#not to weave connections which aren’t there

[delightfullyatomicfest]

The relevant bit here is ‘attached to each [balloon] was a printed card … “write to John Lennon”’ … ‘many of the recipients of the cards returned them with racist comments about Yoko’.

[radioactive-mouse]

god i do still think it’s so interesting that most wizards (and even gale itself at times) talk about magic as though it’s an exact science, like, fantasy equivalent of being a STEM major, but during the weave scene gale explicitly compares it more to music and art and poetry, like!!

i know he has a thing for the dramatics but this is fascinating!!!

[planetdream]

PLUTO !

CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]

GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.

SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.

WORDS ! 12.2k more or less

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]

💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!

The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with. 

Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin. 

Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover. 

After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin. 

The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings. 

A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”

Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again. 

Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey. 

By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain. 

Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you. 

You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight. 

The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations. 

Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling. 

In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight. 

You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back. 

The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out. 

“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it. 

“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.” 

Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion. 

“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not. 

“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him. 

“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”

You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along. 

The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set. 

The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him. 

“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.” 

“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”

“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.

“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.” 

Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness. 

The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh. 

There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak. 

Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”

The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”

The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.” 

The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin. 

“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.” 

Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”

The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts. 

Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine. 

Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”

You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look. 

“Not very much.” You admit. 

“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”

“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”

You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you. 

“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”

“Go On.”

You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes. 

“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”

The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him. 

“Continue.”

“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.” 

You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return. 

“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”

—

You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past. 

“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him. 

In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.

You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin. 

“My dearest heart, 

There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me. 

K.S”

Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve. 

You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. 

“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”

Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep. 

You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything. 

There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery. 

Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch. 

Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider. 

At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom. 

If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely. 

Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior. 

When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?

“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat. 

“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”

“You won’t be eating?” 

“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”

With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho. 

“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”

“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”

“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”

“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response. 

“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.” 

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Jisung nods. 

“What room did Seungmin stay in?”

“The room that you are staying in.”

The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin. 

You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle. 

The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly. 

Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies. 

You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you. 

You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you. 

The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.

A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping. 

“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell. 

When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing. 

When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.” 

Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.

“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood. 

“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him. 

It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully. 

Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”

Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling. 

Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle. 

“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of. 

“What book?” He doesn’t follow. 

“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”

“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,” 

Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon. 

“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him. 

Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.  

You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?

Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening. 

Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him. 

“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown. 

Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it. 

You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”

“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could. 

When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt. 

“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you. 

Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.

His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices. 

Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth. 

Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in. 

Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob. 

There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying. 

Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light. 

Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene. 

“Help.. Me..” 

Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness. 

You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock. 

Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away. 

A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it. 

Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound. 

There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse. 

After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood. 

Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye. 

“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”

Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho. 

Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.  

“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move. 

“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts. 

Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”

“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”

“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”

You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”

“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”

“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”

Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply. 

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”

Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly. 

“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”

“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways. 

“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”

The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another. 

For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home. 

Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent. 

The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation. 

With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with. 

Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.

By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”

Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary. 

“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one. 

There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes. 

You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs? 

Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa. 

Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.” 

At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul. 

You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master. 

“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”

Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?” 

Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”

You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either. 

“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?” 

You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence. 

“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”

Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you. 

Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand. 

He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt. 

“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you. 

If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming? 

Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster. 

Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch. 

You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage.  Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums. 

The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust. 

“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh. 

You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit. 

You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste. 

From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed. 

Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.

You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you. 

“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head. 

How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul. 

And still. He holds the entire world in his hands. 

“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[voltronisanobsession]

So you like my ideas, huh? Well, I hope I can continue to create some good ones for you! I shall try my best 🫡

Oh! I do have one request in mind, how about Percy being paired with reader who’s the child of Athena? Yes, yes, I know an amazing half-blood known as Annabeth exists but I had something in mind.

We all know how children of Athena are seen as wise, intellectual, clever, and combative people but what if the reader was different than that? There’s several types of intelligence after all, so what if they specialized in emotional intelligence and craft?

I can see them being insecure of their “abilities” since they know their siblings can do better, and even fear that Athena herself is disappointed in them, but, while Percy thought it was strange at first, he soon found himself enjoying those traits.

I mean, with their emotional intelligence, the reader knows when he’s upset no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and they tend to give him gifts like Melinoe!reader. They’re probably usually architectural models, weavings, mini sculptures of what he enjoys… You know all that good stuff. They probably gifted him something as something to remember them by when he went on a quest… but I’ll leave that up to you.

Combat practice to bond/as dates 👀?

Also, I’m not sure if you saw, but I like long headcanons so stop apologizing and keep it up!/lh

Poor all of your thoughts into it if you have to or want, I like it!

Percy with a Child of Athena!Reader

I literally LOVE these detailed asks UGGHHH!! I love the idea of instead having a different form of intelligence as a child of athena like damn😍 I'm getting used to brain dumping on these, its a work in progress🙈

Sorry for answering so late😭

Lowkey this reader sticks out like a sore thumb amongst their siblings😭

I like to think that most Athena kids are usually on the more serious sides, so it surprises a lot of campers outside of the Athena cabin to see Reader extremely expressive!

While the other Athena children spend their time devising tactical plans for big camp games, reader is just on the side doodling architectural designs and whatnot

They aren’t as involved in what their siblings do because it doesn’t interest them much

Like whenever they try and ask for readers opinions and start using big ass words, they just smile and nod cuz they had no idea what the others were saying

Athena's children are extremely intelligent so its difficult for reader to be on the same wave length as their siblings

It lowkey makes them feel like an outcast in their cabin because they cant really connect with their siblings like they do with each other while they talk about subjects beyond reader’s comprehension

Constantly being surrounded by books, scrolls and maps full of knowledge, reader often beats themselves over not being able to comprehend and show interest in wanting to learn about these types of things

They’re led to believing that they are a defect amongst their mothers children (crying)

They are always surrounded by reminders of their own inabilities to match their sibling’s intelligence which is why they spend little time in the Athena cabin, and even littler time with their siblings

Readers only saving grace is that they are always in tune with peoples emotions and feelings, no matter how well or little they know the people around them

Whether its feelings of anxiousness, sadness, quiet anger, or happiness, reader always seems to know how a person is feeling!

The first time Percy meets reader is when he spots them at the crafting hut

Being one of his first activities in the beginning of the day, he notices how reader is always there before anyone else

Percy probably thought you were apart of the Hephaestus cabin or something like that with how many times he’s seen you sculpting and carving away at a new project every other day

So he’s surprised when you reveal that you’re actually a child of Athena

He would definitely notice how you distance yourself from your siblings, especially during breakfast, lunch and dinner

He’s good friends with Annabeth so he sees the differences between you, her and your siblings

While she and her siblings are more closed off and have their noses stuck up a new book everyday, your always seen drawing or weaving a new tapestry for your cabin

You show your emotions more openly compared to their more dismissive nature as well!

He definitely sees you as the 'social butterfly' of the Athena cabin

The more time he spends with reader though, he notices just how in tune they are with his feelings

He could give the smallest, most insignificant indication that he's had a bad day and you'd be able to read him like an open book

It's easy talking to you about his conflicting emotions, your patience and thoughtful expression gives him more confidence to just let everything out

I think he would definitely fall for how empathetic you are in many situations

You've made many friends with campers from different cabins because of this quality trait! Always learning and understanding a situation/conflict that arises, you're always able to resolve the problems that makes it fair for all parties involved

Despite this, Percy is confused and a bit surprised to find out that you're actually insecure about this dominating trait of yours

"What?! It's literally the best thing about you though!"

"I know but its just! My siblings aren't the way I am. They're able to actually use their skills for something. All I can do is listen to people and make friends. That's nothing special. I'm useless."

It PAINS him to hear you say that because its obvious you don't understand the importance of being as emotionally intelligent as you are

He makes it his mission to show you just how many people you've helped, to show you that you have a reason to be proud of what you're able to do!

You slowly open yourself more after hearing all his reassurance, from him and other people around camp

It's definitely a positive change as you have a pep to your step now. You engage with you siblings more now that you have a confidence in your own abilities.

You make him many sculptures as thank you gifts! Even when he says that you don't need to, you cant help admit that enjoy giving him these gifts with a nervous smile

You've made him a mini version Riptide and even have given him a small owl pendant

You were hesitant to give him the pendant because it seemed more intimate compared to your other gifts, but he happily accepted it with a soft smile

AND WHEN HE PUT THE PENDANT ON IN FRONT OF YOU YOUR HEART NEARLY LEPT OUT OF YOUR CHEST I CCANNTTT

I think reader would be pretty aware of Percy's feelings for them which makes them feel fuzzy

So imagine how you feel when Percy pulls up to you one late afternoon after not seeing him for the entire day to give you a small pendant of his own

The sculpting of the trident is definitely more crude and less detailed compared to the one you gave him, something Percy abashedly admits but you wave him off

"It's beautiful, thank you Percy."

"No problem, now we're matching!"

You're aware of your own feelings for him as you are aware of his feelings for you, so it doesn't take long for a confession to happen

I mean matching pendants? come on bro its so painfully obvious to everyone

Percy falls for who reader is, not because their a child of Athena

He doesn't care that you're different from your siblings because he understands everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses

You still represent Athena with pride and he'll happily support you till the end

PERCY IS SUCH A GREEN FLAG IN GENERAL I LOVE WRITING FOR HIM💔💔

[shorthaltsjester]

okay but i am very confused about the energy regarding the weavemind as. bells hells specific enemies? like sure they’re on ruidus and have been introduced in campaign 3 but none of bells hells have expressed a specific interest in taking them down, the weave mind has committed no specific crimes against bells hells that would equate it to being Justice™ for bh to fight them. even if you want to make the tenuous connection that like imogen and fearne are ruidusborn: both of them have focused much more on the consequences and revelations about their families that have come about from their ruidusborn existence than the authoritarian leaders of ruidus itself. so, uh, it is profoundly more interesting to have the party go after the person in charge of the army cult that contextualizes both of their existences and the trauma of the entirety of their party than a obscure group of villains that bh has no actual tangible relation to. like this was literally laid out in the conversation. bh get the cage and ludinus because that’s Their Fight that they’ve been fighting since imogen started dreaming and since orym’s family got killed. vox machina is taking the bridge because of the vax of it all. and mighty nein got the third less prevalent thing, because they’re experienced with psychic threats and manipulation (and also because of course the mighty nein are the ones dealing with the assignment less likely to be seen or heard about).

like the in-character reactions to the breakup of activities were only really considered anything close to negative by braius and dorian who while certainly now members of bells hells aren’t the ones upon which people are claiming to build their “this story is an injustice to the bells hells” sure it is. like ignoring the fact that being unable to get closure on every single issue and potential villain is a long-standing tradition in cr campaigns, i thought the thing everyone loved so much about bells hells is that they’re the npc party? and for better or worse c3 has been about being fast paced and it would be extraordinarily out of character for matt to say “oh these two high stakes and powerful groups have decided to fulfil their plans one at a time so that bells hells can sufficiently take them out.” like the only way that bells hells — the lowest level party — getting to take out One Of The Most Powerful Exandrian Mages is an injustice is if you’ve ignored the entire campaign and its context. like seeing the complaint that “it’s not bells hells story” yes, that has been made clear time and time again in the past 100 episodes. it’s completely fair to not like this, it’s extremely odd to see this as some sort of surprise wrecking ball that has come about in the decision to have more than one party of eight fuck ups trying to stop the unavoidably obvious world ending threat that exandria currently faces and not as something that has been made repeatedly clear by the themes and position of bells hells. like, throughout, unlike vm or mn, they have been handed their missions rather than choosing them (even if between 2 or 3 choices as was often the case with mn), they have explicitly discussed being the npcs or little guys, they have consistently gone to the bigger guys for help with things that previous parties either managed themselves or suffered without or had allies to help them (versus the like. Leaders that bh look to), even the dynamics of the parties express that bells hells are people stuck saving the world due to a bunch of personal moral codes rather than a specific decision to save the world because they’re the only ones who can, they’re expendable. that has made this campaign different throughout, it has made the characters less explored because they don’t have the time or means or desire to do so. and again it’s a matter of taste whether that’s something you enjoy, but it shouldn’t be a matter of “why would they do this” this far into the Bells Hells Aren’t Special They’re Just There campaign (which isn’t to say the characters aren’t special or whatever like they’re a bunch of weirdos but as a party they’re just a party)

[joyful-enchantress]

Loki’s costume at the end of S2E6 was perfect.

Yes, every part of it, down to those slippers.

And here’s my unsolicited (and delayed) thoughts on the matter.

First, let’s talk about his robe. Not only was it utterly beautiful, down to the draping and the deep, rich shade of green (and I mean come on, would we expect anything less?), its style was incredibly symbolic.

If you look at previous Loki ensembles, especially the ones that include a horned helmet, there is an air of grandeur and finery about them. The exquisitely stitched, buttery leather; the shiny gold trimmings and metal armor accents; the dramatic, billowing capes and overcoats. Even the silhouette of these looks is broad and structured — one might even say severe. Everything about these past looks screams “Look at me; I’m important” and reinforces Tony’s own observation in The Avengers that Loki is a “full-tilt diva” — he longs for the respect and attention that he deserves (and has been denied almost all of his life) and that longing is reflected in his clothing. They are reminiscent of the royal palace in which he was raised. They allow him to be battle-ready, because he’s had to fight and claw for every scrap of love and attention he’s managed to get. They represent a broken prince. A warrior cloaked in royalty. A would-be-king.

Now, compare that to his robe in Loki S2E6. It isn’t flashy. It has a soft silhouette. The shade of green is deeper and richer than we’ve seen; more earthy. An earthy shade of green which, in my opinion, is a nod to Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree that he will weave the branches of the multiverse into. The gold trimming across the front is subtle and understated - I even missed it at first and didn’t realize there was any gold trimming on the robe at all until I got a closer look later. It is simple. The draping is reminiscent of the robes worn by Buddhist monks. His robe reflects a Loki that has more wisdom and humility, and who has realized that being a good king — a proper god — means he will spend his life in service to others. It is the robe of a man who is confident and self-assured and knows exactly what kind of god he needs to be.

Now let’s talk about the slippers. I noticed that they got quite a bit of flack immediately after the finale aired. And I get it — they’re an odd choice, especially when we are so accustomed to the dramatic boots and finely-crafted and statement-making dress shoes he typically dons. For similar reasons as the robe, they are symbolic and fitting for Loki’s development into a wiser, more humble character. Don’t get me wrong, these loafers are still impeccably stylish, and no doubt they are of the finest craftsmanship, because this is still Loki we are talking about here. But they have a purpose, and that purpose is to get him to his final destination. These simple slippers barely even protect Loki’s feet, showing us a kind of vulnerability that we’re unaccustomed to seeing from Loki. He isn’t guarded in this moment; he’s open, connected to his purpose, and sure of himself. The shoes aren’t for battle; they aren’t meant to impress. They are meant to serve.

Now, about what is, quite possibly, my favorite feature of the costume. The horns. These iconic horns which we’ve associated with Loki from the very beginning take on an entirely reimagined look in the finale. First of all, they are bigger than any set we’ve seen resting upon Loki’s brow. So big, in fact, that they weren’t actually a physical part of the costume Tom Hiddleston wore. So big that they would likely hinder his performance if he actually had to bear their weight on his head.

In addition to their size, the horns are made of the same temporal-infused material from which both HWR’s talisman and the citadel at the end of time are constructed. Gone are the opulent golden horns that glisten and shine with the grandeur of royal finery. These horns are dark and heavy. They symbolize the unfathomable weight of the burden that Loki bears in his godly endeavor to save the multiverse. The golden temporal material that runs throughout the horns like veins is reminiscent, to me, of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken things with gold. And in a way, Loki is a broken thing that has been healed and mended throughout his personal journey of self-acceptance and friendship, and is now more beautiful than he ever has been. More humble. More selfless. More godly.

In addition to the horns, the cape, too, is the largest we’ve seen Loki wear. And while at first, this dramatically oversized cape may seem to stand in opposition to the humility that the rest of the outfit encapsulates, it works. It works because, like the horns, it is symbolic of the burden Loki has chosen to bear. This cape would be unbearably heavy; it would make even the most basic movement difficult. And on top of its sheer size, his cape even becomes torn into strips that are woven into the timelines themselves, literally securing his burden — his service to the multiverse — around his neck.

Lastly, I want to talk about the way this outfit manifested. There’s been a common thread throughout this discussion about the humility and selflessness that this ensemble puts on display. And while that’s true, we’re talking about a relative level of humility and selflessness, when compared to Loki’s previous tendencies. This is still Loki we’re talking about here. He’s got a flair for the dramatic. He’s nothing if not intentional about the way he presents himself. And the way he marched down that gangway like it was his own personal runway, while his clothing fell away in shreds and tatters to reveal this completely fresh but familiar look, was completely on-brand for him. It was theatrical. It was glorious.

His outfit at the end featured accessories that were heavy and larger than life. Those parts were a burden.

It wasn’t short on the style and drama that we’re so accustomed to seeing from Loki. It was glorious.

And every part of it, down to his humble shoes, was fit for purpose.

One look at this finale costume and you know, without doubt, that Loki is burdened with glorious purpose.

A/N: If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my unsolicited thoughts on this beautiful piece of costume design! Also, apologies for the delay in posting. I know some of you have been told this post was coming since the night the finale aired, weeks ago. Thank you for your patience with me as I gathered my thoughts and found the time to organize them and type them out.

🏷️ @peachyjinx @acidcasualties @muddyorbsblr @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @tallseaweed @give-me-a-moose @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @maple-seed @loopsisloops @gigglingtiggerv2 @simplyholl @superficialdomina @mischief2sarawr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @wheredafandomat @liminalpebble @ladyofthestayingpower ++

[ruershrimo]

f. megumi x reader | one moment longer

under the light of the moon, he looks more beautiful than anything.

spiky black hair shining like stunning silver, eyelashes weaved of the silkiest threads one’s genes could offer, green eyes shimmering, scrutinised by the moon’s glow. if there was a painting to describe the epitome of beauty he would be its subject.

the collar of that tidy black uniform you can nuzzle your face into, the hyaline scent of detergent and a freshly cleaned room, the rhythm of his breaths, faint and light, as lithe, warm hands rest on your back the same way puzzle pieces stay connected.

“i love you,” you hear. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

you aren’t a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, so maybe you wouldn’t know enough. still, you know some people say that the world of sorcery is one devoid of hope and humanity; you know the general sentiment among them is that this has always been a sisyphean task, that it was born from the resistance of impermanent lives against an evil which would last for all eternity.

yet how can they let their worlds be entrenched in such darkness and lovelessness?

love and good are everywhere, you think, no matter how much loss there is to endure. you’ve felt so yourself.

you see it when you sip from teacups in cafes where the saucers come with biscuits on the side and your ears notice the shutter of his camera and you gaze at the mellow grin resting on his face. you hear it when he sends you whatever tune he’s been listening to for the past few days, sent with a text saying, “thought you might like this”. you taste it when he presses his lips to yours and kisses him back out of joy in a bold defiance of this world’s sorrows. love and good is everywhere in the mundanity of life and it’s minuscule, quiet moments.

“i love you,” he whispers again, voice as soft as a gentle breeze in an autumn-touched street, but with enough conviction to make the mightiest of rulers fall, you’re sure. you shut your eyes slowly as his feet move languidly in tandem with yours.

“you do?” you ask, “i love you too, megumi.”

one day the world he resides in will take him away from you. one day you’ll be left alone with no one to hold you under the moonlight while it spills into their wooden-tiled dorm room, one day you won’t have anyone to dance with you despite the chills outside.

but today is not that day. tonight is not the night you’ll be screeching and crying as you hear news of his death from a cellphone call. it’s not the night when you’ll be shaking and collapsing over his mangled corpse, if there even is one left.

you want a future together. you want for him to stay even after he leaves graduates, for years and years and years of his life. but even you know that with the life he’s living, with the kind of life where any night is one when he may die, you just wish that it can last for a while longer. if not two years, then maybe two months. if not two months, then maybe two weeks. or perhaps…

…just one moment longer. one moment longer with fushiguro megumi.

I don’t even write for jjk haha, I was just simping at 3 am (I want to sleep. I’ve to wake up before 9 tomorrow. someone pry my phone away from me.) I’m also doing this to cope because gege is cruel. someone help this is probably so bad I didn’t even do any formatting or anything bro that picture isn’t even one of the moon

[starlightshadowsworld]

I got asked earlier what my thoughts are on the Mori is Atsushi’s dad theory. And personally I don’t buy into it (full breakdown is here incase anyone’s curious.)

But I find it an interesting idea and wanted to play around with it. So here’s my concept for what if Mori was Atsushi’s dad.

Mori knew he’d need a successor for when he took over the Port Mafia. It’d be easier for it to be his own heir. But he wasn’t exactly jazzed about having a baby to look after.

As time went on tho Mori did develop a bond with Atsushi. He wouldn’t call it love but he did feel some affection for him. A feeling that definitely grew when Atsushi manifested a powerful ability.

At first as far as Mori knew, it was simply to turn into a tiger. Which in enough itself was impressive. But that Atsushi got into an accident (as babies do) but miraculously his ability seemed to heal his wounds.

Upon closer inspection Mori realises it wasn’t quite regeneration. But reversion, bringing him back to his original state and thus no longer being injured (same analysis Yosano makes in season 1.)

Definitely does has a “of course he has a powerful ability, he is my son after all” moment. And things would’ve stayed mostly peaceful until the Great war. Mori ends up heading off and has enough sense not to bring his 4 year old with him (but bringing an 11 year old is clearly fine.)

And so Atsushi is left in the care of his mother. Mori and her aren’t together, they are amicable and only really interact if it concerns Atsushi. She’s even dating another man, a cute Russian man who offers to look after her son when an emergency comes up.

One he is directly responsible for because ✨surprise ✨ it’s Fyodor. He takes Atsushi to a far away orphanage, weaving a story about a poor child he found in a bin. Atsushi’s mum is horrified when she comes home, and turns out Fyodor was in disguise and using a fake name.

And because there was a whole thing about the northern lights in the Great War causing emp waves (or something), the phone service is shit and Mori doesn’t find out until he returns. He doesn’t exactly take the news well.

It’s then that Natsume reveals to him what the book is and Atsushi’s connection to it. Saying he didn’t say anything prior because he wanted to be completely sure. And had he known this man was after Atsushi he would have. Mori’s not exactly happy but he understands.

This whole thing only fuels his desire to be PM Boss. Knowing he’ll gain the resources to locate his son. Life carries on and Mori sits on the throne of the PM. The only people who knew of his son were Dazai and Chuuya, and Mori tells them at the same time.

When Chuuya is lashing out in Mori’s office about what he’s lost to the old Boss Mori says he understands. He understands how it feels to lose everything you hold dear, but also to rise above and take control. “I had a son. He was stolen from me, and I will rake this earth until I find him alive.”

When Chuuya joins he says something like “when the day comes you find a lead. I will do everything in my power to bring your son back to you.”

That lead would come 6 years later when a bounty for a tiger is given to the PM. And Mori freezes at the sight of its eyes, he’d know those eyes anywhere.

Everyone’s confused as to why the bounty isn’t being taken, except for Chuuya who puts two and two together. Akutagawa is instructed to bring the weretiger back.

But under no circumstances is he to hurt him. This goes out the window once Atsushi joins the Agency and Dazai, while captured purposefully riles up Akutagawa. Because he realised Atsushi’s identity and won’t let Mori take him.

Things carry on, Akutagawa’s on thin fucking ice as is Kouyou but things go on.

Atsushi and Mori still meet in Anne’s Room. Atsushi thinks he looks familiar and Mori pretends he doesn’t know him. And gives him advice, he’s curious to see what his son has grown into. And also doesn’t want their reunion to take place here.

Mori is also more open to a truce even if he doesn’t accept it right away, especially when learning it was Atsushi’s idea.

Atsushi doesn’t learn the truth until Dead Apple. He doesn’t take it well but learns to accept himself. Akutagawa gives him a good tongue lashing for not telling him and the Agency accepts Atsushi.

Atsushi and Mori don’t meet properly until the Cannibalism arc, truly wonderful timing. He feels guilty for worrying about Mori. Speaking of, Mori finally learns Fyodor’s the one who stole Atsushi, after being stabbed by him.

There’s really no easy way to break it to Atsushi that the Agency are going to kill his dad. He’s against it (even more so than in canon) and wants to try and find a different solution. But after the lead is a failure, all Atsushi asks is if he can at least say goodbye.

His friends grant him that at least.

Atsushi walks up to PM headquarters to Chuuya who stops the goons from trying to shoot him.

Atsushi: Do you know who I am?

Chuuya: The Agencies Weretiger?

Atsushi: Not that. It’s…About your Boss.

Chuuya: So you found out. Yeah, what about it?

Atsushi: I want to see him. I don’t know what’ll happen but, I know this might be my last chance.

Chuuya passes a message on, gets the okay and sends a goon with Atsushi to go up. “And kid, for what it’s worth. He’s missed ya.”

Mori is sat up in bed and sends Kouyou out. It’s awkward at first but Mori doesn’t seem phased by it. Asking how Atsushi is and sharing old stories.

Atsushi getting emotional because he was told he was abandoned. Mori firmly remarking that he wasn’t, that Mori scoured the country and than some for him.

That he was missed, dearly.

Atsushi saying that he wished they had more time. And that he’s trying to find a different solution, giving a teary smile when Mori comments he truly did take after him. Mori has no doubt he’ll survive this but simply says he has faith in Atsushi.

If he says theres a solution where everyone survives then there will be. And that when it comes they should get dinner, whatever he likes.

“Do you still love chazuke?”

“It’s my favourite.”

“Mine too. Chazuke it is then.”

Atsushi leaves with hesitation and the assassination plot kicks off and fails. The rest of the plan is carried out and the end has Atsushi and Mori eating chazuke together at a restaurant.

Atsushi knows what kind of man Mori is, but he’s also his dad. He knows he cares in his own way and wouldn’t hurt him. And they are allies currently.

Chuuya goes back for Atsushi during the rescue and finds he’s missing. Which gives Mori a heart attack until he realises Atsushi snuck out with Kyouka and made a deal with Fitzgerald.

Does he wish Atsushi came to him? Yes, though he does understand Atsushi’s reasoning and touched he didn’t want to drag the PM into this (oh dear boy we were involved when you got dragged into it.)

Also doesn’t appreciate Fitzgerald manipulating his son.

Things go on, worlds saved until it isn’t and Mori gets up to greet Atsushi. And for the first time, hugs him. Atsushi breaks down and Mori tells him this will all be fixed.

That damn rat had taken too much from Atsushi, he wouldn’t take anymore. Ability or not, Mori would find a way to kill him if he tried. He couldn’t even be happy at having his son in his rightful home.

Fyodor was going to pay dearly.

[immortalthunderstorm]

Aemond Targaryen and the Brothel Madam: A Case of Vulnerability? 

With the final trailer out and conversations running rampant, @liv000000 and I have been bouncing off ideas and theories on that Aemond shot and our thoughts on it. Obviously none of these are set in stone and need to be taken with a very sizeable pinch of salt as we don’t really have anything concrete to base it on, so a lot of this really is us just weaving scenarios together and trying to craft a narrative and character exploration based on a few crumbs.

Before we start off, we’d like to just say that we are not necessarily in favour of these. House of the Dragon has a history of often brushing over sexual trauma without giving those moments the recognition they deserve - we aren’t confident that this show is the right medium to accurately present such sensitive topics and that the writers really wish to do this in depth beyond victimisation and shock value. Neither is the fandom as we’ve now gotten to know it at large mature enough to accept and analyse these, especially if it involves a character they aren’t particularly fond of, as we’ve seen with the Alicent-Viserys rape scene or the ‘Foot Scene’ with Larys which got turned into a joke and yet again was squarely placed at Alicen’t feet as something that is somehow her fault and not the guy’s who was sexually assaulting her.

But, although we dislike the overall sentiment, we still want to try to make sense of it. 

We’re here to talk about this scene:

Some eagle-eyed fans have connected the hand holding Aemond here to the one of S1EP09’s brothel madam which he encounters with Criston Cole on their search for Aegon (there’s a scar beneath her knuckles that the actress, Michelle Bonnard, also has). For this analysis, we will pretend that this is confirmed.

For reference, we’re talking about this lady here:

A bit of background of what we learn of her and her ‘connection’ to Aemond:

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my 13th name day. It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that's what I understood him to mean. [...] He said, ‘Time to get it wet.’”

For his thirteenth nameday, Aegon took Aemond to the Street of Silk to lose his virginity, no doubt as a right of passage to essentially have him become a man, as fostered by Westerosi culture (we could write an entire other meta about this and Aegon’s perspective but won’t get into it here). Notice that Aemond expressed that he himself wasn’t sure of the advantage/purpose of this and just parrots what Aegon said to him without actively supporting this as his own opinion. It’s something he clearly didn’t really want to do himself but went along with because his older brother told him to.

Cole asks her about Aegon, while Aemond stands next to him, silent. At the end of the conversation, she says (flirtatiously):

“I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend. [to Aemond] How you've grown.”

This is personal, she recognises him. Was she the one to take his virginity? It seems likely. He clearly also hasn’t been back there since that day.

How does Aemond react to this?

He clearly still feels very uncomfortable around her even three years later, can’t maintain eye contact, shrinks away etc. This has no doubt ruined his perception of sex and engrained in his mind, the act of sexual intimacy is something unpleasant, humiliating, and potentially painful.

@darksvster also posted the script of this scene, which has Aemond ‘clearly shaken’ over being confronted with his abuser.

Since we know he hasn’t been back to the brothel since, him going there willingly now invites the presumption that this requires some sort of extreme trigger moment for him.

The two moments we’ll delve into for this are Blood & Cheese and Rook’s Rest, in which members of his family get hurt either directly or indirectly as a consequence of his actions. This also adds up with the leaks that the actress of the brothel madam is going to have a nude scene in either episode 2 (post B&C) or episode 5 (post RR).

Theory 1: Self Punishment

(we found this gif on Reddit, please let us know if you are or know who the original creator is and we’ll credit them)

In this shot, Aemond looks mentally defeated. His cheeks are wet, but he is not actively sobbing. He’s despondent and catatonic—empty. He also looks the most vulnerable we have ever seen him. His eye patch is off (something that we know from the book he rarely exposed on accounts of insecurity and ‘scaring the ladies’), he is naked and lying in a foetal position while someone (the brothel madam?) is holding onto his arm.

As we’ve explored how traumatic his first experience with her must have been, and how he was unwilling to even look her in the eye, much less seek her out for intimacy. This could be a form of utter self-punishment, a willing reenactment of the second most traumatic experience in his life. After B&C, he’d feel troubling amounts of guilt, so this is his way of putting himself through as much mental and bodily harm as possible. If this was about pleasure or comfort, it is doubtful he would go back to the woman who never gave him that feeling. Neither does his body language here show anything other than anguish. He’s partly disassociating.

There is also a theory floating about that rather than having 6 year old Jaeheara threatened with rape as in the book, this will be given to Helaena in the show (understandably so, as little Olive was only six at the time of filming).We could see the taunts being passed onto Helaena as her mother is tied up and can do nothing to help her, and it works just as well as it serves as humiliation to Aegon, as she’s his wife. In the shot below, Cheese has Helaena by the hair, very close to his body, and he’s delighting in her torment. This would hurt Aemond deeply, as he’s shown to be fond of Helaena and takes it upon himself to defend her whenever necessary. So, he’s essentially putting himself (guilty) to what his sister (innocent) was subjected to in his grief.

Theory 2: Emotional Incest

Emotional incest is a family dynamic that oversteps healthy boundaries between children and parents. It's a type of abuse in which a parent looks to their child for the emotional support that would be normally provided by another adult. The effects of covert incest on children when they become adults are thought to mimic actual incest, although to a lesser degree. It’s normally found in adults, but if you have people pleasing children (or parentification), they sometimes want to take on the role of the partner, rather than the child.

There are a few instances in this season, hinted at in the trailers and supported by the book, in which Alicent and Aemond won’t see eye to eye - she will not be happy with how he killed Luke and essentially ended all chances of peace. She also seems to advocate for caution and diplomacy alongside Otto whereas Aegon and Aemond will be out for revenge and full war. If we go by the book and Aemond also is the one to injure Aegon at Rook’s Rest, she will probably give Aemond the cold-shoulder after he’s willingly or unwillingly endangered his own brother. She’s shown to want to take the slow and diplomatic approach in this war, to avoid bloodshed as enough has been spilled, whereas her sons are eager for battle and war to get vengeance for the tragedy that has befallen them. She no doubt will give him an “I told you so” lecture, and Aemond will perhaps seek comfort, as he’s grown a twisted sense of his abuser after revisiting her in the brothel.

This adds to the theory that young Aemond chose the brothel madam specifically out of a need for comfort. In a situation like the one he was subjected to he chose a whore who at least looked like the person he feels safest around, his own mother who is a source of comfort for him and who he loves deeply. If that is the case, this paired with with the mental consequences of this encounter, it could develop into him being attracted to and seeking out women who remind him of her. This could also impact his later relationship with Alys Rivers.

We really dislike this, as much as it could make sense. Aemond is one of the few men in Alicent’s life who loves her without desiring or exploiting her, their relationship in season 1 was very soft and if the above is the case it adds a bit of a sinister and sexual note to a parent-child dynamic which so far has been relatively unproblematic.

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Love Is A Battlefield | How You & Your Future Spouse Handle Conflicts In Your Relationship

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 4 of Swords, Ace of Wands, 7 of Pentacles, 7 of Wands, Knight of Pentacles

Certainly! I'll interpret this 5-card layout for "my Pile 1's," focusing on "How You & Your Future Spouse Handle Conflicts In Your Relationship." Let's dive into each card and their archetypal meanings, connecting them to your situation.

The first card, the 4 of Swords, indicates a time of contemplation and rest. In terms of your relationship, this card may represent that you and your future spouse value taking a step back during conflicts. Instead of letting emotions control the situation, you both seek a quiet moment to reflect and think things through. This can be a strong foundation for resolving conflicts, as it encourages thoughtful consideration rather than impulsive reactions.

The Ace of Wands brings an energetic spark into the reading. It symbolizes creativity, enthusiasm, and a fresh start. It suggests that both you and your partner approach conflicts with an innovative mindset, looking for new solutions rather than falling into old patterns. Coupled with the contemplative nature of the 4 of Swords, this means you both are not afraid to explore unique ways to resolve your differences, which keeps the relationship lively and growing.

The 7 of Pentacles talks about patience and evaluation. This card in your reading can symbolize the need to assess the situation carefully, understanding that some conflicts take time to resolve fully. It's not always about quick fixes but building a solid relationship through hard work and perseverance. You both are willing to invest in the relationship, understanding that growth takes time.

Next, the 7 of Wands represents the courage to stand your ground. There might be moments when conflicts become intense, and this card suggests that neither of you shy away from defending your perspectives. This isn't necessarily a negative thing, as long as it's done with respect. Balancing this card with the patient approach of the 7 of Pentacles and the reflective pause of the 4 of Swords can create a harmonious way to express yourselves without causing harm.

The Knight of Pentacles anchors this reading with its symbolization of reliability, dedication, and steady progress. This card might represent an archetypal figure in your life that embodies these qualities. It indicates that the relationship's foundation is built on trust and a shared commitment to work through conflicts methodically and sincerely.

My Pile 1's, your reading reflects a relationship that handles conflicts with mindfulness, creativity, patience, courage, and steadfast dedication. These cards weave a picture of two individuals willing to explore, understand, and invest in each other. It's a healthy blend of emotional intelligence and pragmatic approach. Your willingness to stand up for what you believe in while also giving the needed space for reflection and growth is a testament to a mature and nurturing relationship. Keep fostering these qualities, and your connection will thrive.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: Queen of Cups, 10 of Cups, 6 of Swords, 3 of Swords, Knight of Pentacles

Alright, my Pile 2s! Let's take a closer look at the energy between you and your future spouse as depicted by these cards, and see how you both might navigate conflicts within your relationship.

Kicking things off, we have the Queen of Cups - a nurturing, intuitive, and deeply emotional figure. She signifies empathy and understanding. In the realm of conflicts, this suggests that at least one of you (or perhaps both) has a naturally intuitive grasp of the other's feelings. This Queen symbolizes an individual in your life who exemplifies emotional maturity. When disagreements arise, this energy calls for a compassionate and understanding approach, emphasizing listening and feeling deeply before reacting.

Ah, the 10 of Cups, a card of emotional fulfillment, unity, and family bliss. This card entering the reading is incredibly positive and indicates that despite conflicts, there's an overarching sense of harmony and love in your relationship. You and your future spouse have a shared goal of creating a loving, happy environment, and this mutual aspiration will play a significant role in resolving any discord.

The 6 of Swords speaks of transition, moving from turbulent waters to calmer shores. When conflicts do arise, both of you are inclined to seek resolutions that allow you both to move forward. Instead of dwelling on issues, there's a focus on growth and progression. This card might also hint that sometimes, it's necessary to leave certain issues behind in order to focus on the bigger picture of the relationship.

Now, the 3 of Swords is a card that doesn’t sugarcoat – it's about heartbreak, sadness, and sometimes miscommunication. In the context of this reading, it reminds us that no relationship is without its pain points. There will be times of misunderstandings or hurt, but it's important to remember the love and unity depicted in the 10 of Cups. The presence of this card might indicate a need for improved communication or healing from past wounds.

Lastly, the Knight of Pentacles rides in with a diligent, methodical energy. He’s a knight that doesn't rush; instead, he evaluates and plans his course of action carefully. This card suggests that when conflicts arise, a practical and steady approach is taken. One of you might be the kind to methodically work through issues, ensuring that every aspect is considered and addressed. This knight can be an anchor in stormy times, bringing stability and reliability.

My Pile 2s, your journey with your future spouse is filled with deep emotional understanding, a shared vision of happiness, the wisdom to move beyond strife, the acknowledgment of occasional heartaches, and a grounded, practical approach to handling conflict. Remember the love and unity that bonds you and approach challenges with both heart and mind. Your relationship, with its blend of intuition and pragmatism, is well-equipped to weather any storm.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 2 of Wands, 4 of Wands, The Star, The Sun, Knight of Wands

Alright, my Pile 3s! Dive in with me as we explore the dynamics between you and your future spouse, especially when it comes to navigating the tricky waters of conflict.

Beginning our journey, we have the 2 of Wands. This card is all about looking ahead, planning, and decisions. It indicates that when conflicts arise, there's an emphasis on future-focused thinking. Instead of getting bogged down by the present issue, you both likely weigh how decisions made now will impact your shared future. This means there's a balance of passion and pragmatism. Someone in your life, an archetype perhaps, has taught you the importance of vision and forward-thinking, and this lesson plays a pivotal role in how you address disputes.

Moving on, we come across the 4 of Wands, a card of celebration, harmony, and home. It seems that regardless of disagreements, the foundation of your relationship is solid and joyful. The home you create (both literally and metaphorically) is one of peace, and this sanctuary becomes a haven where issues can be addressed calmly. No matter how heated things get, there's always a return to this sense of unity and shared joy.

With the appearance of The Star, there's a beautiful aura of hope and healing in this relationship. The Star is a beacon, illuminating the darkest nights and guiding the way. Even in the midst of conflicts, there's an innate belief in better days and the possibility of resolutions. This card suggests that both of you lean on faith and optimism to guide you through difficulties. There's a sense that the universe or a higher power watches over your relationship, blessing it with healing energy.

Radiating positivity, The Sun shines brightly in this spread, emphasizing clarity, success, and joy. The energy of The Sun combined with The Star in this reading suggests that your relationship is not only blessed with hope but also with moments of clear understanding and illumination. Misunderstandings are often short-lived, as there's a strong presence of clarity and openness between you two. There’s also a youthful exuberance; you both might have a knack for finding fun and laughter even amidst disagreements.

Wrapping up our exploration, we meet the Knight of Wands, a fiery, passionate, and sometimes impulsive figure. This Knight is quick to act and full of enthusiasm. When conflicts arise, there might be a tendency for one or both of you to react quickly, driven by passion. However, channeled positively, this energy can be used to rapidly address and move past issues. The Knight’s presence might also hint at an archetypal figure who is fearless and eager, teaching you about the importance of zeal and courage.

My Pile 3s, your relationship with your future spouse shines with optimism, clear vision, joy, and fiery passion. While disagreements are a natural part of any partnership, your approach is both forward-thinking and anchored in a strong foundation of hope and happiness. Embrace the lessons from the archetypes in your life, maintain that balance of enthusiasm and vision, and continue to bask in the radiant love that the two of you share. Remember, with The Star and The Sun by your side, even the darkest nights will lead to brighter days.

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[quizzievivicalavellan]

Rescue

In which a brush with danger leads to Aster being gravely injured and true feelings coming to light. Takes place after Gale's attempt at flirting in Act II. Pretending that there aren’t multiple super-easy ways to revive dead party members because it really kills the tension lol.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53341882/chapters/146060362

***********************************************

Internally, Gale was kicking himself. The effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for other forms of stimulation? Seriously? What had he been thinking?

Well, he knew what he had been thinking.

Ever since Elminster’s visit to their campsite, Gale’s mind was seemingly capable of focusing on only two subjects. One, the great and terrible burden Mystra had so dispassionately thrust upon him. The other, her. While his feelings toward her had been strong before, in the wake of his impending mortality, they had become all-consuming. Her every action, every part of her, endeared her to him further. The practiced flick of her wrist as she called down lightning. The dimple in her left cheek when she smiled. The way she quietly whistled birdsongs during their long walks. As he had said earlier whilst thoroughly embarrassing himself, he found her quite irresistible.

Unfortunately, now more than ever, he doubted that she shared similar feelings. All the way back at the Grove, when he had offered to teach her a bit of magic, he had seen her imagine kissing him through their connection in the Weave, and it had sparked some hope that she might be interested in him. In their travels since, their conversations had been easy and sometimes casually flirtatious, but if she did have deeper feelings, she had not acted on them. And now, ever since they had entered the Shadow-Cursed Lands, she had grown increasingly distant. He saw that lovely smile of hers less and less. In this dismal place, so close to the looming threat of Moonrise Towers, her burdens must have felt heavier than ever, and it pained him that he could no longer lighten them with a joke or a reassuring word. One of the few things he had been able to offer her, and now even that was not enough.

And that dreadfully worded confession certainly had not helped. She had smiled, likely out of pity or embarrassment, but it had not reached her eyes. As kind as she was, she likely just didn’t have the heart to let him down gently.

Gale looked ahead and realized he had fallen behind while wallowing in self-pity. Halsin’s torch at the front of the group had shrunk to a small glowing dot in the endless shadow. Halsin and Aster were at the head of the party, looking for signs of where they might find the other half of Thaniel. Gale was supposed to be in the middle with Shadowheart and Lae’zel, but they had moved well ahead of him by now. Karlach and Wyll had stayed behind to strategize with Jaheira as Karlach got used to the adjustment Dammon had made for her mechanical heart. Which, at the rear of the party, left…

“So, Gale, how is your sad, hopeless pining going?” Astarion asked as he appeared from the shadows.

Ah, speak of the devil. Or the vampire, in this case. Gale started in spite of himself at the rogue’s sudden appearance.

“Not very well, I take it, given that abysmal display. You know, I could give you some pointers; I am very good at that sort of thing,” Astarion bragged with a self-satisfied smile.

Gale groaned. “So you heard that, I take it.”

Astarion laughed. “Every word, unfortunately for you.”

“Just wonderful,” Gale replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. As if it weren’t enough to embarrass himself in front of her, it seemed everyone had witnessed his humiliatingly poor attempt at flirtation. Begrudgingly, Gale admitted to himself that he was envious of the way Astarion was so effortlessly smooth and confident, but he was wary of any offer of help from the duplicitous rogue.

“And why exactly would you help me?” Gale asked, raising a dubious eyebrow.

“At first, it was amusing to watch you two make longing puppy-dog eyes at each other, but at this point it’s just sad,” Astarion replied, absently twirling a knife in his hand. “Without someone to intervene, I fear your mutually oblivious pining would go on forever.”

“Mutual…?”

“Oh, Gale. I know from… experience when an individual is attracted to someone, and it is quite obvious that she likes you. Now, as to why, I have absolutely no idea –”

Just as Gale was rolling his eyes in response, Astarion was interrupted by a shout from ahead. The two of them broke into a run. Gale called upon the Weave, preparing for a fight, but his human eyes had trouble picking out their attackers in the dark.

When they caught up to the others, the fight was already in full swing. A horde of shadows and their cursed Harper victims had ambushed them. Lae’zel was cutting through enemies with ease, Shadowheart struck down shadows with her radiant cleric magic, and Halsin in bear form clawed viciously at the attackers, but more and more kept spilling out of the darkness.

Aster had been calling on her druid magic over nature, but these cursed lands weakened her power, and she was quickly surrounded. Just as he lost sight of her, an owlbear erupted from amidst the circle of shadows and Harpers. He had never seen her take the shape of an owlbear before, and the sight of the massive creature rending attackers with beak and claws was striking to behold.

Just as she had started turning the tide of the battle, however, the shadows redoubled their attack against her, and it proved too much. She began losing hold of her form, a new wild shape not yet mastered, now writhing in agony as a gruesome, twisted amalgamation of owlbear and gnome.

“Aster!” Gale cried out in a pained voice and rushed toward her, incinerating every enemy in his path. By the time he reached her she had lost hold of the shape entirely and was lying unconscious on the ground, covered in blood and bruises.

The others were rushing over to help, but Gale warned them to stay back with an outstretched hand. He drew upon the Weave, summoning immense power and channeling it out into a massive fiery explosion. The shadows and Harpers disintegrated, and the swath of cursed forest in front of them had been reduced to ash.

With the threat eliminated, he knelt down beside her, getting a closer look at her injuries. It did not look good. She was badly hurt, with multiple gashes bleeding heavily, and her breathing was shallow. Please be alright, he thought, I’m sorry I did not get her faster, I should have- I- I’m sorry…

“Shadowheart, can you…?” Gale managed to say around the lump in his throat.

Shadowheart nodded, and her hands began to glow with her divine cleric abilities. She passed her hands over Aster’s body. The bleeding slowed and her breath steadied, but she did not awaken.  

“I have healed the worst of her injuries, but she needs rest. We should get back to Last Light Inn as quickly as possible,” Shadowheart said when her work was finished.

Halsin had started to reach out his thick, strong arms to lift her up, but Gale beat him to it. Gently, he slid one arm under her knees and the other beneath her back and raised her off the ground. Even being a gnome, she was lighter than he expected, taking little effort even for his far thinner arms to lift her. She looked so small and fragile there collapsed in his arms. Guilt washed over him again for falling behind, for not protecting her from those creatures. He promised himself then that if she made it through this, please, please make it through this, he would keep her safe. He would protect her, whatever the cost. 

“Follow me, I know the fastest path back to the inn,” Halsin said, once again lifting his torch high into the air. Before starting off, he placed one of his large hands on Gale’s shoulder and gave him an empathetic smile.

“Shadowheart is a skilled healer,” he said in a soft, reassuring tone, “She will be fine.”

Gale could only pray that he was right.

*********

Everything hurt. Aster’s eyelids felt as heavy as bricks as she struggled to open them, and the bright candlelight that peeked through felt like it was stabbing into her skull. She tried to sit up but groaned at the sharp pain the movement sent through her ribs.

She felt the gentle press of a hand against her shoulder, encouraging her to stay still. She managed to open her eyes the rest of the way and turned her head toward the hand. Gale was there sitting next to her.

“Aster, thank goodness you’re awake,” he said, the relief in his voice almost palpable, but with a twinge of worry still present. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve –” Aster winced, trying to sit up again, “been better.”

She felt the soft push on her shoulder again. “Rest there, don’t try to move. I brought some things for you – potions to help with the pain, a blanket if you’re cold, or a cool cloth if you’re feverish, an extra pillow –” he rambled.

“The potion would be nice,” Aster interrupted.

“Of course. Here.” She felt the rim of a glass vial against her lips and swallowed the sweet, viscous potion.

“Mmm,” Aster moaned pleasantly, the effects of the potion already taking hold. A soothing warmth spread through her, taking the edge off the pain and clearing her thoughts. “Thank you. That feels much better.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Gale asked.

Aster noted the sticky feeling the potion had left in her mouth. “Some water would be nice, if you have some.”

“Water, of course! Why did I not think to – I’ll go fetch some. Rest there, I will return shortly,” he said, already halfway out the door before he finished speaking.

“You don’t –” have to, Aster had started to say, but he was already gone. A few moments later, two others entered the room.

 “Hey soldier!” Karlach greeted, “Good to see you awake.”

“How are you feeling?” Wyll asked as the two of them sat down beside the bed. “When the others brought you to the inn, you were in bad shape. I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

Aster waved away the unnecessary apology. “I feel better than when I first woke.” She sat up to both test and prove her point. It still sent a stab of pain through her side, but it was much more tolerable now. “What happened? How long was I asleep? I remember an ambush… and then I woke up here.”

“Yes, you were ambushed by shadows,” Wyll answered, “Halsin said you changed into an owlbear, but could not hold the shape, and those hideous creatures got the better of you. Gale incinerated them and the party rushed you back to the inn. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”

“Poor Gale,” Karlach added, “He’s been absolutely beside himself. He’s only left this room to go get things for when you woke up. You know he carried you the whole way back here? It’s sweet, how he cares about you.”

Aster smiled shyly and felt warmth in her cheeks, touched to learn of Gale’s rescue and by his attentiveness in looking after her.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Perhaps this is not the time or the place, but I have to ask, I get the feeling that you care for him too. Am I correct?”

Aster nodded and looked away, embarrassed that her feelings were so obvious.

“Have you told him that?” Wyll pried further.

“Not exactly…”

“Why not?” Karlach asked. “Gale may be a genius about some things, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t recognize flirting if it smacked him in the face. I wouldn’t wait for him to make the first move.”

“It’s… complicated,” Aster replied, loathe to explain her reservations, fears, and insecurities. However, looking at how eager Karlach and Wyll looked for her to continue, she supposed she would not get away with that answer. Perhaps it would do her some good to talk about all the worries that had been plaguing her.

“Well, for starters, there’s his tumultuous relationship and fallout with Mystra. It has not been long since things turned sour, and it devastated him. I worry that he is just looking for someone to… fill the void she left. And how am I meant to compare to a goddess?”

“That fucker that asked him to kill himself for her? I’d say you’ve got her beat by a mile,” Karlach replied indignantly.

Wyll gave Karlach a look before sharing his own advice. “Love is not something to be compared; each is its own unique and beautiful thing. And it is clear to me that he loves you, truly, not as a replacement, but as yourself.”

Aster smiled at her friends’ reassurances, but a deeper fear still weighed on her. “Mystra’s task for him worries me as well. I’m afraid I will not be able to convince him not to go through with it. And I’m afraid that if we – if we become something more to one another…” Her throat felt tight, making it harder to speak, and tears stung her eyes. “then it will… it will hurt even worse to lose him.”

“Oh, Aster, come here,” Karlach said with open arms, and Aster accepted the offered hug gratefully. “I know losing someone hurts. But take some advice from someone who’s living on borrowed time herself. Do you know the thing I want most for the time I have left?”

Aster shook her head.

“To not have any regrets. The best we can do is live fully, to embrace whatever opportunities life gives us.”

Wyll nodded. “As the saying goes, ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.’ Regret eats at the soul like nothing else does.”

And they were right. If she opened up to him, let herself love and be loved in return, then she would always have the memories of the time they had together, even if the worst happened. Otherwise, she would still be left to suffer the pain and loss, along with the grief for what could have been.

Aster wiped the tears from her eyes. “Thank you. You are the best friends anyone could ask for.” She hugged them both again.

“Aww, so are you!” Karlach replied, hugging her a little too tight in return.

“Always happy to be there for a friend,” Wyll said as he returned her embrace.

At that moment, Gale arrived at the door, jug of water in hand. “Sorry I took so long,” Gale said as he handed the jug over to Aster, who took a long, refreshing swig.

“Well, glad to see you’re feeling better. Karlach and I will go tell the others you’re awake,” Wyll said, getting up from one of the chairs beside the bed.

“Yeah, we’ll go do that,” Karlach added, following Wyll out the door. “No need to hurry though, just take our time…” She winked at Aster as she left.

Gale sat back down next to the bed. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, thank you. Those potions work wonders.”

“Good, good. Glad to hear it.”

They sat there in awkward silence for a moment before Aster worked up the nerve to tell him how she really felt and apologize for how distant she had been lately, spurred on by her conversation with Wyll and Karlach.

 “There’s… something I want to tell you,” Aster said, taking one of Gale’s hands in her own.

“I want to tell you something too, I…” the pause was so long that Aster spoke again, only then they were both talking at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” they both blurted out in unison.

“For what?” they asked, once again at the same time.

Aster chuckled, which caused the pain in her side to flare up again, and the chuckle turned into a wince.

“I’m sorry,” Gale said again, clearly referring to the laughter-induced pain this time.

“You said that already,” Aster replied with a more careful chuckle. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was distracted earlier, when we were looking for Thaniel. I fell behind the group, wasn’t paying attention… I should have been in position; maybe then you would not have been hurt like this. I’m sorry, I should have done more to keep you safe.” Gale said, clasping both hands around hers.

“There is nothing to apologize for. Things happen, especially in such perilous situations as we find ourselves in. I hear you were the one who saved me, after all,” Aster said with a coy smile. 

“Still, I am sorry – and relieved that you’re alright. Now, whatever reason do you have to apologize? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I have, though.” Aster took a deep breath, preparing herself to finally open up. “I know I have been… distant and ill-tempered as of late. I’ve been upset and angry about so many things, but that is no excuse to treat you that way, especially when you’ve been having such a difficult time of your own. I’m deeply sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize; it can’t be easy to bear the burdens that have been placed on you: defeating Ketheric, lifting the shadow curse, stopping the Absolute. But know that you can always unburden yourself with me, if you need someone to talk to.”

“You’re too kind,” Aster replied, “Yes, those do weigh on me, and it is difficult to witness the destruction the shadow curse has wrought on nature here. But there is another thing that worries me even more. Mystra… It angers me that she thinks she has any right to ask that of you, and that she could make you feel like she’s right.” Aster felt her ire toward the goddess roiling inside like fire, and her arms shook in anger. “You’re smart, and brave, and talented, and kind, and you deserve so much better than being her sacrifice.”

Gale looked surprised at her response. “I… wasn’t aware it bothered you so much.”

“Of course it does! I care about you, and I – I don’t…” Aster felt the tears pricking at her eyes again. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, brushing a hand across his cheek. She wanted to peer into his thoughts, see if he was still genuinely considering going through with it, convince him how much she needed him, but she knew that was an invasion of his privacy. She could only show him how much she cared about him and hope that that would be enough.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Gale whispered back, leaning closer to her. “I was so worried about you.”

“Then let’s look after each other, and find another way to defeat the Absolute. We can make it through this together, alright?”

“Alright.”

A nervous, anticipatory silence stretched between them, and Aster realized their lips were mere inches apart.

Gale cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s getting late. I suppose I should let you rest, yes?”

Gale started to stand up, but Aster tugged him back down by his sleeve.

“Wait, I… I haven’t thanked you properly yet for rescuing me.”

“You don’t need to –” Gale started to reply, but Aster cut him off with a kiss. He was clearly surprised at first, but quickly he was kissing her back, their mouths dancing passionately with long-building desire and anticipation of this very moment.

His lips were soft, and he tasted like a fine red wine, rich with a touch of sweetness. There was an arousing electricity to the kiss, as if sparks were literally flying between them, and considering Gale’s magic, that was probably true. It was everything she had imagined and more.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Aster was delighted to see the big, goofy grin on his face, the flush in his cheeks, and his hair tousled out of place by her fingers. He looked happier than he had in a while, and for her part Aster was so elated she felt like she could fly.

“Well,” Gale said in a low, seductive whisper as he leaned in to kiss her again, “remind me to rescue you more often.”

[blackjackkent]

Ask meme prompt fill for @theajaheira from this ask meme: Even More Popular Text Posts Ask Meme Hector/Karlach - "concept: it’s 3 am. candle lit room. a record is spinning. you’re kissing me. we have no worries in the world. we’re warm and content." I had a couple different ideas for this, but this one stemmed from the realization that the prompt, completely by coincidence, already had exactly 25 words. XD (Also before anyone says it, yes, I know Sending can't actually be cast as a ritual spell but, crucially, I don't care. XD )

-----

Learning the spell Sending, Hector has come to realize, is something of a mixed blessing.

There are a lot of bright sides, of course. It’s been the culmination of extended, careful work on his part to maintain a connection to Selune in spite of his self-imposed exile in Avernus; the first day that he was able to communicate a message to Karlach when she wasn't in the room felt like moonlight breaking through ever-thickening clouds. And there’s no question that it makes all of them - him, Karlach, and Wyll - much safer, as it gives them another line of communication during the frenetic battles with the devils and demons they fight every day.

The downside, primarily, is that Hector is the only one who can trigger a message without assistance; Wyll and Karlach can only respond. The other downside is more subtle and far more selfish. With Sending in their back pocket, splitting up becomes a more viable strategy, and he and Karlach both feel it keenly when they aren’t able to keep a direct eye on each other.

But that, unfortunately, is how he comes to be here, curled up in a cave all by himself near the outer wall of the fortress of one of Zariel's top lieutenants. Strategically, the idea is sound - position themselves at three separate vantages, get as much rest as they can, and then strike simultaneously from different angles in the very early morning. Intellectually, Hector knows it's the best chance of success. 

However, that doesn't change the fact that this is the loneliest he's felt in a long time. Once, in his old life, such isolation came naturally to him, but no more. It's desperately hard to sleep alone in this bleak little hole, knowing that Karlach is similarly alone out in that dangerous wasteland and far out of his direct reach. 

He rolls onto his back for the twentieth time and states at the rocky ceiling with a sigh. Then, feeling somewhat pathetic, he drifts his eyes half-closed and focuses inward, prodding cautiously at the filaments of the Weave with the magic Selune has granted him. 

Are you still awake, love? he sends cautiously. 

She responds almost instantly, which tells him she too is feeling the strain of the night's isolation. Her magically transmitted voice resonates inside his head, vibrates at the base of his skull and through his teeth, and she answers in clipped sentences due to the spell's word limit, as he taught her. 

Yeah. Brain's buzzing. Can't turn it off. Need to sleep. This fucking sucks. I miss you. Taters. A brief pause, and then - rapidly before the spell can die out, filling the last few words: I love you so much. Keep sending. Please?

He smiles, relaxing a little and fully closing his eyes. If he holds very still, he can almost imagine she's there whispering in his ear, that he'd only have to turn his head to see her lying next to him. 

Taters, he sends. I miss you too. Only a few more hours. Then we fight, and then we can go home. And then I'm all yours. 

He half-expects her to take this as an invitation to tease him with images of what she plans to do to him when they're reunited. But she takes a gentler tack instead. Home. Yeah. Funny that Raphael's old shithole is “home” now. The safe place. A slight pause. You think we'll ever have a real home, Hec? Together? 

The gentle, weary pathos in her mental tone makes his heart turn over in his chest. I know we will, he sends fiercely. Those blueprints are the key, I'm sure of it. And we're finding Zariel's weak points. Pretty soon we'll-- He breaks off, counting rapidly on his fingers. Shit. Next message. 

Standing by, Karlach responds with a flicker of humor while the spell resets.

Pretty soon we'll finish her for good. I swear it, he completes earnestly. And with those blueprints, we'll fix your heart. And then we'll go. Away from here. Anywhere you want. 

Anywhere? she answers. Again that dash of amusement. That's a big promise, Hec. Gonna take me to Mount Celestia if I ask? 

A pause. He summons the spell again - and it takes a little more effort this time around the sudden surge of emotion clogging his thoughts. Anywhere, he repeats earnestly. But it should be the Gate, really. Your city. Near that park, maybe. A dash of green. No more brimstone stink. Clean air and--

The spell cuts him off mid-sentence, but Karlach picks it up in her answer, almost at once. --and the river. Yeah. My city. He can feel her emotion rising in answer to his, an odd thickness in the mental ‘voice’. You and me in my city. Little place near the river, maybe. Somewhere we can hear and see everything… 

A long pause. He's drifted into utter stillness now, all his attention focused inwards. It's a strangely meditative state, and it simultaneously comforts him and makes him wish for her touch with an ache that is physically painful. 

Picture it: it’s 3 AM, he sends, his mental voice low now, as he might murmur against her ear. Candle lit room. Music's playing somewhere. You’re kissing me. We have no worries in the world. We’re warm and content… 

There's a long pause before she responds. Well. We've got the ‘warm’ part already. It's a weak attempt at a joke; he can hear the weight of tears in her voice even though it's not spoken aloud. His own eyes feel damp under their closed lids. Promise me. Promise me we'll get there one day. Somewhere soft and safe. Somewhere far away from here.

I promise. He can picture exactly how he'd touch her if she were here - a gentle brush of his fingertips over her lips, along her cheek and back through her hair. Soothing. Reassuring. I promise. We'll get through this, and we'll be free one day. I love you. I love you, and I promise. I promise. 

I love you, she answers. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Taters. 

[rainybyday]

I can’t start writing about Hatake Hashirama until I write more about the Hatake clan so here is my interpretation of the Hatake which is a mixed bag of things. 

Hatakes are split into two categories in two packs: the main nomadic pack and small unit packs

The main pack moves with the seasons, grows crops whenever they make camp, and has animals as well (farmers so animals added)

Small unit packs are considered families as they are almost always Hatake clan adopted into a family or sort

Hatake crops are widely sought after, very respectable by farmers

Smaller packs to let the main pack now of additions to their pack

Alright, now newer stuff

Main pack Hatakes introduce themselves as “Hatake [inserte name] of the Hatake clan” while smaller packs introduce themselves as “Hatake [insert name] of the [pack or alpha/leader name]”

While as a main pack, a Hatake is well known to be a part of the clan, it means that anything they do will reflect on the main pack as a whole

However, smaller packs introduce themselves as a pack name or by their leader's name. Pack names will connect to the pack as a whole of what they do or what they represent (like Seasilk will mean they are mainly Uzu born with talents of weaving), but if you introduce a smaller pack by their leader name, then you are effectively throwing the leaders reputation in the person’s face because their name means something

It shows independence from the main pack and that their actions don’t reflect the main pack as a whole, hence, any problem or situation they cause will only affect them, effectively protecting the main pack of wilder Hatakes

Not that they aren’t all wild in a sense but smaller packs tend to be very protective in a sense of their smaller pack since they don’t have other members of their clan to help protect their pack

Hence why smaller packs are seen as more dangerous or wilder

But that is not to say the main Hatake clan won’t help the smaller packs, just that if they mess up they should be reasonable with the mess they cause

Like a mother with her child, she will let her child make mistakes, but if a real threat comes, she will defend her child  

(This is another reason the main Hatake clan worries about Team Seven)

Hatakes are known for their varies skill set

As mentioned before, they are farmers and smaller packs have certain skill sets for their pack but because all Hatakes are mainly wanders they pick up many skills from many countries

Metalwork, fishing, cooking, sewing, scouting, scavenging, jewelers, basket weavers, miners, sailer, star readers, shinobi, samurai, mercs, navigators, everything

They travel so much for so many generations that they all pick up multiple skill sets that will help them become useful in various environments and how to use their crafts to help their clan and pack

So its not surprising to see people hire Hatake’s for multiple jobs or errands 

However, civilians do have a fear of Hatake’s for many reasons 

For one, civilians can’t fandom the act of nomads being civilized in any way shape or form. They think Hatakes don't have manners, eat bloody meat and are animals in human skin

(Which is where I gained my skinwalker idea, but later)

They also hate that Hatake’s can take any form of land as their own without having to pay, that they can take the jobs many have worked for at any price, or that the clans have some forms of respect for them and refuse to accept any jobs that go against the Hatakes

They also grew up with the wolves, literally wolves. They see them as canines in human form, walking dogs that only bite and take anything they desire since no one can stand up to them. 

Not all civilians think this since a lot of farmers and even tiny villages do respect them, but their word against the words of middle class and high class civilains don’t do shit

Hatakes are loyal to their family and put great emphasis on family 

They do this for two reasons: one, they take pride in helping each other as a pack like wolves (their clan animals) do for each other as family, and still hold a strong front and two, they adopt into their clan

While yes they do have the wolf mentality of the pack is family, that is mainly blood relatives and newborns brought into the clan. So when adopted children, adults or even spouses came into the picture they weren’t seen the same since they weren’t raised as Hatake’s

This also used to cause conflict in the past for the clan with mainly family fights that turned into blood baths since some Hatakes saw some “outsiders” as pack and others didn’t and hence don’t treat them as family

So the previous Leader of the Hatake clan had to set the mindset that anyone could be part of the pack if they showed loyalty to a Hatake of their clan. If an outsider can be loyal to a Hatake they would be called family 

This would be showcased by trials the previous leaders will put adopted Hatake’s into the clan, each trial different to fit their form of loyalty for the Hatake they claim as family 

Now in the warring state era, they can still do trials but they can also have Hatake members and even the leader watch and judge the actions of the Hatake and adopted Hatake member to see if they share the same form of familiar bond 

The final judgment will always be the Leader of the clan and their wolf, no exceptions 

So sometimes some Hatakes may claim a person as their family but they can’t claim they are Hatake 

So thats their adoption process 

Now clan adoptions into the Hatake clan

Honestly, that's a clan thing, not to say that the Hatakes don’t have a say but depending on the clan that another member of their clan wants to claim, it will be severally difficult 

Like Uchiha or Hyuun? No sir they have to stay in their compound and not travel freely 

Nara’s? Ask for visitation rights and check in’s to make sure their clan member is ok and alive

Inuzuka and Aburame? They don’t mind since they are part of the wild things to

It honestly depends on the clan they try to adopt from

Holidays!

Celebrations that represent harvest, moon, and stars

I think they would have their own version of thanksgiving but for every harvest they have, so a minimum at least two Harvest feasts for them to celebrate 

At first, I wanted the Hatakes to celebrate the actual moon, hence, Kaguya but I thought of making it so that you celebrate the new founding of a Clan Head and/or the current Clan Head themselves

So to understand this, Hatake’s are hand picked by the Clan Head of the Hatakes who will put them through trails. A Clan Head can test as many to as few candidate they see as fit for the position of Clan Head before having the five eldest wolf summons to judge them

Heres is why, the Hatake Head will test who they deem fit to hold their position as a leader in strength, politics, diplomacy, and smarts. Their goal is to test if they are worthy of being a leader they see worthy for the Head position. Once they choice a candidate, they set them up in front of the five eldest wolf summons and their summoners.

The five eldest wolf summons are also a rule due to how many of those summons were there since the founding of the Hatakes and saw the rise and decline and the survival of the clan. They would judge not in diplomacy or human strengths but for Hatake qualities, they saw of their own summoners and previous Hatake Heads

Usually, Heads are from the main branch but that is said loosely. Since Hatakes are notorious to adopt into the clan, no matter the age or previous positions, most Clan Heads would adopt their successors into their family, hence, the main branch family

But anyways, the celebration of the Moon and Stars are how the Hatakes interpret their Clan Head and their wolf summon, as the Moon and Star of their Clan. Its a celebration of not only their Clan Head but of the previous Heads for taking care of their clan for so long

Like a family party of appreciation for the one who protected them all this time. Its seen as a sweet gesture, a sign as to say, let your self rest and let us take care of you

[year2000electronics]

do you have any tips or suggestions for someone wanting to make their own oc story? your ocs and their stories are so insanely cool but i have no idea where i’d even begin to make one!

also happy y2kvr-versary ! late i know but it was still the ask blog that caused me to follow you and i’ve just stuck around for your other content after. :)

HMMMM lemme just spill a bunch of my thoughts all at once, this is just some stuff i personally like doing with my own oc stories! by no means is this a comprehensive list and i am not a professional!

1. accept the fact that you’re probably going to need minor/side characters. of course that isn’t always the case, there are story types that only focus on a handful of characters, but let’s use the reckoning as an example: even though i love all the characters there dearly, it’s about sinclair and his donning and subsequent subverting of the “mythological hero” mantle by taking on the vices’ challenge. montez and duncan, the other two archangels, are there to serve as a secondary antagonist in holy orders and bring some more life to the story’s world respectively, and That’s Okay. recognizing that not all your characters are gonna be the most specialest boys is a great place to start with structuring an oc story imo!

2. KEEP AT IT. the reckoning as it exists now didn’t truly come together until 2020, which is when the ask blog was made. cardine (the city the vices reside in) is such a key, important concept that drives the story along and the reckoning wouldn’t be nearly as good without it, and that only got introduced in one of the final drafts pre-ask blog!! reworks, practice with laying out the events, thinking and re-thinking of stuff and spending years with it is really good. it’s healthy. i mean a lot of great films and tv get ‘saved’ at the last minute from being terrible by one terrible concept being scrapped so revising and not being afraid to change things is your best friend

3. learn some rules. i’m of the firm belief that storytelling should be an all-access hobby for everyone, so you don’t have to read all of save the cat and then write out a full script or anything, but like. turn on a movie you like, or read a book you love. think about what they’re doing to convey primary themes to you. pick out the themes, actually, that’s good too. being able to pick up on themes that aren’t just being stated to you as if it’s dialogue from sonic heroes is a great teacher on how to subtly weave those themes into your story

4. don’t be afraid to break those rules! a lot of that stuff is great to pick up but at the same time they’re YOUR characters, and if you find yourself getting bored by playing too “by the book”, nobody said you can’t change how things work. for example, a lot of my oc stories have “villain protagonists” because i just really connect with the way ‘villains’ present themselves in media. if you find yourself fixating on a side character and brushing your main character aside? screw it! you can just make the story about them! what if a 7/11 clerk went on an adventure instead of the main guy!!

5. INSPIRATION IS YOUR FRIEND. WEAR IT ON YOUR SLEEVE. i don’t mean you have to publicly disclose every single thing you were inspired by, but the amazing digital circus is REALLY big right now, and gooseworx has told people IHNMAIMS and the raggedy ann movie were big inspos and she clearly loves those things because they uplift the work higher! (plus it gave people a new appreciation for those things) and, imo, understanding what inspires you and celebrating it is a lot better of a mindset than going into something out of sheer spite (like you’ll see a lot of people online making very inflammatory “i alone could fix a piece of media that had to go through an entire writer’s room as well as corporate mandates, gosh why doesn’t everyone just Make Things Good?” type posts on social media, and i find myself straying more and more away from that). best example i can think of are all those very ill-fated “original alien stories” that su criticals made back in the day that were even more confusing than the gems and everyone had to pretend that “of course it makes more sense for the aliens to be flowers, gosh, why didn’t rebecca sugar think of this? we’re so smart”. my point is hate and shame can fizzle out quickly but creativity is forever

6. and of course, always make sure you’re actually having a good experience with the process. fun, catharsis, importance, etc. if it sucks, you can literally hit the bricks. i say that with experience because before my original superhero story existed (iris of the storm), there was another (problem students). it was dormant as a story for a really long time because i had accidentally made a superhero story without any of the superhero tropes i loved, but i couldn’t just… delete it all! OH WAIT. YES I COULD. i started it all over and got rid of ocs that i was glad i made but don’t need anymore, and i’ve never been happier cos iris of the storm is actually fun for me.

BUT YEAH THATS IT. thumbs up

[billdenbrough]

my uncle killed himself last night.

technically, he’s my mum’s cousin, but we’re pasifika, which means he’s my uncle. he’s one of her best friends in the whole world. she’s closer to him than she is to her actual brother.

when he told me the news, my dad gave a tiny biography. a refresher course, if you will. to some, this would indicate, i imagine, a great distance. a lack of familiarity. the thing you have to know, then, is my mother has one hundred and eight first cousins. multiple of them (who are also related to each other) have the same name.

but i’m sitting in a mall, looking at my google doc, thinking to myself, how am i going to connect a to b, and then i get a text, and i am staring at my phone for ten minutes. there is something weird and staticky and tight and panicky in my chest, but mostly everything is numb. i do not own a weighted blanket, but i imagine sometimes it might be like this. a grounding pressure coating everything. or maybe vaseline is closer to what i mean, keeping things in, keeping things out.

i call my dad. i take a list of errands. nothing to do with my uncle, or my mother, or grief, or death. they are the tasks my dad needs done, the things he was going to do today but now is not, because my mother’s heart is broken and he can’t leave her alone. so maybe they are to do with grief, kind of.

i drive through the city, and it sucks, because of course it does, but also it’s a saturday, and it’s a long weekend, and there are sales, and i am driving to the biggest mall in my area. and i get there, and i don’t really know where to go or what to do, so i try to nap in the back of my car. i lock all the doors, bunch up several of my jackets lying around, and set a timer for half an hour. after three minutes, it’s too hot, so i climb back up, figure out how to unlock the whole car, make my way to the front, turn it on, and put the back two windows down, just an inch or two. inches aren’t my favourite measurement—imprecise, unpractical, american—but it is what it is. i lay back down, and i try sleep, and i get maybe ten minutes of semi-aware rest before the noises outside stress me out too much, and then i spend the rest of the timer curled on my side, staring at my phone battery go down. my dad calls me back eventually, and gives me a direction. the first half of the great impersonator is my company for this, until my battery level stresses me out even more than the vaseline works, and i switch off bluetooth completely.

it starts raining at some point, and there is a wind tunnel, and my feet are sore because i’m not wearing my orthotics, which i am not wearing because they were making my feet ache. catch-22. i keep doing errands, and eventually, the lane i take when driving from one of the stores to a different mall leads me all the way to the house of someone i used to know, a boy who dated someone in my family for years and years and years. this is not great. i do not love this. i have spent the better part of a year adjusting to his absence, see, and reckoning with the big hurts people can deal people in ways that are small, in the greater scheme of things.

and i’m driving past his parents’ house, thinking about the last time i was there, and it’s probably less upsetting than it would be on a good day, but it is still a bad thing on a day that just managed to already be worse. and then i start thinking about my uncle, and my dad’s refresher bio, and how it did not include the fact that this man taught me how to weave, even though he did. he showed me how to weave hammocks and nets and helped me into a dinghy when i was ten and trying to bridge the gap of the ocean from the ladder to the boat and my mother loved him and relied on him and his smile is etched into my brain and now he is dead.

i finally get hungry. i woke up at 5am, my body causing me problems even after being up past midnight revisiting old stories and universes and ideas, and i’ve had one thing to eat around 9:30, and then everything has been too funny in my stomach to contend with the idea of eating. and then, suddenly, i am finally hungry, so much that it hurts. and i get food for my mother, who has not been eating all day, too full with grief, and i get food for myself, and some extra for my dad, and i drive through the rain and behind bad drivers and with songs i don’t know playing, until i get to the kitchen where my mother is, and i drop all my bags, and i hold her for a full minute while she shakes against me.

dad went for a walk, she says, and i give her the food, and i tell her i got the broth separate from the noodles so she can heat and eat it later if she isn’t ready now, and she says she will eat it.

and she is eating. and i am eating. and there she is. and here i am. and she says she wants to go back home. she wants to go this week, but she doesn’t know who can take care of the cat, because i will be in another city for three days and dad will be away for two. and she says how my uncle was such a big part of the reason she was so looking forward to going back home with all of us this christmas. they had so many big plans. and her voice shakes. and she says my aunt, her sister, is taking it badly, and i am not surprised, and then she says that my aunt is the one who found him, that it was in her house, and now i am surprised. now i am shaking too.

my dad comes home. she doesn’t bring up wanting to go back. maybe she is waiting. i wash my new sheets. the rugby game is starting in one room, and we all slowly migrate there, and we sit in separate chairs, and we watch, by which i mean we have devices in front of us that we sometimes look away from to observe the game. i’m still staring at that same google doc from this morning.

every so often, when i look up, i don’t watch the game. i watch my mother, and i watch how her face crumples, so many times that i cannot count. her whole mouth turns down, and her face shakes, and her eyes are so, so sad, and she is across the room from me, and all i can do is watch. she does not cry. she does not speak. but her face crumples, over and over.

my dad goes to shower. she goes to shower. i end up on a wikipedia deep dive of something even more horrible, even sadder, and close my laptop screen. i go to shower, because i almost had a breakdown over something that isn’t even a thing to have a reaction to on twitter, and i need to do something to douse the rising anxiety beneath my skin. so i go to shower, and i open tumblr, and i start typing. i don’t really know why i’m saying all this. i guess i’m still trying to douse the rising thing in my chest. the vaseline is wearing thin, and i don’t know if it’s all better out or in.

i guess it’s just a lot. and i don’t know where to put it down. and today is the first day. and we will do it all again tomorrow, and my mother will still be staring at the ceiling, and i will be watching her, and my dad will go for walks in the rain, and nobody will have anything big enough to say to make it better. i don’t know if anyone has told my sister.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Love Song for a Vampire Pt.33

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x Witch!OC

Warnings:none

Words:3864

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23   Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 34  Part 35   Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39

You're awaken in the early morning hours by sharp taps on your window.

Unable to ignore them anymore, you groan and roll onto your side. You had summer school in four hours. What could possibly be important enough to ruin your good sleep? You'd certainly have to give an earful to whoever it was that woke you.

Pulling up the shades of your window you see Quil and Embry outside.

Reluctantly you open your window. "What are you guys doing?"

"He's here."

"They're here."

They both seem to talk at the same time. There could be many connotations to who they could be referring to. A member of the Volturi was the first to pop in your head before you whisper out "Who?"

Embry holds onto you with his warm eyes. "Evita's friends."

Friends. As in plural.

You shut the window without another word so you could hastily get dressed and join them. Scrawling a note and leaving it on the kitchen table, you explain to your parents in case they wake up before you get back that you would still go to school regardless of what was going on.

The three of you weave through the trees deciding to go the back way. At this hour, it would be odd for someone to find three kids running through the streets. Your phone had died which explained why you hadn't known the news as soon as it happened. Quil and Embry though received a text from Sam that called for immediate action. Anyone whom the wolves aren't familiar with had to meet the pack. This served to familiarize the newcomer's scent for future reference and also to check them out and see if they are trustworthy enough to even pass through our land.

A familiar aroma of magic makes your brain feel tingling. They feel it too as you notice Quil actually stumbles a little bit from the heady sensation.

As you got closer, you bumped into both Leah and Seth on their way as well as Collin who was tiredly rubbing at his eyes. No one spoke. Too excited and in a hurry to reach what Seth had once called HQ. Which for your pack it basically was. All pack and most elder meetings took place there.

The two newcomers sat on either side of Evita inside of the living room. A boy and a girl. They both appeared weary from their travels but have a hand on Evita's lap. Dieufel, who you guess is the boy, is hastily wiping his eyes with his free hand; uncaring of who spotted his stray tears. "She was a warm spirit."

They must have been talking about Letizia. The wolves remain quiet until the guests are ready to introduce themselves. Dieufel was the darkest of the three witches sitting on the couch and already you could feel wisps of power wafting off of him. Just sitting there his presence was an enchanting enigma.

Dieufel had to be in his early twenties, exuding an aura of both mystery and vibrancy. His eyes the color of deep onyx holds a glimmer of ancient wisdom that you'd never seen on a face so young. Thick, dark lashes frame his dark eyes that add a touch of allure to his already striking features. Short, dreaded hair like tightly coiled springs are dyed a lighter shade of brown. His attire seems to blend seamlessly with his persona speaking of his connection to both the modern world and the ancient realms of magic. He has quite the elegant speech pattern that reminds you a little of how Edward spoke. He was proper when introducing himself. "Thank you for taking care of Evita during this time." He'd turned to Sam to say. "For your good will, we will join your cause although it sounds like quite the dangerous objective."

Skin as rich and warm as the finest mahogany, Dieufel inclines his head toward the other female on the opposite side of Evita. With this action you catch the sparkle of a gold earring hanging from one of his lobes. "This is my cousin Nadege."

Good looks must run in the family. Nadege smiles brightly at everyone and stands, almost towering over even Sam himself. Her cheekbones were high and fine, emphasizing her large olive green eyes. Her hair gave off a dark purple sheen, weaved into complicated braids that you admire as she moves to enthusiastically shake hands with the perplexed wolves. Nadege greets everyone with a warm, heavily accented 'hello'. "We've flown so far to meet you all! Once Evita called, we took to the sky immediately."

A few members were perplexed by her overall bubbly attitude but smile. It was always a joy to meet non-volatile supernatural beings.

Her features were expressive as she goes on to lament "Oh we were terribly broken to hear that brise took our Leti from this world. You know it killed another one of us just last year too."

As if used to hearing his cousin's ramblings, Dieufel gently puts a hand on her arm to draw her attention. "Kouzen, kalme ou. You'll scare them off." This earns him a rueful glare from Nadege who apparently didn't like being interrupted.

Sam chuckles. "It's alright. The pack is glad to have you here as well. I'm sure Evita has caught you both up on our situation."

Dieufel nods. "Yes she did. Can't say I've ever encountered anyone from the Volturi specifically."

"I didn't even know who they are." Nadege pipes in.

He rolls his pretty eyes but overall ignores her little comments. She reminds you of a chirping bird. Turning to Evita, he adds "I learned about the Volturi when staying with your family. The traveling witch who had stopped for a respite told us about them. So much power concentrated like that is bound to lead to disaster."

Evita nods. "Yes. I have finished one ward to prepare for their arrival."

"I can tell." replies Dieufel as he eyes her still exhausted face.There's color back in her face but the blue, bruise-like shadows are still stamped underneath her eyes. Overall, Evita's energy is lower as well which would tip off anyone who knew he well enough. "And how many more do you need?"

It wasn't necessary to reply. From the sour expression Evita scrunches her face into, Dieufel learns that the quantity was more than three. He hisses out a sigh at the workload ahead but isn't angry. Of course he'll do anything for his adopted spirit sister. Plus Evita was young and still didn't have much control over her magic. She could only summon a small amount of it at a time. Not like Leti who would have been able to create two wards in one day though it would definitely debilitate her for the following week.

Nadege speaks more in that fast language you don't understand, nudging her older cousin with her sharp elbow. Her long, full lashes flutter when she narrows her light colored eyes at Dieufel. "We can make up the rest. Or are you weak?" She teases with a goading smirk and hands on her hips. Lips, dark and glossy, curl in a devilish upward flick. A few of the wolves chuckle at her boldness. Even Sam's body jerks in a silent laugh at their familiarity. A connection that was similar to the pack. Blood was not what tied them, but genuine respect and affection. It reminds you of the relationship between the older wolves: Sam, Jared and Paul. They were brothers in all but genetics. You considered them your own older brothers, guiding and protective.

A giggle leaves Evita and she leans against Dieufel's shoulder comfortably. The first familiar touch she's had in a while. You're happy for her and notice her face soften and finally relax. She must have been on edge since her sister left home.

"Of course we will help." Dieufel says with a lazy smile. He pats Evita's head and makes the top curls bounce in reply. "But I don't know their specific powers, like your Edward's mind reading." The last part is addressed toward you.

"He's told me. I can easily have him write down the members he knows and their special abilities. The Volturi will have many of them on staff." You remember Edward telling you that they've spent hundreds of years collecting vampires with special powers. And damn did you want to hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to keep the Volturi at bay. They could be strong enough to keep them out forever. That would be too perfect. Your life had proved anything but perfect the past several months. You didn't expect it to be.

That makes the others of your pack bristle. What other powers could be out there that they don't know about? Mind reading and seeing the future had been quite the shock to many. Too much maybe.

Brady and Collin exchange slightly anxious glances, knowing that this kind of talk was feeling a lot like a preparation for war. Wolves they were, but baby fat was still evident on their faces. In about a month it would be gone, chiseled away into manhood. Sam would make sure in that time that they would be ready for battle if it called upon them. They'd been kept away from Victoria's army, but they wouldn't be spared from fighting the Volturi. Barely entering high school in two months, your heart goes out to them. At least you had been granted time to enjoy the beginning of your high school years. There wasn't much to enjoy but you could claim that it had been your own.

Dieufel ponders for a second before nodding. "Alright. What is the deadline?"

Wolves anxiously peer at one another. The answer wasn't ideal.

It made Nadege's eyes round from what Sam told them. Which was "Anytime now."

Credulously, Dieufel shoots his dark gaze at Evita who shrugs and speaks Spanish. Dieufel exchanges his own words in her native tongue and you could hear the worry in his voice. Evita switches to English when she notices several pairs of eyes on her. "Besides, we might have another pair of helping hands soon enough." At that, Evita flicks her eyes over to you. Now the pack's attention centered on you. You'd grown used to it by now. Being the one to freaking imprint on a vampire will do that to you though.

You address the room, more so Sam to fill him in. "Evita says Bella has potential to wield magic."

Jared and Paul are comically confused. "Bella Swan?"

Ignoring the whispers spread through the room, Sam uses his authority as alpha to bring people back to attention. Dieufel and Nadege look thoroughly impressed. When the room is once more quiet, Sam asks Evita "Is it possible for her to learn?"

Dieufel stiffly nods. "Yes. . . it's possible but I do not recommend crash courses in magic. More than anything it is an artform which one should take the most care with. Your intentions may be good but if you are not properly trained, it can blow up in your face."

"Bella can do it." Insisting and also wanting to have Bella's back, you tell them what Jake told you. How smart she was and even got a spot in the high school's AP sciences and math. "She really wants to help."

You never expect Leah to agree with you. "The very least she can do is try it out." Better yet, Leah looked Sam straight in the eye with equal determination. "This is her fault after all."

Sam does a good job not to gawk at Leah addressing him as she hadn't so much as looked at him since the whole Emily drama.

He takes Leah's interest seriously although he is suspicious about her motives. Silently Sam consents with a nod. "You're right. The least any of us can do is try. (y/n), can you get into contact with Bella? Or would you rather-"

He knew it may be awkward for you to talk to Bella considering you were the reason why her and Edward broke up. "I don't mind. I'll call her after I get out of class."

That way everyone could have a rest before the real work began. **

Leah was the first one to leave. She didn't know what possessed her to be so vocal about Bella trying her hand at magic. Maybe it was because she wanted Dieufel to look at her and really see her.

A fluke, she'd put it to when she first saw Dieufel. Of course she would be attracted to him, he was gorgeous and his eyes would make any woman envious of his perfect lashes. The speeding of her heart was just one of intense attraction.

This wasn't-this couldn't be imprinting. Leah refused to even compare it to what she was feeling.

In order to not rise any suspicion, she'd managed to keep her features calm . She couldn't let anyone else know. Wasn't the reason why they kept Jacob's imprinting a secret to protect Evita and not cause added stress? Damn. Why him? Why now? Leah felt her steady descent into mental decay. She felt raving mad.

Feet stumbling to the forest line, Leah runs for it. Home. She needed to get home. That was a safe place. At least it used to before her father died. Now she fell into one waking nightmare after another. Blindly groping in the dark for something to anchor herself to so she wouldn't be swept up in the void. Everything was out of her control. What little control she had. When (y/n) imprinted on Edward, Leah half worried that she would imprint on a blood sucker too. Her and (y/n) were anomalies among the all male wolf pack. Even in the wolf's history there had been very few female warriors who inherited the gift of the moon.

She'd prayed to whoever would listen that she would never imprint and lose that freedom in picking her own partner. Her heart wasn't healed yet from Sam. Being in any kind of relationship was not of importance to Leah.

Leaning against the trunk of a tree to catch her breath, Leah felt absolutely fucked. Everyone would know the moment she transformed thanks to the stupid pack telepathy.

You slunk back into your bed. You had two more hours before you had to be up and ready for school. Only a few more days then you could attend to the business of protecting La Push and Forks. Bella managed to get good grades all while dealing with murderous vampires. What was her secret, you wonder to yourself. Many of the wolves hadn't been so lucky.

There was no point trying to sleep. Meeting Dieufel and Nadege wired you up. You'd wanted to stay but were reminded that they too were tired from their travels and would need all of their energy. Fair enough. Amped up like when you first met Evita, you suppose it's the magic of their being that energizes you so.

When the time came, you grabbed your backpack and let your dad drop you off at the rez' high school. You did your best to try and pay attention. Someone simply wouldn't let you though. Embry was just as excited as you were about the new arrivals and all the 'cool shit' they would do. Several times the both of you were hushed by the instructor forced into school as well. From years of goofing off in class, you and Embry were masters at passing notes subtly that neither of you were ever caught. He wrote of his doubts that Bella could actually do magic like them. She was the most helpless thing out there and to think that she had power all along was a little more than upsetting to him. But how could she have known though? You argue back. This back and forth helps to pass the time until you're both racing out the doors, grateful to be done for the day.

You wouldn't waste time stopping by your place to drop off your backpack. Embry followed your line of thinking and keeps pace with you. During your snack break that they allowed you, you'd texted Bella to meet you at Sam's. She'd replied that she'd be there. A quick text had been sent to Edward as well to keep him up to date on what was going on. He said he'd let Dieufel and Nadege settle in before bombarding them with his own family.

Neither you or Embry were expecting to find the tribe elders lined up at Sam's front door. You frown looking from one withered face to another. They looked upset. Sam was bravely facing off against them, keeping his voice level so you couldn't hear the words exchanged.

Paul pulls away from Sam's side to greet you. "Head in through the backdoor."

"What's going on with the elders?" Embry inquires while keeping his focus on the older men.

He grimaces and runs a hand through his short black hair. "They don't like the idea of three witches here. They're worried that the magic they're doing will attract more outsiders. More danger for everyone else."

Not allowing you to say anything else, Paul ushers both of you around the back of the house and through the screen of the back door. It led into the cozy but cramped kitchen where Quil was already there with Seth, Brady, Colin and Nadege. The boys were completely enamored with her, that was clear. And you wouldn't blame them. Like her cousin, Nadege was stunning and her personality added to her overall attractiveness. She was friendly and laughed without restraint at something Quil had said while placing an innocent hand on his forearm.

You notice Quil's ears turn a vibrant pink hue. Oh, he was smitten with the witch. He had a stupid grin on his face that was painfully obvious. The second hand embarrassment wasn't too bad since Nadege didn't seem to notice. When she saw you, her eyes crinkle and attention now directly at you. "(y/n)! I don't think I got to meet you before! Evita told me about you." Okay, maybe you were a little smitten with her too now. She was just so warm and pretty you couldn't help your brain going stupid in front of her.

Was this part of her magic? Maybe it was just her natural charm over people. Her reactions appear genuine though.

"It's nice to meet you too." You earnestly grin. She was such a warm person.

"I was just telling your pack brothers how Dieufel and I flew all the way over here. They weren't aware we were shapeshifters too!" She chuckles and you notice her prominent dimples.

"R-Really?" You'd never another animal shape shifter before. Surely Evita would have told you.

She nods. "While our family has always had magic in our blood, we also have another advantage. From as far back as our lineage goes, our ancestors have been able to turn into red-tailed hawks. Much like your own wolf warriors, our animal forms are larger than the actual species."

You were baffled. That was definitely something worth mentioning from Evita. A reminder that the world was so much larger than you could ever imagine.

Brady was beyond thrilled at the information and looked damn near giddy at the prospect of the great big world you were living in. They didn't see the potential danger that you and the older members saw. With such a large world, there were bound to be bigger creatures that could kill you. While you were definitely in recovery from your encounter with Xiomara, you weren't near cured enough to subdue the chill that seized the base of your spine and had you remembering those dark and evil eyes. They continued to haunt you, her claws were branded into your cheek. Three cruel lines that curve from the height of your cheekbone to the curve of your jaw. You remember your mother crying when she first saw them. The despair that she couldn't hide. She could have lived all her life without seeing the evidence of the reality you lived in.

If you were a better daughter. . .

No. You couldn't dwell on your own insecurities. You don’t have to keep going back to that place.

Going back to that vulnerable time with Xiomara did not serve you any purpose. You knew you had to move past that point in time although it was the one you held tightly in your memory.

A bit breathlessly you ask "Can we see?"

Nadege's smile widens; her limbs elongate and bones shift, her clothes become large as her body morphs to accommodate her changing form. Feathers sprout from her skin, first small and downy, then they grew larger and more vibrant with each breath she exhaled. Her arms stretch into wings adorned with fiery red feathers that blend with cream and brown feathers. Traces of her human self fade. The ground seems to retreat beneath her, and she instively spread her newly-formed wings, ready to take flight. Exhilaration washes over her as she looks down to you and the other boys. Dish towels flutter against the breeze she kicks up with her massive wings. She'd easily transformed into a majestic red-tailed hawk, master of the skies and dancer of the wind.

You're surprised how elegant she was, avoiding bumping into the ceiling fan and anything else that could get caught in her wingspan. She'd been beautiful in her human form; utterly breathtaking in her animal form. She shows off a bit, aware of the universal beauty she possessed.

"Forgive my cousin." Dieufel's voice comes out with a bit of a laugh to it. "She has always been known to be quite the bit of the showoff."

Hawk-Nadege shrieks at him and dives for his face but Dieufel easily reaches out and grabs her by her thin bird legs. She continues to half-hearedl thrash against his grip. It wasn't tight enough to hurt her but forbade Nadege from escaping his grip. She was more so annoyed than angry.

The spell breaks over Quil and the other young wolves as they blink away the dream-like filter that had been lowered over their vision.

Nadege's beak attempts to peck at Dieufel's cheek but he's aware of her tricks and keeps her at a distance. You can't help but laugh at how expressive Nadege was in her hawk form. The others, broken from whatever charm she had over them, bust out laughing.

You still couldn't believe how easily Evita and her friends merged into the pack. Already it felt like you had known them for years. They introduced so much more of the world to our small pack. Paul, from standing near them didn't even seem to mind the different knowledge that they brought with them. He laughs along with everyone else as the large hawk squirms and fights against Dieufel's hold.

In this light moment there was hope for the future. Something you desperately held onto. Hope would be your anchor.

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