength forcing you to separate from the blonde.

“No, Y/N!” Percy yells as you go flying back and crash landing into the hot dog stand truck.

Once you are down, Mrs. Dodds redirects her attention to Percy with a hiss, and the blonde stumbles backward, desperately trying to escape but falls down.

In a second, the monster is on top of him, her clawed fingers briefly skimming over the color of his shirt as she analyzes the terrified boy, “Where is it, half-blood?”

“No,” You whisper, tightening the pen’s grasp, viewing the scared interaction of your brother and that creature.

Hastily getting up from the ground, staring in bewilderment at the transformed gold sword. Huh, guess it was more than an actual pen.

Stabbing the creature in her back, ignoring her first hiss, repeatedly stabbing the monster until it was fully weakened as she eventually began to disintegrate into brown dust.

After the monster dies, you stagger onto the floor, barely sitting down with sense.

“Y/N…” His voice becomes disoriented as your vision changes into a black abyss and everything goes silent.

“Are they dead?” Someone asked.

“Are they okay?”

Managing to open your tired eyes to see a circle around, looking down on you as a groan left your mouth.

“Give them some room, please.”

By the kind demand, some students disappear, mingling back with their friends while Grover stays behind, helping you and Percy off the ground.

“What happened?” Percy breathlessly asked.

You glimpsed over at a drenched Nancy with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, who was glaring daggers at your brother while being comforted by some strange woman.

Turns out, Nancy actually got what she deserved a few minutes later and it was hilarious and shocking at the same time.

“Where’s Mrs. Dodds?”

Percy’s question goes unanswered.

“I didn’t do anything to him.” Nancy exclaims and the woman escorts her away, “He pushed me.”

“Everybody go back to your lunches.” He commands the other students, who still stare and murmur amongst themselves at the sibling duo. “It’s all right Y/N and Percy, just need a moment, that’s all.”

“I didn’t understand, didn’t anyone just see that? Where’s Mrs. Dodds?” You persisted.

At your question, Mr. Brunner and Grover shared a glance.

“Y/N, there’s no one here by that name,”

“Yes, there was. She had white hair in a 1950s hairstyle, wore a trench coat, and totally gave off creeper stalker vibes.

“As I said before, there’s no one here by that name.”

“You sure?” Percy questions.

“I’m quite sure,” Mr. Brunner reaffirms with a tight-lipped smile, “All right, class, let’s move soon. Let’s go, finish your lunches.”

Long story short, all three of you got called into the principal’s office, and heavily questioned because of the earlier incident with Nancy. This talk was definitely not going to be good. By the time you were ready to leave, Grover shocked you with his statement, claiming he saw Percy push Nancy into the fountain.

Observing your brother’s reaction to his best friend’s huge lie, betrayed by the other boy, ultimately thinking he was just like the rest. You gave him a small smile, rubbing his back to reassure him that you were there for him. That’s what you always do, protect and love your younger brother like your life depends on it.

Guess, that’s the end of going to this school, you and Percy are going home! Might as while call your parents and inform them of your early visitation.

Sitting on a bench with your belongings beside you, Percy looks gloomy, probably still portraying Grover’s betrayal in his mind. He seemed to be out of it and you didn’t bother him either. This was his time to reflect on everything that happened so far.

“None of this is easy,” Mr. Brunner strolled in, “Not for you two, not for any of us. I’m very concerned about you two, I saw what happened at the museum.”

“I didn’t touch Nancy.” Percy’s self-reassurance started to sound like a plea. He just wished for Mr. Brunner to believe him, because it seemed like no one was on his side, except for you.

“I know you didn’t. At least, I know you think you didn’t.”

“Listen here, Mr. B, I saw what happened too and my brother’s telling the truth.”

“Do you want to tell me what you think happened? You can tell me. I might just understand.”

“You wanna bet?” Percy tilts his head.

“Percy…Y/N,” He lowly chuckles, “I’ve seen a lot of young people go through this sort of thing in my time, but of all of them, I suspect that…you might have the most difficult journey.”

“Oh, because that puts us at such ease,”

“It was not meant to put you at ease,” Mr. Brunner recorrects you. “I suspect that you two are special. So much more so than you know.”

“Just…stop.” The blonde boy heavily sighs. “Okay, I don’t need any more stories about how special me and my sister don’t realize we are. They aren’t helping in the slightest.”

“And I’m pretty sure I’m dyslexic,” You interrupted. “If that counts as special.”

“Ms. Matthews, you’re special but not in the way you assume.” Mr. Brunner implies.

“How is that relevant?”

“It’s not, I just wanted to feel included.”

“Of course, you do.”

A green, vintage two-seater truck pulls up, signaling your departure for returning home.

“This is our ride, we’re going home.” You spoke to the History teacher, “Get your bags, Percy, let’s go.”

Percy nods at the teacher before retrieving his bags and following into the Yancy Academy truck alongside you. Once you two were settled in the vehicle, the driver revived his engine and pulled out of the driveway.

Goodbye, Yancy Academy, you were decent while it lasted.

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[hellshire-harlot]

Father of Serpents | Albert Wesker x Reader Halloween Special

Taglist: @gothghostiie @weskie @destinationtrekk @nomansgunssmoke

The stone altar beneath you is cold, bitterly so, sapping the warmth from your bare skin.

Despite your best efforts, you can’t escape the cruel fetters keeping you bound. Spread-eagle, chained to the slab of granite, you can’t help but writhe, desperate to evade your inevitable fate. It seems like so long ago that you were snatched from the dim street, dragged to this unknown place of shadows and ominous reliefs carved into the stone walls, thrown in a cell to wait. But it hasn’t even been a day; you’d wager the sun hasn’t even risen yet. After all, what better time to perform a ritual sacrifice than on All Hallow’s Eve?

You know you’re being sacrificed, of course. For what other reason would a cabal of silent, hooded men abduct you, strip you naked, and bathe you in rose-water & honey milk? For what other reason would they drag you sobbing and pleading to a stone altar in the center of a spacious sanctum and tie you to it?

Your chest heaves, your lungs unable to get a full breath between your terrified sobbing. You’ve long since given up pleading for your life. You’d done all you could think of- promised not to tell, offered them your money, and when they ripped off your clothes you did your best to play along, thinking your kidnappers were going to simply fuck you and move on. Nothing so far has worked. None of them has even whispered a word. As they washed you in their ceremonial bath, their hands pouring the water all over you and carding through your hair, they never pulled or groped, only touched to clean you. In the beginning, when you had more energy, you struggled and kicked and hit all you could, and one of them evidently had had enough. He’d struck you, a vicious backhand that left your ears ringing and a cruel mark on your cheek.

For whatever reason, the others seemed angry that he had hit you. They led him away, and one turned your face side to side as if to check the damage. Now that you lay on the frigid stone that grows warmer only because your flesh is bound to it, you understand why they cared at all, and it only makes you weep harder.

They didn’t want their lamb to be bruised before the slaughter. It would ruin the meat, wouldn’t it?

Tears stream down your temples as a handful of the cultists circle you. You rest your head against the small cushion beneath it and bite your lip. You don’t want to give them the satisfaction of your terror, but you can only do so much. Your heart pounds as you scan them for weapons. You expected a sacrificial dagger or ceremonial blade, one designed to rip your heart from your chest or cleave your head from your shoulders. But none of them carry any weapons that you can see. Poison, then? Drowning? Smothering? There are many ways they could kill you that don’t involve marring your skin. Your stomach fills with dread as the visions of yourself vomiting blood, writhing beneath a pillow over your face, thrashing against arms that hold your head underwater, parade before your mind. You can only desperately pray for your death to be swift and painless.

As the cultists form a ring around your prone form, you ball your hands into fists and brace yourself. Throat hoarse from screaming and crying, you nonetheless summon your voice once more, a last, desperate plea for salvation. “Please, don’t hurt me,” you beseech, “I- I don’t want to die. Please.”

None of them respond, or even indicate that they’ve heard you. You close your eyes tight, another despairing sob tearing from your chest. I’m going to die here.

You only open your teary eyes when a voice that is not your own echoes throughout the sanctum. “Hac nocte noctes,” a deep-voiced man intones, the words unknown to you but their meaning ominous all the same. You haven’t heard someone speak other than yourself since this ordeal began, and it startles you. Your eyes snap open and you watch as the cultist who spoke raises his arms in prayer, and you glance to the side, heart stopping as you look upon the tens of cultists who now fill the chamber. All of them bow before the altar, heads lowered in prayer, and echo the mantra started by the man near you. Hac nocte noctes.

Another continues, and you can’t differentiate the voices in your terrified state. “Ad te vocamus” and the acolytes follow as your eyes dart around frightfully. You can’t stifle a nervous whimper. You wish you understood what they’re saying.

Vocate nos Patrem Serpentium

Something about snakes, you think? Are they trying to summon some snake-demon out of myth to swallow you whole?

Sicut serpans caudam suam devorat

Bare, spread open like a flower on the altar, you wish you could cover yourself. You try as best you can, grunting as you struggle against the chains around your ankles, but you can’t hide your flushed crotch from view. You hate the way the attention makes you involuntarily heat up.

Tibi hanc oblationem damus

The air around you feels colder than ever. The meager wetness gathering in your core chills, further sapping your body’s warmth. You can feel eyes all over your bare flesh, but with each cultist’s face hidden, you can’t tell if they’re actually looking at you or not. Do they gaze upon your helpless form with unadulterated lust? Do they long to sink their teeth into you and fuck you until you haven’t the strength to say no any longer? Or do they simply size you up like the butcher does his sow? You wish you could say for sure.

In reditu nihil petimus

Half-heartedly, you wonder what god you’re being offered to. Satan? Baphomet? Leviathan? Cthulhu? Kali? Some nameless, formless entity known only to these gathered men? As you were brought here, you took notice of the carved reliefs on the walls. Even now, they surround you, decorating the stone womb you are trapped within. All of them depict snakes, writhing and coiling in on themselves, devouring their own tails and lashing out at unseen enemies. One relief in the far corner depicts a rat in the process of being swallowed whole by a cobra, only for the cobra to be bitten and mauled by a great bear. Another relief, this one continuing the tale, shows the injured serpent biting its own tail and taking new form as a halo behind a humanoid figure, body undefined, unknowable. Then, the halo-snake rides along the arm of the figure, coiling and constricting the throat of a fox. The final relief you can see from your position shows the fox standing at the figure’s side as the same bear from the first relief, accompanied by a jackal, lunges for them. Behind the silhouettes you can make out etchings of roiling flames.

Such evocative, ominous imagery. You can only assume these people mean to sacrifice you to the serpent in their carvings. Do they believe him to be dead, and your blood will revive him? Is he slumbering, and you’re merely bait to awaken him? So many questions, and with not one of the cultists willing to even acknowledge you, each one will die on your leaden tongue and with your terrified heart.

Serva benedictionem intuitus tui

Somehow, you can sense their mantra is nearing its end. Your breathing speeds up. You still can’t see any of them carrying weapons, or anything at all. Each cultist has his hands raised in the air as if offering something to the sky, empty. You pull against your fetters again, to no avail. Do your family and friends even know you’re gone? Are they looking for you? What will they say when you never come home? Your heart aches to think of it. You hope that these cultists at least let your body be found. You don’t want your loved ones to spend the rest of their lives listening for a heartbeat that no longer exists.

You steel yourself. You will face death with gritted teeth, pursed lips, and stony eyes. You will not grant these lunatics the pleasure of turning you into a damsel.

Vivat Uroboros

Now, that phrase you can understand somewhat. Long live Uroboros. Is that the name of their god? Uroboros? Judging by the imagery of snakes all around you, and the mentions of serpents in the chant, you anticipate being swallowed whole by a leviathan summoned from below, or maybe tossed into a pit of vipers.

What you don’t expect is for a suffocating silence to fall over the sanctum.

It feels wholly unnatural, unearthly. Like there’s a bubble that encases you, preventing you from hearing anything save your own frantic heartbeat. None of the cultists are moving. Your breaths become shallow as you try to understand what’s happening, why the shadows in the corners seem to undulate.

And then you look up.

The eyes, unblinking, burn away your bones, leaving only your soul behind. They’re made of hellfire, with only slivers of onyx to act as pupils. They bore right into your own, and you suddenly find yourself even more paralyzed than you already were.

The silence is broken by something new- a low, droning hum, like the gastric functions of some titanic monster. You watch as the void above you shifts, shimmers like oil, distorts into something new. Tendrils- writhing, black, wet, vile, foreboding -emerge from the infinite pitch and encircle you and the altar you lay on, blocking out the rest of the world with moving, living walls. You can barely breathe as those brimstone eyes continue to appraise you, pupils dilating and shrinking as the seconds pass. They come closer, closer, until you can feel them hovering in the air just above your face. You can’t blink. If you do, you’ll die, you’re sure of it.

A nightmare. That’s what this is. All you need to do is wait it out and you’ll wake up at home, hungover from the party, tangled in your sheets and pillows. All you need to do is wake up.

But then, why does everything feel too real? Why does the oily tentacle that prods under your chin, tilting you up to face the unfathomable being it belongs to, feel so utterly visceral?

The appendage retracts, leaving a faint, sticky residue on your skin. Your head falls back against the cushion, your eyes still trained on the nightmare above you. A voice comes to you, a voice that echoes from the depths of your psyche like the death rattle of a vanquished god. It feels invasive, and yet completely native. It feels unearthly, and yet natural.

Hello.

The voice, deep and cold, is overpowering. You finally capitulate, squeezing your eyes shut against the pounding echo of the single word. Bursts of color flash behind your eyelids as the word reverberates, fades in and out, as if your mind is trying to consume it. It’s horrifying, making your skin crawl and your bones itch, but bound as you are, there is nothing you can do. You feel as though you’re being lobotomized from the inside out, the forbidden knowledge somehow contained within those two benign syllables putting a trepanning tool to the inside of your skull and pounding pounding pounding. The pressure builds, your heart running in circles, thrashing against your screaming ribcage, and stars die in your eyes as the pain crescendos and you feel your skull shattering-

And then you open your eyes. Half-blind with tears, you still recognize the form above you, standing astride your hips on the altar.

A man.

The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

The shock blasts away all the agony in your mind like a bomb at ground zero. Suddenly you see with perfect clarity, cold calmness draped over you like a paper-thin blanket of hoarfrost. All that is allowed to exist in your newly-cleared mind is the image of him. Tall, with blonde hair slicked back perfectly, not one strand out of place. Pale skin, like bone china, and thin lips, an angular face that simultaneously warns you away, lest you cut yourself on its edge, and beckons you to throw your body into the blade. His eyes, the color of magma, are the only indication that this is the same being that hovered over you moments ago. The same being, now in a new, impossibly-beautiful form. He looks down upon you, eyes harsh and stern but curious. Interested. The midnight leather that covers his body drapes around you, the ends of his long coat transforming into the same tendrils that encased you before. He tilts his head, appraising your naked form.

The same voice that scorched your sanity returns, though its razor edge is dulled. Be calm. It’s a command, one you physically cannot refuse. At the very least, this time it doesn’t crack open your skull and drain from it the fluid within. Like a computer given an executive command, your body instantly obeys. Your heart rate slows, your breathing evens out. You watch as his gaze leaves you, looking out over the prostrate assemblage before him.

It’s the same voice as in your head, but now audible to everyone else, that shatters the silence. “I have yet to be disappointed with your offerings,” he speaks, and he would sound like any other man if not for the way the bones of the earth tremble at his words, “it would be a shame to jeopardize our… relationship now.

“Which is why I can’t help but ask- who among you thought to touch what is mine?” Suddenly the detached cadence of his voice breaks away, revealing the cold, calculated anger beneath. For some reason, be it your exhausted heart or the command he gave you, you don’t feel uncomfortable the way you usually do when so close to such rage. You know it isn’t directed at you, but that hasn’t stopped your anxiety from rearing its ugly head in the past. Somehow, you are utterly calm in the face of the wrath of a god.

There is a pause, long and heavy, that clamps down on the room. For a painful moment, no one moves. Not him, not you, not the cultists around the altar or the assemblage before you. And then, a single figure rises from kneeling to stand tall and stiff among the crowd. Somehow, you know- this is the man who struck you. The bruise on your cheek stings with the echo of his attack.

The deity above you, nameless, hums in unknowable emotion as the perpetrator reveals himself. Like a bolt of black lightning, he thrusts his arm forward, gloved hand splayed out as if reaching for the man. In response, the man convulses, body twitching, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. He remains silent save for a few faint gurgling sounds, pained and sickening. Slowly, the summoned god draws his fingers into a fist.

“I haven’t felt the need to demonstrate what will happen to anyone who thinks they know better than I,” he says conversationally, as though a man isn’t dying in the middle of the room. Some of the cultists surrounding him turn to watch the spectacle, while others remain kneeling, albeit shaking. “But I suppose now is as good a time as ever, hm?” The tendrils that make up his coattails are writhing, charged with vitriolic power, hovering just over you. The sight of the man being tormented makes you sick, and you close your eyes to bite back the bile in your throat.

The voice returns, still gentle in comparison to his introduction, but stern. No, little one. Watch.

You already know you have no choice. Your eyelids open of their own volition, against the signals your brain sends. Now that you’re looking, you can’t tear your eyes away, like a car accident of eldritch proportions. It is nightmarish, and yet, you stand transfixed.

“Let this serve as a lesson to the rest of you,” the unholy being continues, watching with bored eyes as his victim falls to his knees, “this isn’t the most painful way I can kill. Lay hands on what belongs to me, and you will suffer. Am I understood?” In response, the cultists assembled nod their heads vigorously, or else give a terse cry of yes, Serpent-Father. Both reactions serve the same end, and their recipient seems satisfied. “Good,” he concludes with a pleasant tone.

His hand clenches into a fist, and the man’s head explodes into a mass of ravenous black tendrils.

Some of the devotees gasp, others flinch, and some remain still, though clearly at great personal cost. You can’t stop the horrified cry that escapes you, but the command of the voice evidently can. Hush. And your mouth closes.

As the body falls, twitching, to the stone floor, you watch the grotesque spectacle continue, more ebon tendrils eating their way out of the torso and abdomen. They detach from the body, slithering across the floor in unison towards the altar, and you realize they’re not tendrils at all, but snakes. They slide up the altar, over your trembling flesh, and up the legs of the man above you, who welcomes his servants with no issue. They obey their master unerringly, coiling in a braid around his outstretched arm, before becoming one with the shimmering leather itself. They are an extension of him, and so they merge seamlessly. One blink, and they’re gone, leaving behind only their master.

To their credit, the cultists surrounding the altar haven’t strayed from their positions, as much as you imagine they wish to. You look up at him, their patron, this Serpent-Father they’ve served you up to. You wonder if that is his name, or merely a moniker. He glances about the room, surveying the mass of devotees in attendance, and nods.

In response, one of the cultists at the altar begins another chant. The words remain unknown to you, but they set a strange rhythm, one that seems to put your soul into motion. Elsewhere, someone rings out a ceremonial bell, a sepulchral beat to accompany the tuneless song. You can’t help but wonder if this is where you die. If the beautiful, terrifying man above you will be the one to spill your blood, in his own name, and devour your beating heart.

But then, he isn’t above you anymore. He stands at the side of the altar you’re bound to, the other cultists having backed up against the wall with heads lowered in respect. He has free reign to run his gloved fingertips across the stone surface, and across your vulnerable skin. The slow, sensual touch makes you tense, expecting pain where there is none. At the frightened gasp you let out, he tilts his head in amusement.

His voice echoes in your mind again, a baritone murmur that curls against your innermost thoughts. He coils across your deepest self, probing, plucking the synapses of your brain like harpstrings. Each gentle tug coaxes your body into a pliant, heated state. Privately, he speaks to you. My pets gave you quite the scare, didn’t they? He hums, his corporeal hands gliding across the length of your leg, your arm, your side. He touches you with obvious intent, though what that intention is somewhat eludes you still. Are you not a sacrifice? Are you not meant to be killed in his name? Don’t mind all that, dearheart. Set dressing, really. You’re here to give me a different kind of offering.

Slowly, deliberately, he climbs atop the altar and sits astride your hips. He continues his exploration of your body until one gloved hand finds its way to cradle your cheek, an unexpectedly-comforting touch that you can’t help but lean into with a quiet whine. The other trails down, down, until his fingertips caress the sensitive flesh of your cunt. It makes you jolt, which consequently gives him better access to you, and his fingers greedily explore the velvety skin, nerves firing off with sparks of pleasure. As one finger dips inside, coating itself in the slick of your inner walls, you suddenly find yourself understanding the true nature of your predicament. “Oh,” you breathe, any and all confusion draining from you to the beat of the chanting.

You’re not here to give your life. You’re here to give your body. You’re here to fuck a god.

Both inwardly and outwardly, said god chuckles, amused by your wide eyes and heated cheeks. Whatever did you think was going to happen, hm? He asks, despite knowing full well what you expected. Your body responds eagerly to his ministrations, skin heating up, hips bucking against the restraints keeping you prone. You summon your higher brain functions to glare halfheartedly up at him for teasing you, to which he only coos condescendingly. “Did you think I’d eat you or something, little one?” He speaks aloud, voice soft but still cool and dark, “Oh no, nothing so gauche. The only screams that will fill the halls tonight will be of pleasure.”

The line is so cheesy; if an ordinary man used it on you, you’d roll your eyes. But in this place, surrounded by devoted onlookers and helpless before a god, it only makes you keen for more. You arch your back against the stone, meeting the languid thrusts of his fingers with the bucking of your hips. He looks down at you with such unbridled desire that your head spins. Speaking of screaming- he whispers into your head -My name is Wesker. You’re among my acolytes now, you may speak it freely. Don’t be shy.

A second finger, just as deft as the first, finds its way inside of you. It’s so good and yet not nearly enough. You can’t help but writhe beneath the god- Wesker -as he teases you. Your restraints hold fast, chafing against your wrists and ankles, denying you from taking more than what is offered. It’s agonizing, but the pain sears you from the inside out so deliciously. Any modesty lingering within you is burnt away in the wake of his fiery eyes and the horrible pleasure he brings. Your own eyes blown out, misty with tears, you can’t help but stare out at the procession of chanting cultists.

They treat your debauchment as though it’s a sermon. They offer prayers over your escalating moans, and you may be delirious enough to hallucinate but surely you aren’t simply making up the visible tents in some of their robes. The knowledge that they’re aroused simply by watching their god unravel you on his fingers, that they have the discipline to continue their worship regardless, sends a piercing bolt of arousal straight to your pulsing clit.

You can feel your climax sneaking up on you, choking you from behind. “Please,” you gasp, suddenly breathless as you look back to your tormentor, “pl- ah- please, make me cum, ‘m almost- almost there…” it’s as much a prayer as the ones being offered by your voyeurs. You wriggle your torso invitingly, begging him with your body to give you the building ecstasy.

Wesker smiles in satisfaction at the mess he’s made of you. The hand not burying three of its deliciously-long, slender fingers in your sopping cunt comes up, grabs your chin between thumb and forefinger. He drinks in your wrecked expression like the finest liquor. “You can have it, pet,” he coos, lowering his face to hover just over yours, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone more in your fucking life, “go on. Scream my name while I ruin you.”

And you do. By every strange deity in this cult’s perverted pantheon, you do. Your downright pornographic cry of Wesker echoes through the halls of the sanctum, and the way you can see him shudder at the sound of his own name is what finally tips you over the edge. It’s sinful, the flush that comes to his pale cheeks, but it’s delicious. His being pulses with a surge of power at having his name invoked, especially during such passion as yours. The cultists chant a devoted hymn in unison, voices raised in victory, seemingly empowered by your climax. Your better judgment leaks out of you alongside the juices of your orgasm, pooling in a clear puddle of slick on the granite. Of any fluid from your body to give to Wesker, this is the one you would gleefully offer again.

As you come down from the ravenous high, your wonderfully-foggy mind registers something else prodding at your fluttering hole in replacement of his fingers. It feels hot and hard, and though you can’t crane your head enough to look down and see what it is, you can hedge a bet. The thought of having him fill you, claim you from the inside out, is enough to have you writhing desperately again. You keen pathetically as your chains keep you steadfastly held down, wishing more than ever that they were gone and you could simply wrap your arms and legs around this god and cling to him while he gives you all he has to give. You strain your wrists, your ankles, against the fetters, praying for them to just snap out of existence.

As though sensing your frustration, Wesker leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your head in a strange pantomime of a kiss that leaves your chest feeling unexpectedly fluttery and light. His voice swims in your head. Feeling trapped, are we? He asks rhetorically, the hand not guiding his cock to rest against your winking cunt wrapping around the chain on your right wrist. You nod frantically, babbling out quiet, incomprehensible pleas to be freed. Oh, alright. I know you’ll behave for me. After all, I’m sure you remember what I do to pets I find unsatisfactory.

The small ripple of dread in the pool of hot lust makes you whimper. It’s an unwelcome reminder that though you may be enjoying yourself, you’re not here by choice, and you even have the cold corpse of the man who slapped you to act as visual aid. But you’ll be good. You’ve been good thus far, been sweet and obedient under his ministrations, and you have every intention of continuing that. You’ll be good for him. For Wesker.

With a subtle squeeze, the god in mortal flesh releases your shackled wrist. The chain turns warm, scaly, as do the ones on the rest of your limbs. The newly-transformed snakes, just as vantablack as the ones he summoned to kill the errant cultist, slither away from your wrists and ankles, leaving you blessedly free. They return to their master, merging with his writhing coat, but you don’t care, only concerned with satiating the bottomless lust eating through your core. You take hold of the gloved hand cradling the apple of your cheek, entwining your fingers with his. “Please,” you whisper, summoning your headiest, lustiest voice, “I’m ready. Take me, Serpent-Father.”

The deep, lustful growl Wesker lets out at your usage of the honorific you picked up on from the cultists lets you know you made the right call. You brace your feet against the stone just as he finally enters you, hot cockhead breaching your cunt and stretching you around him. Connected to the divine in a way more literal than most could ever hope for, you moan, utterly lost in the heavy liquid pleasure that fills you. Like molten gold, it keeps you pressed down, prone and pliant for your god, unable to even fathom saying no. A new chant begins, some cultists diverging from the herd in their own hymns and calls of prayer, all to the constant call of the ceremonial bell. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel the devotion of the assemblage is directed to you as much as it is to Wesker. This feeling, being watched with hungry, obsessive eyes, would normally frighten you. But safe within the solid embrace of your god, spread out for him and him only, it only makes you shudder and clench around him.

Another deep, baritone groan rumbles into you from his chest as he pushes inward, filling you thoroughly and making a pleasant weight in your core. Chancing a look down, you see he’s only about halfway, and your stomach drops out as you realize just how much you have left to take. A firm hand grips your cheeks and forces your head back up to his, though not painfully. “Look at me while I fuck you, little mortal. There is nothing else. Only me.” He orders, and you have no choice but to obey him. The hand not clasped in his and pressed down to the stone slab comes up to press at his back, forcing him closer to you. He chuckles at your insistence, but obliges, leaning in closer until you can feel his hot breath against your face.

The first thrust, once he finally sheathes himself in your cunt, makes you white out in sensation. It isn’t pain, nor pleasure, merely the feeling of being filled so profoundly. But it’s strong enough to leave you gasping for air while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The second plants a blooming seed of euphoria deep within you, and the third sees that seed take root and sprout. Wesker lets go of your face, assured of your obedience, and presses the hand instead to your abdomen, where you realize his cock leaves a bulge in your belly. The full-body tremor that shakes you and him both as he presses down, constricting your cunt and his cock in unison, is soul-shattering. The part of your brain not melting out of your ears right now is determined to join this cult after the ritual concludes, if only to experience such glorious sex again. You already know no mortal, man, woman, or otherwise, will ever be able to satisfy you now that you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit. Maybe Eve’s garden was tainted by the serpent, but yours is left bursting with new life by his touch. Your Eden is here, with him and him alone.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving behind only the faint chiming of the bell and the singing of your devotees behind the lewd sounds of leather against flesh. You float in a void of ecstasy in which exists only you and Wesker, you and your god. You cling to his hand like the lifeline it is, being fucked half to death as you are, his inhuman thrusts bullying his cockhead cruelly against your cervix. Never before has anything (or anyone) reached so deep inside you, and you’ve heard it said that having your cervix touched is horrifyingly painful. But all you feel is a profound sense of fullness, near bursting, as he rams against your innermost walls. You half expect him to breach even that and make his home directly in your womb, but thankfully, he doesn’t. Your soul sings out, and Wesker hears it, his presence already entrenched in your mind forever. He pulls the strings of your psyche as though you’re the most beautiful marionette, and he the most perfect puppetmaster. Your body, and all that comes with it, is stripped away, and you feel as if he’s fucking your very soul instead, making his home in the space between your astral projection and the back of your eyes. It’s unreal, unlike anything you’ve felt before, like the protective skin around your clit has been stripped leaving only the bare nerves to be stimulated directly. Without the hindrance of flesh, he drags you upwards to a climax more intense than you could have imagined before.

He holds you there, at the edge of the beautiful abyss, taking his pleasure from you first. Your ecstasy builds, peaks-

And when he brings your entwined hands to his mouth and buries his fangs in the delicate meat of your inner wrist, it crests. Instead of being thrown to the wave, the wave throws itself over you, dwarfing you even as you stand on the mountain of built-up pleasure, washing you away. You hear a high-pitched scream, and barely, you register it as your own. You open your teary eyes, seeing double for a moment as you fall back into your body, and watch as Wesker hungrily sinks his teeth into your wrist. It hurts, yes, and your body jolts at the pain, but it’s quickly washed away by the aftershocks of your orgasm. His eyes never leave yours as he laps at your blood, consuming your life essence while you tremble beneath him in a broken mess of cum and slick. He continues thrusting into you, and you feel his cock twitch, and your own arousal stirs again somehow at the thought of him breeding you, filling you with his seed and making you bear his divine children. All at once, he releases from your wrist, letting out a monumental growl of pleasure as he cums deep within you.

Your body simultaneously feels like it’s completely numb, void of any tactile sensation at all, and also oversensitive to the point of pain. A foreign presence makes itself known in your bloodstream, flowing from your bitten wrist to the rest of you. Somehow, you understand that this is his way of claiming you- marking you. No rival gods, much less mortals, will dare lay their hands on you now.

The exhaustion has caught up to you finally. The room splits into four, your eyes barely able to stay open and your body going completely limp. It’s a little frightening, and you look up at Wesker with fearful eyes, asking for guidance. His hand returns to hold yours, squeezing as if to reassure you. You are mine, he murmurs from within you, there is no turning back now.

His. You are his. Mortal plaything of the Serpent-Father, of Wesker. It should horrify you.

But the thought is comforting enough to make you relax. He brushes gloved fingertips across your eyelids, closing them for you. His voice is the last thing you hear. Sleep, pet.

When you wake, the cold stone beneath you has been replaced by sleek, soft sheets, warmed by your body.

Slowly, delicately, you sit up, taking stock of your body’s condition. You feel fine, well-rested, even. But then the previous night’s events flash before your eyes.

Being tied to a stone altar. A god of unfathomable power taking shape over you. Giving you his name, taking the most beautiful form. Fucking you until you passed out. His teeth in your flesh.

A phantom ache makes itself known in your sex, protesting the rigorous activity of the night. But that’s the least of your concern as you look at your wrist. In place of what should be a healing bite mark, there is a rune.

At least, you think it’s a rune. It’s the color of midnight, pure black, in the shape of a striped 8-sided star, with a snake coiling around it. The mark of Wesker. As you think of his name, an echo of the unrelenting euphoria he showed you last night washes over you. Your face heats up, and you subconsciously rub your thighs together.

There are worse gods to belong to, I guess.

You already know you’re not at home. Your bed isn’t nearly this comfy, nor is it covered in sleek silk sheets. You assume you’re somewhere else in the cultists’ hideout, somewhere offerings such as yourself are left to recuperate from their endeavor. You’re also no longer naked- looking down at yourself, sliding off the smooth fabric, you watch the sheer gown you’re wearing billow out around your legs. Like the bed, it’s black, and you can only assume it’s made of chiffon or gossamer given the weightlessness of the fabric. It hugs your body absolutely perfectly, draping over your skin and leaving your back & shoulders bare. It feels like a dream.

A pair of gloved hands suddenly takes hold of your hips. Gasping, you attempt to turn, only for the grip to tighten, keeping you in place. “Hush,” Wesker speaks, allaying your surprise somewhat, “it’s only me, dearheart.”

His body, hot and firm, presses against your back, possessively looming over you. He kneads your hips idly as you recover from the minor scare. His presence is soothing, reassuring. With his claim on you thoroughly set, you know he will keep you safe, even if it is only to protect his investment. “Where are we?” You ask softly, unsure of how to carry yourself around the god who fucked you so well you converted to his religion.

He hums quietly, hands trailing down to your thighs. “We are in my domain. After the ritual concluded, I brought you back with me. And here you will stay.”

“…what?” You breathe. His domain? As in, his realm of reality? A place outside of the mortal plane as you know it? You’re not meant to be here. You should be home, with your friends and family. You belong back on earth, not as a caged pet to an ancient god. As alluring, as magnetic, as he is, you cannot stay with him.

Wesker laughs, a touch of cruelty entering his voice as he takes in your slight panic. “What, pet, did you think that was a one-and-done affair? That I’d be satisfied with breeding you only once? Think again.” One hand comes up to grasp your face, forcing you to turn towards a large mirror you hadn’t noticed. Your reflection greets you, as does his, looming behind you.

The first thing you notice is the band around your neck. Made of black silver, it circles your neck perfectly, staying in place without being uncomfortably tight or even chafing. A collar, shaped like a snake devouring its own tail. Your collar.

Wesker’s calm voice breaks you from your investigation. “I do hope you like your collar, little one. You won’t be parting with it any time soon.

“It’s as I said- there is no turning back now, my dear. There is nothing else for you. Only me.”

And the rest of existence fades away, leaving only you. Only him.

Only pleasure.

[awakenedsalamander]

This is gonna be a long walk. But I’ll get there. I promise.

In a lot of Chronicles of Darkness games, there are “minor templates” for players to take for their characters. These are basically lesser types of supernatural beings— undeniably marked by magic, but not transformed by it like the main templates are. So instead of being a werewolf, you might be a Wolf-Blooded, i.e., not the monster your stronger cousins are, but still recognizably having a connection to that world.

Again, a bunch of games have these. Mage has Sleepwalkers (and Proximi), Vampire has ghouls, Geist has the Absent, Demon has stigmatics, etc.

In Changeling: The Lost, there are the Fae-Touched. We’ll get to them in a bit. First, more on Lost.

In Lost, like many stories about faeries, oaths and vows are very important. They are, in the form of magical Contracts, the source of many fae powers. Changeling have a neat ability to make any spoken promise binding, invoking the force of the Wyrd to force even minor vows to be taken seriously. And many changelings are taken by the True Fae by getting ensnared in some kind of oath.

See, if you didn’t know, Changeling: The Lost is about humans taken to the home of the True Fae, and then transformed into changelings as the True Fae torment them. The game is very much about the way trauma changes a person, and how even recovering from trauma still doesn’t bring you back to the way you were— you’re healed, but you’re not the same.

And much like trauma changes a person, it isolates them too. Lost represents this in the fiction with fetches— the faerie-forged simulacra left behind in the stolen person’s wake, acting the roles of parent, sibling, friend, and so on while the original person is actually suffering with no escape.

But the Fae-Touched won’t stand for that.

Because while Changeling: The Lost recognizes that many promises aren’t serious, that when people swear, “I’ll always be there for you,” they don’t always live up to that, it also recognizes that some promises are different.

The Fae-Touched are the mortals who remember the words they swore, and will not ignore them. They can tell, in their dreams, through the nagging impulses they get in their waking moments, that the person they promised to help needs them now more than ever. They are lead by the Wyrd into the land of faerie to live up to that promise, and they follow it gladly.

A Fae-Touched is the father who knows the smiling fetch who claims to be his daughter isn’t the real thing, and that somewhere the girl he swore to protect is in mortal danger— and so he delves into a world of dreams and nightmares to bring her back.

A Fae-Touched is the woman who fights off briar wolves in a mad, twisting forest so she can find her wife, because when she said “I will never abandon you,” she meant it.

A Fae-Touched is the young man staring down a Lord of the True Fae and refusing to yield. He and his brother went through hell together years ago when their parents died, and they promised one another then that they’d always stand by each other, and some monster in a crown can’t change that.

Not every changeling is helped by a Fae-Touched, and not all of the Fae-Touched succeed. Sometimes you have to claw your own way back home. But God, what a beautiful concept.

I know that Changeling: The Lost is very dark, and the reason I love the Fae-Touched isn’t really because they’re the light to that darkness— I think that simplifies it too much.

I like the Fae-Touched not because they take away the darkness, but because they remind me we don’t always have to face the darkness alone.

Sometimes, when you think there’s no point going on, when you think it will just be the pain and the fear again and again and again… it’s not true. Because sometimes, maybe even more often than we think, there’s someone out there who knows you need help. And they ready themselves, they set out into the darkness, saying only,

“This is gonna be a long walk. But I’ll get there. I promise.”

[diejager]

Not a request. There’s roots and vines in your body enclosing itself around your heart and lungs, you can’t breathe and you can’t move. You feel pushed into a corner by two rabid wolves, one wants to consume you and meld himself into your blood and bone marrow while the other will burn the world to ashes if he can’t have you. As a little girl, you dreamed of a Prince Charming, a man that will whisk you away to a beautiful castle and make you a queen. You never dreamed of becoming meat, you never thought you could fathom the idea of being disgusted by the appearance of raw meat. How you cringe at the sound of meat being chewed and slurped on, you sit there in the dining room stagnant to the world around you, you can’t hear the world move around you. All you see is them, Konig and Horangi, pawing and licking you: they bite your thighs and chest leaving teeth marks on your body. A grim reminder of what you are, meat, a piece of breast, thigh, and wing laid out before them on a decorated plate as they eye you with their hands ready to rip and pull you apart. How can you escape these men, these beasts, whose engraved your scent, your flesh into their DNA. Should you feel happy that a man or men of their caliber desperately want you? That they’re willing to give and destroy for you on a whim, isn’t this what you desperately wanted as a girl?. Horangi, despite his facial scars is a prince and the scars only give him an air of mystery, a dark illusion of a prince seducing you with his silken words. His idea of “love” is consuming, an endless sense of greed, only satiated by tasting you and licking the sweat of your neck as he pounds himself in your wet, tight heat. Konig, is your knight, the man sworn to protect his forbidden love, you, his princess. He loves your innocence, he’s addicted to getting his grime and dirt on your pretty white wings, he likes it when you’re clumsy and dependent so that he can stitch and mend your wounds. He wants you to reach out to him with your arms wide open so he can hold you, entomb himself into your purity and feel your heart beat match the rhythm of his. You should want them right? You should want to be surrounded by pretty things in a gilded cage loved by men who’ll bow before you. All you have to do is carve off a limb and hand it to them raw and bloody, let them lick the blood of your hands so they can taste your love and pain. They want to know that you’ll bleed for them as they would you, this is what you should want because this is what love is, you should know that because your smart and you should just lay back and let it happen. Stop being difficult with your hissing and clawing, Your step father is right, getting a college degree nowadays will only land you working at dead end job because finding a job is hard, the job market is brutal for a girl like you so why don’t you let him take care of you?. You shouldn’t have to worry about what your mother would think he says because their marriage is failing and you should feel assured that he’ll leave her for you. It’s only a matter of time just wait for him like he would for you if the shoe was on the other foot. You shouldn’t feel conflicted about being the “other woman” because your not, not in Königs eyes because their is no other woman just you.

GIRL PLS GO WRITE SMT. DON'T WASTE THE POTENTIAL!!!

or well... you could make a one article kinktober... you could make it into a monster fucking fic or smt ;)

[borathae]

↳ Index [Chapter 38 - Soulmates]

Warnings: just…softness and yoongie boongie :( and googie woogie :(, there is also Smut in this chapter but it’s not explicit, it’s more implied that she rides him but it’s not graphic you get me, either way they fucking deserve the fucking world, there will only be softness from now on

Wordcount: 10.3k

a/n: will i ever grow tired of writing them being touchy and in love? nope and nobody can stop me

You sometimes wonder how your life would have turned out had you stayed with your parents. Would you be happier or would you be living in your own personal Hell? Would your father still avoid looking into your eyes and would your mother still greet you by asking if you were finally doing something worthy with your life? Those are questions you know the answer to already. You would have escape nonetheless. One day, you would have left no matter what. You may not have ended up at this specific university with these specific secrets, but you still would have ended up somewhere else. Somewhere where people looked into your eyes and where simply being alive was already enough.

Being alive is a funny thing. Everything and everyone could kill you at any time. You breathe whilst sometimes feeling like drowning. Your heart beats even after getting it shattered. Your brain continues to produce thoughts, no matter how much one may beg it to stop. Your limbs continue working for as long as they are destined to work. And yet everything, every single thing works to one single goal. Death. That one day all this working may finally stop.

Death is an ever funnier thing. You wonder if you would look at it the way you do these days after everything you have been through. You wonder if you would still be as scared of it as you were back then, if you never knew how it feels to come so close to it. Maybe you would live happier though. Despite your fear. Maybe you wouldn’t have to think of all the lives you ended and just how death is certain for everyone. No matter if it comes in ten years, three days or five centuries. Everyone dies eventually.

Are you dead? Is that why you are thinking about it right now? Is this your brain’s last job? To make you think about how everyone dies? Didn’t people always say that one thinks of one's life if death was near? But what is there to think about really? Thinking about it hurts too much. Your grandmother left, your parents hated you and you failed to reunite the only family which felt like home. Yoongi. You failed to save him.

Your eyes open. The lights are so bright that it hurts. You blink to get rid of the pain. Wait a minute. You can’t be dead. You still feel like shit. This isn’t the afterlife, you’re still on earth.

Your vision returns to you and for just a second you wished that it would have given you a little more time to adjust. Yoongi is right there, sleeping on the pillow next to you and with his face glowing in life.

You want to call his name, but your voice doesn’t want to work. So you mouth his name as your hand reaches for his face to hold his cheek. You don’t even realise that your hand is healed. Taehyung must have used his blood to heal your burn marks. All you can concentrate on is Yoongi. He is still cold to the touch, but that doesn’t affect you. You are holding his face again and his cheek feels so soft in your palm and that was all that matters. It forces hot tears into your eyes. He is back.

You try his name again, but only manage to whimper. Yoongi reacts nonetheless.

He opens his eyes.

“Holy shit”, you finally get out. There they are. His dark brown eyes which always look at you with so much love.

Yoongi blinks at you slowly, fingers intertwining with yours just seconds later. He hums. It was a small sound, quiet and barely there, but it overwhelms you nonetheless.

“Yoong-” is all you get out and then you break into tears. Happiness, pain, relief. They are a little bit of everything and so much more.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything as his own tears overwhelm him before he could speak.

You draw closer, holding each other as tightly as you can. And then you cry. You know not for how long, but that doesn’t matter because you finally had each other to hold again. You find unconsciousness that way and it feels good to do because you had each other to hold.

You feel a little better when you open your eyes again. Yoongi is still sleeping, looking peaceful and healthy. His pink lips are parted slightly, his dark lashes rest against his ivory cheeks. He looks so, so healthy again. Holy fuck, he is here. Yoongi is actually with you again. You reach out to touch his cheek, making sure that he was real.

Yoongi opens his eyes. He smiles with them, humming softly. Like this, his cheeks puff out. You caress it softly, feeling so close to tears.

“Are you real?” you ask him in a shaking voice.

He nods his head slowly.

“I feel like I’m dreaming. Please say something, please.”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You feel dizzy in anticipation. 

“Anything please.”

“I missed you so much, my love”, he finally says and the sound of his voice makes you tear up instantly. This is it. This is exactly how Yoongi sounds. This is your Yoongi talking. He is actually here.

“It’s really you”, you press out, having to sob, “Yoongi, it’s really you.”

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Holy fuck, Yoongi. I love you”, you press out, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Are, are you real?”

“Yes”, Yoongi says and closes his eyes as you run your fingers over his face obsessively.

“I can’t believe that I did it. I saved you.”

“You did.”

“Did, did I actually do it?”

“You did.”

“Holy fuck, I did it. My love, I want to cry I did it." 

Yoongi smiles when you squeeze his cheek gently. He looks at you, feeling so happy that he wants to jump up and dance. But he can’t. His body feel so weak and tired that he can’t even find strength in himself to draw closer to you. So he has to lay here and allow you to touch him softly and he has no problem doing that. It feels like a dream to him. A beautiful, sweet dream. Your eyes race over his face without stopping, your fingers are clammy in emotion.

“Please say something only the real Yoongi knows. Just anything. I, I don’t believe that this is real.”

“Mhm, I can’t think of anything.”

“Just anything please.”

Yoongi gazes at your eyes deeply and adoringly. His lips curl into a warm smile.

“You’re my land”, he whispers.

“Yoongi”, you breathe, feeling lightheaded from all the emotions in your body.

He grins shyly, “I was really drunk back then.”

“Yoongi, you’re my land too”, you say, scooting closer, “Yoongi, you are really back. Oh my love, my beloved prince”, you trace his cheekbone, “you are truly back. Oh, I thought that I would never see you again. Did you feel anything when you were sleeping?”

He nods his head, “it felt like I was trapped in my own body.”

“Holy shit, oh no my prince. W-were you in pain?”

Yoongi hesitates for a second before he dismisses you with a shake of his head, “that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“So you were. Oh Yoongi”, you whimper, “I’m so sorry, I should have been faster. I, I should have-”

“Hush”, Yoongi silences you with a gentle touch to your temple, “you did more than enough. Way more”, he says and furrows his brows in worry, “you look so tired, my love.”

“I am. I’m so tired”, you say and smile, “but that’s okay to be, because I can be tired now.”

“Yes, you can. I’ll keep you safe.”

“And I’ll keep you safe”, you say, making his eyes fill with the softest of fondness.

“You will”, he whispers, closing the distance between you and him to kiss the slope of your nose.

“I, I’ll keep you safe from, from everything. I, I never want you to, to go through that a-again. I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe”, you are almost stumbling over the words from just how quickly you speak them.

Yoongi merely hums and kisses your forehead, pulling you against his chest afterwards.

“I fucking missed you”, he whispers.

“I missed you too. Oh god, Yoongi, I-I thought that I lost you already. It hurt so much.”

“I know. It hurt me too, my love. Listening to you cry so much while I couldn’t do anything felt like torture.”

“You heard me?” you gasp, lifting your head from the safety of his chest in order to look into his eyes.

“Yes, every word.”

“So you know about what I am?”

“Yes”, Yoongi answers you, tracing your cheek with his thumb. It seems that he can’t stop touching you and neither can you, tracing his cheek while your other hand rests on his strong chest.

“And about the...things I did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh”, you let out, swallowing nervously, “what do you think of it?”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know. In denial?” you laugh breathily, “I didn’t have time to process any of the hundreds and thousands of things which happened. I’ve been stuck in that day for nine weeks and everything which happened in those weeks felt like a weird dream.”

“Mhm”, he acknowledges you, “it’s okay to feel that way. A lot happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes. So much.”

“We’ll sort through it together. One thing at a time, yeah?”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, feeling your eyes fill with tears again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I’m just so tired and, and now you’re back and I feel like a weak, little plop of exhaustion. Fuck, I had so much stuff planned which I wanted to do with you once you’re back, but I’m just so tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what? For making me want to fall asleep? Holy fuck, I haven’t slept properly in weeks. And, and now I just want to keep sleeping while I hold you. I don’t feel burdened anymore.”

Yoongi smiles softly, “that doesn’t sound that bad then”, he whispers, eyes lighting up as his smile spreads over his face, “we could sleep together. I feel tired too.”

“You do?”

He nods his head slowly, “I couldn’t even get up to hunt, they had to feed me blood bags.”

“Oh, my love. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll sleep it off. As should you.”

“I agree, I feel so sick.”

Yoongi furrows his brows in worry.

“But that’s okay. I’ll sleep it off, just as you will.”

Yoongi smiles and so do you.

“So we should get comfy, shouldn’t we?” you say and giggle.

“That sounds like a plan”, Yoongi whispers, shimmying closer until his lips are touching the bridge of your nose. He gives you a little kiss, “like this?”

“Yes”, you close your eyes, nuzzling closer, “yes, just like this.” And in the tiniest voice you could produce, you add your most honest “I love you.”

“I love you too”, Yoongi answers you, voice barely above a whisper for he knew that he didn’t need to shout for his whole world to hear him.

You drift off to sleep together just seconds later. You won’t notice it, but the sun will rise and set once before you even as much as change into a different position. Taehyung and Jimin will check up on you during that time, but seeing how peacefully you slumbered in each others’ arms they let you sleep and left again.

It is snowing outside when you wake up again. The room is dark, except for the moon shining into the windows. Its light is weak as the thick snow clouds keep it hidden. Yoongi moved his head just enough that his lips are on your forehead now. His fingers are deep in your hair, holding you close. You love this so much. But as much as you love it, you also need to change the position a little. Your shoulder aches from not moving it for hours. It wakes Yoongi, who ends up peeling his eyes open sleepily before he groans.

“My neck is killing me”, he complains, rolling it as best as possible.

“Same, my shoulder hurts”, you say.

He chuckles, rolling to his back. You do the same, stretching yourself.

“Uff now I’m dizzy”, you whine.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks, rolling onto his tummy and propping himself up on his elbows to study your features.

“Yes, gosh”, you place your hand over your mouth, “don’t come so close, I feel like I have the worst breath ever. My mouth feels like cardboard.”

Yoongi chuckles, reaching over to the bedside table to get you the bottle of water Jungkook left as he checked on you. He opens it for you.

“Drink that, it’ll help.”

“Thanks”, you murmur into your hand and sit up to drink. You hand it to Yoongi once you finished half of it.

“Thanks”, he accepts it, drinking it gladly.

“We must have slept for a few hours, it’s already dark outside”, you say.

“Yeah right? That must have been the deepest sleep ever, I feel so out of it”, he says with the left side of his hair completely dented.

“Yeah same. It feels like I slept for days.”

“Same.”

You and him exchange a look, drawing closer afterwards. The yearning was just too strong. Yoongi leans in.

“Oh wait”, you place your hand over your mouth again.

“Oh shut up with your bad breath insecurity, you think I care right now?” he complains in a laugh, tugging your hand away from your lips to instead claim them in a kiss. He wraps his arms around you, placing his hand on the back of your head.

You swear that in this moment colour returns to your world and warmth claims your skin again. He is kissing you again. Yoongi is kissing you. You whimper, wrapping your arms around him to press him as close as possible. You are kissing Yoongi again. This is actually happening.

He purrs, closing his hand around your side right under your arm. The squeeze he gives you, lets you know that he feels just as deeply about the situation as you do. You are back with him. He had to go weeks without you, haunted by your voice and tortured by constant pain.

You are wiping all of this away again. No more pain and agony. Your kiss heals him, your touch keeps him safe. And Yoongi feels overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by how happy he feels and how fucking grateful he is to be loved by you.

He chases you. Needs you closer. He chases you and chases you and chases you until you fall into the sheets and he has to climb on top of you. Atop your lap and with your arms hooked behind his neck, he finds his home, running his hands over the paths of your body. He still remembers his way. He was scared that he would forget, but he didn’t. All those paths and spots and places still feel familiar to his fingers. And tonight, in this snowy moonlit night, the journey leaves Yoongi trembling in intensity. He has to touch you or else he would crumble. And so he does. He keeps on feeling you, exploring you, touching you and messing with your head in the process.

You stopped caring about yourself in those past nine weeks. Your body, your skin, your lips. You didn’t want to be touched. It wasn’t important to you. The comfort it would have brought you felt wrong to you.  And Yoongi is touching you. He is kissing you whilst helping your skin remember just how wonderful it feels to receive loving touches. And it was Yoongi doing it, the one person you yearned for the most. Yoongi is helping you remember again and you don’t know if you can handle that.

You think you can’t. Every touch leaves behind traces of warmth and comfort and electricity. Sparks and sparks of electricity which linger on your skin and reawaken your need to be touched. You think that you would die if he stopped right now. You are so starved for tenderness. So fucking starved.

Yoongi breaks the kiss, but stays close. Touching and feeling your skin while his lips dance to your neck. This is his place, his home, the spot he can return to whenever he wants to because you made it his’. Your fingers tell him that you waited for him painfully much, tangling in his hair and keeping him close that way. The sensation of it sends tears to Yoongi’s eyes. It feels so good to feel something other than pain in his head and to know that you are giving it to him. Comfort. The remedy that heals you as well.

His hair feels so soft again. You were so blinded by your grief that you always pretended that his hair felt the same when he was passed out, but your fingers always knew. Each time you ran them through his hair they told your heart the truth while your heart refused to listen. His hair wasn’t soft anymore, but now it is. Now your heart can feel it too. Life has returned to Yoongi and with it, the softness of his hair. You want to never let it go again, twist it and hold it and keep him close that way. His lips kiss away the aches in your neck. You were in constant pain. Tense from falling asleep over your books or straight up passing out on the floor again and tight from the worry torturing your head. Yoongi kisses your skin and helps relaxation return to the aching spots. No more tension, no more aches, just his lips helping your skin remember how to feel and soothing your thoughts with it.

He can smell it too. He is drowning in you. You smell so happy and relieved. And you are soaked in love. It is suffocating him and Yoongi wants it to happen. He wants to suffocate in your scent. This is all he ached for ever since the cursed wood dug into his lungs and burned them painfully. To know that after all the torture, the first scent he can take in is your happiness and love brings new tears to Yoongi’s eyes.

He whimpers softly. He has to be closer to you. Why can’t he be closer to you? Your arms are around him, your hands are feeling his skin and your warmths melt into one and yet it is still not enough to him. You are so far gone. Yoongi can’t handle it.

He wraps his arms around you, presses you against his chest, sobs your name.

“I have to be closer”, he begs, “please pull me closer.”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him against your chest. You even lift your head enough that you can bury your face in the crook of his neck. Yoongi holds your head instantly, taking the weight for you as his face disappears in the crook of your shoulder.

Closer. So much closer. And yet not close enough.

For neither of you. The distance was to grande those past few weeks. Not even this hug can heal your hearts.

“Closer”, you beg, “Yoongi please closer.”

“I don’t know how”, he whimpers, “princess, please”, he begs, cradling you against him desperately.

You slip your hand from his back just to twist a bundle of his boxer shorts. The message is clear to him. You have found a way. It is the only way.

Your eyes meet. Yoongi seems in disbelief that you could want something like this. He thought about it, but didn’t dare to voice it, scared that he might ruin the healing moment you and he are sharing.

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“I have never been more certain. You?”

He nods his head vigorously and climbs off your lap. He falls to his back and lifts his legs, taking off his briefs that way. You do the same with your pajamas shorts. 

Yoongi sits up, looks at your bared middle. You do the same. One second. Eyes meet again. The contact is real. His eyes are so beautiful. 

He reaches out and tugs at your shirt. You know what to do. Yoongi knows as well. No insecurities plague him. Not when being naked with you is all he wants to experience. 

You climb atop his lap once you rid yourselves of your barriers. They kept you so far, far away from each other. You finally realise how big the gap between you was once you fall back into a hug and your naked chests touch.

“Yoongi”, you sob instantly, holding him with shaking fingers, “Yoongi, I love you.”

You don’t even notice how cold skin was right now. He feels warm and perfect to you. And in this moment you realise that it was never his warmth that kept you so comforted, but the softness of his skin. It wasn’t his warmth, but his touch. It has always been him that made you feel so much that you would run out of words before you managed to describe it.

“I love you too”, Yoongi sobs quietly, soiling your shoulder with his tears as the overwhelming sensation of being naked with you drags him down. He has to rest his cheek against you, grasping you with trembling fingers because if he wouldn’t, he would break into a million pieces. You are so warm in contrast to him. Yoongi hasn’t felt that warm in weeks. And in this moment he realises that he feels temperature as long as he is close to you. He could be lost in the deepest snow storm or stranded in the hottest deserts and he wouldn’t feel a thing. But ever since he learned of your warmth, Yoongi cares about temperature. He feels cold when he is without you and warm when he is reunited with you. And in this moment, he finally stops shivering.

“Closer my love, please I’m begging you”, he pleads, shaking in sobs.

And so you take that last step. One last step. You hope that it is enough. It would break you if it wasn’t. You hold him close and take him inside and in this moment it wasn’t for pleasure, it was for connection.

He fills you up in his entirety instantly, helping you remember yet another part of yourself you forgot. You feel warm between your legs when you can be with Yoongi. Not only in a pleasurable way, but more than anything in a sense of living kind of way. As if your purpose on this earth was to be connected with him. As if in those short and long moments where your bodies are the closest they can get, your souls are finally one again.

“___”, Yoongi sobs, lifting his head.

“Yoongi”, you whimper, spilling tears when he cups your cheeks.

“Please don’t leave me again”, he begs.

“Why would I? Yoongi, all I want in life is to be with you”, you choke out and sob.

“My beloved”, he breathes, eyes falling closed and as his instincts to love you kick in, he kisses you. He kisses you with the intent of never letting you go again. And you kiss him back with the same intent, holding him close while your bodies connected in instinctive rolls of your hips.

And again. It wasn’t for pleasure, but for connection. It was lost to you for weeks and now you have to make sure that nothing can ever shatter it again. The pleasure that comes with the repair is an unavoidable side product. Intense and deep and real. So goddamn fucking real.

Everything about this. It’s real. Your connection, your interwoven souls and the pleasure. Nothing ever felt as fucking real as being with Yoongi does.

Real and right.

So goddamn right.

And as he hugs you closer and kisses you and you finally feel whole again, you finally start to believe what Jimin told you all those endless days ago. No matter when or where, you were destined to meet Yoongi. No matter how long it would have taken or what form you would have possessed, your souls would have found each other because this is why they were brought onto this earth. And they would have turned into one again, colliding like two stars and together they would have filled the endless void with new galaxies and light.

This was always destined to happen.

Your souls were far apart once. Born at different times and different places and yet they found together. Many, many circles around the sun passed and with it your souls came closer and closer until they finally met when they were destined to meet.

You and Yoongi are right and you are real and this is exactly how it was always supposed to be.

“You feel so good”, he sobs, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You too”, you cry, “you feel so good too.”

“Please”, he begs, “please don’t stop.”

“I can’t stop. I couldn’t. Yoongi, I can’t stop.”

His hands are without home on your body. No rest. No pause. No break. They can’t stop exploring you. Feeling you. Remembering you. 

And in the process, they help you to remember as well. How it is to be adored and loved and cherished. How it is to be mapped out to make sure he will always know where to touch. How it is to speak the same language of love.

And being touched and touching in return will always be one of the most intense yet comforting languages to speak with Yoongi.

You were on the brink of forgetting it these past nine weeks, but you remember again. 

When his hands are on your hips and hold your waist, you know that you will always be taken care of. When his hands are closing around you in a tight hug, nothing can hurt you. When they cradle your face or caress your neck, you feel fragile but treasured. And when they intertwine with yours, you feel whole.

And in return, you remember that Yoongi shivers when you run your hands up and down his back. That he instinctively hugs you whenever you merely hint at hugging him. That he looks up at you with sparkling, adoring eyes when you cradle his cheeks. And that he whimpers softly whenever you hold his hands. 

And tonight he looks up at you with his right arm around your waist and his left hand pressing your hand against his chest and as he does, he cries miserably. Tears cover his cheeks and his lips tremble unstoppably. And you think that you have never seen something as beautiful as this. He is here again and he is alive.

His hips still chase you. As are yours chasing his’. 

“Please, p-please don’t leave me again”, Yoongi hiccups.

You shake your head vigorously, sobbing miserably.

“Please promise me.”

“I promise.”

Yoongi truly sobs. Like a little boy finally breaking under the pain. He pulls you close and buries his face in your neck. His hips speed up, his arms tense around you in their desperate attempt to melt with you.

“I love you”, he wails.

“I love you too”, you cry, hugging him back.

You find the highest form of pleasure very soon. It wasn’t the goal and yet it was destined to happen. The crescendo and very last attempt to deepen the connection. Just as Yoongi promises you with desperate shakes and a tight hug, you promise him with trembling fingers in his hair and his name at the tip of your tongue. You won’t lose each other again. Lights flicker around you as the emotion of being with him again overwhelms you. Yoongi holds you closer, keeping you with him, loving you just as deeply and it was okay again. You are okay again and it feels so goddamn good to be okay again.

You don’t leave his lap once you stopped shaking. You can’t leave it yet. You have to stay close and make sure that he won’t slip away again, crying into his shoulder because it seems that you just can’t stop crying.

And Yoongi holds you through it all, trying to comfort you whilst crying himself. He knows why he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to tell you, because he knows that it would break your heart, but Yoongi hasn’t felt that much physical pain in countless centuries than when he was trapped in this magical realm and crying is the only way to get over those memories. That and he was happy to be with you again. His most beloved person and the only thing that could heal even the deepest wounds.

You picked up the messy, scattered fragments of him and glued them together again until you created a picture of him which was beautiful and worthy of love, but most of all which, was always supposed to be yours. Your little picture to keep in your heart.

That is why Yoongi cries. Because he is relieved to know that he is yours.

“Yoongi, I feel so happy”, you confess, laughing and sobbing at the same time.

“Me too, my princess”, he agrees, rubbing his hands up and down your back just to make sure that you are real. It wouldn’t be the first time that he tried to escape into his memories. So many times Yoongi tried to flee into his favourite moments with you and for just a few moments they brought solace to him until the torment of his state dragged him away again and he was reminded that you were far, far gone from him.

This time around you feel real. Your skin is soft and warm and your scent is real. And yet somehow Yoongi still doesn’t believe it. He just mended the connection with you and yet he is still scared that the torture wasn’t over yet.

He lifts his head, cradling your face in his tender, loving hands. His thumbs run over your cheekbones, his eyes race between yours.

“This is real, isn’t it? I won’t be dragged away again, will I?” he asks. Pleads.

“Dragged away?” you furrow your brows in worry, “my love, what happened in there?”

“I just don’t want to lose you again”, this is all he can confess for everything else tasted too bitter to allow it to grace his tongue.

“And you won’t. Oh my love”, you cup his cheeks and it feels real to Yoongi. New droplets of tears run down your cheeks, “I dreamed of you whenever I fell asleep. I was with you and you were healthy and in those moments, it felt so real until I woke again and you were gone.”

Yoongi feels short of breath. He doesn’t dare to imagine the possibility that somehow through destined connection you managed to meet in those moments. When he fled into his memories and you fled into your dreams, your souls still found a way to meet and that in those short moments of your endless torments, you were connected again.

“I thought of you too”, he confesses because maybe not speaking his thoughts out loud would hurt more, “I met you in my memories and we were happy until I was dragged away again and…” he lowers his eyes, “I don’t want to experience what I had to endure ever again. That’s all you have to know”, he whispers.

“Oh my beloved”, you press out, deepening the touch to his face and with it tilting his head up, “it’s all over now. You don’t have to hurt anymore and I don’t know have to hurt anymore and, and we won’t have to meet in dreams again.”

Yoongi widens his eyes.

“So you think?” he begins.

The connection he feels in your eyes seems to strengthen. You both feel breathless because of it and yet don’t want to look away.

“Maybe?” you answer him.

“My love”, he whispers shakily.

“It would make the memory of those long weeks easier to bear, wouldn’t it?” you say.

He nods his head, lips curling into an honest and warm smile.

You smile, leaning closer.

He meets you in the middle, eyes falling closed when you stub his nose with your own. Your fingers caress his cheeks and Yoongi is melting, caressing your face gently with the hopes that you feel as good as he does.

“That felt like heaven”, he whispers, “what we just did, I mean.”

“Yes, it did”, you agree, eyes closed and skin tingling from his touches.

“Sorry for the crying”, he jokes, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, same”, you say, “I think that we needed it. I feel so much better now.”

“Me too.”

Your stomach lets you know that it felt better as well. Better, which in your case meant, starved. All the tension keeping you fed is gone and your stomach is finally telling you how it is.

“Oh my god”, you gasp.

“That was so loud”, Yoongi says, opening his eyes just to look at you.

“I haven’t had a proper appetite for weeks. I think it’s biting me in the butt now”, you confess.

“Princess”, he says with slight disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t princess me, I was so worried for you that food made me want to throw up”, you say with your stomach rumbling again.

Yoongi touches it gently, rubbing his hand back and forth slowly.

“Should we get food, my love?” he asks you in a soft voice.

You nod your head, “yeah, I guess”, you murmur shyly.

“Yeah? That’s good, I can’t have my princess starving”, he says, making you giggle because he is so gentle and loving and that feels so good to experience.

And so it happens that you and Yoongi clean up together and get dressed in your warmest clothes to take the car to the gas station. And you wander through the place holding hands and giggling like little kids because it felt so goddamn nice to be here together. The clerk still remembered you and he greets you with a big smile and contrary to last year, Yoongi greets him back with a brighter smile, leaving him a big tip because he felt like it. Then he took the bag and your hand and left the gas station kissing your cheek and the clerk watched you with great awe. She must have done good things for his heart, he thought and then allowed the fifty bucks to slip into his pants pockets.

“It’s snowing”, Yoongi says once outside, twirling around before pulling you close with his hands on your waist, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is”, you say, touching him because this is all you wanted to do.

“Who would have thought that it will snow again. Right here” Yoongi says, “maybe this gas station is our spot.”

You smile, hooking your fingers behind his neck to pull him into a kiss. One Yoongi retorts happily, hugging you against him with his strong arms cradling you safely. You pull back, but stay close enough that your breaths intermingle into on united puff of white cloud.

“I wanna fucking spend eternity with you, Min Yoongi.”

“Good, ‘cause I wanna fucking spend eternity with you too, ___.”

You giggle and Yoongi smiles.

“And then each year we have to come to this gas station when it snows and kiss.”

“Deal”, Yoongi says, resting his forehead against yours.

Your eyes close at the same time. He cups your cheek, you do the same to him.

“Forever”, Yoongi whispers.

“Forever”, you promise him.

He kisses the tip of your nose, giggling when you reciprocate it. He makes you smile and kiss him again just because he is so adorable when he giggles.

“You’re so cute”, he says.

“You’re cuter”, you answer him.

“Mhm”, he lets out, opening his eyes, “we should probably leave now”, he whispers.

“Why?”

“There’s someone looking at us. He thinks that we’re cringe.”

“He’s cringe for thinking that”, you say, sending a look at the stranger. It flusters him to the point of looking away and trotting off. “Yeah exactly run away, you coward. I could make your brain come out of your nose if I wanted to”, you murmur.

“Okay, let’s not”, Yoongi says in a chuckle, tugging you with him gently, “let’s get you home before you commit magical murder at our spot.”

“In theory you started this trend when you punched off that guy’s head last year.”

“I only did that to keep you safe. Stop acting as if I did that just for fun”, he laughs, pulling you into him with his arm around your shoulder and his hand rubbing your upper arm.

“Be honest, you also did it to impress me.”

“And even if I did. Would that be so bad?”

You snicker, kissing his cheek. “No”, you say, “you’re so cool Yoongie Boongie.”

“This nickname is so silly”, he whispers, leaning in for a second kiss.

“You love it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do”, he says, blushing vividly when you kiss him a third and for now last time. You probably would have continued kissing his cheek if you hadn’t arrived by his car and therefore had to get inside.

Yoongi turns to you once in the car. Your eyes meet. It never gets boring. Connecting with him through nothing but a look. Each time you do, it becomes more exciting. 

Your bodies act at the same time. While Yoongi takes your face and leans in for a kiss, your body instinctively knew that it had to prepare for a kiss. Your eyes fall closed even before Yoongi’s lips touch yours and your heart is skipping beats after beats.

Yoongi and you moan into the kiss. The sound wasn’t for pleasure but for connection. To be with each other again leaves you unable to process it unless you make sounds. 

He leaves his seat and climb over the gear stick so he can sit on your lap. 

A loud honk startles you both.

His butt hit the steering wheel. He is halfway atop of you. 

“You think someone heard us?”

“Yeah probably. Who fucking cares.”

“Right”, he agrees, “but still, we have to go home.”

“You were the one who kissed me first.”

“I can’t stop. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.”

Yoongi cups your cheek and sit down on you with his right arm around your waist and his big hand on your hip. His crotch presses against your tummy. The lose sweats he wears are doing nothing to hide him from you. He currently feels so soft there. Softness against your tummy and his weight on your lap. This makes you feels so good that it gets hard to breathe.

“I want more kisses”, he says, running his right hand to your face to caress it. His eyes are switching between yours and your lips. The orange lights from outside make them sparkle. You forgot how incredibly cute his nose looks and how pretty he is up close. You are fighting for air once more.

“We should get home, shouldn’t we?” you tell him, feeling up his hips and butt.

“Why do you not want to kiss me?” he asks and his eyes fill with tears, “did I do some-”

You interrupt him with the most passionate kiss. Yoongi whimpers, pulling you closer instinctively. His head is turning and air is sparse. He hopes it always stays this way. He had to suffer through weeks of suffocation and yet it feels good to be sparse of air now that he is kissing you.

“You didn’t”, you whisper, “but people are so close.”

Yoongi’s eyes drift outside. Yours do the same. The gas station is only a few steps away. There are five people inside and the clerk. They live their lives while outside in the snowy parking lot, you and Yoongi share kisses on the passenger seat of his car.

Yoongi looks back at you. You are gazing up at him with a fond smile on your lips and your eyes lowered halfway.

“Too many people?” you ask him.

But he shakes his head, “just let me be with you.”

“What if they see us?”

“Then let them stare”, Yoongi says and pulls you back into a kiss.

“Yeah, let them stare”, you murmur, pulling his hips snug against your body.

Yoongi moans into you, chasing you with wiggles of his hips and his arms closing around you in a hug.

Somehow in the journey of becoming one again, you manage to climb to the backseats. And you manage to slide down your pants just far enough that your connection can become as deep as it can get. And once again, it wasn’t for pleasure but for connection. However, neither you nor he could deny how much more desire there was in the movement. Your connection was being mended again, but it was also obvious to both that the need for pleasure was slowly returning to you and him. 

Kiss breaks for air were spread throughout the heated moments and the once miserable sobs were replaced by breathy moans and gasps of each other’s names. Hands, once desperate to remember the language of touch, now grasp the other whenever bolds of warmth spread through your bodies. And eyes gaze at each other and meet hazy, intense pleasure in the gazes.

Your bodies and souls are slowly but surely healing. Your hearts are slowly but surely accepting that this was your reality again. That you and he were truly together again. And when that acceptance washed over you, you grabbed the handle and showed Yoongi how good you could love him while Yoongi forgot how to speak and trembled beneath you.

By the time you find your highs together, the windows are fogged up and snow covers the windscreen. And somehow, through the magical wonder of being with his soulmate, Yoongi’s once cold body managed to heat up enough that he felt warm to the touch. You also magically turned the hazard lights on without wanting to. They are now blinking and blinking and blinking away. 

You sink into Yoongi. Your hand slips from the window, only an imprint in the fog remains. The car is filled with your quickened breathing and the rhythmic clicking of the hazard lights as you recover. Yoongi caresses your back, basking in your scent. He feels so intoxicated when he is with you. For a short moment, he wonders how he managed to be with you in the past without feeling dizzy all the time. And then he pulls you closer and buries his nose in the crook of your neck just to get even more of your scent.

“I can’t stop”, he murmurs into you.

“Don’t apologise. Neither can I.”

“I’m so scared to wake up.”

“This isn’t a dream.”

“It feels like one.”

You lift your head and look into his eyes. The connection, like always, is intense and leaves you wanting for the moment to last forever.

“I know it’s not my memories, but what if they are? I’m scared that I’m remembering”, he confesses.

“This isn’t a memory, my beloved love.”

“So you feel like a dream. You actually do.”

“You feel like a dream too. But then”, you furrow your brows, “no. No you don’t feel like a dream, you feel like home.”

“Home?”

“Home means feeling safe and as if no obstacle is too big because you have a place to call home.”

“I’m your home?”

“You’re my home. I never had a home. At least not one which made me feel safe and where I could settle for the day. You’re my home and I wanna make sure that you are always well taken care of. That’s what you do with a well loved home, you take care of it and you make memories with it and you know that you'll always return to it no matter how far you go.”

“___.”

You smile, “you’re my home, Min Yoongi”, you whisper and add, “you’re my home and I’m your land. I think that’s nice to be.”

“___”, Yoongi presses out, “___ please don’t ever leave me.”

“I won’t. I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home, remember?”

He nods his head and picks you up just to lie down on the backseat with you. He manages to do so in a way that allows him to nuzzle his face against your neck. He does so shuddering and with his fingers squeezing you.

“Please hold me for a while.”

And you do so gladly, finding refuge in the knowledge that the weight you feel on your chest tonight wasn’t because of heartbreaking failure but because of your healed and healthy Yoongi.  

You hold hands as he drives you home, just as you hold hands as you both carry the grocery bag to the kitchen. It wasn’t heavy, you just didn’t want to stop touching each other.

The estate was still asleep. Not that you tried calling out for the others, but they definitely would have already come running had they heard you come out of the garage chatting about the heavy snowfall.

You don’t mind that everyone is still sleeping. Perhaps you are even a little happy about it. All you really want to do is spend time with him. With your Yoongi. No other distraction. Just you and him. You wished for such a moment for way too long.

“I need to drink something, no joke, I’m so freaking thirsty”, you say once you are in the kitchen, hurrying to the sink to get some water.

“You really should. It’s good for you”, Yoongi says, working to empty the groceries in the meantime. He stores everything in the fridge, except for what you will need for your pasta.

“Do you think that I had a fever? I swear I had to have something, I’ve never been that thirsty before.”

“It could be. You were really hot when I held you.”

“Mhm”, you acknowledge him and then down two glasses of fresh water. You set down the glass with a sigh, “that felt good. Do you want a glass too?”

“No, I’m good. Come help me with the bacon, love.”

“Of course, what do you need?” you hurry to his side.

“Look, I don’t know if I can cut it alone. I need your help”, he says, making you snicker because you figure out instantly that it was all just a scheme.

“Poor boy, of course I can help”, you say, placing your hands over Yoongi’s to help him cut.

This only really lasts a second and then Yoongi is nudging you with his nose, giggling as he searches for your lips. You let him find you instantly, giggling just as much. The bacon sits forgotten instantly as you turn to hook your arms behind Yoongi’s head and he twirls you just so he can lift you up on the kitchen island.

“Mhm, my prince”, you break the kiss, “will we ever get to cook?”

“I don’t know”, Yoongi rubs his cheek against yours like a cuddly cat, “can you feel my lashes?” he asks, tickling your cheek with them by blinking quickly.

“Yes, I can”, you squeak out, squishing his cheeks, “why did you do that?”

“I don’t know, I wanted to test it out”, he says, “do me”, he orders, leaning in to present his cheek to you.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking cute, I can’t fucking breathe”, you say, leaning in to connect your lashes with his cheek, “and?” you ask after blinking quickly.

“I felt it”, he scratches the spot you touched, “it tickled.”

“Yeah”, you say and giggle, “Yoongi my cutie Boongie why are you so cute?”

“I always was.”

“Oh? So we’re not denying it anymore?”

Yoongi glances at you sheepishly, leaning his weight on your thighs so he can snatch a kiss from you.

“Just tonight. I haven’t felt that alive in weeks.”

“Quite literally.”

He laughs, nodding his head in passionate agreement.

“I’m happy that you are, you know? And I’ll keep telling you that I am a million times more.”

“Good, I’ll keep telling you that I’m the luckiest man ever”, he says, picking you up from the counter just so he can hold you instead.

“You are?” you ask him, legs wrapped around his waist and hands tracing his neck and shoulders.

He nods his head, eyes lighting up as they race over your face. He likes that he has to look up at you that way. Because he does. He looks up at you so very much. You did all of that for him. You searched heaven and hell for a cure. You did that because you loved him so much that you didn’t want to let go. Yoongi always thought that he was destined to never experience such a love in his life. But here you are. Holding onto him as you are in his arms and he can look up at you.

“You’re so sweet”, you whisper, cupping his cheeks in your soft palms.

Yoongi leans into your touch as his eyes fall closed. He turns his head, placing a kiss on your palm and afterwards, he rubs the tip of his nose against it. Slow and gentle. To really savour the feeling of you.  

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums in a smile, setting you down on the floor after kissing you once more. He swears that this is the last time. Yes, he will break that promise ten seconds from now when you try to cut the bacon again and he steals a sneaky kiss instead.

You squeak and giggle, “fleeing” from him by leaning into the kiss. Yoongi steals it successfully, giggling deeply as he rubs his nose against your cheek. You are so happy. So, so happy that you somehow manage to turn on the stove. Yoongi notices it instantly and turns it off again.

Your eyes meet.

“Did I do that?”

“Yeah.”

“But I didn’t even do anything.”

“It’s okay. I turned it off again.”

You gnaw on your lower lip shyly.

“Hey, it’s seriously okay.”

“Yoongi, I think I can’t control my magic”, you confess, “Meredith told me that I have lots of chaos in my head.”

“She did?”

You nod your head, “I can’t control my magic. I keep turning on lights and, and stuff. But only since you’re back. Before that, it was always…it was only in bad moments and when I needed to save you.”

“You triggered your magic when I was dying and then kept pushing yourself to do stuff you weren’t ready for yet. No wonder it is chaotic right now. Don’t worry, my love. I’m here now and we can fix this.”

“Can we really? I’m so scared that I’ll hurt you or the others because I can’t control myself.”

“You won’t hurt me. Trust me, nothing will hurt as much as-”, he hesitates and lets out a breathy laugh, sending you a helpless look.

You understand and cup his cheeks, caressing them softly.

“You won’t have to return to that place. I promise you.”

He nods his head, pressing out a small, “okay.” Then he lowers his eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing. I just…it will take some time not to remember how it felt.”

“And I’ll be with you the entire time, so don’t hold back on crying or, or asking for help. Yes?”

“Yes”, he whispers and rests his forehead against yours, “thank you.”

“Don’t. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Guys?”

You and Yoongi turn upon hearing Jungkook’s voice.

“Holy shit, since w-when? Oh my fucking god”, Jungkook gets out and then he is already by your side, having both you and Yoongi in a tight hug, “you’re finally awake oh my god”, he chokes out and sobs loudly, “you are finally awake! Oh god, I can’t believe this i-is real.”

“You’re acting as if you didn’t talk to me a few hours ago”, Yoongi laughs, rubbing Jungkook’s back.

“A few hours??” Jungkook lifts his head, showing you his teary eyes, “it’s been three days.”

“What? Three days?”

Jungkook steps back, nodding his head with his brows furrowed in seriousness.

“You guys slept for three whole days. We kept on checking on you, but you were both out cold and nothing we did could wake you. Oh god, I was so scared that you were gone. I can’t believe that you’re here again.”

“Three days”, you say, looking at Yoongi and realising that he is doing the same, “no wonder we feel that done.”

“Yeah”, Yoongi agrees and chuckles.

“I guess you guys really needed that sleep. You both look a lot better than you did three days ago”, Jungkook says, reaching for both of you, “I’m sorry, I gotta make sure that you’re actually here. Holy fuck”, he says and spills tears, “oh god, I want to cry.”

“You’re so cute, Kookie”, you say, reaching up to wipe his tears, “wanna join us in making food?”

“Yes of course. What are you making?”

“Pasta. Yoongi said that he knows how to make an authentic Carbonara.”

“Oh, that sounds yummy”, Jungkook says and wraps his arms around both your waists, squishing you together that way.

It cracks both of you up.

“I’m so happy”, Jungkook murmurs, face buried in the nook between you and Yoongi’s bodies, “oh my god, you guys don’t smell sick anymore. Just happy. I missed this so much.”

“You’re adorable”, Yoongi chuckles, ruffling Jungkook’s hair, “oh? Your hair’s grown quite a lot.”

“Yeah, I didn’t wanna cut it. I was so sad hyungie, I thought that I’d never see you again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, kiddo.”

“Good”, Jungkook mumbles and then squeezes your waists, “oh god, I want to merge with you guys. Let’s merge, so we never lose each other again.”

“Sounds like a plan, I’ll see if I can find something in my books”, you joke.

“No”, Jungkook shakes his head, “you’re forbidden from even opening a spell book for the next five decades. I’m not letting you get hurt again.”

You laugh, “okay, okay. Message received. Gosh Kookie, I can’t cut the bacon if you’re holding us like that.”

Jungkook thankfully lets go, but he stays close enough, changing between back hugging Yoongi and back hugging you, all whilst nuzzling his nose into the respective shoulder. You don’t mind that he was here now. On the contrary. He gives the best back hugs and he radiates such happiness, that your and Yoongi’s happiness feels ten times stronger too.

“Did you hear already by the way?” he addresses Yoongi, “___ has magic.”

“I know, I heard when she talked about it to me.”

“So you heard everything?” Jungkook gasps.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder, “yes Kookie, I heard you crying over me. I’m sorry I couldn’t just wake up then and there to hold you.”

“Oh god Yoongi”, Jungkook pouts, “I’m such a crybaby, I cried so much. Sorry for making you listen to it.”

“Don’t apologize. Hey, come get your kiss, Kookie.”

Jungkook leans in, giving Yoongi’s waist a tight squeeze the moment Yoongi’s lips connect with his cheek in a sweet kiss. Jungkook pulls back, exhaling just a little shakily.

“See? That’s so much better than crying, yeah?” Yoongi talks softly.

“Yeah, so much better”, Jungkook says, blushing shyly. He giggles and steals one more kiss from Yoongi even if that surprises the latter and he ends up stumbling from the force of Jungkook pulling him closer.

“Kookie”, Yoongi pulls back with a chuckle, “not so rough, I’m not back to full strength yet.”

“Sorry, I just missed you”, Jungkook whispers, “and you too”, he turns to you, attacking your cheek with a big smooch.

You giggle, leaning in to chase his sweet kiss.

“You’re so cute, Kookie.”

“Heh”, Jungkook lets out, resting his chin on your shoulder afterwards to sway your bodies from side to side slowly.

In the meantime, you and Yoongi fry the bacon together. You put it in the pan and Yoongi stirs. It is the perfect teamwork and continues as you prepare the eggs together. Yoongi cracks them while you stir.

“Did ___ already tell you about her grandma, hyung?” Jungkook asks, waddling behind you as you hurry to get the salt.

“She didn’t”, Yoongi sneaks a glance at you, “didn’t you tell me that she died a few years ago?”

“She did, but the craziest thing happened to me. To us”, you say, pointing at Jungkook, “we were out of options and felt hopeless so I told him about my grandma and that she definitely was a witch but that I never got the chance to talk to her about it. And then Kookie suggested that we might try to look for clues in her house with the help of my memories and so we travelled to my memories. And we actually managed to do it but then the craziest thing happened and she actually addressed us and talked to us.”

“Really?” Yoongi sounds genuinely surprised.

“Yeah”, Jungkook nods his head vigorously, “she could even see us and touch us, hyung. And, and I wasn’t a vampire anymore, just human.”

“You were?”

“He was”, you continue, “and we ate her raspberry pie. It was so good, wasn’t it?”

“It was heaven, so yummy and sweet. Hyung, I had a heartbeat”, Jungkook says, “it felt so good. It was racing so much whenever I looked at ___.”

“Kookie, the hell?” you gasp as you fluster, “don’t say that.”

Jungkook grins sheepishly, squeezing you softly before he kisses your cheek lovingly.

“Huh”, Yoongi lets out and scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. He turns to prepare the eggs in the hot water, “I can’t believe you guys managed to enter The Plains on your first try.”

“The Plains? What’s that?”

“It’s afterlife for witches. It’s between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead. You won’t believe it, but Namjoon was the one who created it long before we became vampires. He said it was to make sure that even in death we could continue to live together”, Yoongi lifts his head, staring at the ceiling with sad eyes, “yeah well, we can see how that turned out”, he whispers, before shaking his head to get rid of the sadness on his voice, “whatever. My point is, that it’s really fucking hard to enter The Plains as a living witch, let alone to bring a vampire with you”, Yoongi looks at you, letting his eyes run over your features, “you’re actually really fucking impressive, princess. Like honestly.”

“Oh uhm”, you feel your cheeks heat up, “I didn’t even know that it was that difficult to do. I just really wanted to see my grandmother again.”

“You can be proud of what you did. It took me a year to master it”, Yoongi says, “you have serious potential, I mean it.”

“No, I still have so much to learn. I barely even know anything and sometimes my magic overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do.”

“Undermine your talents again and I’ll whoop your ass”, Yoongi warns, “I mean it when I tell you that you have potential. I trained hundreds of witches in my time, but only a handful managed to teach themselves the level of magic you did. In the span of nine weeks, if I may add.”

“I think pure spite and anxiety kept me going”, you say.

“Princess”, Yoongi warns.

“Thank you”, you assure him, “I think that I still need a little time to realise it, but I’m a bad bitch.”

“You’re such a bad bitch, no joke”, Jungkook agrees, nodding his head vigorously.

Yoongi smiles, “you’ll get even better with proper training. I’m sure that in a few weeks time, you will have mastered even more magic.”

“You’ll help, won’t you?”

“If you want me to.”

“Of course I do. Who else gets to say that she’s getting lessons from the OG witch and OG vampire?”

“Wow, are these the only criteria which make me a good teacher?”

“No. I can kiss you like this too”, you say, sealing a sweet kiss from him, “and like this and this and also like this”, you say between kisses. The kind which melt Yoongi into a complete puddle of giddiness. “That’s the best part of it.”

Yoongi smiles, “I’m not the OG witch by the way. I was just a student”, he whispers.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the original witch in my eyes”, you whisper, kissing his lips.

Yoongi smiles into the kiss, caressing your waist. He continues touching you when you pull back, gazing at you with love drunk eyes.

“It also means that we won’t have to lose ___ to age”, Jungkook says, “she’ll stay young like Meredith and her coven.”

You widen your eyes. Yoongi seems just as surprised.

“I didn’t even realise that yet”, you confess.

“Neither did I.”

You turn to Yoongi, taking his hands. Yoongi pulls them against his chest, eyes racing between yours.

“My love”, he chokes out.

You smile, “it’s actually eternity, my Yoongi Boongie.”

He laughs. You laugh. And Jungkook laughs too, picking the both of you up just to twirl through the kitchen with you.

“I can’t believe that this is real”, he laughs, “I love you guys so much.”

And as Yoongi picks you up after Jungkook set you down and then begins kissing you, you know that this right here was just the beginning of something eternally good.

[101flavoursofweird]

I have Vergier family feels again…

Inspector Vergier started working on the ‘Mystere Incident’ (or at least, he started writing about it in his file) three years prior to the game’s present time. The ‘incident’ has something to do with a string thefts of artworks and antiques, all baring the same mark. 

Constable Loic mentions that Vergier has been working on this case since Emma died, implying that Emma’s death had something to do with the ‘Mystere Incident’. This is never confirmed and as we don’t have a sequel, it probably never will be confirmed, but it’s cool to speculate. 

Who do we know who stole a load of artworks with the mark and disappeared three years ago—? Oh, hi, ISAAC!

The timing here just seems too coincidental. The fact that Charlie’s mother could have died around the same time Raphael’s dad left… hurts my heart. 

What if Emma’s death was what drove Isaac away? Maybe Isaac could handle moonlighting as an art thief while he was still living with Raphael, but being involved in someone’s death was too much for him. Either Isaac wanted to escape or he became even more embroiled with the Chevaliers because “There’s blood on your hands now, Isaac, old chap! You might as well rise through the ranks of the Chevaliers!” (My flawless Jean-François impression!)

Wouldn’t it be so bitterly ironic if Inspector Vergier lost Emma because he started looking into the Mystere Incident, but then after her death, he just dedicated his entire life to the case— pushing away the one family member he had left?

During Chapter 8, when the Chevaliers start terrorising Paris, Vergier muses about how those involved in the Mystere incident have been up to something. By ‘those involved’, he must mean Graf… who Vergier later realizes is Jean-François (not the teenage rhythm thief Vergier has been chasing with the Paris Roller Skate Brigade)…

If Emma did die three or so years before the game, this might beg the question of why Vergier carries around a family photo from years ago, when Charlie was a baby. It’s not impossible that Emma died while Charlie was very young, but then again, maybe Vergier just keeps the photo with him for sentimental reasons… and so he would always have the message Emma left him: 

‘I will keep our family safe while you keep our city safe. I know you will not let us down, my brave, noble constable.’

Vergier promised Emma he would protect Paris, while she promised to protect their family. But then, Emma died because he was trying to protect Paris… but how can Vergier continue to protect Paris if he needs to protect what remains of their family? How can he keep his promise to Emma and keep Charlie safe, while he’s grieving? This isn’t helped at all by the fact that Charlie’s pink school dress and cardigan looks so much like what Emma wears in their family photo…

As it turns out, Charlie can protect Vegier, while Vergier protects Charlie, and they can work together to protect Paris. 

Charlie didn’t understand why their father was so obsessed with saving Paris until they saw Emma’s message on the photo. In Charlie’s words, they didn’t know that was how their mother felt about their father. Upon returning the photo to Vergier, Charlie remarks, “You owe her, non?”, echoing how Charlie feels like they owe Phantom R for him saving Charlie. 

It’s not actually about owing anyone— Charlie just uses this as an excuse to keep helping Phantom R…

It’s about helping the people you care about and trusting that they will help you in return.

Both Vergier and Charlie seem to have realised this by the end of the game. They team up with Phantom R to storm the Hanging Gardens and take down the Chevaliers. In the game’s final scene, Vergier yells at Charlie that it’s the Constabulary’s job to catch the Rhythm Thief, but he’s actually smiling, so you know this is all just a game to them and Phantom R now…

During the Vergiers’ bonus episode, Family Ties, Vergier and Charlie team up to defeat some leftover Chevaliers in Les Invalides. (Chasing the harmless Rhythm Thief is fine, but not the chevaliers!)

In the opening narration to the episode, Charlie mentions that their father still refuses to discuss everything that happened with them… and later, Vergier tells Charlie that the case on the Mystere Incident is officially closed. (‘Officially…?’) Vergier tells Charlie to stop interfering… but, realising that Charlie will never listen, he just asks Charlie to stay within his sights.

Vergier then walks out, leaving Charlie alone at Les Invalides…

Inspector Vergier got some good character development… but he’s still not the best parent :’D (Still, leagues better than Isaac and Jean-François!)

[sugarcloudsky]

Henlo! can i request a platonic dark choco x tween!reader that takes place after the events of chapter 14? like a first meet kinda thing where dark ends up taking the reader under his wing? the rest of the details are up to you! sorry if this was a tad bit specific

「Vindication」

character: dark choco cookie (platonic)

cws: semi graphic descriptions of blood and wounds, possibly ooc dark choco ive never written for him :(

wc: 1.3k

this one took a lot of editing, hopefully it turned out ok!! requests are being worked on as fast as i can, im sorry everyone!!!

Strength can bring no good if it’s born from the suffering of others.

This he may have realized far too late. He had already stained the Strawberry Jam Sword with the suffering of countless cookies of his kingdom. No— the Dark Cacao Kingdom. He does not believe he deserves the title of prince of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, especially at a time such as this one.

Although Dark Choco Cookie had now freed himself from the weight of the sword, he still held a heavy darkness in his mind. He finally let go of his dark past, but he could never truly erase his mistakes. Something deep down inside him selfishly wanted to turn around, and return to the spot on the throne besides his father, but he knew it was never possible for someone like him.

He was not worthy of redemption, he was sure of it.

Yet, something in him still ached for the sense of relief. That maybe to at least one cookie, he could be a good person. That maybe one day, a cookie would look up to him in the same manner as he looked up to his own father.

He stops in his tracks, staring into sugar snow below his feet. The crystal-like powder sparkles underneath him. The howls of cream wolves can be heard in the distance. A sigh escapes his lips, deciding he should continue moving, or else he may become the cream wolves’ next meal.

“Hhgh— Help— Help me… anyone— please!”

A voice.

He freezes. His head quickly whips around towards the source, and in the very distance, he can almost make out a small amount of movement hidden in the trees. Squinting his eyes, he realizes what he sees.

A cookie. They seem to be much smaller than he is, but he assumes it's due to the distance between them.

Dark Choco Cookie hesitates. What should he do? Should he approach the cookie? What if it was a trap? What if the cookie was actually injured? He doesn’t know how to react, or what to do.

“Please! I—I Need help! I’m hurt! Someone— help me please!”

A pit forms in his stomach. Even if it was a trap, he couldn’t imagine living with himself if he ignored a cookie pleading for help, especially after every atrocious act he’d committed. Perhaps it was the prince still in him, but as quickly as he stopped moving, he rushed towards the cookie crying out.

When he's close enough, he realizes that you seem to be smaller than he had first thought. You weren’t a little kid, but you were obviously not quite an adult either. At the sound of his footsteps in front of you, you flinch.

The two of you lock eyes for a moment, your red teary eyes meeting his widened eyes. His eyes quickly land on your leg, which appears to have a large gash embedded in it, blood continuously oozing out of the wound. His heart sinks. There was an attempt from you to cover the wound, but with the thin fabric of your coat and your shaking hands, not much could be done. Not to mention, the cold weather was slowly getting to you as well.

“What happened?” he gets straight to the point. He kneels down on one knee, taking a closer look at the wound. The shape of the wound seems to resemble teeth markings.

Cream wolves.

“The— the, hhg, the wolves… they attacked me.” You’re barely able to choke out a response, painful sobs racking your chest. It hurts— it hurts so much. It’s unbearable. You’re so scared. “I don’t— hh, I don’t wanna die! Please, please—”

“Be quiet,” he hushes you, more harshly than he intended, tearing off a chunk of his cape. “They’ll come back if we make too much noise. I’ll help you.”

He tightly wraps the torn fabric around your leg, hoping the pressure will subside the bleeding, at least a little. He watches as you bite your lip in an attempt to quiet your sobs. A somber feeling clouds over him, feeling sorry for your current state.

After he’s sure the gash is properly covered, he stands up again. Your eyes follow him, still crying. He extends his hand out to you.

“Let’s move. I’ll carry you on my back. I’ll bring you somewhere safer.”

“…O—Okay.”

A much smaller hand grasps his, and he gently pulls you up. In one swift movement, he hoists you onto his back, careful not to touch your injured leg. He feels you wrap your arms around his neck from behind, your head burying into his neck, tears staining his dark cape.

He sighs as he begins walking in the direction he was headed in previously. Except now, he has a bit of an unexpected companion with him. Despite the circumstances, he somehow felt a sense of comfort having someone else with him. He didn’t consider himself a hero, no, far from it, but he didn’t regret stopping to help.

After a couple minutes of silence only occasionally interrupted by your soft sobbing, he decides to ask you the question, “Where are your parents?”

He feels you tense against him.

“I don’t know—” You squeezed him, “The cream wolves— they… they attacked my home— I— I saw— my parents— They were— I don’t wanna go back—!”

“It’ll be alright.” he interrupts, barely above a whisper, “You’ll be alright.”

He frowns, imagining what must have happened to you based on your despair and what you were able to mutter out to him. Dark Choco Cookie then thought back to when he saved Milk Cookie when he was a young kid and his home village from the large cream wolves. Huh. History truly does repeat itself.

“Do you have anywhere else to go?”

Your silence is his answer.

For a moment, he thinks. What would happen if you stayed with him? It would only be temporary, surely. Only until you’re fully healed, he’ll have you on your way. But that had his mind racing once again. Where would you go once you’re healed? Surely it would be dangerous for you to return to whatever was left of your home— the cream wolves may as well have you for good.

It’ll be fine. He’ll keep you with him for as long as necessary, and eventually the two of you will part ways. He won’t get attached. He doesn’t get attached.

But before Dark Choco Cookie even realizes, the words come out.

“You can stay with me for the time being. I’ll properly patch up your leg once we get to a safer place.”

“…Mhm.”

He feels your grip on him loosen slightly as you let out a shaky sigh. Your head rests against his shoulder, your messy hair tickling his cheek. At this moment, Dark Choco Cookie noticed your crying had finally died down, being replaced with mere sniffles. He felt the urge to comfort you more, hug you and tell you that it’ll be okay and the both of you will be okay, but he restrains himself. He simply continues to walk, treading across the seemingly endless forest lined with nature covered in white sugar snow.

Was it really okay for someone like him to help you? You were so young— so guiltless, in comparison to the guilt ridden man holding you so carefully. If you knew what this man held, would you still have accepted his help?

He knows he deserves no forgiveness, nor a second chance.

But in this instance, maybe he could let himself do some good for once, just like he did all those years ago by his father’s side. His lips curl upwards just slightly at the memories of the Dark Cacao Kingdom that he once held close to him.

He shakes his head. His past with the Cookies of Darkness was now behind him. He was a new person now. He is no longer the monster he once was. No matter what curse Pomegranate Cookie lays upon him, he’ll be okay. He’d never let himself fall to someone like her.

It’ll be okay, he knows it.

[etherealjellyfishgirl]

hi hello lore dump for maverick

after Vylad died Mave stayed with Zianna in the castle bc Vylad was her escape from her hectic and loud home life

The day after Vylad died maverick was still covered in his blood and just here’s the conversation I imagine

Zianna: oh honey y-you’re still covered in blood don’t you want to change?

maverick: … it’s still going to smell like his blood

Z: I know I know… I’ll run you a bath and you eat something okay?

M: yes ma’am

Z: *walking away from mavie*

*hours later* M: *running hands through water*

Z: do you- ahem do you want some of his clothes?

M: *stares at reflection in water*

Z: I’ll be back don’t worry

Z: *returns with some of Vylads clothing*

m: *stares silently at Zianna* Z: okay do want a shirt and some-

M: you don’t have to do this

Z: wh-what do you mean!

M: you don’t have to take care of me like this… what about you?

Z: … honestly I’m using you to take my mind off if it… I like taking care of people heh… it’s why I am a mother…

M: but don’t you want to mourn the loss of your son?

Z: I am I am

M: okay…

as you can see I imagine that Zianna enjoyed maverick being around even if it wasn’t good on circumstances

Zianna liked having someone else in the house a fresh face with knew views

Now on to lore about maverick when she was younger

maverick was a very rambunctious child always running around jumping and climbing trees

she used being outside as an escape

she was born of a human man a werewolf woman but after maverick was born the werewolf fled so no one would know she was here

so maverick never knew her biological mother

later her father married a woman who was smart and loved maverick like her own daughter

but mavericks step sister (older then her by 9 years) on the other hand completely ignored her

and HATED mavericks dad they were always arguing over something it was never quiet and her being the only werewolf in the house often left

To the garden of the castle

and then she met Vylad and every single day she was gone until sunset

And even then as she got older she’d sneak out after dark

but there’s one more important thing about maverick

When maverick got angry flames would get brighter

scorch marks would appear under her feet or hands

and sometimes

if she was really mad

people would burn….

but that only happened once

The day Vylad died she set the man who killed him

on fire

that’s because she has fire magicks!!

[beck-nightengale]

Character Ask for Jade the Prophetess

So I'd been ticking away at that old Enderal Character Ask for some weeks and finally had time to finish it, and lordy was that a lot of questions with a lot of answers...

Have some lineart/expressions that my friend (please commission her, she's amazing) did for my girl if you're just passing by:

But yeah. This thing ended up being a lot of words - more words than what is probably necessary (I'm justifying it because she's a novel character that much of her backstory will be re-adapted to, anyway). Even with all of this, there are still a lot of side details left out, but... I figure my Ask Box is open if anyone is curious about any bits in particular.

Grab some tea if you're down for that.

Warning for spoilers (obviously), child/domestic abuse, cannibalism, eye scream, mental illness, addiction, and the usual Enderal fuckery that's on full steam ahead. (I guess this should be a given, but hey you never know.)

1. The basics – name, age, etc…

Her original name was Jehoel Gris. She started using “Jade” shortly after her family was killed because of, you know, Reasons. Distancing herself from her old life, for one. Second, it had come at the suggestion of an old Aeterna woman, who helped her to recover from the injuries she got after the Masked Men tried to burn her alive with her parents. This also prompted her to try to pass as human once she was on her own. Reinventing yourself can be pretty simple when you are already a nobody.

Age-wise, she is 32. Her birthdate is 14th of the Winter Star, 8202. So not very old, but old enough to have Gone Through Some Shit.

2. Describe their appearance.

Thanks to the Aeterna blood from her mother’s side, Jade is pretty dang tall, standing at 6’4” (195cm). Because of this, she slouches when she sits and generally carries herself in poor posture to make herself appear smaller than she actually is. Even then, her attempts are not always successful around those who can recognize the more subtle hints of her Aeterna features or catch a peek of her ears in her hair, but those traits are pretty subdued for the most part. She tries to pass as half-Qyranian/half-Nehrimese, which she might actually be a quarter of both. We just don’t know. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also she has freckles on her face, which aren’t always visible on her darker skin (it’s no mystery why her father didn’t believe that she was his child, really). Got some dark as fuck rings under her eyes from chronic insomnia. Her left eye is blind and pearl white in color, with some visible central heterochromia in her right, in which the outer iris is a storm-grey turning light brown/hazel towards the pupil.

3. How do they like to dress?

Generally prefers comfort over style, though she isn’t averse to dresses when wanting to look her Sundas’ best, which is rare. Purple is her favorite color, but she has very few opportunities to actually wear it. Her wardrobe varies a bit depending on the occasion. If she’s ever feeling particularly pretty, she’ll wear some flowers in her hair.

For the most part, she avoids outfits revealing too much skin, especially her hands, arms, and back, and she always wears gloves during her day-to-day activities. Not because she is modest, though...

4. Do they have any markings (scars, tattoos, birthmarks)?

The reason she covers her body with long sleeves and gloves would be the fact that it’s covered in scars. She’s not particularly self-conscious about her body, as she’s been intimate plenty of times without much trouble before. But she does feel that they make most people see her in a certain way (particularly pity or concern) that she would rather deflect more often than not. It’s also kind of hard to spin entertaining yarns about your childhood abuse or the time you barely managed to escape being burned alive by a cult, so she’s more likely to make up lies about where they come from than tell the truth.

Other scars just happen to be products of past scuffles and misadventures during her time as a street urchin and slave. Most notable are the severe burns left on her back, left shoulder, and behind her right leg.

Her face is not so easily covered up, and neither is Jade inclined to. After all, it’s an otherwise pretty face. She doesn’t care for helmets or masks to hinder her vision in the one good eye she has. The scar and blindness came from a particularly brutal incident, back when her father was first trying to teach her to hunt so she could be of more help on the farm. When she failed to hit a rabbit at a distance, he lashed out several times with the lower limb of a hunting bow. After a point, the left side of her face was swollen, and the eye came near to popping out entirely. Though it was salvaged with a combination of her mother’s healing salves and magic (which reduced what would have been severe disfigurements for the rest of her life), the eye remained permanently discolored. This event also may have left Jade comatose with some brain damage, had it not been for her mother’s healing, but it was also a turning point for how much abuse she could take, mentally and emotionally (and elaborated more on in later questions).

The remaining facial scars she has left are from the stitches where the skin had been split open from her father’s other… episodes. Her mother did what she could to heal Jade’s most grievous injuries, which led to her falling so sick with Arcane Fever so frequently that, on many days, she couldn’t even get out of bed. Jade didn’t fully understand the extent of Arcane Fever at the time, however, and just equated the memory with Light magic = bad.

5. What are they like? Describe their personality (use whatever tools you like- MBTI, D&D alignment, astrological signs, Hogwarts house, words/phrases):

Pre-Enderal, she’d probably be chaotic neutral; she did a lot of bad shit, but mostly out of survival. Post-Enderal and lots of character development later, she’s become more chaotic good, where she’s trying to be a better person than she was (or at least present herself as such) while still giving zero fucks about the law.

Moreover, Jade is the epitome of the type who masks their depression and deep loathing towards herself in humor and sarcasm, which seeps through self-deprecating jokes. And you can damn well bet that she hated when the Father called her out on this when she was working with Tharaêl, too. She wears all kinds of proverbial masks in hopes that no one can see the madwoman she fears she truly is.

See, ever since she was a child, she always had a peculiar connection with death, especially after the incident where she lost sight in her left eye… or so one can presume. Whether she truly heard the whispers of the dead or if it was the product of a shattered psyche, it’s hard to say. She kept the frequent visits of voices and phantasms to herself after her mother expressed fear that the girl’s mind just broke as a result of her father’s torment, or that she had suffered irreparable damage from her head injury. Most of the time, the voices she heard would go away on their own if she ignored them long enough, anyway. Since then, she always believed that people would think her mad if they got too close to her, started noticing the little ticks that always make her seem “off” – an ill-timed laugh, a hollow smile, talking when there’s seemingly no one else around. It was very wild how easily folks believed her when she started having her premonitions and experience with the dead after arriving on Enderal.

As an urchin child, she learned how to survive on the streets via thievery and fraud, until she was eventually caught and sold into slavery. The noblewoman who purchased her had taken an interest in her potential in burglary and violence, as she had a knack for both. Jade had no qualms when it came to killing in self-defense, which hardened her when it came to death in general (even though she may or may not have been haunted by those she killed for a time). This skill, coupled with her unassuming appearance and youth, made her an oddly effective hatchet person. If she wasn’t subjected to hard labor (which consumed the majority of her years as a slave), every now and then she was tasked to neutralize “threats” her master suspected of “plotting against her” – she was very paranoid, and a bit of a madwoman in her own right. As she grew into her adolescence, Jade just started seeing the killing as tiresome as any other chore she did, one in which she took neither joy nor despair, provided that she could shut the ghosts out.

6. How would they describe themselves?

“Hi, I’m garbage.”

7. Education level?

Smarter than one would think from a former farm girl, slave, street urchin, and possible madwoman – a fact which she uses to her own advantage, sometimes using reverse psychology-esque tactics by pretending to be dumber than she actually is. Not many would suspect a smooth talker out of her with the way she curses, but she’s maxed out in Rhetoric for a reason. Between her rather crass manner of speech, she can be remarkably well-spoken and thoughtful when it comes to matters she’s passionate about.

During her years as a slave, she was surprisingly given a basic education in reading and writing, which opened up a lot of avenues for Jade as she got older and would sneak some books to read during her rare downtimes. This is also just an excuse for how she’s able to speed read through all those skill books. Like, goddamn.

8. What are they proud of in themselves? What are they embarrassed about?

Jade would be hard-pressed to claim she takes any pride in the things she does, but she has developed the “fake it ‘til you make it” attitude to an art. Think you might be losing your mind? Pretend you’re sane until it goes away or no one notices. :)

Also she has shamefully high confidence in her seduction skills – she knows she’s got a pretty face (blemishes and all) and she uses those assets in her favor. It was especially useful when she was in the market of scamming and thieving, as it was possible to get away with all the gay crimes by flashing that charm and wit.

Of course, her seduction doesn’t always land. Her response to rejection is less than graceful.

9. Do they know any languages other than Inâl?

Some phrases from the Aeterna, Qyranians, and Kiléans she’s met, but not really fluent in anything. Linguistics isn’t her strong suit.

10. What, if any, aspects of their mother’s culture influenced them growing up?

Not much, since Jade was pretty ignorant of Aeterna culture and beliefs. Her mother always seemed to try to put that part of her past behind her when she had arrived on Nehrim as a refugee. Esme was shocked by how little Jade knew about her own kind.

11. Name a song (or a few) that remind you of them.

Oof, it’s hard to name a few, but I’ve got a whole playlist of songs for my Prophetess. Girl With One Eye by Florence & the Machine has always been my anthem for Jade as a character (she’s based off of a protagonist from one of my old novels/D&D character I played ages ago – more on that here if you’re curious), but it is hard to choose between that and Hated by Life Itself, Again, Arsonist’s Lullabye, and Little Talks as her one song.

Her OG!book iteration also had her own official songs (and In My Mind is still pretty fitting for her when you get down to those lyrics, goddamn), so… there’s that, too (and yes, I find the title of her theme to be hilariously and unintentionally appropriate, considering the “canon” ending I go for her Enderal version).

12. Speaking of songs, can they sing? What is their voice like? How about instruments?

Well, she’s no minstrel, but she doesn’t mind humming a tune or singing a tavern song she learned while on the road. She doesn’t have an ear for drums or flutes, but she enjoys strumming on a lute if she gets her hands on one (which may or may not be a residual character trait from her modern iteration, who was a violinist).

She likes to dance as well, despite the fact that she constantly derides herself for it by claiming she has “two left feet” and is overall a terrible dancer. She kind of is, but she likes it anyway.

...I also just really like dancing mods. They give me life.

13. What was their life like before coming to Enderal?

As indicated in previous answers, she was in a very bad way. A fugitive, runaway slave who had attempted to kill her master after reaching a breaking point, and ended up with a bounty on her head that prevented her from living in one place for too long. She did at some point have a few relationships (the longest one lasting three years), but her issues with trust, commitment, and fear of her own sanity rarely ever kept her around the same people. Her first experience with love didn’t end very well, and she’s had not much more than a series of shallow flings ever since.

I do have a timeline of “life events” that I mapped out that I’m still picking at off and on (and will also be adapted to a new novel series), but an abridged version of her life before Enderal can be described as: A walking natural fucking disaster. She had a bad habit of losing herself in drogae and casual sex as a way of coping with the night terrors in her sleep and her questionable mental state when she was awake. Had it not been for Sirius, she would have sniffed dust into an early grave.

14. How did they decide to leave Nehrim?

She didn’t. Her plan was pretty much to die alone in a gutter somewhere in her war-torn homeland. The only reason she left was because Sirius wanted her to come with him to start a new life.

15. Describe their relationship with Sirius.

Tense at first. They met as slaves, and then ran into each other again as runaways, where they were nearly recaptured by slavers. Their captors wanted to cash in on Jade’s bounty, and as such she was more heavily guarded than Sirius – a situation which the two readily took advantage of.

After that, they ended up sticking together. Sirius thought that she needed a friend, even after all of her efforts to try and keep him at arm’s length, and Jade figured it couldn’t hurt to have someone watch her back sometimes. For whatever reason she couldn’t understand, he never gave up on her; he often tried to make her see herself as someone capable of a lot of good, rather than a total lost cause. It just made his death hit that much harder, as she felt personally responsible (elaborated on more in #36).

Initially, she only told him a little about her past out of necessity, due to him frequently waking her up screaming in her sleep. But as they grew closer and developed a genuine friendship, she began to open up to him more in earnest. They were a dynamic hobo duo for eight years, which is the longest Jade ever stuck by someone, so they went through a lot together during their time on the streets.

16. Who do they blame for what happened to their family?

Herself. It was she who sought help when her father’s abuse had escalated to him finally attempting to drown her in the pond outside their home. She only survived because her mother had finally intervened, only to collapse from her Fever. Jade ran off on her own to get help and found some members from the Creator’s Temple, which only led to them condemning the entire family instead. Her sister died when the Masked Men set fire to their house, while Jade was strung up alongside her mother and father. She escaped with her life, but sustained severe burns in the process that left permanent scars.

The reason as to why the Masked Men executed the family is unclear in the game. For Jade’s story, it was because her father’s downward spiral into insanity led to cannibalism during a particularly poor harvest season, in which food was scarce. He murdered a local half-Qyranian man who he always suspected of being the biological father of his daughters, then forced the family to unknowingly consume him. The Creator’s Temple caught wind when more travelers were disappearing near the farm, confirmed it when they investigated the house, and saw the entire family as “tainted”. Thus, no one was to be spared.

At the end of the day, Jade believes that if she never sought help and somehow had just done things on her own, then her mother and sister would still be alive. Since then, she’s struggled to ask for help and would try to do things on her own that she really shouldn’t.

17. Apart from stowing away, have they ever broken the law?

Oh, she was a literal criminal long before being a stowaway. Even if you don’t count the fact that she’s a runaway slave, she’s wanted for the attempted murder of her master, who was starting to get cozy with some members of the Creator’s Temple. That triggered Jade’s aforementioned breaking point. For about eleven years, she’s been a wanted woman, evading bounty hunters and the law alike.

Asides from that, she’s committed several kinds of theft and fraud in order to get by, as her situation in Nehrim made it very difficult to make an honest living. She didn’t mind stealing food from racists who wouldn’t sell to an Aeterna wench, too.

18. How honest are they? Under what circumstances would they lie?

Funny thing about that. Jade is a natural-born liar, and can easily spin yarns to sidestep the truth. This is likely to come up if ever questioned about her scars, where she’d be quicker to claim she got them by wrestling a bear (which is absolutely not true) than she is to share her life story of child abuse and otherwise unsavory life events.

That isn’t to say she’s incapable of telling the truth. Far from it – Jade speaks her mind on many occasions. Certain times she’d make use of that silver tongue of hers would be if the life of someone she cared about was on the line, or if she kept her mouth shut because she genuinely gave a damn about hurting someone’s feelings. Though she has a long history of self-sabotage, she’s got some people that she’d really like to keep in her life right now.

19. Worst memory(s)? Best memory(s)?

Her worst memory was the night her father tried to kill her. We’ve already covered that in 16, so moving on.

Her best memory was when she first took her sister out into the forest to explore some of the prettier sights of Ostian together, escaping the mess that was their home life. I imagine they had a very close bond and Jade was very protective of her, and wanted them both to have moments where they could just be kids together. They made promises to leave the farm and explore the world together. Obviously did not happen.

20. Fight, or flight?

Flight. More often than not, her first choice is to run from her problems than to confront them.

21. Describe their combat style.

Pre-Enderal, dual-wielding daggers or old-fashioned fisticuffs were always her weapon of choice. And she was not against fighting dirty, such as throwing sand in the eyes of her targets, hitting them in their weak points, or kicking someone while they’re down. She was never a heavy-hitter, and preferred discretion to get the upper hand. If all else failed, she’d just book it and run.

Since her magic awakened, she’s taken to Elementalism as her main weapon, namely shock and frost-based spells (her pyrophobia prevents her from dabbling in anything fire-based). She uses daggers – now enchanted – as backup when her mana is low.

Eventually, she delved pretty deep into Phasmalism. Now she prefers to enlist the help of her ghost pals to deal with the close-quarter battles while she keeps a distance with magic.

22. Have they ever killed before? What is their reaction to combat?

Absolutely. The High Ones didn’t call her a murderer because they were being metaphorical. Her first kill was in self-defense when she was a young urchin child, and killing just got easier and easier the more it was asked and expected of her. For the entire decade she had spent as a slave, she had very little qualms about the occasional murder. Her only boundary was that she never, ever hurt children, and she held those who ever did in contempt. It would be impossible for her not to think of her little sister and live with the consequences.

Of course, all the death opened a whole barrel full of trauma for her. Back then, she was frequently “haunted” by those she killed, and it would take some time for her to elude her own phantasms, or at least make living with them more bearable so that she didn’t have to see or hear them screaming all the time. But since arriving on Enderal, the chaos that were once her thoughts have become eerily quieter. Well, save for the visions she now has. Those are new.

23. How do they react to having magical abilities? Do they use them?

After her magical talent blossomed, Jade went hard for Elementalism (save for fire magic), but she dabbled in spells from some of the other classes as well.

The only school she actively refused to entertain is Light Magic. Too much negative association around it after watching her mother’s health deteriorate to Arcane Fever, due to how much healing was necessary in her childhood. Watching the health of someone she loved rapidly decline like that just had a way of wrecking her with guilt.

Since taking to Phasmalism like a fish to water, Jade tends to employ the help of the dead to make up for her particularly lackluster skills in combat. Yera Shadowsong was her first ghost, who she was quite delighted to meet and keep her company on her travels. Others she enlisted were Kilana Hammerblow, Denna Frostheart, as well as the Starling Navigator and Aeterna Ambassador. Having actually known and witnessed the tragic death of Zar’ah firsthand, Jade ended up relying on her the most in future battles, as well as accompanying alongside her on the road when she had no one else to talk to.

Even if the echoes don’t seem fully cognizant of their existence, it nevertheless became Jade’s mission to try and extend them some degree of freedom and compassion. Whether they understand her or not, she finds herself interacting with them as though they were fully realized, living people, in an effort to try and draw out some sliver of their former selves. It’s a work in progress. Somehow it also makes her feel a little more sane just having sounding boards she can vent to when no one else is around.

24. What do they think of Enderal?

Hated it with the passion of a thousand dying suns. As someone who abhors religion, she had to bite back her heretical opinions whenever anyone spoke of the Paths or the Lightborn. After passing the umpteenth corpse hanging from a tree, and imagining that it would only be a matter of time before one of those corpses would become her own, she started trying to find a way to leave the country altogether.

After a point, she did develop a fondness for the land and some of its people, especially after the Nehrimese invasion led to raids and murdering civilians, which reminded her all too well as to why she left her homeland. She may have conflicting feelings about the country, but the common people sure as hell didn’t deserve that.

25. Did they do the Biggest Egg Hunt Ever quest?

Yup. She didn’t care much for the Starling prophecies, but Kurmai asked nicely. It also helped that he paid her and she needed money.

26. How do they feel about joining the Order? What do they think of Arantheal?

Oh, she hates the Order and everything they stand for. Her first instinct upon meeting Arantheal and learning about the Cycle was to get as far away as possible. This brought her to seek employment with the Golden Sickle so she could afford a ship out of the country and, later on, attempting to convince Dijaam to let Jade join her back to Kilé. It was only when those plans fell through, and her witnessing what the Red Madness had done to Mendelus and other civilians firsthand, did Jade return and ruefully accept Arantheal’s offer.

On that note, it did make certain parts of his speech during her and Calia’s inductions as Keepers extremely awkward by making it sound like she sought the Order out of a sense of purpose and duty – she really didn’t. Hell, she even initially told Firespark that she had no interest whatsoever in what the Order was doing. Overall, she finds Arantheal to be insufferable and too self-important for her liking. She never fully trusted him or agreed with his leadership. To her, he didn’t extend aid to the common folk as nearly as much as he should have, including his refusal to make the death of the Lightborn public knowledge to his people.

27. What is their opinion of the gods (or lack thereof)?

Though not one to preach her beliefs (mostly out of what bit of self-preservation she has, as many would deem her views as blasphemy), Jade has a very strong personal hatred for religion and would be, by all accounts, an atheist. As much of an atheist as one can be in a world where living gods have walked among mortals, that is. If you ask her, there is no afterlife, and there sure as hell ain’t no “Eternal Paths” waiting for her when she dies. When you die, you die. The gods have done nothing for her or her family, and her father even used the name of the “Creator” to justify abuse. And so she felt less than nothing when rumors of the gods’ deaths began to circulate, and she felt satisfaction and vindication upon those rumors being confirmed.

Of course, she knows better than to casually share her ideology in a theocratic country like Enderal, but appreciates engaging with other like-minded individuals, such as those who participated in killing the gods like the Nehrimese mages. While she can get along with religious people well enough, she prefers that they just keep their piety to themselves or at least not try to convert her. It won’t work.

Interestingly, she was surprised by how tolerant and understanding Calia was when it came to her views on religion, as she didn’t once try to argue or invalidate Jade’s experiences. This made her appreciate the other woman that much more and start to develop a closer relationship early on.

28. Wine, or pipe?

Pipe. Always pipe. Since discovering Peaceweed, she’s found that the stuff happens to help her sleep and calm her thoughts, so she smokes pretty much regularly now.

29. Do they spare or arrest Hallys, the farmer-turned-bandit in the quest, Deus Ex Machina? Why?

Against her better judgment, she actually agreed with Calia to have Hallys arrested, namely because she learned that he was initially lying about where he got the money from and that he actually stole it from the Undercity’s food bank, which pissed her right the hell off. While she felt for his situation, it didn’t justify screwing over the poor, who were much worse off than he and his family.

Though finding out that he had been executed at the gallows so soon after made her regret that decision. To her, that wasn’t justice, and it sure as hell didn’t endear her to trust Ark’s Tribunal to handle similar situations afterward.

30. What are their feelings and opinions about the Undercity?

It feels a little too close to home for her, as she often lived in similar piss-poor conditions when she was homeless. Like it shouldn’t exist, but it does, and she understands why and how all too well. From time to time, she’ll hand out coin and food to the children running errands or just looking like they need some help.

31. How do they react to the beggars of Ark?

When she has the coin to spare, she’ll sometimes offer some pennies. And she’ll always pay a kid delivering a message whether they ask for it or not. It wasn’t too long ago that she was in the same boat, and appreciated what little a passing Samaritan could provide. She got that Gift of Charity perk.

32. Where and how do they spend their time when in Ark?

Early on she started visiting the Undercity because she likes mischievous things it felt more familiar to her. Plus she found a small little hiding place tucked away for when she feels the need to abscond from “civilized” society. While down there, she frequented the Dust Pit to watch the fights, not really phased by the brute violence.

On the surface, she spends much of her time in taverns when she has coin to spare or feels like hanging out with Jespar. She also spends time with Calia in the bathing house or hanging out in the courtyard of the Sun Temple in between missions, since Jade became was quickly taken by Calia and wanted to help her open up more, all whilst getting to know the other woman better.

33. What would they do with three wishes?

I did the wishing well quest after finishing Angel and All the Dead Souls, so I imagine the first wish was for Calia not to leave her, the second was for Jespar not to hate her for the shitty things she said back at him. The third was for a sweet new dagger. Guess all three technically came true.

34. How do they feel about death? Do they fear it?

Death is a natural cycle of life. For the last handful of years, she was fully ready to die, anyway, and believed that there was no great afterlife or paradise that would follow. In more recent times, she’s become quite fond of being alive, though she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her life to save the ones she cares about.

35. What (else) do they fear?

As mentioned earlier, she has a profound fear of fire, and actively avoids using flame-based magic despite being very proficient in Elementalism. At most, she’ll use fire-enchanted daggers.

Additionally, she has developed thalassophobia to a degree since being shipwrecked, feeling anxious around large bodies of deep water, and a dislike for swimming. I kinda headcanon that she never even met Nessah/Sister Pride when working with the Rhalâta, let alone took her heart, because it required her to dive underwater for a long period of time, so she had no qualms with bringing a different heart to the First Seer instead (not that Jade would’ve killed her. She found Nessah’s notes, and she wasn’t about to execute a woman clearly suffering from mental illness for a group she didn’t care about). You can also bet that she noped right out of the Brotherhood of the Kor questline as soon as it required a “breathe underwater” spell to delve into a submerged temple. So yeah, she just told Mirella, “Sorry, lady, your son is dead” because it was the most likely truth, anyway. ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

Above all else, however, her greatest fear is insanity – a fear that the High Ones exploit the hell out of by constantly making her question her perception of reality and whether or not this all is just a fever dream of her dying consciousness. It helps very little that she already had a predisposition for madness, never knowing if her “connection with the dead” was real or a byproduct of her trauma. Remembering how her father descended into madness and cannibalism has a way of making her doubt her own sanity.

36. Do they have any secrets?

Quite a few doozies, actually. Prior to coming to Enderal, Jade had an addiction to dangerous drogae. And it was because of this addiction that she ended up in the situation she is in now, a fact that she is all too ashamed to admit to anyone. Even worse, she blames herself for what happened to Sirius because of this fatal flaw. Not only did she have proclivities for blowing whatever scraps of coin she earned to feed her addiction and other bad habits, which could have gone to paying for a ship out of Nehrim, the only reason Sirius chose to stow away with her, rather than sign on to the crew like a right proper lad, was to keep an eye on Jade while she went through the motions of withdrawals. He also stowed away with her to make sure that she didn’t get caught screaming in pain or waking from night terrors.

Similarly, signing onto Rocio’s crew wasn’t an option for Jade in the first place, due to being a runaway slave with a bounty on her head for the attempted murder of her former master. Despite trying to push him into leaving without her, Sirius refused. And now he’s dead. It’s impossible not to feel responsible for that, and for robbing her friend of the second chance at life that he so badly wanted.

Since becoming an Emissary, she’s found that her addiction has been miraculously “cured”, though she still gets uncomfortable around heavy drogae such as Glimmerdust. This resulted in her snapping back at Jespar in the Silver Cloud when she caught him using the stuff. Despite knowing what he was going through, Jespar wasn’t the only one who said very regrettable things that evening.

In addition to substance abuse, she also keeps her history of mental illness to herself, ashamed of what others would think if they knew she might be mad. Much of her prior ticks and instabilities ended up troubling her less and less once she became her “idealized self” on the shores of Enderal, anyway – the voices are dulled, and her mind feels a little more at peace these days.

While part of her felt that she should be grateful not to have to wrestle with her addiction or madness every day, the implications of a sudden recovery after losing her only friend scares her more than anything. For now, she has never shared this secret with anyone, not even her new companions.

37. How is their behavior around people they like? People they dislike?

Jade is very blunt and open about her feelings and has been noted to say whatever’s on her mind by more than one person. This can be for good or for ill depending on who she’s with – if she likes someone, she has no qualms blurting out the things she likes or finds attractive and appealing about them, or telling them what she feels they need to hear. If she doesn’t like them, then she’ll still speak her mind regardless of whether or not it hurts their feelings. She may even come off as abrasive or just downright rude. If her dislike runs deep enough, she won’t want to be in that person’s presence at all.

38. What is their relationship with the companions? Who, if anyone, did your prophet romance?

There were a few she became close to – some more than others.

Jespar: They got along pretty quick, since they shared very similar views on life, the Lightborn, and relationships. Jade has had Romance Gone Wrong in the past and didn’t quite want to see Jespar that way at first, either. It may or may not have helped that she made quite a few passing comments and propositions with him that amused him a bit. I headcanon that they had some FWB-type flings and then just never talked about it again, because Jade has her own hangups on relationships and monogamy. There were some feelings there on both sides, but were never realized until it was too late. (Side note: She decided to give him her own affectionate nicknames, such as “My Lord” because he kept calling her “Fair Lady”, and “Snowberry” because of his hair and he’s a goddamn fruity boy.)

Calia: Conversely, Jade just couldn’t resist and caught the feelings here. She tried to push them down until they died, but she grew more and more fond of her friend as time went by. It helped brighten some of Jade’s more cynical views of the world knowing that people like Calia existed, and wanted to change it for the better. In a sense, the two complimented each other in helping the other learn to enjoy life the way neither of the women allowed themselves to. In the end, she romances Calia, but I like to think they had more in-depth discussions on relationships and where Jade stands with them before they made things official. Due to her own struggles with her sanity and being constantly at war with what darkness lives in her own mind, she related with Calia on a very personal level, which became the foundation for their relationship to grow during and after the game’s main storyline.

Dijaam: Immediate crush, oh no. Jade worked with the Golden Sickle prior to accepting Arantheal’s deal, and maybe in no small part due to her weakness for Kiléans, Jade ended up being very smitten with Dijaam (while also quickly becoming very resentful towards her current employer’s “Path abidingness”, misogyny, and racism). She admired Dijaam’s determination and drive, and even suggested that they leave Enderal together. Too bad the Kiléan pulled the “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” at the end of the day. Oh well. Not the first time that’s happened to Jade. (Dijaam is probably still alive somewhere out there.)

Esme: Like a younger sister. In fact, Jade suspected her sister would’ve been around the same age, and turned out much like Esme if she were still alive. When she first met the fellow Aeterna woman having a hard time at the Frostcliff Tavern, Jade was immediately inclined to lend a hand. The two became closer throughout their search for her former companion, and though Jade feared the worst after a while, she didn’t want Esme to lose hope that she would see Tara alive and well. When the truth came to light, Jade did her best to comfort Esme. Before they parted ways, Esme gifted Jade a family heirloom – an amulet, which she continues to wear thereafter. (I also like to think that Esme was able to find a ship to leave Enderal before the end and is still alive.)

Tharaêl: One of her deepest regrets. To say that their relationship was turbulent would be an understatement. Much as Jade was on board with his cause to kill the Father for experimenting on and murdering innocent children, she grew equally frustrated with Tharaêl’s hypocrisy and uncompromising demeanor. Witnessing his regression to his childhood trauma was also not much unlike episodes she once struggled with, which made her try to empathize with him more. Killing Zar’ah was the straw that broke the camel’s back for her, however, as she did not believe that the mercenary deserved to die and that Tharaêl’s justification for it was bullshit. Still, she resolved to help him kill the Father, who was much worse in her eyes. But, when at that cliff’s edge, she could not bring herself to tell him the right words that could have saved his life. It is a moment that still haunts her long after his death, as she realized some time later that they were not much different. Her silence was his death knell.

39. Was there any non-companion character that they were close to? That they particularly disliked?

There was a quick connection when it came to Merrâyil and the Nehrimese mages, the former due to their shared history as slaves and experiences being Aeterna in a country like Nehrim, and the latter for their shared disdain towards religion and feelings about their homeland. When visiting the Sun Temple, she spent quite a bit of time with the group, particularly pestering Firespark and hanging out with Lishari. She was also deeply affected by Rynéus, as she saw much of her little sister in the boy and wanted so badly to save him. Failing him was like failing her sister all over again.

As for dislikes, she couldn’t stand Maél Dal’Loran, even if she found some of his deeds, such as providing support to the Undercity’s Pest House, to be noble. To Jade, Maél as a person was judgmental, racist, and plain impossible to work for. She ended up resigning from the Golden Sickle after gathering the ingredients he had requested. It doesn’t help that Jade’s first love was a Kiléan woman (not Dijaam), so she was not endeared by his anti-Kiléan sentiments.

40. How do they feel about myrads?

Though flying one for the first time freaked her out, she was immediately enamored with them. They’re majestic, adorable, and worthy of adoration and respect.

41. What dreams or ambitions did they have before coming to Enderal? What about afterwards?

Literally none. Her “dreams” were to crawl into a hole and die somewhere alone, until Sirius had convinced her to try and find a second chance for herself in Enderal.

Afterwards, she decided to just play it by ear. Her wanderlust developed the more she learned about other countries, and she decided she wanted to travel the world someday. Maybe use her newfound Arcanist abilities for good by saving lost souls with her Phasmalism, and figure out a way to rehabilitate the echoes into regaining their sense of self, rather than merely being slaves to the Phasmalist.

42. Do they like cities? Or do they prefer the country? Is there a region of Enderal that they like or dislike more than the others?

Despite always struggling with the noise and chaos of cities before, Jade had to adapt to them at an early age in order to get by. After a point, it just became a necessity, as cities were the easiest places to find places to make money.

She did learn to appreciate them more, to an extent, finding herself people-watching when seeking potential jobs (or marks). But if she could so choose, she would much prefer to live in the countryside.

43. What do they do to lower their considerable stress?

Staring at the underside of a desk until she feels better after a mental breakdown. :)

For real, though, some coping mechanisms are less healthier than others. Some times she’ll blow off steam by practicing her magic, or venting to one of her Phasmalist ghosts (especially Deanna, Kilana, and Zar’ah). Others she’ll get blackout drunk and end up in strange places (or strangers’ beds) she doesn’t remember going. Casual sex sometimes helps, too. Sometimes.

More recently she’s taken to smoking Peaceweed on the regular, which she finds calms her down a good deal. This method is marginally better.

44. Describe their perfect day off.

Dragging Calia out to more social situations, such as playing cards together with Jespar at the tavern (while Jade resists the urge to use her sleight of hand to pull fast ones on the group). In general, she just wants to spend time with her favorite people together. Other than that: Enjoying scenic locations with companions, such as beautiful sunsets, aurora borealis, and peaceful scenes off the beaten path. She absolutely loves Goldenforst. Anytime she can get a hot indoor bath, especially with Calia, is also a good time.

45. List three of their favorite things. Three things they hate?

Loves: Peaceweed, good brandy, animals (she really doesn’t have a particular favorite kind, but she does cry a little inside when a rabid wolf or fox forces her to kill it).

Hates: Cooking meat, swimming, and fire. For obvious reasons.

46. What’s in their pockets?

She gonna pop some tags,

Only got twenty pennies in her pocket–

...

Just a lot of junk, really. Don’t ask how many Endralean sugarbraids she has stuffed in there.

47. Pets? Mounts? Treasured possessions?

Two cats that are more like strays squatting at her house when she first bought it, but she doesn’t mind; she enjoys their company.

She also has a donkey she named Butterstuff and she loves him even if a big Aeterna woman does look kinda silly on a wee donkey.

For treasured possessions, she almost always wears the heirloom Esme gifted her. She might have a bit of a hoarding problem with useless junk, but that amulet is pretty and it means something to her, dammit.

48. How are their cooking skills?

Not good. Most of the stuff she makes is cheap and quick since she could never afford anything fancy before. She can make a decent enough vegetable stew and flatbread, but it doesn’t get more gourmet than that. Either she eats things raw/plain while on the go or she buys much yummier food while passing by vendors (love, love, love those date cakes).

49. Do you consider any particular quest or side quest to be definitive for your prophet? Which one(s) and why?

Other than the big faction ones like the Rhalâta and Golden Sickle: The Voice in the Water is an important quest for Jade, since it kind of explores her (possible) “experience” with the dead by just how natural it felt to be guided by a ghost that she knew wasn’t a product of her insanity. She felt particularly invested in helping to put the spirit of Pentas’ wife, Nira, to rest by seeing the ones who destroyed her life to justice. This quest opened Jade up to the possibility of being able to help people with her new gifts.

A Touching Effigy is also a good one, given that certain elements catered to some of Jade’s distaste for nobles and child killers. Ultimately she sided with Andrasta, because she can forgive killing useless nobles, but not Rhys for killing children in the name of his religion. Though she did (kind of) convince Andrasta to hold off on the murder for a while, mostly so she doesn’t get caught and worry her daughter. Never said Jade’s morals weren’t questionable.

50. How forgiving are they? For example, if they were yelled at in a brothel after searching high and low for this little sh*t, how would they react?

She can forgive well enough if the other party expresses genuine regret for their actions. For example, she easily forgives Jespar because she understood what he was going through, and she was just as much a little shit at the time (and was already tense being around Glimmerdust and a very high, very distressed Jespar). Really, she has a higher tolerance for friends who verbally lash out in the midst of their emotional turmoils, because she gets it – really. Jespar and Calia? Yeah, she got them. If it’s one thing that Sirius taught her, it’s that you don’t give up on friends, not even on their bad days.

There are few things that she just can’t and will never forgive. From her perspective, anyone who has ever hurt a child is the literal scum of the earth. Because of this, she was unable to think of the right words to save Tharaêl, just like how she failed to convince him to spare Qalian because she just couldn’t. And if she had done what Tharaêl had done, she knows that she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself, either. Maybe she could forgive Tharaêl someday, but she could never save him.

51. What do they think of the Veiled Woman?

Initially she really, really hated the Veiled Woman. Hated what she did to Sirius, hated what she did to Esme and Tara, and especially hated that oracular bullshit way of talking in the same vein as the Aged Man.

While she never could fully understand the Veiled Woman, Jade wondered if her motives for doing what she did was because she had some hope to end this particular Cycle. For that reason, and giving humanity a chance, Jade can’t bring herself to completely hate the Veiled Woman, either.

52. If they had been a victim of one of the black stones, how would it have affected them? What would they have used its power to accomplish?

Oh no, a black stone would likely amplify her pre-Enderal (possible) insanity. It would twist her sense of justice for the dead by turning her into a Phasmalist who would abuse the specters she wanted to protect by outright enslaving them, all for the “greater good” when it came to punishing those she deemed evil. Essentially she wouldn’t have been much better off than Adila, except with more actual dead souls at her disposal.

53. What was their reaction to the Black Guardian’s revelations? Do they accept or reject his offer?

Man, she shut the Black Guardian down faster than a speeding ticket. First of all, because she believed he was full of absolute horseshit, such as claiming the High Ones were powerless despite their ability to directly possess others through more than just the Red Madness. Second, she saw through his manipulations, sensing that eons in isolation several leagues under the earth while watching civilizations rise and fall would have various ways of fucking with your head. Like knows like, and Jade has an intimate understanding when it comes to madness. Moreover, she knew a delusion of grandeur when she saw one.

More than anything, though? She had literally zero desire to become a “god” as the Black Guardian had defined it. Due to her hatred for religion and the Lightborn, she refused to become the very thing she so despised. From where she stood, she didn’t even believe there would ever be such a thing as a “humanity with no ego”, as it would be impossible for her to control the hearts and minds of an entire civilization. Even if she could, she wouldn’t want to, since freedom of choice is important to her. In her mind, she thought it was better to give the current human race a chance to learn from the Order’s mistakes and remove the High Ones from the game for good, rather than lead a new civilization down the same path and just repeat the Cycle all over again. The Veiled Woman must’ve seen that there was some worth in this world if she had intervened when she did.

Ultimately it was one of the few times where her “fight” superseded her “flight” instincts. Jade also didn’t act super surprised when the Black Guardian revealed that she had been dead since she woke up in Enderal, because she kind of figured it out already (or suspected that she was just balls-to-the-wall crazy this entire time). She just didn’t know what to make of the whole truth that she was a projection the High Ones created to perpetuate the Cycle – other than to keep fighting it.

54. How does their story end?

Bittersweet. While she consumed the Dreamflower elixir before the end (and didn’t agree with Yuslan’s very random interpretation of the elixir’s effects), her choice still came at a great cost. She lost many friends in the destruction of Enderal, including Jespar. Now she and Calia are on a mission in Qyra to try and save the rest of humanity together.

Since there’s a possibility that Dijaam and Esme are still alive after their questlines, I like to think that they run into each other in Qyra at a certain point... because fate or some shit. The idea of a story where these four women (and the ghost of Zar’ah who totally became Jade’s main backup. Maybe she can finally figure out how to make Phasmal ghosts more “alive” someday) band together to save the world just delights me.

55. Do they change over the course of the story? In what ways?

For sure she does. In the beginning, Jade is a cynical, sarcastic little gremlin who doesn’t trust anyone any farther than she can throw them. She’s the very definition of the Reluctant Hero who doesn’t accept the big main quest immediately, and even tries to run away from her responsibilities the first chance she gets. It also doesn’t help that she was absolutely terrified at first with how her little “ticks” and addiction were just miraculously no longer plaguing her as much anymore, so she was already starting to question her own reality.

As Jade got to learn more about the people on Enderal and form actual friendships throughout her journey, her fondness for this world and desire to save those that live in it grew. While part of her was in the “oh, well, let the world burn” camp, she became that person less and less as time went on.

In Qyra, much about her changes as well. She becomes more driven and serious. Calia had to cut off most of her hair while rescuing her from the rubble of Ark, so not only does her hair stay shorter after that, she also no longer attempts to hide her Aeterna features (such as her ears) like she used to, mostly out of respect for the Jade who died at sea. Rather than slouching to try and appear smaller, she stands tall. The particular “treasure hunter” garb and the blue scarf she wears are little things to honor her memory of Jespar, to whom she had promised she would do her best to save humanity.

But her nightmares become significantly worse, as they are now frequented by a certain “incomplete” High One that takes the form of the Endralean civilization that fell prey to the Cleansing…

56. Anything else you’d like to share about them?

As implied in the last two responses, I had this nightmare fuel concept up my ear not too long ago: What if the Cleansing triggered on Enderal did give birth to an incomplete High One, but now it’s pissed that it never got to finish and is trying to meddle in the efforts to reconstruct the Beacon successfully? The idea of a High One actually consisting of your former allies, including the companion that didn’t survive, is just a brand of horror that I can’t resist… Not to mention really sticks a fork in Yuslan’s theory about the Dreamflower trapping you in an “Elysium where everything seems to go your way” (really, I think he was just trying to dissuade the protagonist from brewing an elixir that would obstruct his plans for revenge. I like to imagine he simply came up with the dream theory on the spot because the flower had “dream” in the name, so it was like the first thing he could think of).

Inevitably, a branch where the Endralean High One is trying to drive Jade into a Mad Prophet would throw a wrench in her and Calia’s efforts to save the world, and they’d have to go through the wringer for their romance to survive. In the end it will, but there’d definitely be some trials and tribulations in which Jade will one day have to open up about her well-guarded secrets. She would also be driven to try and save those who were consumed by the Endralean High One, whatever that may entail.

…I may or may not write an actual fic on this concept someday because I love suffering, but it has been so long since I have ever written a fic so who knows. You’re welcome and I’m sorry.

[callsign-owl]

Like Father, like Sons

This is a continuation of Festive Betrayal

Trigger Warning: physical violence

London, United Kingdom - December 2002

Owl lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His cheek still throbbed painfully, a lingering reminder of the confrontation at dinner. There was knock on his door but he ignored it. The knocking became more insistent until eventually the door creaked open. Owl didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Percival hesitated in the doorway, his posture stiff. "*redacted*," he began, his voice low, "I came to talk."

Owl kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about." he replied, his voice strained.

Percival sighed, closing the door behind him before taking a few steps into the room. “I’m sorry, *redacted*. I didn't have a choice. You know how things are with Father.”

“Stop it,” Owl cut him off, finally turning to face him. “Just stop it.  I'm not an idiot. You’re not here to make things right. You’re here to clear your conscience and to make yourself feel better.”

“That’s not true. I care about you, I—”

“Care?” Owl scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “ Your way of caring has a funny way of leaving marks, Percy."

Percival's face tightened, his jaw clenching slightly. "*redacted*, you have to understand—"

“No, you understand!” Owl sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and facing his brother directly. “You’re always going on about responsibility and consequences, but the only consequences you care about are the ones that affect you. You think turning me in to Father was for my own good? It was to keep you in his good graces.”

Percival took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. “I did it because you need to learn. Father’s expectations—”

“Father’s expectations are impossible!” Owl shouted, standing up. “He doesn’t care about me, Percy. He never has. And you’re just like him, hiding behind your sense of duty and responsibility while throwing me under the bus every chance you get.”

Percival flinched slightly at the accusation but didn’t back down. “I’m trying to help you see what’s at stake. Our family’s reputation, our future—”

“Our future?” Owl glared at Percy. “What future do you see for me, Percy? Because all I see is a lifetime of trying to live up to standards I can never meet. A lifetime of being second to you, the golden child who can do no wrong.”

“That’s not fair,” Percival said quietly, a hint of desperation in his voice. “I never wanted it to be this way. I just—”

“You just what?” Owl interrupted, stepping closer. “You just wanted to protect me? By making me feel like I’m worthless? By siding with Father every time?”

Percival raised his hands defensively. “*redacted*, listen to me—”

“No!” Owl’s yelled. “I’m done listening! You don’t get to act like you care when all you do is make things worse!”

Percival took a step back, his calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Owl’s fury. “*redacted*, please, just calm down—”

“Calm down?” Owl’s rage boiled over. “You want me to calm down? After everything you’ve put me through?”

Before Percival could react, Owl’s fist shot out, driven by years of pent-up anger and resentment. The punch connected with Percival’s face, the sickening crunch of bone audible in the small room. Percival staggered back, his hands flying to his nose, blood already pouring down his face.

“You broke my nose!” Percival’s voice was muffled, filled with shock and pain. He stumbled, falling against the dresser, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Owl stood there, chest heaving, the adrenaline coursing through him making everything feel surreal. “That’s for every time you threw me to the wolves, Percy,” he said, his voice trembling.

Percival looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something else—perhaps a hint of understanding, even if only for a fleeting moment. “*redacted*…,” he began, but the words died in his throat as the pain overwhelmed him.

"How about that for a lesson about consequences?!" Owl spat as he took a step back. His expression became unsettlingly cold and detached. There was even a hint of satisfaction crossing Owl's face.

Percival, clutching his nose, stumbled towards the door, his face a mask of pain and shock. He didn't say another word, just opened the door and fled, leaving a trail of blood droplets in his wake.

As the door slammed shut behind Percival, the silence that followed was suffocating. Owl stood in the middle of his room, fists still clenched. The adrenaline that had fueled his outburst was ebbing away, leaving a hollow emptiness in its wake.

[andypowell]

Withdrawal:

They tell me I’m just like my father in an attempt to correct that I became the man of the house so that I could no longer be his daughter. I got older only to find that blood ain’t always thicker than water. It’s because of him that my temper now runs hotter.

I hate that we share the same smile. Speak in the same style. If we are truly alike, then why is it that I don't have your number to dial? Why won’t you be the one walking me down the aisle? Or holding my first born child? Why do you have to possess a heart that is so vile? And if I’m just like you, does that mean that I too am a narcissist in denial? Better call the authorities and put me on trial.

Now that I’m fresh out of the loony bin I’ve created a new profile. Hopefully one that is more worthwhile, but I feel that after all this trauma, I am destined to go senile.

I despise that I have your deep-set dark eyes. A skill in telling white lies. The ability to easily cut ties. A desire to always own the biggest brightest prize. Choosing women based on their size and only thinking about what’s between their thighs.

I am covered in sin and need to be baptized, but as a poor man I’m afraid that I do not own the right supplies, but I guess that’s no surprise, and so instead I will get down on my knees and pray to god for his forgiveness until I am blinded by the sunrise.

Despite my bad memory, my father's words are song lyrics that I seem to have memorized. Manipulation, like him, is where I specialize. I have tried to sit and analyze his accusatory finger, but his scars weren’t exactly something he cared to advertise.

Father, you are the reason why I carry all of this hatred. Why my personality constantly needs to be updated and upgraded. Why I’m smoking these herbs till I’m far gone and faded. Kissing the glass bottle till I’m fully intoxicated. You are the reason why I feel that I deserve to be degraded. I don’t understand why you had to make your love so complicated or why losing you had me left me so devastated.

I felt the biological disconnect when we separated. You are the one who convinced me that love is overrated. What is affection? I wouldn’t know as I’ve never had it properly demonstrated. No book of positive affirmations and healthy communication to be illustrated. No emotional milestones of mine that were ever celebrated. So now I just live everyday anxious and agitated. Angry and aggravated.

I remember the nights you forced me to sit under your desk. I sat under there for hours silently pleading for you to let me go back to my room and rest. It's was a silent plea because you had trained me to stay quiet and never protest. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t tell my assaulter "no" that night as he started to get me undressed. You taught me not to draw attention to myself so I keep these memories submerged and suppressed, but I have to confess that I remember seeing you making love to a woman that wasn’t very impressed, but you didn’t care, however, as you only cared about keeping your dick wet and drowning our family in serious debt. This is getting hard to talk about; somebody light me a fucking cigarette.

I’m getting stressed out and need a healthier outlet, but the anxiety has me breaking out in a cold sweat. Just pass me the bong so I can get fucked up and forget. Someone help me escape this nightmare and change the fucking subject. These images of him are something I just cannot accept. His lack of attention gave me a phobia of neglect. Every piece of me that was shattered to pieces on the floor, my father would pick up and collect. It was the only thing outside of his music equipment that he would overprotect.

I can recall when he would squeeze my little toes until they turned white. Purposefully leaving marks that were out of sight because he knew that if my mother saw them, the two of them would be sent into an endless fight. It’s getting darker in these recollections now, so can you pass me a flashlight? Let me share the things my father would do just simply out of spite. He is the reason I became a night owl in love with the moonlight. I had grown used to the insomnia he instilled in me during the hours of midnight.

So Go ahead and let them say that I’m just like my father, I’ll just sit there unfazed and unbothered. I’m used to their comparisons and have decided to wear them like a collar with honor. Throw another negative curve ball at me, and give me all you have to offer. It’ll give me something to write about. Hell, maybe it’ll make me a better author and possibly make me an extra dollar.

End

[midnightscxre]

feral-fuqboi-danny​:

Finally, she was quiet, after uttering her last words Danny could finally say he killed her…but he didn’t feel anything. No excitement, no happiness, no contempt. He felt wrong. A whispering in the back of his head followed him to his cabin, to his bed and to his dreams.

What did he do? What he always does, so why was this different? ‘ɎØɄ ₵₳ⱤɆ ₣ØⱤ ⱧɆⱤ’ the voice got louder as he woke up, breathing hard as he looks through the window at the fake night sky. Scratch marks, red trails showing him where she had just once been. '5 days’ Why was he so adamant? Quickly Danny pulls on his beanie, regular snow coat, gloves and boots and heads out to follow her trail.

'ɎØɄ ₵₳ⱤɆ ₣ØⱤ ⱧɆⱤ’ the voice comes again like it’s right behind him. Maybe this wasn’t her punishment, maybe it was his and the Entity knew it. ’Daniel, you’ll never love someone, you’re incapable, just like your useless father!’ He shakes the memory away. Why was he thinking of his mother now? He knows why, because just like with his mothers corpse he couldn’t take a picture of Clare’s either. It just didn’t feel right.

As Danny pushes past the now dense trees he sees her on the ground, shivering and surrounded by sticks. He huffs, disappointed in her and himself. “I thought you would be more tenacious. Come on, get up.” He didn’t have his mask on but what was the point, she had already seen him and he wasn’t here to do any kind of intimidating. His mind was waging war on himself and he had no means to fight it. He reaches for her and drags her to her feet before wrapping his scarf around her. “Say anything about this and I’ll-” ’stab you…no’ he thinks. “…Cut you.”

She was a person of unwavering concentration. Once Clare sets her mind on something, not even the force that created the world can stop her. But once in a while, that force was suppressed by the mortal body to which that wild spirit was bound. Regardless of the fact that her limbs almost died, her sharp mind created plan after plan, connecting the dots, creating possibilities for revenge. She came up with an amazingly good plan even, considering the minimal options. A beacon of possibility was that shack the cursed man called home. But it will take time to get inside and get out of his sight first. In a short, open window of opportunity, climb up to the smokestack, warm up the frozen limbs, and seek the shelter behind bricks and black smoke. . . until he goes out hunting.

The only thing she needed was him to move away from the hut, and then she could enter. Arm herself to the teeth with everything she can lay her hands on, and then pounce on him with the force of an army whose ranks see no end. Yes, that might just work, all she needed was for the wind to settle down just a bit more, and force this useless sack of meat her soul is bound to to move despite the freezing winter attacking it. Then she heard movement. Sound was covered with the shrieking of the storm, and the shape under the curtain of flurry of snowflakes. Her eyes widened in horror and anger that boiled over in a second. She tried to jump to her feet, but her body didn't listen. Words he chose only flared the already raging fire of loathing. Mouth tried to speak but lips were glued shut by the cold. When he pulled her, the woman forcefully made the lips to part, skin breaking when the frozen skin separated.

 Blood painted the pair of now blue lips. “  Don’t worry, I was just about to burn your house down along with you in it. “ voice hoarse, low, barely hearable, but she answered. She would be damned if she didn’t. Then the unthinkable happened, and the eyes finally managed to correct the blurry image in front of them, seeing an actual face not a mask. The face that hypnotized her for so many nights, captured in a one faded photo. For a split second, she was lost in the memory where that face brought blissful wondering, daydreaming, hidden fantasies that were a perfect and much needed escape from reality. This reality. Where he is a slaughterer and she just another victim. Reality where she will grew to despise him, just like now. The soft wool around the frozen skin felt like heaven but that was the problem. It didn’t fit, nor did his words. What was wrong with him? He was insane, that was what was wrong with him. And the first explanation she could muster was the luring of a fool to fall for a nice gesture.

 Damn, the ways they tortured them were really disturbing. Killing then luring them in. Clare’s  stiff skeleton was ordered to move instantly, as she pulled the scarf away from herself, throwing it at him. “  And I thought you were smarter than to think I would fall for this. “ She tried to stumble away from his grip but unfortunately the weakened body made it quite clear that if she was to pull this sudden movements, the balance on her own was impossible. And that same balance was provided by his hold. “  I know they fall for this, all of them. “ Clare glared at the given scarf again then back at him. “  Handouts of fake affection, a quick second of the brain hoping there is safety, kindness. . . something you all use. “  Small line of blood coming from her broken skin on the lips traveled down her chin, as she leaned. “  But I know that same ‘ kindness ‘ is the most gruesome trap of all, there is no such thing as kindness. “ a shadow crossed her face, something personal, deep and torturing. The memory of her whole life being just a hurricane of disaster and broken trust. “ I know better than that, Ghost face. So if you came here to torture, blade is your only option. But there is one good thing about being killed here. . . I’ll just keep popping back up after I drop dead. “

[kurosukii]

𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥

pairing: matsukawa issei x f!reader

summary: you’re so glad that you married a loving and doting man who cares for your child as if she’s his own flesh and blood; you just didn’t expect that his son would take a certain liking to you as well...

genre: smut, stepcest au

warnings: 18+. noncon/dubcon, pseudoincest (stepcest), somnophilia, dubcon cheating, milf reader, use of ‘mommy’ (not in the femdom way), creepy and possessive issei, slight voyeurism and exhibitionism, body image issues, corruption, manipulation, panty sniffing, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, spitting, degradation, praise, size kink, breeding kink, biting, nipple play, oral (f receiving), humping, cockwarming, cumplay, creampie, overstimulation, mating press, doggy style

word count: 6.4k

author’s note: for @karasunosimp‘s it’s raining milk collab! thank you for letting me join! hehe so it’s another stepcest au,,, also i’ve already written for 3/4 of the seijoh four EEK (let me know if i missed any warnings!) (MINORS DNI)

° thank you to @meiansmistress @ssrated1volleyballplayer @bokuroskitten @anime-nymph for beta-reading and editing! <33

[11:53 AM]

“have fun at the amusement park! stay safe and always listen to your dad, okay?” you say sweetly to your jumping daughter.

you giggle at her excitement, your heart and cheeks warming when you see her eyes twinkling with unbridled joy as she holds her stepdad’s finger with her entire hand.

“bye mommy! i’ll see you later when we get back! have fun with nii-chan!” she answers loudly, squealing when your husband picks her up and twirls her around as they walk down the path to the car.

you wave them off, returning inside and closing the door with a click. you wince at the sound, louder now that your daughter’s giggles and squeals are gone.

meanwhile, issei leans against the wall with his thick arms crossed as he shamelessly looks you over from head to toe. he slowly licks his bottom lip, clearly liking what he sees.

you’re now hyper aware of your bare nipples brushing against the fabric of your shirt, and paired with the flimsy linen shorts you’re wearing, the room definitely feels hotter with the sexual tension that’s permeating the air

sexual tension that you’ve been blatantly ignoring ever since you married into the matsukawa household.

“why are you always so nervous around me, mommy?” issei asks, feigning innocence. his eyes twinkle and lips stretch into a smirk when he sees your breath hitch.

you don’t bother to grace him with an answer, heavy lump forming in your throat as you speed walk past him and into the kitchen.

he chuckles at your reaction and pushes himself off the wall, following you as his eyes watch your swaying hips. issei is hungry and it has more to do with the woman in front of him rather than the steaming plate of food on the table.

after you’re done fixing up the table and finally take a seat, you pray to any higher being within earshot to ask for strength in dealing with your wayward stepson.

you really don’t like being alone with him and it’s not because you don’t want to be around him. it’s because you’re afraid of what he might do to you.

you weren’t born yesterday and you’ve lived a long enough life to know when a man is looking at you like he wants to spread your legs and pound you until you’re a writhing mess underneath him.

because that’s how issei looks at you and he’s not ashamed about it either. it genuinely shocks you because his father—your husband—can be in the room and issei will still undress you with his eyes.

you thought you were being delusional at first, ashamed at how you secretly accused your husband’s son of leering at and having inappropriate thoughts about you.

it turned out that you weren’t wrong, however, because you came home one afternoon to get something you left, expecting that no one would be there so imagine your shock when you passed by issei’s slightly opened door and heard him pleasuring himself.

you were about to run back downstairs until you heard him groan your name as he was stroking his cock. you choked out a gasp as you stood by his door. he was naked, tanned body glistening with sweat as he fucked his hand.

you couldn’t help but gape at his thick and long cock—bigger than your husband’s, as much as you were ashamed to admit—and you watched him for a few minutes, panties drenched with how much slick and pre-cum was leaking out of issei’s, for lack of a better word, horsecock.

your face burned when his hips jerked and he sprayed his cum all over himself, moaning your name long and hard as his body twitched from the stimulation.

needless to say, you went back to work with soiled panties and a hot face, not knowing that watching issei masturbate to the thought of you would be the turning point that led to the taboo relationship with your stepson.

the sound of utensils falling and clanging break you from your memories; your face burns at being caught red handed and you squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

issei apologizes for the disturbance and continues eating, never failing to wink every time you glance at him. he knows the effect he has on you and he relishes in it, teasing his stepmom endlessly.

he can’t wait to expose you for the little whore you actually are, and what better than to seize the opportunity of the both of you having the house all to yourselves?

“your little one and my dad are out bonding in the amusement park and i know for sure that they’ll be there all the way into the night,” he says, setting down his utensils and wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

the movement of his hands causes the many rings on his fingers to reflect against the light and he looks at you from under his thick lashes, brown eyes smoldering with shameless desire.

“so why don’t we do some bonding too?” he asks and chuckles when you choke on your food. he reaches for your cup of water and hands it to you, thick and ring-clad fingers brushing against yours as you take it from him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you, mommy?” he whispers, his voice raspy and deep. you shiver at his sensual tone, fingers gripping the cup hard. you clear your throat loudly after swallowing, willing yourself to ignore his advances and innuendos.

“i’m tired, issei. i’m going to take a nap after eating,” you say sternly, glaring when he seems not to take you seriously. he laughs lowly, letting out an okay, whatever you say, before standing up and stretching.

your cheeks warm when he groans, similar to the one you heard before, and you jump out of your chair and begin to gather all the plates and leftover food.

“let me clean up, hmm? you did all the cooking and prepping. ” issei stops you with a large hand on your forearm. his skin is hot to the touch but his rings feel cool, the juxtaposition making you lightheaded.

he’s breathing down on you, large body covering yours while his intoxicating scent invades your senses. you shake your head and mumble out a garbled ‘thank you’ before you leave the kitchen and issei, practically sprinting up the stairs and towards the room you share with your husband.

you close the door once you’re inside, breathing heavily as you hear your heartbeat in your ears. damn him, you growl in your head. you ought to give him an earful about personal spaces and appropriate manners.

you sigh loudly as you walk to the dresser, intent on changing into your silky nightgown for your midday nap. you wear the garment to help you feel attractive, despite your age and changed body. you remove your shirt over your head and shiver when you see how hard and pebbled your nipples are.

even though your mind refuses to succumb to issei, your body is a whole different story. you wince when you remove your shorts and feel the dampness in your panties, making shame and guilt course through you as you put on your nightgown.

of all the people in the world, only your husband should make you feel this way. no one else, and certainly not his son. what would he think of you? what would your daughter think of you?

fuck, why are you even allowing yourself to think like this?

you know that if you ask issei to stop acting inappropriately towards you, he would listen—wouldn’t he?

you know the reason why you allowed this whole forbidden staring and teasing to go on for so long was because you felt lonely. which angers you, because you have a loving husband and you couldn’t ask for anything more.

but he didn’t exactly make you feel desired. sure, you’ve been intimate with him but he didn’t look at you the way you want to be looked at—like you’re the sexiest woman he’s ever seen. you feel ashamed, as if all the attention and love your husband gives means nothing to you.

as someone who has gone through major bodily changes, the ugly face  of insecurity easily rears its head when you look at yourself in the mirror—but that doesn’t mean you regret having your daughter, not at all.

it’s just one of those things that has been ingrained in you and you find it hard to escape. which is why whenever issei looks at you with hungry eyes, you can’t help but feel wanted, desired.

it’s as if he doesn’t care about the extra weight you put on or the stretch marks on your body—no, he doesn’t care about any of that. you wouldn’t have believed it if it weren’t for his incessant teasing and the fact that he masturbates to the thought of you.

but you know it’s wrong, that it can never be. you sigh dejectedly as you lie down on the soft and cold bed, staring up at the ceiling. you have to talk to issei about this whole game and tell him to stop it before his father finds out.

and issei’s molten brown eyes are the last thing you think of before you finally close your eyes.

issei hums as he wipes his hands on the towel, looking in the direction you ran off. he smirks to himself as he puts back on his rings, body brimming with excitement and desire. time to pay you a visit.

he walks up the stairs, footsteps loud in the quiet house. he finds himself right in front of your door and leans his ear on the wood. he’s met with silence as he slowly turns the knob and enters the dimly lit room.

his eyes immediately find your sleeping form and he feels his cock stir in his pants, making the fabric tighten around his crotch.

fuck, you’re so god-damn beautiful.

long legs carry him over to you. he puts one knee on the bed, making it dip as his long fingers caress your cheek. his rings complement your complexion, his thumb and index finger lightly squeezing your parted lips.

he watches in fascination as your eyelashes flutter against your cheek and his cock twitches again when he hears your little whimper as he plays with your slightly damp lips.

his fingers continue their ministrations as his sharp eyes travel down your form, smirking when he sees your nipples poking through the silky fabric. to his delight, he notices your nightgown riding up your body, revealing the frilly white cloth of your panties.

he groans softly as his cock hardens and the bed dips even more as he puts his whole weight on it. he stops his movements on your face and maneuvers himself until his large body is over you.

his eyes burn holes through your panties and his breathing becomes heavier. god, he knows it’s wrong to touch and feel you up while you’re sleeping, but you’re so fucking breathtaking and he can’t help himself. after all, he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to happen.

there’s a slight tremor in his hands as they hover over the exposed skin of your thighs. he lays them gently on your skin and he groans lowly in his throat. fuck, you’re so smooth and soft.

he squeezes them a few times before he gently pries your legs open, watching your reaction carefully in case you wake up. your breaths are still even and he takes that as a signal to spread your legs wider, raising them until your feet are planted on the bed.

he bites his lower lip to stifle his groan once he sees the wet patch on the center of your frilly panties. you’re such a fucking whore and he knows that it’s for him and only him.

he positions his body until he’s lying on his stomach, slightly rutting the bed to relieve the tension in  his cock. his head moves between your legs, directly in front of your heated and covered pussy.

you stir slightly when you feel a breeze on your exposed skin, making issei stiffen. you settle down and he sighs in relief, thinking fuck it before he inhales the scent of your arousal.

he growls lowly in his throat at your smell, sticking out his tongue and licking a long and wet stripe up your covered slit. you moan softly, but that doesn’t deter issei from groaning into your cunt.

he raises his body and sits up on his haunches, hooking his fingers in  the waistband of your panties. he slowly pulls them down and his eyes practically glow as he sees your bare pussy for the first time.

his throbbing cock twitches when he sees a string of slick connecting your cunt to your panties. he gently lifts your hips and stretches your legs so he can remove the soiled underwear, watching your sleeping face carefully before positioning your legs again.

he knows he’s a disgusting man, but what can he do when you’re offering yourself up so sweetly to him?

he bunches the fabric in his hand, ringed fingers making an indent on the cotton as he brings it up to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply.

he growls at your fresh scent, his body tensing at the new wave of arousal that drenched your panties. he watches as you squirm and move around, rubbing your thighs together as you whimper quietly in your sleep.

his eyes flash. is his naughty stepmom having a wet dream? that explains why your panties feel wetter in his hand...

well, issei is nothing but a man who makes women’s dreams come true, and it just so happens that you’ve captured his attention—and quite frankly, his dick.

he throws your panties to the floor after a few more sniffs and quickly dives back between your legs. he’s up close to your naked pussy, pupils blown wide as he stares at your hole that’s clenching around nothing.

you’re wet but not wet enough by his standards, so he gathers all the saliva he has in his mouth and parts your folds with two thick fingers. he spits on your cunt, the  little sound coursing through the quiet room.

he watches intently as the globule of spit slides down your lower lips and you shiver, moaning at the cold feeling between your legs. you squirm more as your mind gets filled with a certain haziness, unable to distinguish what’s real and what’s a dream.

throwing caution out the window, issei wastes no time and finds your clit, suckling it into the damp heat of his mouth. he groans at the taste of your pussy, his hips rutting the bed once more.

the vibrations from his lips make you moan loudly and arch into issei’s mouth. your eyes are squeezed tightly as you thrash around the bed, making you instinctively close your legs, squeezing issei’s head between them.

his hands grab your thighs, the cold rings on his fingers digging into your skin as he pries them open. he shakes his head with your clit in his mouth, making you cry out and tremble.

god, your dream feels so fucking real. you’ve never felt pleasure like this before and you love it. your fingers grip the sheets as you involuntarily roll your hips, following the motions of issei’s tongue and lips.

his chin is drenched with his saliva and your juices as the bed creaks from the rutting of his hips. frankly, he doesn’t care how loud and sloppy he’s being if it means you’re this responsive.

issei lets go of one thigh and moves his arm under him while his mouth continues to suck and lick your clit. he watches through his lashes as your chest rises and falls quickly, cute moans falling from your mouth.

the silk of your nightgown is dark with how heated your body is, your sweat dampening the fabric. your nipples are so hard that they’re poking through the garment.

his tongue flicks against your puffy clit as he slowly inserts two fingers—the ones that aren’t adorned with rings—into your leaking cunt.

the feeling of his long fingers inside your pussy makes you cry out and your toes curl from the full feeling. the new stimulation and volume of your pleasured sounds awakens you, your foggy eyes wide and confused.

you’re still groggy when you sit up and lean on your hands, your mind processing what’s happening when you realize that it wasn’t a dream at all.

no, it’s real and issei’s really between your legs, lapping away and fingering your aching pussy. your mind clears and you choke out a gasp in between your moans as you watch him in shock.

issei watches the emotions cross your face the whole time and his chest puffs out, his ego rising knowing that he’s the one doing this to you.

your frantic eyes meet his and he winks slyly. you tug at his hair ready to pull his head and mouth off of you because this is so wrong, but he beats you to it. his tongue swirls and flicks faster at your pulsing bud, his fingers increasing their thrusting.

now that you’re awake, he doesn’t have to care about his volume anymore so he lets out loud groans and grunts, the vibrations reverberating through you and making your pussy tingle.

“issei, t-this is wrong! s-top! stop!” you beg, voice immediately turning into a loud moan when he ignores you and bobs his head faster.

he moans to himself, knowing that your body is betraying you because although you’re begging him to stop, your hand is tugging his hair as you desperately fuck his face and fingers.

you taste so good that he can’t stop even if he wanted to.

“i-i mean it! get off—oh my god!” you scream when he gives your clit a hard suck. coupled with the squelching sounds and speed of his thrusting fingers, you cum all over his mouth.

you breathe heavily, face flushed and blissed out as you watch issei kiss your inner thighs before rising between your legs.

his mouth and chin are glistening with your cum and his pink tongue darts out to lick his lips clean of your juices, groaning as he meets your eyes.

you notice the dark patch on his crotch and your cheeks flame when you realize that he came the same time as you, but that doesn’t ease your worries because his cock is still hard and twitching.

once you regain some of your bearings, you realize what exactly just occurred and you let out a little scream as you try to scramble away from issei, shame filling your body.

he doesn’t let you get away from him, however, because he immediately pushes you on your back and crashes his swollen lips to yours.

you yelp at the sudden movement and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, grinding his hard cock on your wet and leaking pussy, further drenching the fabric of his pants.

you taste your essence as he massages his tongue with yours. you moan, tugging at his messy curly hair, trying and failing to pull him off you.

his hands find purchase on your thighs and he squeezes them, making you shiver at his cold rings. you whimper when he wraps your legs around his waist, grinding into you with a force harder than before.

your saliva mixes with his as the lewd clicking sounds of your mouths fill your ears. issei grinds on you one last time before he lifts his head from yours, lips separating with a trail of spit connecting them.

satisfied with kissing you, he stares at your face, gaze smoldering. you try to push him off you, but to no avail. he only tightens your legs around his waist as you struggle against him.

you suck in a breath as you feel the heat of his cock directly on your naked pussy. issei smirks lazily at you, tutting at you as if you’re inconveniencing him. your hands tug at his hair more, desperately trying to anchor yourself.

“if i had known your pussy tastes that sweet, my face would stay buried between your legs for the rest of my days,” he says suavely, his tongue darting out and licking his lips as he looks at yours.

you moan softly at his words and you’re now keenly aware of your nightgown sticking to your skin, making you uncomfortable as your nipples brush against the sweaty fabric. issei notices your discomfort and clicks his tongue.

“i think you’ve been hiding your pretty tits from me for far too long,” he whispers, his hot breath caressing your face. his hands move from your thighs and his fingers hook under the straps of your nightgown.

you shiver underneath him as his hands remove the sweaty fabric from your body, ring-clad fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your arms.

you whine in distress as issei discards your nightgown somewhere behind him. you’ve never felt so exposed, your bare and glistening body being scrutinised by his dark eyes.

your insecurities start to get the better of you and you move your arms to cover your breasts and mound. issei stops you, large hands putting your arms back to your side.

“don’t hide from me, baby,” he whispers, his head dipping as he kisses the crook of your neck. his hands go to your chest and he palms both of your aching tits, squeezing and kneadingthe soft skin.

you moan, arching into the warm and cool feeling of his fingers. issei continues sucking and leaving marks on the skin of your neck as he whispers his thoughts.

“i know my dad doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked,” he claims, making you squirm under his body that’s still clothed.

shame momentarily disappearing, you claw at his shirt and pants. he chuckles at your impatience and his hands leave your breasts for a moment, removing his shirt in record time.

he gets off the bed and makes quick work of his pants, kicking them off and quickly returning to the bed—to you. he didn’t give you the chance to look at his hard cock—not that you needed to anyway, because you already know what it looks like.

you yelp when issei puts his arms around you and settles you down on his lap, giving you a clear view of his cock that’s bobbing against his defined abdomen.

you gulp, nervousness filling your body as you stare at his large cock. seeing it up close is absolutely different—it’s longer and thicker than any other dick you’ve ever seen.

issei’s ego rises as he watches you. he’s always been proud of his size but seeing you? the object of his and his dick’s affections sitting on his lap? well, that’s enough to boost any man’s ego.

“see what you do to me?” he asks, guiding your hand to his throbbing cock. you whimper when you hold his shaft, your hand barely wrapping around him. issei hisses at the feeling of your soft hand touching his sensitive skin.

“you’re so fucking sexy and i can’t stop thinking about how you’d look like bouncing on my cock,” he admits, urging you to stroke his dick faster.

you slowly pump his shaft and moan when you feel his fingers—the same ones from before—find your swollen clit, slowly circling the pulsing bud. your free hand squeezes his shoulder as his fingers move faster.

you squeal when he inserts two fingers inside your cunt, making your hand squeeze his cock. he groans in at the stimulation, making his abs clench.

“i-ssei!” you whine, head thrown back as he pumps his fingers into you faster. the squelching sounds of his fingers scissoring your insides causes a knot to slowly form at the pit of your stomach.

“gotta prep this pussy more, baby,” he says breathlessly, watching your slack-jawed face as you stroke and twist his cock.

“still so fucking tight, can’t wait to sink into you,” he grunts, moving your body so he can get a better angle at your g-spot.

“bet i can fuck you better than my dad ever will, mommy,” he growls, curling his fingers inside of you as he ends his sentence. you lurch forward and cry out, eyes fluttering at the pleasure.

“see? you want my cock—shit—so badly, huh? look at how your hand is squeezing and s-stroking me, fuck,” he stutters, feeling his orgasm approach. his free hand squeezes your hip, keeping your balance.

you shake your head frantically at his statement, still not admitting that you want this, want him.

“stop fighting it. i know you want me as much as i want you,” he grates, curling his fingers again and making you wail at the pleasure. your fingers twist and pump his cock, pre-cum leak from the tip. your hand feels warm and slick as you continue to jerk issei’s shaft.

“gonna cum baby, cum with me,” he whispers into your skin, breaths heavy as the slick sounds of your fluids fill the room.

your body is trembling and you know you’re nearing your orgasm once more. you bury your face in the crook of his neck, moans and whimpers falling from your lips.

“c-cumming, issei!” you scream when his thumb circles your clit just as he curls his fingers again inside your tight pussy, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

he follows after you, hot spurts of his cum staining your hand and arm. he groans and throws his head back as he feels the heat of his essence coat his abs and thighs.

he removes his fingers from your cunt and gently pushes you back on the bed. you yelp when issei grabs the back of your thighs and pushes them to your chest, folding your body in half.

“i’m going to fuck you until all you and i can hear in this house are your cute and sexy moans,” he growls, spreading your legs and baring your clenching hole to his dark eyes.

his cock bobs as he moves forward and he takes hold of his shaft, one long vein on the underside. he taps it a few times on your clit, making you whine and close your eyes.

you take a deep breath as he inserts the tip, body shaking as his large cock goes inside of you, inch by inch.

you open your eyes and claw at his arms when the stretch starts to become uncomfortable. you look down and gasp, eyes wide as you have a clear view of his fat cock splitting you.

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls, squeezing your thighs as he slowly bottoms out.

“you’re so big, issei,” you moan, leaning your head back on the pillow as your eyes flutter at the feeling of his cock stretching your walls.

“mhmm, big enough to fuck you the way you want to be fucked, mommy,” he chuckles then groans when your cunt squeezes around him.

“fuck—do you like it when i call you mommy?” he growls when your tight walls clamp down on him again. you shake your head, a futile attempt in proving him wrong.

“who knew my mommy is so kinky,” he mocks you and before you can even reprimand him, his entire length bottoms out in one swift thrust.

“issei! fuck!” you scream, scratching his forearms as your back arches, toes curling at the sudden thrust.

you feel so fucking full. of all the cocks you’ve taken, issei’s definitely tops the list. you can feel every part of him, from the single vein to the throbbing of his length.

he groans loudly, squeezing your thighs so hard that his rings will definitely leave bruises later. he fights to controls himself, willing not to cum at the feeling of your pussy finally enveloping him.

he sucks in a breath and leans his forehead against yours, pulling out slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside your pussy. you whine at the loss, missing the way he stretches you.

he thrusts back in, bottoming out as his tip teases the entrance of your cervix. you cry out in both pain and pleasure, still trying to adjust to his size.

he stays still inside of you for a few seconds before he places his hands on the bed, your calves resting on his upper arms. he starts thrusting, moving in and out of your cunt.

you mumble incoherently, breasts bouncing with each thrust issei makes. you grab both of his wrists, squeezing them as the sounds of your skin meeting his fill your ears.

issei groans and hisses, panting heavily as he pounds your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. he leans down to your ear, licking the sensitive skin and making your shaking body tremble even more as you whine.

“bet you’re happy now, huh?” he whispers in between his groans, biting your earlobe.

“w-what do you—oh my god, issei!” you stutter, but then he fucks you harder and faster, making you keen and arch your back. he makes your body contort into positions you’ve never been in before—until now.

“do you think you’re quiet when you touch yourself during your late night showers?” he asks you in a condescending manner, smirking when you whine at his statement.

“i can fucking hear you when i go to the kitchen. you’re such a slut. moaning your stepson’s name, imagining that he’s the one who’s touching your pussy,” he growls as he buries his head in your neck, his hot breaths fanning your skin.

“but i guess i don’t have the right to talk, huh? i fuck my fist every night and imagine it’s your tight cunt wrapped around me,” he finishes, nipping away at your skin before his hands return the back of your sweaty thighs.

he slaps them, in sync with his thrusts, making you wince at the metal of his rings. your shaking arms reach for your ankles, setting everything on display for issei.

you’re loudly chanting his name like a prayer, pleasure running through every nerve in your body. for the first time in your life, you’re actually enjoying getting fucked silly—never mind that it’s your stepson who’s making you moan like a pornstar.

his thrusts are heavy and deep as he slowly toys with your clit and you jerk when his fingers draw circles on the aching bud. your body’s trembling harder than before, loud moans and whines falling from your open mouth as drool seeps from the corners.

“i-i’m gonna cum, issei!” you squeal as the sound of the headboard hitting the wall and the squelching noises coming from your pussy make the pit in your stomach slowly tip over.

“cum, baby. cum all over my fat cock,” he whines, throwing his head back as he jackhammers into you, his cock throbbing and his balls tightening as he prepares to empty himself inside of you.

“c-cumming i-issei! fuck!” you scream, your hands squeezing your ankles as your legs shake from your intense orgasm. your cunt is practically suffocating issei’s cock, making his hips jerk and stop.

his mouth falls open into a loud and heavy groan as he spills his hot and sticky cum inside of you. there’s so much cum that it leaks out of you and around his cock as it drips down to the drenched sheets below your bodies.

you finally set your shaking legs down as your trembling body aches from your folded position. issei falls on top of you, elbows on the bed as his sweaty face is smothered by your breasts.

his cock is still inside of you, twitching as more cum spills inside of your soiled pussy. your heavy breaths fill the cool air of the room as you recover, feeling disgusting at all sweat and cum on and in your body.

issei lifts himself off of you and pulls out of your cunt, making you both sigh and groan at the drag of his cock. your mixed fluids immediately trickle out of your pussy and you moan at the thick feeling.

issei furrows his brows as his fingers scoop his cum and quickly pushes it back. you whine as the tips of his fingers tease your hole, squirming away from him as your clit throbs from the overstimulation.

you’re kind of expecting him to roll over you and lie down but he shocks you—it’s evident with the way you yelp when flips your body over to your stomach, his large hands raising your hips until you’re kneeling on the sheets.

“i can’t fucking get enough of you, baby,”  he says breathlessly, chest still heaving at the previous round. but it’s true, he really can’t get enough of you—not when he knows the taste and feel of your pussy.

“i-issei, i-i can’t,” you whine when he holds his cock and hovers before your dripping cunt. he doesn’t pay any heed to your whimpers, mostly because he knows you still want more of this, more of him.

“you say that but your pussy is telling me a different story,” he smirks and you can hear the condescension in his voice as his thumb rubs the sweaty skin of your hips.

he doesn’t give you any time to reply because he quickly sinks into you, your mouth falling open into a loud moan as his fat cock stretches you open once more.

fuck, even if you’ve already taken him, the stretch and ache still feels the same. he’s so fucking big that you know you won’t ever get used to his size, no matter how many times he fucks you.

he doesn’t waste any time and starts rolling his hips, his thighs loudly slapping against your ass. he hisses as one of his hands lie flat on your back, pushing it down to form a deeper arch.

“i know you saw me jerking off. did you like the show i put on for you, mommy?” he growls, his other hand gripping the back of your neck and smothering your face on the sweat-stained sheets.

you moan into the fabric when you hear the mocking endearment, your drool mixing with all the other fluids. your fingers bunch the sheets between them  as the loud creaking and thumping of the bed fill your ears.

“i came so hard because i knew you were watching me work my cock,” he groans, thrusting hard and deep. your cunt squeezes his cock when you remember that afternoon. so all this time? he was shamelessly coaxing you towards him?

you huff, pride slightly damaged when you hear his admission. you’ll show him that he’s not the only one who can fuck like an animal.

you whimper when you spread your knees—which is a feat in itself because issei’s thrusts practically send your body flying forward. you moan when he hits your sweet spot, making tingles run down your spine.

you start meeting his thrusts, no longer letting him do all the pulling and jostling. his eyes flash when he realizes what you’re doing, which only encourages him to fuck you harder.

his hands palm your jiggling ass, leaving marks on your soft skin. you leave your head buried in the sheets, the sheets, stifling your moans and whines because if you don’t, —you’ll definitely make the walls shake with how loud you are.

“yeah that’s a good girl. fuck yourself on my cock, come on,” he coaxes you, deep voice raspy as his own body trembles at the pleasure of your walls clamping down on his cock.

“fuck—look at how your slutty cunt is taking me,” he growls when you roll your hips, the angle sending new waves of pleasure to the both of you.

“god, i wanna fuck you in front of my dad just so he knows that your pussy belongs to me,” he hisses, holding your hips as he takes control of the pace again.

his thrusts become sloppy and erratic, the loud slapping of skin a constant symphony as he maintains the fast pace. you turn your head to the side and breathe deeply, choking out a moan as he continuously hits your g-spot.

“want me to make you a mommy again? get your belly all swollen and round with my kid?” he says, voice shaking as his heavy balls slap against your skin. he’s close, he can feel it.

you’re close too, just a few more deep and hard thrusts and you’ll gush around his cock again. issei leans over your body, his chest covering the entire expanse of your sweaty back.

you squeal when your knees drop and you fall flat on the bed, your entire front rubbing against the sheets. you whimper shakily when your nipples brush against the soft fabric, the extra stimulation making your body jerk back against issei’s thrusting cock.

“issei! g-gonna c-cum a-again!” you squeal, voice shaking from how raw your throat feels. your moans increase in pitch and volume the nearer you get to your orgasm.

“fuck, your pussy feels like heaven!” issei groans, his own voice increasing in pitch and volume as well as he reaches his limit. you feel his cock swell and throb before thick and hot spurts of his cum coat your clenching walls.

“issei—oh my god!” you wail, cumming at the same time as him. your mouth stays open in a silent scream as you close your eyes tightly, cunt spasming as you drench his cock with your essence.

you wince when you feel the squelching of your mixed juices as issei rolls to his side, bringing you with him. both of you are quivering with pleasure and overstimulation, breathing heavy with your chests rising and falling rapidly.

his cock finally softens inside of you, clearly spent for the day. more cum falls out of your pussy, staining your sweaty bodies even more.

his parted lips find your neck, sucking and licking away at glistening skin. you whine, tilting your head, exposing more skin for him to mark.

you sigh tiredly, exhaustion finally catching up to you. you don’t really care that you’re dirty and soiled with sweat and cum—or the fact that issei’s dick is still inside of you. you just want to rest.

your eyes droop, ready to fall asleep enveloped in issei’s warm chest and arms, along with the wandering of his soft lips on your neck—until you hear a very familiar voice shout from downstairs, loud footsteps running up the stairs.

“honey! issei! we’re finally home!”

[3:47 PM]

@semisgroupie​ @kurinoot​ @rosesandtoshi​ @kinsurou​

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[dilftaroooo]

Aggressive Fox! Geto x human! Fem reader

Your father was a hunter, he said that he catched a black fox and put it in the basement, but when you found it, you become so sorry to it and decided to let him go and it suddenly changed become Fox! Geto

You think it was the worst decision that you ever made but maybe no bcs you just had the best rough sex ever👀❤

Cr : @xxgojoxx

tags: fox!geto, rough sex, not proofread yet.

you were always hearing the quickened pants and the aggressive rustling of the hybrid a floor below you. you can tell he was scared, unnerved by the restraints that prohibited his desired escape.

your father’s disdain for hybrids was raw, “a devil’s spawn in a man’s world” is what he refers to them as. after the abduction of his wife, your mother, the red flash in his eyes never sought to diminish. one of those bastardly creatures took her on a whim and never gave her back. the last thing you remember was how your mother’s blood-curdling screams decrescendos as the bear hybrid took her further into the darkness of the woods — the wind roared that night.

you understood your father’s raging hatred, having to see your own wife kidnapped and not possess the right strength to fend them off (you don’t even think your mother is still alive). but you had your own philosophy about the creatures; perhaps all of them weren’t as corrupted as we perceive them as. you strived to be more open minded.

feet pitter pattered against the wood of the basement stairs, the sheen of your white nightgown glimmered under the small light of the lantern. as soon as the fox saw you, its growls reduced into silence while he glared with slitted eyes.

closing in on the cage that narrowed his mobility, you gape at how beautiful it looked — it’s jet black coat had a stark shine to it and it’s eyes were filled with a ruby red — a breathtaking thing. when your hand goes to the rectangular cage you heard the deep growl rumble from the fox’s throat, signaling its discomfort. you cooed softly, “please do not fret, i am not here to cause any harm upon you.” the growls stop. “i will let you go, let you run free. surely you do not want to stay confined in this basement?”

the key you found in your father’s drawer found shelter between your fingers, inserting it in the lock and turning the key and opening the cage door the fox took tentative steps out, looking deeply in your eyes, if you rummaged deeply within them you’d see the slight confusion that riddled the fox.

“follow me, i will open the front door and you can run out but we have to hurry, my father might be- ugh! what?!” your back was met with the wooden floor and your eyes skimmed over the handsome man that hovered above you, teeth clenched and eyes marked with perplexity.

“why are you doing this? what’s the deal?” your mind was plagued with how a fox managed to transform into a man, and a charming one at that. “doesn’t a fool such as yourself know what i am?” his glare never faltered “‘- a barbaric demon whomst feared by most?’” you shook your head at the bitter generalization. “i do not fall for such discourteous fallacies.”

“hm. a girl with a heart of gold.” he says. your attraction towards the man subtly increased as he examined every feature of your body. the proximity alone made you feel hot with pleasure. “i should deem you idiotic for your disparity.” your eyes widen, does that mean that your father was right about them? was he going to kill you? he leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“luckily for you, i’m not like the others.” you whimper as he nibbles at the tender skin of your ear lobe, mouth agape at the sudden act of intimacy. “before my departure, allow me to offer this thanks to you. for being so considerate.” feeling up the curves of your torso and kissing your neck your whimpering turns into eager moans as he made your body melt.

“i-it is not necessary.” “you’re right, but how can i leave without showing my gratitude?”

he gifts you with the thick fingers massaging your aching clit and delving in your leaking entrance. you clench around him at the bliss of his finger pads glide against your gummy walls. “shh, stay quiet or your father will come tumbling down the steps.” his words was near indistinct as his long tongue circled around your hardened nipples. he chuckled when you arched your back from the the pleasure.

the both of you would soon be on the receiving end of your intercourse as he angles his thick member to your folds, teasing his tip against your clitoral hood before sliding down to ram himself deep in your entrance. your yelps were subdued by the fox’s hand as he ruts against you, rampant and ferocious as he thrusted himself forward.

surprisingly, your father was too deep in his slumber to hear the wet slaps and groans coming from the floors below.

(i really need to keep the length of these thirst posts to a minimum 💀)