#moonlit queries

[chrollogy]

Atsumu is really good at being a setter for volleyball and masterminded his players (as he thinks it) but god damn I feel like he’s like 90% moron otherwise. When he first got his own place, he called his Ma about laundry and pestered his brother about cooking. (“TSUMU DO NOT MICROWAVE ALUMINUM FOIL!! DUMBASS!”) and when you start dating him, you realize he’s a moron but god damn it, you think you’re moronsexual cause you’re in love with him.

i SEE the vision nonnie 😫 <3

atsumu naturally becomes so smart and skilful when it comes to playing volleyball that you can literally see the gears turning in his head throughout the whole game !! and you’d think this would carry over to basic life and cooking skills but oh you were so so wrong :<

he also doesn’t know himself why he can’t get the simple concepts in his skull (how the hell would he know not to put foil inside the microwave??? he just doesn’t get it!) but when you came along, you could really see him make effort—sometimes you’d see his search history with sentences like ‘do i have to separate dark laundry from coloured laundry’ ‘why is it bad to put foil inside the microwave’ ‘what type of detergent to use’ the list could go on, and on, and you found it absolutely adorable >< not only because he’s trying hard for you but also because he wants to be able to function independently when you’re not around !!

nonetheless, tsumu gets really shy, and whiny whenever you bring up his search history but you always remind him not to be ashamed of it because it shows him how much he loves you <3 and how much you’re hopelessly in love with him because despite some of his incompetencies (he’s working on them, trust!) you stayed by his side.

[casuallyanidiot]

yandere vampire whos a total sweetie most of the time, but loses his mind whenever youre bleeding?

This is so interesting and fun! Make it Victorian and it's extra yummy.

Vampire in the Garden

[Yandere M. x Gn reader] tw. noncon, blood, MDNI Nfsw under the cut 1.6k words

You're annoyed and yet flattered to have such a suitor. He's the mysterious marquis who hardly attends social gatherings, and yet he appeared in your garden near nightly. How scandalous!

But he managed to endear himself to you despite the odd visiting hours, and you found yourself waiting up later and later into the evening to greet him. His ashen skin shone even when the moon was new, and he had such a charming smile upon his visage that you found it hard to refuse him.

The marquis sent you gifts often. Flowers from his personal greenhouse, suits and gowns tailored to your form, books that you expressed interest in reading in passing from your nightly chats, and small trinkets and gems would arrive the morning after you awoke. It was truly flattering, and you felt your heart flutter softly each time you graze fingertips now.

You asked him to attend a ball with you, and he did. It caused quite the stir when the wealthy, reclusive man steps into the grand hall only moments after the sun set. He smiled, and you returned the gesture. You could hardly pay attention to the murmurs of the crowd when he had so quickly whisked you away onto the dance floor. He was so beautiful under candlelight that you were left breathless. It was almost unfair how his dark eyes could sparkle with such golden intensity when they looked at you.

He pulled you aside to a moonlit balcony after the music died down, and he slipped a ring on your finger.

"I would be delighted if you would so deign to have me as your husband, my dear," He murmured as if he was a man begging for food, for the right to have something needed to live. He clutched you to his chest in a manner so intimate that you wondered how either of you had ever managed to stay so far apart before. It was quite improper of you at the time, yet you answered not with words to his query but instead a passionate meeting of the lips.

You were married shortly after.

It had been a grand yet private affair, and your things were boxed and packaged, loaded into a carriage, and you were taken deep into the countryside where your new spouse's estate resided. You weren't used to being so isolated from people, and it was odd getting used to living outside of city life, but you weren't one to complain.

Living with Victor, your husband, was smooth and sweet. You found that he tended to sleep during the day and dine, work, and pamper you with affection once the sky streaked orange and dark navy blues. He was truly ecstatic to have you, and you found that you were settling nicely into this odd, nocturnal routine.

You tried not to think about the small, odd things that you found cropping up, though. Servants whispered in the halls about shadows that seemed to linger longer than they should. Gossip surely. Victor also sipped from crystalline wine glasses at almost every supper, and you got the faintest whiff of iron from them.

"Darling, I'm curious. You seem to enjoy your drink quite much," You mentioned one evening, and he seemed to freeze and then bashfully hang his head.

"My dear, I am afraid to say that this is far too harsh and offending for your delicate lips," He teased, and you dropped your curious queries in favor of giggling like a young maiden.

Nothing was out of place until one night, when the stars shone brightly upon your rather scantily clad self. You relaxed within the gardens, enjoying the crisp night air. The roses were in full bloom, a brilliant white shade covered the flower beds. It resembled a snowy field, peaceful and fragrant. You hummed a soft tune as you reached down to pick one of the full, unfurled blooms.

"Ow!" You cried out and hissed softly. "Oh... you fiendish little thing," You sighed and glared at the rose which had been painted with a flash of vibrant scarlet from your blood. How foolish you had been. Of course they would have thorns. Now your poor little finger was bleeding freely and staining your formerly pristine nightgown. You clutched your injured hand to your chest and turned to walk back into the manor to tend to the wound when you spotted him.

His face was downcast, shadowed and hidden from you. His shoulders were hunched, and you blinked in confusion.

"Love? Victor?" You called out to him, your pain forgotten momentarily. He was trembling, and you furrowed your brows. Whatever had possessed him to see him so... eerie? You approached him quickly, your hand cradling his face to bring it into the light.

It was then you saw his expression in all his glory.

Victor's fangs were on full display, drooling and snarling your name against the empty night. His golden eyes seemed to glow unnaturally, and you stepped back in shock.

"V-victor?" You squeaked out, unsure of whether or not you should me scared when his full blown pupils dilated and focused on you.

"Oh darling..." he half moaned as he shuddered in your arms. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you felt the razor sharp pinpricks of what you could only assume were claws poking into your shoulders when he gripped you far too tightly. Your lips parted in quivering terror, and all of a sudden, he was sinking his teeth into your exposed neck.

You screamed, but no one was there to help you from the man you wed.

Victor, sweet and gentile, was a beast. He shoved you into a nearby rosebush, and you sobbed as he tore your nightclothes from your trembling body. Never in the months you had been courting would you have ever imagined that he could be so brutish. Tears welled in your eyes, and the blood from your finger was smeared across his face from where you had tried to push him off of you.

Scratches littered your body, and you clutched the crook of your neck from where he had bitten into your supple skin. You whimpered as you felt the flat of his tongue lapping over the weeping cuts on your thighs. His hands gripped the plush flesh in a vice, and he spread them with a gratuitous groan.

"Oh darling, oh [name]," he murmured over and over again as he pressed hot, sloppy, open mouthed kisses to the available surface. In your chest, you could feel your heart break at the sight of how utterly depraved your lover was through the thin slivers of lights that showed off his feral expression. Through the darkness, you could still make out his flashing, toothy grin. His lips were caked with your blood, dripping like poisoned honey and planted across your legs and chest in kiss marks like it was some crude imitation of rouge.

The sound of clothing shuffling around reached your ears through the haze of burning pain and cold realization. What had you done? Who had you married? It was as if you were on some twisted mockery of a wedding night. The Victor you had pledged your vows to was not the one latching onto your neck once again. The bed of roses was that of your new consummation, and you wept as your husband stole the innocence of your soul.

He whispered sweet nothings with the grace of a snarling thing, and lined himself up with your entrance. You cried out in anguish as he took you swiftly. It was a violent affair. His slow, languishing style of making love to you was replaced by a feral, primal fucking. He clutched you tightly to him to save you for shredding your back as he thrust in you. He whispered your name reverently, and you begged him for mercy.

By the time he had gotten his fill of both your body and blood, you were on the verge of fainting and limp in his arms. Your vision was hazy and distorted, and your body bloomed with searing pain. You couldn't handle it for much longer, you hole sore and filled with his his essence, and you passed out with the white roses around you dyed with speckles of your lifeline.

When you awoke in the morning, the curtains were drawn tightly as they usually were during the day. Victor was kneeling over your bedside, his face twisted in worry.

"Darling!" He cried out and cupped your face the second he realized you were moving. You flinched from his now delicate touch, no sign of his claws, and he frowned.

"[Name]... oh my love, you must forgive me!" He said with adoring eyes and a saccharine smile. He grabbed your jaw more tightly than he ever would have before. Your entire body was covered in bandages, and you whimpered as he looked at you almost desperately. It was like he was forcing himself into the version of himself that you had become so comfortable around.

"It was a momentary lapse in judgement, though I must admit that I cannot promise it won't happen again," Victor sighed almost wistfully as he draped over your form in a mockery of an affectionate embrace. Instead it felt far too possessive and constrictive than anything he had subjected you to before. He inhaled your scent and buried his face against your hair. "You're far too sweet for me to show such restraint, my love," He laughed. He laughed like the previous night wasn't one of the most horrifying things you had ever encountered.

Maybe when you thought of him yearning for you like you were something he needed to live, perhaps you should've considered it much more harshly.

[queenshelby]

Auctioned (P. 2)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You arrived at Arrow House, Thomas Shelby's imposing mansion in Birmingham. The grandeur of the estate was incomparable, but it did little to quell the knot of unease in your stomach. As you stepped out of the car, your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you inside.

At the entrance, you were met by Frances, Thomas Shelby's trusted maid. Clad in a crisp uniform, she greeted you with a polite smile and led you through the ornate halls. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors, heightening your sense of apprehension.

Frances paused before a lavish door and turned to face you.

"This will be your room," she informed you, her voice gentle.

"Mr. Shelby insists on providing for his...acquisitions. You'll find everything you need inside” she told you quietly as she opened the door, revealing a room that was both opulent and suffocatingly extravagant. Velvet drapes adorned the windows, and a massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its dark wood glinting in the soft lamplight. You couldn't help but feel like it was a gilded cage.

“Acquisitions?” you asked. ���Is there more than one of us?” you queried, causing Frances to nod.

“Yes, ma’am. A woman named Alison was acquired by Mr Shelby several months ago, and after her contract was finished, she decided to stay at her own volition. I believe that she receives a generous salary for her services and, no doubt, come tomorrow, you will meet her,” Frances explained, and you mumbled out a polite “thank you” in response.

Despite Frances’s reassurances, you still struggled to shake off the gnawing worry that had settled in your mind. What did Thomas Shelby have planned for you?

"If you need anything, anything at all, Mr. Shelby has instructed me to assist you. Just ring the bell, and I'll be with you,” Frances said, her eyes filled with silent sympathy, and, with that, she left you to your own devices, closing the door behind her. You were finally alone in this unfamiliar territory, surrounded by the ghosts of the past and the uncertainty of the future.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared down at your hands, fidgeting nervously. You had become Thomas Shelby's possession, a mere object to satisfy his desires. It wasn't fair, but then again, when had life ever been fair? You had agreed to this and needed the money.

***

Minutes turned into hours, and you tried to distract yourself from the ominous silence of the room. You wandered to the window, peering out at the moonlit grounds and the distant city lights. The world outside seemed to be carrying on as if nothing had changed, oblivious to the turmoil within you.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to the loneliness of the night, there was a knock on the door, startling you. The sound shattered the silence, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and trepidation.

You made your way to the door, your palms clammy and your heart pounding in your chest. You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to turn the handle.

To your surprise, it was Frances again, her eyes searching your face for any hint of distress. "Mr. Shelby wishes to see you in his study," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

You nodded, your voice failing you once again. As you followed Alison through the sprawling halls of Arrow House, you couldn't help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Every step brought you closer to this dangerous man, Thomas Shelby who, until now, had barely spoken a word to you.

Finally, you arrived at a massive oak door. Frances knocked and, without waiting for an invitation, pushed it open. The scent of whiskey and cigars wafted out, mingling with the faint glow of a roaring fire.

"Come in,” a commanding voice beckoned from within. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside, your apprehension reaching new heights.

Thomas Shelby sat behind a grand mahogany desk, his piercing blue eyes capturing your gaze as you entered. He was every bit as intimidating as the rumours suggested, his presence filling the room with an air of danger and authority.

"Close the door, Love," Thomas Shelby ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You did as you were told, desperately trying to remain composed under his intense scrutiny.

"Come, sit," he directed, pointing to an intricately carved armchair opposite his desk. You complied, taking a seat, your hands trembling ever so slightly.

"I trust you're settling in well," Thomas said, his voice smooth yet laced with a hint of danger. It sent shivers down your spine as if he could read the thoughts racing through your mind.

You nodded, your voice barely audible. It was almost impossible to look away from him, his eyes captivating you like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Good," Thomas replied, leaning back in his chair, his gaze intensifying. "Now,” he paused, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “I will allow you to become accustomed to your new surroundings tonight, and your services won’t be needed as yet. However, I do consider it timely to lay out some ground rules for you.” Thomas told you sternly before continuing on.

“You are my possession, and as such, I expect no other man to touch you while you are here, living in my house,” Thomas said, and your heart quickened at his words, the weight of his dominance bearing down on you. The realisation of what you had gotten yourself into finally started to sink in.

"I don't expect you to love me, and I will never be able to love you," Thomas continued, his voice steady. "Your sole purpose here is to provide me with pleasure, nothing more. Do you understand?" he asked, and you nodded once again, a knot forming in your throat. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that this was only a transactional exchange of desire.

“I also expect you not to touch yourself intimately unless I permit you to do so. Understood?” Thomas asked as a smug smile tugged at the corner of Thomas Shelby's lips.

“Yes Mr Shelby” you responded obediently

"Good. We understand each other, then. Now, Love, tell me, why did you agree to this fucking auction, eh?” Thomas asked, causing you to swallow harshly.

Stumbling over your words, you told him about the poverty you experienced ever since you were a child. The sound of your voice was barely audible in the tense atmosphere. Thomas Shelby's eyes traced your face as if committing it to memory.

“The things we do for money, eh?” Tommy chuckled before telling you again that you were his now.

“Your my fucking property now, Love and poverty is not something you have to worry about again,” Thomas then stated, his voice low and possessive.

You gulped, your throat dry and your mind racing. The weight of his dominance bore down on you, leaving you little room to escape the clutches of his desires.

"Y-yes, Mr Shelby," you stammered, your voice trembling. Thomas Shelby's smirk widened, no doubt pleased with your acquiescence.

"Very well then," he said, rising from his chair and moving closer to you. "If you remember your place and serve me well, I will ensure that you are looked after, eh,” he told you, caressing your face possessively.

His words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of things to come. You couldn't help but shiver, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through your veins.

"Do you have any questions?" Thomas finally asked, his voice lowering to a seductive whisper. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should speak your mind, but the curiosity got the better of you.

"Will, will you...hurt me?" you managed to say, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability in your question laid bare the fear that had been gnawing at your insides.

���Will I hurt you?” Thomas chuckled, repeating your question. His eyes softened for a moment, and in that fleeting instant, you caught a glimpse of something buried beneath his rough exterior. "I will never hurt you, Love," he replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You are mine to protect, not to hurt, unless, of course, you give me a reason to," Thomas confirmed and immediately, a wave of relief washed over you, a glimmer of trust forming where there had only been fear. Perhaps there was more to Thomas Shelby than met the eye.

Thomas Shelby took a step closer, the air thick with tension. "That will be all for tonight Y/N," he said, his voice reverberating through your core. "There are other matters I must attend to” he then said, and the finality in his words left you with no choice but to obey. You were in his world now, stripped of your innocence and thrust into a world of raw desire. And Thomas Shelby was the man who held all the power.

"Alison," Thomas called before you had a chance to leave. There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he noticed someone outside his office, spying. Within moments, another woman appeared at the door, her eyes avoiding any lingering eye contact with you at first. She must have been outside his office all along, listening to your conversation.

"Yes, Mr Shelby?" she replied, her voice respectful yet tinged with apprehension.

“Spying, are we?” Thomas smirked before changing the subject. “Come and meet our new acquaintance. Her name is Y/N, and I trust you will show her the ropes, eh?” Thomas said as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you.

“So, may I assume she is not a maid then?” Alison ought to clarify, and Thomas nodded.

“She is not a maid, Alison. In fact, she is not a whore either. She is a virgin… for now at least,” Thomas smirked, and the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as he spoke.

“Really?” Allison asked, surprised, and you nodded nervously.

“Really,’ Thomas confirmed, both looking at you as if you were nothing but a piece of meat.

“Now, Alison here is quite experienced herself. She worked at one of the local brothels for a while, and I offered her an opportunity to work for me here at Arrow House. Just like I offered your sister this very same opportunity, but unfortunately for her, she declined. It was a lucrative offer, but she decided she could not and would not satisfy my needs. Alison, on the other hand, did well in my possession, and I believe in her ability to ensure that you will do equally well for me” Thomas explained, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and dominance as he spoke these words.

“When do you anticipate her to be ready for the main event, sir…” Allison began to say and before she could even finish her sentence, Thomas spoke.

“By weeks’ end. Although, I am hoping to have a little fun with her tomorrow,” Thomas smirked and again, the weight of his words hung in the air, and an internal struggle ensued within you.

“Fun? What kind of fun?” you asked worryingly before, in a daring move, letting your eyes roam freely over Thomas's muscular form, his sharp jawline, and the dangerous allure he emanated. The silence stretched between you, charged with a mix of apprehension and intrigue.

“Perhaps actions speak louder than words, wouldn’t you agree, Alison?” Thomas asked as a self-assured smugness played at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, Mr Shelby. Perhaps I should demonstrate what you may expect her to do,” Alison agreed, knowing exactly what Thomas was referring to as you sat there still, frozen to the spot.

You let out an audible gulp, torn between the fear of what this new role entailed and the forbidden allure that Thomas presented.

“Perhaps you should,” Thomas smirked as he leaned forward, his intense gaze searing into your soul before, eventually, he turned towards Allison.

The mixture of arousal and apprehension coursed through your veins as, without warning, he drew Allison in for a kiss before pulling her back gently, making her moan in discomfort.

 As Allison's lips met his, you couldn't tear your eyes away. The sight of them locked in a passionate embrace sent a wave of heat through your body, mingled with a hint of jealousy.

Thomas pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. “On your knees, Love,” he ordered his voice a dangerous undertone as he looked over at you with determination.

"Observe," he commanded, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Your face reddened as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. This was a whole new world to you, and your inexperience made you feel even more vulnerable.

Allison stepped back, her eyes still locked with yours, as she gracefully lowered herself to her knees in front of Thomas.

Your eyes widened, and uncertainty filled your mind. You couldn't tear your gaze away as Allison's nimble fingers began to undo Thomas's belt.

“Oh god,” were the words that escaped you, as eventually, Alison freed Thomas’s now hardening length and Thomas looked down at her, a certain arrogance in his gaze.

"Take note Love," Thomas said, his voice carrying a hint of danger, "this is what I expect from you," he told you before glancing at Alison again.

“Use your mouth, Allison," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your cheeks flushed as Allison obeyed, taking Thomas into her mouth. The moan that escaped his lips made an electric jolt shoot through your body.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of delight and intimidation. This was what Thomas expected, what he desired. And now, it was your turn to learn.

Your breath hitched as you watched Allison's lips trail down Thomas's length, her tongue exploring every inch.

The room grew hotter with unspoken desires as Thomas's fingers threaded through Allison's hair, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him in all the way to the back of her throat.

A mixture of embarrassment, arousal, and fear washed over you as you imagined yourself in Allison's place. Could you ever live up to Thomas's expectations?

Thomas's gaze never wavered from yours, his piercing eyes delving deep into your soul. He knew the effect he had on you, the power he held over your every thought.

"Do you understand Love?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and satisfaction.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words as your own desires swirled within you.

Allison continued her intimate ministrations, her eyes meeting yours as if giving you a silent challenge. A challenge to surpass her, to prove your worth to Thomas.

But then, suddenly, Thomas withdrew, leaving Allison momentarily bewildered.

“Come,” he ordered, clearly wanting you to take Alison’s place and, immediately, wild thoughts raced through your mind, a battle between fear and desire.

“You said tomorrow…do you want me…” you stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I changed my mind Love, and I do not take no for an answer," he said, his voice a low warning. “Now come,” he said again and you complied and walked over towards where he was standing, with Alison still stroking his length, causing a clear fluid to pool on his tip.

Thomas watched you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of weakness. He wanted to see if you had the strength to meet his demands. He was testing you and then, you took up all the courage you had and leaned in, your lips capturing Thomas's in a hesitant kiss while Alison continued to stroke him.

It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Thomas's kiss was demanding, his lips moulding against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. There was an undeniable chemistry between you. As your lips parted, Thomas's eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice demanding and assertive and, immediately, panic surged through your veins as you realised what he was asking of you. You hesitated, unsure if you could comply.

Thomas's patience wore thin. "Now," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Slowly, you dropped to your knees, heart pounding in your chest. You had never been so exposed, vulnerable to his every desire.

Allison moved aside, allowing you to take her place entirely. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

He reached down, his fingers gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. His touch sent an electric jolt through your body.

"You see, Love," he whispered, his breath grazing against your lips, "I enjoy pushing boundaries, testing limits."

His words hung in the air, the weight of his expectations heavy upon your shoulders. You couldn't deny the allure, the thrill that coursed through your veins.

Bracing yourself, you tentatively leaned forward, your lips hovering just inches from Thomas's length.

“Now prove to me that you can satisfy my needs," he said, his voice a commanding whisper.

Your heart raced as you met Thomas's gaze head-on. Without uttering a word, you nodded and wrapped your hand around Thomas's hardness, your touch tentative but loaded with promise. You were determined to give him everything he desired.

A low groan escaped Thomas's lips as you began to stroke him, your movements growing bolder with each passing second. You were finding your rhythm.

The dominance that radiated from Thomas only fueled your desire to please him. With every whimper and gasp that fell from his mouth, your confidence grew.

Thomas's fingers entangled themselves in your hair, gently guiding your head closer to him. He wanted to feel your mouth, your tongue, worshipping him.

Taking the hint, you parted your lips and eagerly took Thomas into your mouth. The taste of him, the way he filled you, sent bolts of pleasure through your senses.

“That’s it, Love,” Thomas groaned as your head bobbed up and down, steadily building a rhythm that mirrored the waves of desire coursing through both of you. You were entirely focused on his pleasure.

The sounds of your shared passion filled the air, mingling with Thomas's ragged breaths and the wet, lewd noises of your mouth on him.

Thomas's grip on your hair tightened, his hips moving in time with your ministrations. He was close, a tight coil of pleasure building within him.

You gagged several times. It was unavoidable, and even with drool and make-up covering your face disproportionately, Thomas clearly enjoyed watching what you as he forced your head down his shaft.

“I am close, Love,” he eventually announced, but you had no idea what this meant. He was close? To what?

“I expect you to swallow. So, don’t make a fucking mess, eh” Thomas then growled, confusing you even more as his release was imminent.

All you knew by this point was that he felt pleasure, and the knowledge that you were the one driving him to this edge sent a surge of pride through you.

As Thomas's climax finally washed over him, you felt his shaft pulsating. His movements stilled, and he pushed his length into the back of your throat.

A warm, thick and somewhat sweet liquid then filled your mouth, hitting the back of your throat like a violent torrent, spurt after spurt, and you remembered what he said so you instinctively swallowed. You had set out to satisfy him, and you had succeeded.

Panting heavily, Thomas slowly released his hold on your hair. His gaze, filled with a mixture of satisfaction and admiration, locked onto yours.

"You have exceeded my expectations, Love, but you still have much to learn," he said, his voice laden with awe, and it was at that moment that you realised Thomas Shelby was more than just dominant and dangerous; he was flawed, vulnerable, and seeking solace in the very depths of your touch.

[a-whispering-echo]

very VERY old fic

here - im gonna do this in a few sections, but this is a fic i wrote YEARS ago, and never posted, because i VERY quickly improved and git grossed out by it, but ive JUST found the document again, and figured id chuck em here to do SOMETHING with them i guess?

The air inside Moonlit Halls Mental Hospital hung heavy with despair. Fluorescent lights infrequently flicker, casting eerie shadows on the cracked linoleum floor.

The once sterile white walls had turned a sickly shade of yellow, stained by years of neglect and the suffering that permeated every corner. The pungent scent of antiseptic did nothing to hide the overall lingering stench of decay, scaring anyone it held within its grip. 

The corridors echoed with both whispers and screams of tormented souls, inescapable, much like the building itself. Scratches littered the surface of forlorn cells - futile and desperate attempts of those trapped within to leave their mark on a world that had forsaken them.

In purgatory, time has no meaning. Day melds into the night, as the line between reality and delusion blurred. Tortured cries of the patients were almost in tune with the haunting echoes of their own minds; a composed maelstrom of madness. 

The few patients who had families left had long since given up hope of seeing them again. 

It was a horrible place, and it was run by even worse people. 

 The staff members had long lost their compassion and empathy a long time ago, leaving only cold callously and cruelty behind. Their eyes, once filled with hope and a desire to heal, now held a threatening gleam. Their smiles, twisted and devoid of warmth, were the only outward sign of the animosity that sat behind their masks of professionalism.

And the few patients who had families who cared for them left had long since given up hope of seeing them again, their queries met with indifference or threats if they dare voice concerns or question the facility's practices.

After all, the doctor knows best for you. 

You can forget about getting the right medication, as the staff are much more interested in maintaining control than in providing genuine care. The cycle of medication only ever worsens their state when they end up overmedicated one moment, and under-medicated the next. 

Their fragile minds that once sought solace shattered by the very people who had promised to help. 

Well, Killer had always hated promises anyway. 

_

Killer stood in the dimly lit hallway, clutching the small bag of belongings that they had managed to grab before being taken in tightly in their hands. New to this particular institution, he hoped this one would be different from all the others. Just by looking at the place, that hope sank like a lead balloon. As a nurse led them down the sallow winding hallways to their new assigned room, Killer's exposed soul pounded with a mix of apprehension and annoyed defiance.

Shit, he really hoped the soul thing wouldn't be a problem here.

But maybe that was the least of their worries. 

Turning their head, empty eye sockets looked up at the apathetic nurse dragging them down the hallway, "Sooooo... Do I have roomies?" 

The nurse gave a quick glance back, and their eyes narrowed in irritation. "Yes, you do," came the curt reply. "But I suggest you mind your manners and keep to yourself. We wouldn't want any trouble, would we?"

Killer only scoffed, "Trouble follows me at every turn."

Rolling their eyes, the nurse carried on.

Upon reaching a withered door the nurse unlocked it, revealing a small space dimly illuminated by a flickering bulb. The room was practically empty, with two sets of bunk beds and one ratty mattress on the floor, a worn-out desk with no chair in sight, and covered head to toe in filth. 

Stepping inside, Killer takes note of the four others in the room, (all skeletons, maybe that's why he's here,) as his eye sockets lock onto a figure on the bed. Tired red and blue eyelights and a haunted expression stared back underneath their owner's hood, as their body tensed in displeasure. 

"Great," The male voice muttered, laced with sarcasm. "Another fuckup to add to this delightful mix."

Killer raised a brow bone, slightly amused by the initial hostility. "Well, nice to meet you too! 

"Dust, play nice." Spoke another skeleton voice tinged with annoyance, this one so tall Killer only came up to his chest, "Ignore him, he's having a bad day, I'm Horror." A polite smile splits his face. 

Killers' attention shifted to a third individual, a skeleton with a scar on their zygomatic bone standing by the window, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Their weary posture and wishful gaze spoke of quiet strength. 

"And who might you be, window dweller?"

"Cross, I guess," His voice barely a whisper, "Nice to meet you...?" he trailed off like he was asking a question. 

The last person in the room, who had been quietly observing them from the corner of the room, raised a browbone as they stepped forwards and piped up, "Well, isn't this an interesting mix of personalities? I'm Nightmare. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." They seemed to be a hybrid, a mix between a skeleton, and some kind of dark slime creature, and they held an air of darkness like they had dark secrets bubbling under the surface. 

Top dog, spoke the voice from behind his skull.

"Woof Woof." Killer giggled.

"Who are you talking to?"

Killer chuckled under their breath, brushing off the question. "Just my ever-entertaining internal dialogue. Keeps me company." They offered a mischievous smile, though their eye sockets betrayed their slight embarrassment at the open reply. 

The room fell into an awkward silence as the nurse left the room with a scoff of disgust. Killer could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity, weariness, and guardedness, and yet it seemed almost calmer with them gone. 

Dust sighed heavily and broke the silence, "Well, looks like we're all stuck here together," he muttered, his voice laced with resignation. "Might as well make the best of it." 

Deciding to break the ice, Killer speaks up, a mischievous smile spread across their face. "Well, Dusty, seems like we're going to be roommates in this delightful place. I hope you don't snore too loudly!"

Dust's expression softened, his guarded demeanour slipping down into a small grin. "You'll have to bear with my snoring, I'm afraid. But hey, it might help drown out everyone else's screams."

Nightmare smirked, leaning against the wall. "Ah, the screams. The sweet symphony of our beloved asylum. It's music to my ears," they said, their voice dripping with dark humour.

Horror let out a nervous chuckle, eyeing Nightmare warily. "Well, I'm glad someone here appreciates the ambience. Personally, I could do without the screams."

Cross, who had been silently observing the interaction, finally spoke up in his soft-spoken manner. "I...I don't like the screams either. They remind me...of things I'd rather forget."

"...Do you wanna talk about it?"

Cross hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting to the floor as he shuffled his feet. "I...I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it yet," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But maybe...someday."

Horror smiled, "No pressure, We're here whenever you're ready."

Killer nodded in agreement, "Yeah, take your time, Crossy. We're all in this together now."

"Does that make us friends?" 

Cross looked up, his eyelights reflecting a glimmer of hope. "Friends? Yeah, I think I'd like that," he replied softly.

Nightmare grinned mischievously, their eyelight gleaming with intrigue. "Friends, huh? Well, I suppose it's always good to have a few allies in a war."

Dust's lips curled into a genuine smile, "Friends it is then. We'll stick together and make it through this place."

Killer chuckled, "Well then friends, let's get settled in."

-

In the days that followed their initial meeting, the group treaded cautiously around each other, their interactions filled with a delicate mix of curiosity and apprehension. They were aware that their shared experiences within Moonlit Halls Mental Hospital made them survivors of the same kind, but the layers of their individual struggles kept them guarded, each convinced to keep to themselves about it. 

But one evening, gathered in the dimly lit common room, Horror broke the silence with a deep breath, his voice hesitant but firm "I think it's time we share a bit more about ourselves. Our diagnoses, our struggles, whatever. We need to understand each other better."

Nightmare, leaning against the wall, interjected with a detached air. "I was brought here for my manipulative tendencies. They couldn't handle someone who knew how to play the game better than they did," they explained, their tone void of remorse. 

Raising a brow bone in amusement, their curiosity piqued, Killer questioned, "So, you're a master manipulator, huh? Should we be worried?"

 "You should always be cautious. But worry? No, my dear. I am not here to manipulate you. I am here to unravel the mysteries that bind us. I want to manipulate them." Their eyelights gleamed with an enigmatic spark as they smirked.

 Horror spoke of his struggles with depression and his eating disorder, sharing how he had fought to maintain his strength amidst the darkness that ever threatened to consume him.

 Dust reluctantly divulged his diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder, revealing the pain of his hallucinations and the constant fight to distinguish reality from illusion. 

Cross muttered about his anxiety disorder, the paralysing fear that often held him captive within his own mind. 

And Killer, keeping their DID hidden for now, nonchalantly spoke about their struggles with anger and impulse control. How their BPD made life a mountain out of a molehill.

As the night wore on, a fragile trust began to form between the group of misfits, as they realised that they were not alone in their battles. And in this sharing, the shallow bond they formed grew stronger.

However, the peace and newfound companionship was to be shattered by an unexpected confrontation between Dust and Nightmare.

Skulking out of the shadows, Nightmare approached Dust, their presence almost suffocating. Dust looked up, unease creeping into his features as Nightmare invaded his personal space, their faces mere inches apart as he traces a fingertip over Dust jaw line. A chill ran down Dust's spine as Nightmare's voice, laced with an unsettling calmness, pierced through the air.

"You know, Dust," Nightmare began, their voice low and taunting. "I've been observing you closely, and I can't help but wonder... How do you distinguish between reality and your hallucinations? How do you know what's real and what is merely... a figment of your imagination?"

Dust's soul pounded in his chest, fear flooding his senses. He tried to pull away, to escape the suffocating presence of Nightmare, but their grip on his chin tightened, their gaze locking onto his with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine.

Nightmare's voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "And what about your brother? The one you see, the one who talks to you. Has he ever told you to finish off the rest of your family? Do what he couldn't finish? After all, there's only one left, isn't there?"

"Dust, come with me," Horror spoke, his voice firm but comforting. "You don't need to listen to this."

But Dust, lost in the clutches of his own torment, pushed Horror away, his eyelights fixed on Nightmare. Anger burned within him, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You don't know anything," he spat, his voice shaking. "You don't understand what it's like, what I go through everyday. Leave me alone!"

Nightmare's expression twisted into a sinister smile, their eyelight glimmering with amusement. "Oh, but I do understand, Dust. I understand more than you realise. The question is, can you handle the truth?"

Horror, his voice gentle yet determined, tried once more to break through Dust's spiralling thoughts. "Dusty, please. Let's get out of 'ere. You don't 'ave to face this alone."

But Dust, overwhelmed by his own inner demons, pushed everyone away, his trembling voice filled with defiance. "Just go, all of you! Leave me be!"

As Dust stormed away, his footsteps echoing through the dimly lit hallway, Horror watched him with a heavy soul. He wanted desperately to run after him, tell him that everything will be alright, but he knew that pushing Dust any further now is just going to make matters worse.

Turning to face the rest of the group, Horror's expression was filled with concern, "Give 'im some space, let 'im cool off, we'll talk to 'im later." 

At Killer's "Uh huh," and Cross's nod, Nightmare scoffed, "He knows what I said was the truth," they muttered, their voice tinged with frustration. "He needs to face it."

Horror's eyelight narrowed as he locked gazes with Nightmare. "You may be right about 'im needing to confront 'is fears, but you can't force 'im into it,” he said firmly. "We're here to support 'im, to help 'im through this, not to exploit 'is vulnerabilities."

Nightmare's expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing their features before they regained their usual air of indifference. "Fine," they replied, their voice laced with annoyance. "If you insist on coddling him, be my guest. But don't come crying to me when he falls deeper into his delusions."

As Nightmare stalked off, their steps filled with frustration, Horror let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. 'What a great first week.'

Later that evening, when the rest of the group had retired to their beds, Horror found himself sitting alone in the common room, flicking through an old dog-eared book he had stolen from a group therapy room. The book was about some kind of new type of therapy, supposed to help anxious people speak their thoughts easier. It sounded like bullshit to him. 

It was then that Nightmare appeared, their usual composed demeanour replaced with smothered vulnerability. They approached Horror cautiously, their voice hesitant yet filled with a desperate plea. "Horror, may I... can I talk to you?"

Horror looked up, surprise evident in his eyelight. He had expected Nightmare to maintain their distance, to retreat back into the shadows. But the vulnerability in their voice struck a chord within him, and he nodded, his voice gentle. "'Corse, Nightmare. What's on your mind?"

Nightmare hesitated for a moment, their eyelight avoiding Horror's gaze. "I... I don't understand how to...care," they admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. "I've spent so long detached,  observing others.. that genuine compassion eludes me. But... you care for Dust, and the way you all care for each other, it's... foreign to me. I want to understand, to learn how to care like you do."

Horror set the book aside, his attention fully on Nightmare. 

He had seen the facade Nightmare presented to the world, the carefully constructed mask of indifference, and now, as Nightmare stood before him, vulnerable and searching for answers, he realised that there was more to him than what had previously met the eye.

Horror watched Nightmare closely, their inner tempest palpable in the way they shifted their weight and avoided his gaze. His voice softened as he spoke, "Empathy isn't something you can learn just like that, but the fact you want to change says everyt'ing. But you still don't want to let go of the mask, so we'll start simple - right now, in this moment, what are you feeling?

After a brief moment of hesitation, Nightmare's voice trembled as they admitted, "I... I don't know what I'm feeling right now. It's all so... confusing. I've spent so long using my manipulations like a shield - I don't know who I am without them. It's like... I'm not even a person - just a collection of masks and schemes."

"Nightmare," he began gently, his voice soothing, "you're more than just the masks you wear.  Compassion is not an easy journey, but it's one worth taking."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "Caring for others isn't about grand gestures or putting on a show. It's about being there, listening, and offering support if they want it. Even if all you can do is listen to their questions when asked - like this."

They listened intently, their gaze slowly lifting to meet Horror's eyelight. "But what if I do not have the answers? What if I am not capable of giving them what they need?" their voice filled with uncertainty.

Horror's voice held gentle reassurances as he shook his head and replied, "None of us have all the answers, Nightmare. We're all just trying to figure things out as we go along. Sometimes, all someone needs is a shoulder to cry on."

Nightmare's brows furrowed as they contemplated Horror's words . "I've always been the one who observes, an outsider, looking through a window at others outside," they admitted, face full of longing. "But watching you all... I see the strength in your connection, you support one another. I want that. I want to be a part of something real." 

Smiling warmly, Horror solaced -  his voice filled with genuine encouragement: "You already are a part of something real, Nightmare. You're a part of us, and we're 'ere for you."

-

On a quiet evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dappled hues of pink and gold, casting warm rays of light over the figure by the window, Cross sat alone in a secluded corner of their room - on the ledge of the window the showed the courtyard, the small foliage and trees swaying in the wind - a taste of freedom he could not achieve from inside the walls. He clutched a worn-out journal in his hands, its dogeared and ripped pages filled with sketches and the scribbled words of his innermost thoughts.

Unbeknownst to him, Nightmare observed from a distance, their curiosity piqued by the sight of Cross in such a vulnerable state. Ready to play his usual games, he started to stride over, before he hesitated. Horror's words from their previous conversation echoed in their mind. "Listen, offer support if prompted."

This was the perfect time to try it out. 

As they got closer, they noticed Cross mumbling to himself in Spanish, his words a soft, soothing melody that seemed to calm the turbulence within him.

Walking over to where Cross was sitting with a newfound determination, Nightmare cleared their throat as they greeted him in Spanish, "Hola, Cross. ¿Te importa si me siento contigo?" (Hello, Cross. Do you mind if I sit with you?)

Cross looked up, surprise flickering in his eyelights at the sound of his native language. A hint of a smile touched his lips as he nodded, "No, adelante. Siéntate." (No, go ahead. Sit.)

Taking a seat beside Cross, Nightmare could feel the nervousness bubbling beneath their typical aloof facade. But Horror's words kept replaying and they were determined to forge a connection with Cross, to break free from the walls they had built around themselves. They didn't want to be like this anymore.

"¿Te gusta el jardín afuera? He notado que a veces te sientas junto a la ventana," (Do you like the garden outside? I've noticed you sometimes sit by the window,) They asked, trying to break the ice with a simple observation.

Cross’ eyelights softened, a glimmer of surprise at Nightmare's attempt to engage him. "Sí, me gusta el jardín. Me ayuda a relajarme y despejar mi mente," (Yes, I like the garden. It helps me relax and clear my mind,) he replied, his voice hesitant and wary at the psychopath's confrontation.

Nightmare nodded, trying to maintain the conversation. "Entiendo. La naturaleza puede ser terapéutica, ¿verdad?" (I understand. Nature can be therapeutic, right?)

Cross seemed to relax just a bit more, a small smile gracing his face. "Sí, es como una pequeña escapatoria en medio de todo esto," (Yes, it's like a little escape amidst all of this,) he admitted, his voice softening.

And in that moment of shared understanding, the walls between Cross and Nightmare began to crumble. They found solace in the familiarity of their native language, speaking freely in a way they couldn't in English. As time ticked on, the sunset turned to dusk, as its warm shades turned to sympathetic  shades of indigo and mauve. 

In the time of quiet revelations, Cross continued "Siento que no encajo aquí," he admitted softly, his gaze cast downwards. "Es como si todos fueran piezas de un rompecabezas que no encajo."(I feel like I don't belong here. It's like everyone else is pieces of a puzzle, and I don't fit.)

Nightmare's eyelight softened, a newfound empathy shining through their usual veneer of detachment. "Entiendo cómo te sientes," they replied, their voice gentle. "A veces, también me siento así." (I understand how you feel, sometimes, I feel that way too.") 

"...You know, sometimes it feels like the world is just too loud, too overwhelming," Cross confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of noise, and no one else seems to understand."

Nightmare nodded, their expression empathetic. "I know that feeling all too well," they admitted. "For me, it's not just the noise; it's the emotions of others, the weight of their expectations. It's suffocating."

"It's hard to feel like a stranger in your own mind, isn't it?"

And as the night wore on, they found comfort in the safety of the shared secret language, a safe haven where they could express their deepest fears and struggles without the fear of judgement. Their strings of fate entwined inside the chaotic world of Moonlit Halls.

(ENDING THIS PART HERE, no clue why the FUCK i did the spanish part; i dont SPEAK spanish, nor do i know ANY of the language, with im sure is obvious based on my google translate spanish there, but yk, im sure it'll give someone a giggle at how wrong it is, so-)

[footprintsinthesxnd]

I want you

Pairings: Jake Seresin x reader Summary: this is a blurb I wrote for @top-hhun for my 1K celebration with the prompt ‘You look… you look very nice. Beautiful, I mean. Damn, why can’t i speak?’ for post ww2 Jake. Warnings: PTSD, shell shock, post war trauma.

At first, Jake tried to hide his nightmares from you, excusing himself to go and get a glass of water or that he needed some fresh air. You knew he was lying to you and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t worried about him. Ever since he’d come home from Europe everything had been different. He rarely spoke of the war and the things he had seen but you could see in his eyes, in the way he’d dive under a table when there was a loud bang or the overly protective grip he held on your waist in public. Things would never be the same.

You tried to talk about it and asked him what you could do to help but he shut you out, he shut everyone out. Jake had never been one to show a lot of emotion, he showed you how much he loved you but when it came to emotions he deemed weak he’d close himself off.

Tonight was no different. You woke to the sound of Jake crying like a dog in pain, pitiful whimpers filling the moonlit bedroom. Turning your head, you could see his pale form and the outline of his tousled blond hair. He kept continually tossing and turning.

“Jake? Jake, honey?” you hissed, poking his forearm.

He immediately lurched forward, still asleep, crying, and mumbling.

You rolled over, switching on the lamp on your bedside table. The garish yellow light blinded you, causing you to scrunch your eyes up, watering due to the sudden brightness. You reached over the bed, placing your hand on your husband's shoulder gently.

“Jake? Baby wake up, it’s just a dream.”

Jake shot up, gasping suddenly. He threw the covers off his sweaty frame, jumping out of the side of the bed, his body shaking violently. He turned around and looked at you with wide eyes. He then drooped his head with guilt, his eyes watery and his lip catching between his teeth.

“Jake?” You asked, leaning further across the bed.

“No! No please don’t…” he put his hand up to stop you, cowering against the wall. “Please don’t.” He whispered again, his fingers gripping his pyjama shirt, scrunching the fabric between his fingers.

“I’m so sorry” he apologised, unable to meet your eyes.

“Darling, it was just a nightmare. You don’t need to apologise,” you insist.

Jake nodded, sliding slowly down the wall until he appeared as a crumpled mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice breaking as he let out a silent sob. He bought his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his palms. “I’m so sorry.”

You climbed out of the bed quickly, sitting down on the floor beside your husband. You wrapped your arms around his shaking frame, pulling his body into your lap.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” You whispered, pressing kisses to his head, his jaw, his neck. He clutched onto your nightdress and his lower lip was shaking. Badly.

When Jake’s sobs eventually lulled and his shoulders stopped shaking you rested your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Was it about the war?” you asked tenderly.

Jake remained silent, chewing his lip as he processed what you’d asked, pondering how he was meant to explain it.

“It’s always about the war. Just different every time.”

“Can you tell me what it was tonight?” you query.

After a moment Jake nodded, pushing himself away from you so he could see your face.

“I was in the cockpit again. I was on a mission and the whole squadron was flying. We were misinformed regarding a German airfield close by and we were ambushed.” Jake swallowed hard but you continued to rub reassuring circles on his back.

“The plane next to me was hit. They went up in flames. I can still hear the pilot's cry as he was burnt alive. He was just a kid.” You let his head rest on your chest, and you smoothed his hair as he sobbed. “He was just a kid.”

Hot tears stained through the white cotton of your nightdress leaving large dark circles.

“There was nothing I could do. I was a coward. I should have helped them. I’m no man. You deserve a man. A perfect man” he said, all while trying to keep a tight grip on your waist, as if you were the only thing keeping him from combusting. You were his anchor, speaking softly as you soothed his nightmare, keeping him grounded. Hushing him, you placed both hands on his face. There was no resistance when you gently wiped the cooled tears from his cheeks.

“You’re the bravest person I know, Jake,” you said. “I don’t want a perfect man. I want you. I want my husband.”

Jake watched you, not sure whether to believe you. He carded your fingers through his hair, pulling at the loose strands before moving to cup his cheeks. You placed a small kiss on his lips, soft and gentle. It wasn’t passionate or needy but just reassuring and loving. Jake kissed back instantly, sucking your bottom lip. Jake pulled away, gripping hold of your face in his large palms.

“I’m so sorry you have to put up with this…you may have to every night…” he said slowly, his voice slurred from sleep. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for and I wouldn’t blame you. When I first met you I thought you looked really nice… I mean beautiful. You are always so beautiful. I always somehow lose the ability to speak around you, even now.” He admitted sheepishly. “But I understand if you’re getting tired of this, if you don’t want this… if you don’t want me anymore.”

“I would gladly stay awake with you every night for the rest of my life as long as I can bring you some comfort,” you admitted, placing another kiss on his lips. “We’ll get through it together. You are the love of my life and I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Jake nodded, standing up and pulling you with him. Once you were back under the covers Jake pulled your body close to his, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck and gripping hold of your hips.

As you reached over to turn off the light, you felt him move a little, guiding your face to kiss your lips.

“I love you,” Jake whispered.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @alexxavicry @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @maggiescarborough @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @sunlightmurdock @airedale17 @callmemana @shadowolf993 @t-nd-rfoot @topguncultleader @flyboyjake @soulmates8 @topguncultleader @callmemana @marchingicenotes7 @shanimallina87 @jstarr86 @starkleila @bradshawseresinbabe @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @depressed-friend-blog @mayhemmanaged @shadowsintheknight @bcon24 @desert-fern

[lovedbydottore]

Our Oath Under The Stars - Zandik

tw/cw: almost none lmao ig it's just fluff, also this is like....akademiya dottore so he's still "Zandik" goofy voice man here or smth anyways have fun ig, gn!reader hairful reader 😱😱 /j, friends 2 lovers trope my love ❤️ been obsessed with stars lately so I wrote this don't mind the fact that it's kinda idk sloppy

"Archons, why does this brat need me at this hour of the night?" You grumbled, as you hiked up the mountain in a gingerly manner. Just a few hours ago you had received a letter from a certain person who you had known for quite some time, Zandik. Zandik has always been the type to push away almost anyone who would interact with him, except if it's needed for a task to be done. You were one of the only people who could stomach his childish complaints. And here you were, also stomaching your friend's request which required you to get out of bed in the middle of the night.

You sighed, looking around the mountain. The luminous flowers glowed under the moonlight, the grass waved and danced with the warm howling breeze of the night. It was silent, the crooning of a nearby lake lulled the gentle sway of the night. The moon who governed the night, peeked through the curtain of leaves as it glowed throughout the night sky, almost making the stars look invisible. Your hair danced with the gentle dance of the wind, almost as if it was leading you to the summit of the mountain.

You stopped by a lake, it's pristine waters reflecting the moonlit night, fireflies danced, glowing so brightly you could mistake them as the shining stars. You chuckled, dipping your fingers gently in the waters, feeling its sway and flow. The lotuses rippled from the light waves caused by the sudden impact of the connection of your hand and water. You smiled, parting your submerged fingers from the water and stood up, but then suddenly a voice rang from behind a veil of leaves.

"Damn imbecile, how long will it take for (Y/N) to get here?!" The voice exclaimed, a slight rasp to the tone. It was pitchy and funny sounding, enough to make you recognize who's voice this was. You laughed silently and parted the veil of leaves slowly, revealing yourself to the familiar voice, Zandik. "The "imbecile" is already here, cretin." You spoke monotonously, emphasizing that last word with a vague smirk creeping on your lips. He turned around hurriedly, his red eyes shooting towards you. His mint hair was ruffled, his eyebags were much more emphasized by the dim lighting, and that scarf..you gave him that scarf which flowed ever so lightly in the wind. He actually kept it? Your face felt warm from the thought that he actually kept that gift you gave him, it just felt quite out of character for him, almost unexpected to the point where it caught you off guard. And not just that, his beauty under the moonlight was envy worthy, you've heard whispers from women in the Akademiya that he was handsome, but you just shrugged it off and never noticed how right they were despite spending so much more time with Zandik than those women, were you that focused on your work?

"AHEM! You're staring (Y/N)." He scoffed, crossing his arms and snapping you back to reality. You instantly fixed your composure and chuckled awkwardly, avoiding his sharp gaze. He raised one of his eyebrows and stared you down, from head to toe. You felt a bead of sweat drop from your face, grumbling a few words before finally turning to Zandik. "So, why did you call me here?" You queried, your gaze focused at his eyes. You noticed his expression soften, becoming gentle. His eyes kept wandering elsewhere which made you slightly tilt your head in confusion. He sighed loudly, making you jump a little bit from the sudden loudness which didn't go well with the silent ambience.

"Come." He mumbled, gesturing you to follow him. He walked calmly as you tread right behind him, admiring the flowers as you pass by. The night fell silent, both your footsteps being the only sounds heard throughout the night. His hands brushed yours, you hummed looking at him who seemed to be avoiding your gaze. You wanted to talk yet you stayed silent. The silence was almost suffocating. He stopped in his tracks, he had led you to a clearing where you could see all of the night sky. The stars twinkled, the moon hung low in the dark skies. You could see the slumbering city just right below you. His silhouette illuminated in the moonlight, his back turned to you. He was fidgeting with his hands for a while until, finally he turned to you with a stoic impression.

His cheeks flushed a slight tint of pink before grumbling and walking close. "(Y/N).." he whispered, taking your hands and enclosing it with his cold ones. You gasped lightly, heat crawling up your face. He pressed his lips together, looking down at both of yours and his hands before reeling them close to him, pulling you along. "You..what have you done to me?" He silently spoke, his breathe tickling your ears. "You, you have captured me in your embrace, making me fragile, vulnerable. You weaken me (Y/N), you break me into tiny pieces. What have you done? What have you done to me..please, I beg you, tell me." His grip held you close, his hair hung, covering the moonlight from reaching his eyes. His tone was desperate, but you had no idea how to respond, what did you do to him exactly?

You could recall moments of him acting peculiar around your presence. Sometimes avoiding you, sometimes clinging onto you like a lost, helpless child. You do well in your studies you admit yet, you couldn't find an answer for his question, not even a single word came to your thought, not even a mutter of an answer was spoken, just pure silence of confusion and desperation. The question rang in your ears loudly like a mantra.

What have you done to me?

What have you done to me?

What have you done to me?

"Zandik, tell me, why ask someone who does not have a single idea nor answer for such queries?" You muttered, caressing his cold, rough hands before turning your gaze to him, even a passerby could confuse you two as lovers from such a stance.

Lovers, love, in love?

Was Zandik, in love with you? Your eyes slightly widened at the sudden opening. A sensation of butterflies swarmed your stomach, so much that it almost felt sickly. You muttered something incoherent, something even you couldn't understand. He stood there silent, awaiting for an answer despite what you said just a few moments ago, desperation was truly powerful.

"Zandik, are you in love with me?"

He raised his eyebrows, his grip tightened on yours. Love? Did he love you? Even a scholar such as him couldn't understand. How come he had never thought of such a phenomenon? Had he been too naive, short on knowledge or had he been blinded? The signs were so clear yet he never considered them, it all felt so far and vague yet it was all so close and clear. He was in love with you, (Y/N). So, so in love with you to the point where it blinded him from seeing it. His mouth slightly hung open, staring onto your features.

"I do, yes I do love you. Words such a these can never express how much I love you (Y/N)." He blurted, leaning close to you, his forehead bumping into yours softly. "Do you love me? Do you truly love me too (Y/N)?" He asked, looking deeply into your eyes which could rival the beauty of the night sky. "I.." you softened your gaze. "Yes!" You smiled pulling your hands from his grip and wrapping it around his neck, pulling him down almost making the both of you fall onto the grass. His hands crept to rest on your waist, pulling you close.

"Can I kiss yo-" before he could finish it, you connected your lips with his, connecting like puzzle pieces. He swiftly placed a hand behind your neck and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. He sighed in satisfaction and smiled, leaning into you, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. You chuckled and pulled him into your warmth, breathing heavily. After at least a minute, you pulled away for air. He frowned slightly as you both catched your breathe. "It would've been quite romantic to die of suffocation from your kiss." He laughed throughout each inhale and exhale. You grinned widely, chasing your breathe before fixing your posture and looking at him with sheer admiration. You smiled, caressing his cheek with your hand and placing a little kiss on his nose. "May we never forsaken eachother.." you whispered, leaning onto his chest, listening to the whispers of his heartbeat. He smiled placing a hand on your head and ruffling your hair slowly.

"Our oath under the stars"

[clvr-the-insect-enthusiast]

In the forest's twilight shade, Where whispers of the night parade, There dance the shadows, tall and lean, In a ballet by the unseen.

Through moonlit glades where secrets hide, Mysteries in the dark abide, Figures move with grace and might, Invisible to human sight.

Above, the stars in silence gleam, Illuminating every dream, A stage where ancient tales unfold, Of spirits both timid and bold.

A haunting tune from distant past, Echoes through the shadows cast, And in this realm where dreams persist, Unseen hands gently twist.

Strings that pull with ghostly care, Invisible in moonlit air, As phantoms play their silent roles, Their stories whispered in our souls.

So peer into the dusky veil, Where light and dark entwine and wail, And as the night begins to crest, One question lingers, unaddressed.

In this twilight's final breaths, A query floats on zephyr's heft, Amidst the shadows, faint and slight, Can you see the puppets?

...What?

Is this a hint as to what I should do next? A metaphor to my current situation? I can't really figure out the meaning behind this.

[chrollogy]

Picture it: you have a favorite meal and Atsumu tried to make it but it turned out terrible!!! He couldn’t serve ya that! What is he, a chump? No! He’s gonna beg his twin to teach him how to make it well, and Osamu’d betta do a good job o’ doing it!!! He was NOT gonna serve his babe a sub-par meal!! Even if it meant helping his brother with take out orders…

nonnie omg u don’t know how happy i was reading this ask because its so true !! tsumu isn’t one to settle for less esp when it came to his baby >:(!!! i wrote a lil drabble LMAOOO

── miya atsumu was determined but as time passed, each monotonous second passing with every tick of the clock, determination embarrassingly dissipated before one could even spell it. earlier today, atsumu had a rather amazing idea of cooking up your favourite meal just because.

thing is, he wasn’t as gifted as his twin brother when it came to skills in the kitchen. despite following along a youtube tutorial of how to make your favourite meal, each of atsumu’s calculated move resulted in nothing but hopelessness, and it did a damn good number on his ego. the meal didn’t taste like how it was supposed to be and atsumu feared there’s only one person who could help him in the field.

miya osamu.

the amount of tease thrown his way—from his brother—was enough to make him quit, and admit defeat but he was doing this for you.

“samu, are ya sure this is how it’s done?! this better be right!” “shut up, ya scrub! don’t question me!”

it was a slow day in onigiri miya—a good opportunity for atsumu to finally learn from his twin about the basics of cooking, and hopefully he can apply those to make your favourite meal. oh, atsumu can already imagine the pleasant look on your face once he’s perfected it!

osamu looked at the hopeless creation pitifully nestled in his brother’s hands, heart weighing heavy at the butchered sight in front of him. illegal. it should be absolutely illegal for atsumu to even step foot in his kitchen—if he wasn’t related to the blonde by blood, he was sure he would’ve called the cops with that onigiri. if you could even call it that.

“what makes ya think customers will want ta eat that, tsumu?” he sighed. atsumu had rice stuck all over his hand, the nori seaweed crumbling beneath his heavy hands, and not to mention the sad, sad attempt of moulding it into a little triangle.

“shut yer trap! i’m trying my best!”

oh, he was determined. atsumu secretly spent his free time perfecting his skills, and the tips osamu gave him: ‘remember it’s a pinch of salt. ya know what a pinch of salt is, right? ya gotta pay attention or it’ll be too salty.’ ‘taste as ya go. remember that so ya know what to add if its bland, or else you’ll end up with a disaster.’

his hard work finally payed off when your eyes sparkled with hunger, and amusement. before you, a perfectly plated meal—your favourite meal—sat on the table of your shared apartment. everything looked perfect, nothing was burnt nor undercooked, and it looked exactly how it was supposed to look.

“oh, ‘tsumu it looks so lovely! i can’t believe you actually took time to make this all for me.” you gasped. he may or may not have asked osamu how to properly plate it via facetime.

atsumu gently ushered you to your seat, both hands on your shoulders, an excited smile plastered on his handsome face. he jogged around the kitchen to grab your plate, and utensils before pouring water on your glass, and sitting across you.

“‘ts nothin’ just wanted ta do somethin’ nice for ya.” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, watching as you grabbed your spoon to taste the food.

atsumu’s head thumped against his chest as you opened your mouth to take a bite. it was going good so far, a small smile on your face. oh, thank goodness it was a success—

your smile faltered. just a little but atsumu caught onto it. this can’t be a good sign.

“baby?” “y-yeah?”

“i think you put too much salt.” you coughed, hastily standing up to go to the sink. atsumu’s eyes widened at the information, swiftly trailing behind you.

shit. he had forgotten about the two of the many things osamu taught him—knowing what a pinch of salt was, and tasting as you go.

—

tsumu is still in the progress of making himself comfortable in the kitchen !! he’s getting there </3

[guzmabuglord]

In the forest's twilight shade, Where whispers of the night parade, There dance the shadows, tall and lean, In a ballet by the unseen.

Through moonlit glades where secrets hide, Mysteries in the dark abide, Figures move with grace and might, Invisible to human sight.

Above, the stars in silence gleam, Illuminating every dream, A stage where ancient tales unfold, Of spirits both timid and bold.

A haunting tune from distant past, Echoes through the shadows cast, And in this realm where dreams persist, Unseen hands gently twist.

Strings that pull with ghostly care, Invisible in moonlit air, As phantoms play their silent roles, Their stories whispered in our souls.

So peer into the dusky veil, Where light and dark entwine and wail, And as the night begins to crest, One question lingers, unaddressed.

In this twilight's final breaths, A query floats on zephyr's heft, Amidst the shadows, faint and slight: Can you see the puppets?

Fuck is this??⁉️ This is some english-class ass tauros-crap… ain’t even october for another few months 🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️

don’t spend my time lookin at puppets, nah??

[musicarenagh]

Natalie Claro's “Reasons I Can't Sleep” - A Nocturnal Journey In the moonlit silence of a restless mind's theater, Natalie Claro’s latest single, "Reasons I Can't Sleep," breathes as if born from the shadowed whisperings between heavy curtains of consciousness. Here in her cinematic confines, painted with brushstrokes of pop rock against a canvas that once might have been owned by Evanescence or Paramore, Claro flirts dangerously with our nocturnal vulnerabilities. https://open.spotify.com/track/45g1Bcnn7GssYbgO1HUoTE?si=9f01c36bb47f4004 Each note she plays—whether it springs from piano keys or spills out in potent vocal waves—tells a story far beyond insomnia’s simple tale. You see, this isn’t merely about not sleeping; this is an odyssey into solitude where one almost wishes to avoid slumber for fear of missing any visceral revelations that music promises throughout the night. The melody sways like those branches outside your window: sometimes gently coaxing you closer to dreamscape edges before jerking you back with its alternative rock roots laced abruptly through thoughts swirling unbidden. Her voice—a powerhouse hide-and-seek master plunges listeners deeper into mental crevices they seldom dare explore alone. It echoes inside the skull like footsteps retreating down some endless corridor lined with mirrors reflecting turbulent emotions back onto themselves. This song “Reasons I Can't Sleep” entangles itself uniquely within each listener: are these her reasons for unrest sculpted into melodic form? Or ours now reflected on this auditory surface still rippling from her touch? [caption id="attachment_55716" align="alignnone" width="768"] Natalie Claro's “Reasons I Can't Sleep” - A Nocturnal Journey[/caption] And amidst all this beautifully orchestrated chaos lies clarity—or perhaps further muddled curiosity—as though every chord progression carries between its rises and falls both queries and answers regarding what haunts us at twilight’s hour. As Natalie Cloro brings forth more intriguing sonic tapestries in releases stamped by experience yet freshly inked from Spotify’s studios---the essence remains tantalizingly simple—the heart beats loudest when most quiet amid songs like these designed to resonate through sleepless nights. Follow Natalie Cloro on Website, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and Instagram.

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

The Examiners by John Whitworth

Where the house is cold and empty and the garden's overgrown, They are there. Where the letters lie unopened by a disconnected phone, They are there. Where your footsteps echo strangely on each moonlit cobblestone, Where a shadow streams behind you but the shadow's not your own, You may think the world's your oyster but it's bone, bone, bone: They are there, they are there, they are there.

They can parse a Latin sentence; they're as learned as Plotinus, They are there. They're as sharp as Ockham's razor, they're as subtle as Aquinas, They are there. They define us and refine us with their beta-query-minus, They're the wall-constructing Emperors of undiscovered Chinas, They confine us, then malign us, in the end they undermine us, They are there, they are there, they are there.

They assume it as an impost or they take it as a toll, They are there. The contractors grant them all that they incontinently stole They are there. They will shrivel your ambition with their quality control, They will desiccate your passion, then eviscerate your soul, Wring your life out like a sponge and stuff your body down a hole. They are there, they are there, they are there.

In the desert of your dreaming they are humped behind the dunes, They are there. They are ticking all the boxes, making sure you eat your prunes, They are sending secret messages by helium balloons, They are humming Bach cantatas, they are playing looney tunes, They are there, they are there, they are there.

They are there, they are there like a whisper on the ear, They are there. They are slippery and soapy with our hope and our despair, They are there. So it's idle if we bridle or pretend we never care, If the questions are superfluous and the marking isn't fair, For we know they're going to get us, we just don't know when or where, They are there, they are there, they are there.

[a-whispering-echo]

Prolouge for a little something something im working on....

CW: this story is set in a really shit mental hospital, and i want to state that most mental hospitals are NOT like this at all. While some can be bad, most are there to help, and none are even NEARLY as bad as the one described here!

Also, im using mentally unwell characters, and while i myself am mental unwell, most have disorders i myself do not have - so inaccuracy's may be present - i did a bunch of research, but obviously i havent lived with them

okay, with that out of the way, tell me what you think :)

The air inside Moonlit Halls Mental Hospital hung heavy with despair. Fluorescent lights infrequently flicker, casting eerie shadows on the cracked linoleum floor.

The once sterile white walls had turned a sickly shade of yellow, stained by years of neglect and the suffering that permeated every corner. The pungent scent of antiseptic did nothing to hide the overall lingering stench of decay, scaring anyone it held within its grip.

The corridors echoed with both whispers and screams of tormented souls, inescapable, much like the building itself. Scratches littered the surface of forlorn cells - futile and desperate attempts of those trapped within to leave their mark on a world that had forsaken them.

In purgatory, time has no meaning. Day melds into the night, as the line between reality and delusion blurred. Tortured cries of the patients were almost in tune with the haunting echoes of their own minds; a composed maelstrom of madness.

The few patients who had families left had long since given up hope of seeing them again. You cannot

It was a horrible place, and it was run by even worse people.

The staff members had long lost their compassion and empathy a long time ago, leaving only cold callously and cruelty behind. Their eyes, once filled with hope and a desire to heal, now held a threatening gleam. Their smiles, twisted and devoid of warmth, were the only outward sign of the animosity that sat behind their masks of professionalism.

And the few patients who had families who cared for them left had long since given up hope of seeing them again, their queries met indifference or threats if they dare voice concerns or question the facility's practices.

After all, the doctor knows best for you.

You can forget about getting the right medication, as the staff are much more interested in maintaining control than in providing genuine care. The cycle of medication only ever worsens their state when they end up overmedicated one moment, and under-medicated the next.

Their fragile minds that once sought solace shattered by the very people who had promised to help.

Well, Killer had always hated promises anyway.

[queenofdragons12]

Moonlit Choices | The Mandalorian

In the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with tension, you stood there, a lone figure cloaked in mystery and danger. Your path had always been solitary, a journey through the shadows, until that fateful bounty brought you to this forsaken planet.

The Mandalorian, a name echoing through the galaxy like a haunting melody, stood before you. The clinking of his armor echoed through the room, a metallic symphony that would have repulsed you if it weren't for the unique musk that accompanied it. Musky metal, a scent both alluring and repulsive, and yet, you found yourself drawn to it like a moth to flame.

"Why are you here?" The Mandalorian's voice cut through the air, a mocking tone that reverberated in your ears. "To get that child, what else, mortal?" Your response was swift, the gleam of your shiny fangs accentuating your defiance. The man sighed, lowering his blaster, prompting the droid to follow suit.

"I've killed enough today, this is ours," he declared, a wave of his hand indicating possession of the child in the cot. Your snort echoed in the tense atmosphere, your senses keenly aware of the fear emanating from both man and machine.

"I am neither here to kill nor to show mercy, mortal. I will take the child to my buyer," you declared, your cold demeanor emphasized by the tilt of your head, exposing the elegance of your neck. The Mandalorian's eyes narrowed behind his mask, a silent acknowledgment of your pride, reminiscent of those who faced death with unwavering resolve.

"All right," he grunted, the sound barely audible as he reached for his blaster, aiming with deadly precision. The shot pierced the air, hitting you square in the chest, but to the Mandalorian's surprise, it bounced off like a mere pebble striking a speeding train.

A triumphant smile played across your lips. "Stupid mortal," you hissed, and then, as the room plunged into darkness, the enigma of your existence remained, leaving the Mandalorian to grapple with the echoes of your chilling words.

~~

In the aftermath of the skirmish, pain coursed through Din's body, a relentless reminder of the brutal blow he had endured. The familiar agony of his life as a hunter seemed amplified this time, as if his very skull threatened to implode.

"Sorry about that blow," a voice, soft as lichen, reached him through the haze. Blinking against the blurred vision within his mask, Din discerned your figure crouching in front of him. Panic seized his chest as he instinctively searched for the child, the absence of its presence triggering a surge of anxiety. "Where's the baby?" he rasped, attempting to rise, only to find his body unresponsive. Your hand gently pressed against his chest plate, a firm insistence for him to remain still.

"Sit still, I hit you pretty hard. Your body won't work for a few hours," you explained, your voice carrying a detached concern. A cloth dipped in a bowl came into view as you ordered the removal of his helmet. Din hesitated, shaking his head, prompting a resigned sigh from you. "I forgot that's the custom in your tribe, isn't it? I'll accept it for now." With meticulous care, you wiped away the grime from his visor and the rest of his armor, tending to the wounds that had opened up.

"You're going to get infected if I don't treat this," you muttered, your focus unwavering as you pressed the cloth against a partially red wound along his ribs, eliciting a wince of pain from Din. In the midst of this impromptu field triage, his inquiry about the droid surfaced. "Where's… where's the driopid?" he managed to ask. A chuckle escaped your lips, a dark humor underlining your response. "Dead. I killed him. He wanted to kill the child, but I couldn't let him. He was working for what's left of the stupid empire," you explained, offering a glimpse into the motivations that drove your actions.

"How do you know?" Din queried, curiosity etched in his tone. "I smelled them on him," you replied bluntly before withdrawing. "Now you're done, and you should be up and walking before dawn." With that, you stood up, disposing of the soiled cloth in a bowl before exiting the scene momentarily.

Upon your return, a bowl of candles accompanied you. "I…" Din began, but you interrupted, your voice carrying a kindness that contrasted with the earlier confrontation. "Eat it, it helps," you urged, presenting him with the bowl and a spoon. Din identified the contents. "It's stearic acid," he remarked, prompting an eye roll from you. A simple wave of your hand over the bowl transformed its contents into hot fish sauce.

Standing up once again, you left Din to his meal, allowing him a moment of respite in the flickering candlelight as he navigated the peculiar circumstances that had unfolded in the wake of your encounter.

~~

In the quietude of Wolf City, surrounded by the echoes of a world hidden from the ordinary, Din's hands deftly worked on a wood carving, a therapeutic respite from the chaos that had transpired. Amid the rhythmic strokes, he couldn't help but pose a question to you, breaking the silence that lingered between you.

"Who's your city clock?" he inquired, a curiosity etched in his tone.

"Easy, my alpha," you replied nonchalantly, tossing him a puck that projected a holographic image of a handsome young alpha named Jungkook. Din scrutinized the image before seeking more information. "What's his name?" he pressed.

"Jungkook," you stated simply, prompting a furrowed brow from Din. "He wanted that boy before the sunset," you added, a tinge of concern coloring your words. "Why?" Din questioned, attempting to grasp the intricacies of the situation.

"A wolf doesn't question the alpha's intentions unless it's against her, and that's obviously not acceptable," you explained, a smile gracing your lips. "Come with me; Jungkook will not see a human. They haven't met us werewolves in decades; it's time."

The revelation struck Din like a sudden gust of wind. You were a werewolf. The realization dawned on him, casting a shadow over the already peculiar circumstances he found himself entangled in. The ship soon docked, and you swiped a few times, orchestrating a sequence that left Din bewildered.

You cut your tongue, a peculiar ritual that unfolded with an otherworldly grace. The ship transformed, enfolding Din against something soft. "Come," you beckoned, taking him by the arm, the child in the other hand, as the ship seamlessly melded into your back. Through trunks and amidst alien creatures, you guided him until you reached a grand ornate door.

"Speak, Moongoddess," a mechanical eyeball demanded, emerging to scrutinize your presence. "Open the door; I have the change," you commanded, and the eyeball, after a nod, ushered you through the gates with a hiss, revealing the bustling city beyond.

In the sunlight, tall sculptures adorned the landscape, standing against the natural backdrop of forests. Yet, as Din's eyes sharpened, he discerned a peculiar truth – the structures were crafted of wood and stone, devoid of glass or mechanical elements, save for the eyeball that surveilled the scene.

"Come," you instructed, cradling the child once more as you marched forward. Din followed, a Christmas puppy in your wake, marveling at the revelation that these trees were creations by werewolves, shaped by the hands of gods. The journey halted at an elaborate palace, guarded by individuals in forest armor.

"The king speaks," declared a guard, and you acknowledged with a lowered head. "The child and the Mandalorian who promised," you explained. The guard scrutinized you briefly before consenting. "Your moon of choice," you stated, ushering them in, and Din absorbed the grandeur of the surroundings.

"Ah, the high and mighty Mandalorian, bounty hunter of time, how nice of you to come," a voice resonated, and Din's gaze gravitated toward the center of the room. There sat Jungkook, the same black-haired man from the hologram, in an opal chair. "I am Alpha Jungkook, welcome to Wolf City," he proclaimed, acknowledging your presence. You nodded, presenting the green-skinned alien child to him, and a soft smile played on his lips as the child cooed.

"He's so cute," Jungkook remarked, returning the child to your care. "Take good care of it, Moon, and think of it as an early birthday present." With a bow, you exited, leaving Din to face the alpha alone.

"I know you're wondering why I want a bounty hunter in my forest, but listen carefully," Jungkook began, leaning forward. Din observed red spots on the king's face, a subtle anomaly. "You must kill the last emperor." Din paled, confronted with a task that echoed the shadows of a resurfacing empire.

"No one had really known if the empire had gone underground or if they were dead, but he had a feeling they were," Din contemplated, torn between the reports of destroyed star destroyers and lingering uncertainties about the stormtroopers.

"You can either say no or yes, Din," Jungkook presented the choice, and Din met his gaze. "How do you know my name?" he inquired. "The scent reveals more than you think, little mortal," Jungkook responded, flashing his fangs. "You are afraid, but you need not be; we wolves do not harm humans unless they shoot us."

Din attempted to divert the conversation. "What do you want to do with the child?" he asked. Jungkook unveiled the purpose, a celestial tale intertwining with the destiny of his princess, Y/N.

"We needed him for his parents, Luna. The gods wanted him because he's the key to my little princess's big day," Jungkook explained, and Din's confusion deepened. A revelation struck him – he had been in the presence of a goddess, unbeknownst to him.

"You will never feel Luna's powers, mortal, for you are not a werewolf at all, neither by custom nor blood," Jungkook declared, standing tall. "But you could be a good addition to our pack; you will be allowed to stay." Din sighed, resisting the allure of settling down.

"I'm a bounty hunter, and I move too much to settle down somewhere," he asserted. Jungkook chuckled, leaving the offer open. "You can join the pack order at the Blood Moon tomorrow, but only if you want to," Jungkook proposed, walking two laps around Din. "Stay here one night and see how the wolves do it." With a wave of his hand, Din was freed from the cuffs.

"Move as you wish," Jungkook permitted as Din bowed and exited. The prospect of what lay ahead fueled a sense of excitement and uncertainty. The dance between a lone Mandalorian and the werewolf pack of Wolf City had just begun, promising a tale woven in the threads of destiny and the howls of the Blood Moon.

[theenchantedecho]

Send In Your Owls

Calling All Gossip Gleaners, Scandal Scouts, and Whisper Wranglers!

Rita Skeeter here, darlings, with a request as radiant as a moonlit rendezvous and as enticing as an unopened bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. My Quick-Quotes Quill is poised, my Spectrespecs are polished, and my ink is glistening with anticipation - all I need are your whispers to transform into wizarding wonders!

You've no doubt savoured my succulent servings of scandal and thrilling tales of wizarding who's who. You've delighted in the delicious details, basked in the bewitching revelations, and gasped at the glittering gossip. Now, my dears, it's your chance to be a part of this enchanting enchantment, to feed the flame of fascination!

Is there a witch or wizard in your village who's mysteriously vanishing every full moon? Has a forbidden love blossomed in the heart of Hogwarts? Perhaps there's a tantalising twist in the tale of a prominent family from the Pureblood Directory? Or has a Hogwarts house ghost been seen gallivanting in the daylight?

Do share your scintillating snippets, darlings. Has your neighbour been attempting questionable spells, or has your colleague concocted a peculiar potion? Are there secret trysts under the Whomping Willow or duels at dawn by the Black Lake? Do you know someone who's suddenly sporting a suspicious Dark Mark, or has an unusual fondness for snakes arisen in a Hufflepuff classmate?

From the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley to the lofty towers of Hogwarts, from the misty moors of Scotland to the busy streets of Diagon Alley, no snippet of speculation is too small, no morsel of mystery too minor. Every whisper, every wonder, every secret shared will be treasured and could be the key to the next big scandal that has the wizarding world agog.

Now, dear readers, it's not only the sordid secrets and tantalising tales that pique my interest, but also your burning questions. Have you been wondering who the wizarding world's top three worst manicures belong to, or who the five most tantalising bachelors of our magical society are? Are you curious about who has the most ghastly taste in robes, or who possesses the most enchanted of enchanted gardens?

My dears, your curiosity is a portkey to the most delightful of revelations. Send your queries flying my way, no matter how trivial or extravagant they might seem. For it's not just scandals that my quill craves, but also the amusing, the intriguing, and the downright bizarre.

From the darkest alleyways of Knockturn to the shimmering spires of Hogwarts, from the mysterious mists of Scotland to the bustling bylanes of Diagon Alley, your whispers and wonders, your secrets and suspicions are all welcome here. Remember, no question is too frivolous, no secret too small.

So, dust off those owls, dears, and direct your missives to my inbox. Your secrets are safe with me until they're ripe for the world to relish. Your name will be kept as confidential as the ingredients of Felix Felicis, but the thrill, dear hearts, will be enjoyed by all. Who knows, your titbit might be the next to set quills aflutter across the wizarding world!

Eagerly awaiting your whispers,

Rita Skeeter

Inbox     Muses To Gossip About     The Newsroom   Join Us

[godkilller]

TIME MOVED DIFFERENTLY FOR SHINIGAMI, and even if she was no longer fully human, Gin still remained a nearly unchanged constant in comparison. He wasn't without his own struggles -- but hers were far more blatant than him having lost some weight, still with the sickly appearance of a specter rather than a man. The familiarity was nearly lost in that, despite him standing there, Gin was seemingly not present at all.

He smiled that gut-wrenching grin of his, that far-away facade mixed with genuine relief, sadness, guarded -- always guarded, always three paces out of reach. The oddity of how he was glad to see her and the grief of time's passage made the entire ordeal bittersweet. Against that all, he stood unaffected, distanced even from his own feelings on the matter. A small swaying step forward, he did not lose his elegant weightlessness, his ethereal glow was not imagined; this was a spirit of great power regardless of his slim, skeletal features.

❝ Ain't no reason for apologizin', it's alright. ❞ He understood better than anyone how one could be overtaken by life -- he had been, too, ever since that day in Karakura Town, ripped apart and left for dead. He just got over being sick, to boot, almost two week's worth of dealing with an illness that wrecked him -- he wasn't exactly the epitome of healthy at the moment. Sleep-deprived and fatigued, the air still hissed around him with a thickened weight that came natural. He was so accustomed to, over the years, allowing his reiatsu to blanket a space so as to keep others at bay. With Jane, he repressed it, sucking inward the latent power that otherwise could suffocate anyone lesser.

The moonlit night cast sharp shadows, yet it suited him -- that silver glow. The streetlight overhead flickered when Gin's head tilted to one side in consideration, chin tipping upward in an honest query.

❝ Have ya found some peace, at least? ❞

IT WAS A GHOST FROM THE PAST. When Jane was still human, or was considered one, she recalled every ounce of anger she had for him. He was also someone that tamed the heat; --- Becoming somewhat of a family in her eyes, that was so ... Odd. She never imagined seeing him again; --- A part of her thought he had died, like her humanity did when they parted ways. Over something so trivial as their mutual wrath.

He walks like a corpse, but is seemingly livelier in her eyes, surprisingly. Maybe it was her nostalgia that caused her to see him with some glow, but he still plagued her with how skeletal he looked.

[ If death could be a person, a pale comparison would be Gin himself. ]

❝ ... I don't know what to say. ❞ She began, shoulders slumping as she turned to face him fully. They were alone, so it permitted Jane to reveal more of her human side to someone that still contained some in her eyes. She smiles at him, though it is a sad one.

She's exhausted too, she doesn't want to scream or yell. That's exclusively for her victims. Gin was ...

Family.

❝ I'm sorry. ❞ She began, stepping closer to the ghost of her past. ❝ Things came up, things changed ... But you haven't one bit. It's kinda nostalgic. ❞ She chuckled, shaking her head as she looks down at his feet for a moment. A moment of silence & the half demon found herself able to speak. ❝ If it makes you feel better, I missed ya. ❞