#opal grunt

[beikonsims]

With all the money Buzz had saved up and Opal's healthy recommendations for swimming, the Grunts got their own pool. Maybe to rub it in the faces of Smiths, who used to be the only family in Strangetown with it. Buzz was feeling particularly bold and despite the cold early-winter weather, he decided to take a dip in the water and try it out.

He picked the wrong time for that, as Opal just returned from work and witnessed her husband's shenanigans. She made sure to scold him properly and remind him, that he's not a young man anymore.

Grumbling and muttering under his breath, Buzz marched inside and took a long, hot bath to warm himself up. All his life he was the scary general, but wouldn't dare standing up to his tough doctor wife.

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.

[wonyowonyo]

Pixel Hearts (K. Gaeul X M! Reader))

when college gamer Y/N is pulled into the mysterious RPG Aetherion, he teams up with IVE’s Gaeul, trapped as Princess Seraphine, to escape the game. through perilous quests and heartfelt moments, their bond grows, forging a real-world connection that promises new adventures beyond.

genre: fluff

w.c 6.7k a/n: slowly finishing up the remaining pendings i've stockpiled heh. also for those who don't know, i'm starting a new njz book on my wattpad page, so if ya'll are interested u can check it out! anyways, hope you all enjoyed this one.

The thrift shop smelled of old books and forgotten summers, its shelves crammed with relics of yesteryear—faded board games, chipped teacups, a rotary phone that probably hadn’t rung since the ’80s. Y/N’s sneakers squeaked against the worn wooden floor as he wandered the aisles, his eyes scanning for something to spice up his Saturday night. A college sophomore with a penchant for gaming, he was always on the hunt for retro consoles or obscure titles to fuel his late-night sessions. Today, though, nothing had caught his eye. Until he saw it.

Tucked in a corner, half-hidden behind a pile of dusty VHS tapes, was a sleek, unmarked gaming console. Its design was a paradox—retro curves like an old Nintendo, but its surface gleamed with a futuristic sheen, catching the dim shop light in a way that felt… alive. A small screen on the front glowed faintly, gold letters spelling out Aetherion. No brand logo, no manual, just a single controller with buttons that shimmered like opals. Y/N’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a console. This was a mystery.

“Yo, how much for this?” he called to the shopkeeper, a grizzled man who barely looked up from his crossword.

“Twenty bucks,” the man grunted. “No returns. Thing’s probably busted.”

Y/N didn’t care. His gamer instincts screamed treasure, and twenty bucks was pocket change for a potential gem. He handed over the cash, cradled the console like a newborn, and hustled back to his dorm, the autumn air crisp against his cheeks. His room was a chaotic shrine to gaming—posters of Zelda and Final Fantasy plastered on the walls, a tangle of controller cords spilling from his desk, and a mini fridge humming softly in the corner. He set the console on his desk beside his digital clock that displayed 5:55 P.M, plugged it into his ancient TV, and held his breath as he pressed the power button.

The screen flared to life, not with the usual static flicker of old tech, but with a burst of color and sound that made Y/N’s heart skip. A cinematic unfolded: a sweeping vista of a fantasy world—lush forests, jagged mountains, a castle gleaming under a sky with two moons. A deep, resonant voice narrated, “In the realm of Aetherion, the tyrannical Sorcerer Valthor has imprisoned Princess Seraphine, plunging the land into shadow. Only a true-hearted warrior can restore light to the realm.” The words Start Game pulsed on the screen, and Y/N’s fingers itched to dive in. But something felt off. The console hummed, a low vibration that seemed to pulse through his bones, and the air in the room grew heavy, like a storm was brewing.

He gripped the controller, its buttons warm under his thumbs, and selected Start. The screen flashed blinding white, and a jolt—like static electricity, but sharper—shot through him. His vision blurred, the dorm spinning away, and then… nothing.

-

Y/N blinked, his head throbbing like he’d just face-planted off his bed. But he wasn’t in his bed. He wasn’t even in his dorm. He was sprawled on a carpet of moss, surrounded by towering trees that swayed in a gentle breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, so vivid it made his nose tingle. Above, a sky stretched endlessly, twin moons casting a silvery glow over a landscape that looked like a painting—except it was real. Too real. His hands brushed against his clothes, no longer his hoodie and jeans but a rough-spun tunic and leather boots. A rusty sword hung at his hip, its weight unfamiliar but grounding.

“What the hell?” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His voice echoed slightly, swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. This wasn’t a dream. Dreams didn’t feel this… tangible. He pinched his arm—ow—and then noticed a faint shimmer in the air. A holographic panel materialized, like something out of a sci-fi movie, displaying:

ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ʏ/ɴ, ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ 1 ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ. ʜᴘ: 100/100. 

Qᴜᴇꜱᴛ: ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ.

The words blinked insistently, and Y/N’s stomach did a flip. He wasn’t just playing Aetherion. He was in it.

His gamer brain kicked into gear, pushing past the panic. Okay, RPG rules: explore, level up, follow the quest. He took a tentative step, the forest floor crunching under his boots, and marveled at the details—the way sunlight dappled through the canopy, the faint buzz of insects, the glint of a treasure chest half-hidden behind a tree. He pried it open, finding a measly 

Health Potion (Restores 20 HP), but the thrill of discovery made him grin. This was next-level immersion, like VR on steroids. But the question gnawed at him: How am I here?

He didn’t have time to dwell. A rustle in the bushes made him freeze, his hand fumbling for the sword. A slime—classic RPG fodder—oozed into view, its gelatinous body pulsing with faint green light. Y/N’s first swing was pathetic, the blade bouncing off like he’d hit a rubber ball, but he dodged its sluggish lunge and hacked again, adrenaline pumping. The slime burst into pixels, dropping a single Aether Shard that glittered like a tiny star. “Nice,” he panted, pocketing the shard. If this was the game, he could handle it.

The quest marker on his HUD pointed north, toward a clearing where stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. As he approached, the air grew heavy again, charged with something ancient and electric. At the center of the clearing stood a ruined shrine, its altar overgrown with vines that pulsed with faint runes. And there, chained to the altar by shimmering magical bonds, was a girl.

Y/N’s breath caught. She was stunning, her short, dark hair framing a face that was both fierce and delicate, her eyes sparkling with defiance despite her predicament. Her gown was regal, all flowing silk and embroidered stars, but it was her presence that hit him like a critical hit. He knew that face. He’d seen it on posters, on his phone screen during IVE’s latest comeback. Gaeul.

-

She noticed him, her head snapping up, and for a moment, they just stared—him frozen, her assessing. Then she spoke, her voice clear and sharp, cutting through the silence. “You’re not one of Valthor’s goons. Are you… a player?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry. He nodded, then cleared his throat, trying to sound less like a starstruck fanboy. “Uh, yeah. I’m Y/N. I… got sucked into this game, I think. You’re—wait, you’re Gaeul?”

Her lips twitched, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Bingo. Though here, I’m Princess Seraphine, or whatever this stupid game calls me.” She tugged at the magical chains, which sparked but didn’t budge. “Long story short, I was messing around with some sketchy game file on my laptop, and next thing I know, I’m trapped in this pixelated nightmare. You gonna help me out, or just stand there gawking?”

Y/N flushed, his inner IVE fan screaming, but he forced himself to focus. She was real—well, as real as he was in this bizarre world—and she needed him. He stepped closer, inspecting the runes. They glowed brighter, almost mocking him, and his sword did nothing but clang uselessly against them. “These are magical,” he said, more to himself than her. “I don’t have any spells or—”

“Great, a noob,” Gaeul teased, but her tone was playful, not cruel. She leaned forward as much as the chains allowed, her eyes scanning him. “Check your inventory. Games like this always give you something to start with. Hurry up, hero, my arms are killing me.”

Y/N fumbled with the HUD, his fingers clumsy in the air, and found the Aether Shard from the slime. On a hunch, he held it near the runes. The shard pulsed, and the chains flickered, then dissolved in a burst of light. Gaeul stumbled forward, rubbing her wrists, and flashed him a grin that made his heart do a backflip. “Not bad for a level one warrior,” she said, brushing dirt off her gown. “Stick with me, Y/N. We’re getting out of this game, and I’m not leaving without a fight.”

The shrine’s vines seemed to shiver, as if the game itself was watching. Y/N gripped his sword, his nerves buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. Gaeul stood beside him, her presence electric, her smile a spark in the dim clearing. He was just a guy, a gamer with no clue how he’d ended up here. But with Gaeul—Princess Seraphine, or whatever she was—by his side, he felt like he could take on anything. Even a sorcerer. Even a world that felt too real to be just a game.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” he said, half-joking, and her laugh—bright, genuine—echoed through the forest, a sound that promised adventure, danger, and maybe something more.

-

The forest of Aetherion stretched endlessly before Y/N and Gaeul, its canopy a mosaic of emerald leaves that filtered the twin moons’ silvery light. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, and every step crunched against twigs or rustled through grass that felt too real for a game. Y/N’s rusty sword bounced against his hip, its weight a constant reminder of his new reality. Beside him, Gaeul moved with a grace that belied her princess gown, the hem catching on roots but never slowing her down. Her eyes, sharp and curious, darted to every shadow, as if she expected the game to throw a curveball at any moment.

“So, level one warrior,” she said, her voice teasing as she glanced at him, “got a plan, or are we just wandering until Valthor sends his welcome committee?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her playful tone. “Plan’s simple: follow the quest marker, bash some monsters, save the princess. Classic RPG stuff.” He tapped the air, summoning the holographic HUD. The quest log glowed: 

ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀᴀᴘʜɪɴᴇ. 

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ꜱᴇᴇᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴠᴇʀɴꜱ.

A golden arrow pointed west, through a misty ravine up ahead.

Gaeul snorted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Save the princess, huh? Newsflash, Y/N, this princess can handle herself. You’re just here for moral support.” But her smile was warm, and the way she bumped his shoulder—light, almost accidental—sent a flutter through his chest. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that Gaeul, IVE’s Gaeul, was here, bantering with him like they were old friends. Or maybe more, his traitor brain whispered, before he shoved the thought away.

The ravine loomed closer, its walls jagged and shrouded in fog that swirled like liquid silver. The path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file, Y/N taking the lead with his sword drawn. The HUD pinged a warning—Enemy Detected—and his grip tightened. “Heads up,” he whispered, just as a low growl echoed from the mist.

Three shadow wolves emerged, their fur black as ink, eyes glowing like embers. They were bigger than the slime, faster, and definitely not beginner-friendly. Y/N’s gamer instincts kicked in, but his first swing was a disaster, the sword glancing off a wolf’s flank as it lunged. He stumbled back, heart pounding, and barely dodged its snapping jaws. “Okay, not cool!” he yelped.

“Focus, noob!” Gaeul called, her voice steady but urgent. She raised her hands, the runes on her gown flaring with light, and a burst of blue energy—a Frost Bolt, Y/N’s brain supplied—slammed into the wolf, slowing it. “Hit it now!”

Y/N swung again, this time connecting, and the wolf dissolved into pixels with a satisfying ding. Gaeul’s magic danced around them, freezing one wolf while Y/N tackled another, their movements chaotic but syncing up. He tanked a claw swipe—his HP dropped to 80/100, the HUD flashing red—and gritted his teeth, slashing until the last wolf burst into loot: three Aether Shards and a Wolf Pelt. 

They collapsed against a boulder, panting, their laughter bubbling up like a shared secret.

“Holy crap, we’re not half bad,” Y/N said, wiping sweat from his brow. The ravine’s mist clung to his tunic, damp and chilly, but the adrenaline high made it worth it.

Gaeul nudged him, her grin mischievous. “You’re welcome for the assist, hero. Next time, maybe don’t swing like you’re chopping firewood.” She picked up a shard, its glow reflecting in her eyes. “These are the key. Valthor’s curse runs on Aether energy. Enough shards, and we can break his hold on me—and maybe get out of here.”

Y/N nodded, pocketing the loot. The ravine’s walls were etched with faded carvings—knights, dragons, a crowned figure that looked eerily like Gaeul. The game’s lore was everywhere, woven into the world like a story begging to be unraveled. But as they pressed on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Aetherion was watching them, its rules bending just enough to keep them on edge.

-

The village of Elderglow appeared like a mirage, its thatched roofs and cobblestone streets glowing under lanterns that bobbed like fireflies. The ravine had spit them out into a bustling hub, alive with NPCs bartering at market stalls, bards strumming lutes, and children chasing a pixelated cat through the square. Y/N’s HUD updated—Objective: Gather Information—and he marveled at the details: the smell of fresh bread from a bakery, the clink of coins, the way Gaeul’s gown caught the light as she spun to take it all in.

“This place is unreal,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “If I wasn’t trapped, I’d almost enjoy it.” She caught Y/N staring and raised an eyebrow. “What? Got something on my face?”

“N-no, just… you look like you belong here,” he stammered, then cringed at how cheesy it sounded. “I mean, like, you’re rocking the princess vibe.”

Gaeul laughed, a bright, musical sound that made his cheeks burn. “Smooth, Y/N. Come on, let’s upgrade that trash sword of yours.” She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a blacksmith’s forge where a burly NPC hammered glowing metal. Her touch was warm, fleeting, but it left his heart racing.

At the forge, Gaeul worked her charm, her smile disarming the blacksmith as she bartered for a  Steel Longsword (+10 Attack). Y/N traded the Wolf Pelt and a few shards, and the new blade felt solid, balanced, like an extension of himself. They hit the market next, stocking up on Health Potions and a Mana Crystal for Gaeul’s spells. Every interaction felt like a mini-quest, the village pulsing with life—vendors haggling, a leaderboard in the square showing “player” names (all NPCs, Y/N noted with a shiver), and a fountain where water sparkled like liquid starlight.

They ended up at a tavern, its wooden beams creaking under the weight of raucous laughter. Y/N ordered virtual cider—sweet, fizzy, and surprisingly refreshing—and they claimed a corner table, the glow of a hearth warming their faces. Gaeul sipped her drink, her expression softening. “This is the first time I’ve felt… normal since I got stuck here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back in the real world, I’m always ‘Gaeul from IVE,’ you know? Schedules, stages, smiling for cameras. But here…” She trailed off, tracing the rim of her glass.

Y/N leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his shyness. “Here, you’re a badass princess who shoots ice bolts and saves my butt from wolves.”

She chuckled, but her eyes were distant. “Maybe. But I’m scared, Y/N. What if we can’t get out? What if I’m just… code now?” Her fingers tightened around the glass, and the vulnerability in her voice hit him like a critical hit.

“You’re not code,” he said firmly, surprising himself with his conviction. “You’re Gaeul. And I’m not leaving you here. We’re beating this game together, okay?” He held her gaze, hoping she saw the promise in his eyes.

Her smile returned, small but genuine. “You’re not as noob as you look, Y/N.” She clinked her glass against his, the sound a quiet vow in the noisy tavern.

-

The seer’s hut sat at the village’s edge, a ramshackle structure draped in vines and glowing with an eerie light. The NPC inside was ancient, her eyes milky but piercing, her voice like wind through dry leaves. “The prophecy speaks of a true-hearted warrior and the princess,” she intoned, her gnarled hands tracing a star chart that shimmered in the air. “Together, you may defeat Valthor, but only by combining your strengths. Seek the Heart of Aether in the Crystal Caverns. The path is perilous, but the stars guide you.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. True-hearted warrior? He was just a guy who liked Pokémon and instant ramen. But Gaeul’s expression was fierce, her jaw set. “Prophecy or not, we’re doing this our way,” she said, her voice cutting through the hut’s heavy air. “No offense, lady, but I’m not some damsel waiting for a hero. We’re a team.”

The seer’s lips curled, almost amused. She handed them a Map of the Caverns, its parchment pulsing with golden lines. “Then prove the stars wrong, child. Your hearts will light the way.”

Outside, the village hummed with evening life, lanterns casting long shadows. Y/N clutched the map, its weight grounding him. Gaeul stood close, her shoulder brushing his as they studied the path ahead. “Crystal Caverns, huh?” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Sounds like a dungeon crawl. You ready, warrior?”

He met her gaze, his nerves buzzing but his resolve solid. “Born ready. Let’s kick Valthor’s butt and get you home.” He held out his fist, and she bumped it with hers, her grin infectious. The twin moons hung above, their light a silent cheer for the journey ahead.

But as they left Elderglow, the map glowing in Y/N’s hands, he couldn’t shake the seer’s words. Your hearts will light the way. His heart was racing, sure, but not just from the quest. Gaeul’s laugh, her trust, the way she made this crazy world feel like an adventure worth fighting for—it was all starting to feel like more than a game. And that, he realized, was the most dangerous quest of all.

-

The Crystal Caverns shimmered like a galaxy trapped in stone, their walls a dazzling array of prismatic shards that refracted the twin moons’ light into a cascade of colors. Y/N’s boots crunched against the translucent floor, each step sending faint ripples of light outward, as if the cave itself were alive. The air was sharp, laced with a metallic tang that prickled his lungs, and the faint hum of the caverns pulsed like a distant heartbeat. His Steel Longsword caught the glow, its edge a silver promise, but it was Gaeul’s steady presence—her gown trailing like starlight, her eyes scanning every shadow—that kept his heart from racing out of his chest. 

The Map of the Caverns, tucked in his inventory, glowed faintly, its golden lines urging them deeper into the maze. “Feels like we’re walking into a trap montage,” Gaeul said, her voice low but laced with her usual spark. She brushed a crystal stalactite, its chime echoing softly. “Bet you’re regretting that ‘born ready’ line from the village, huh, warrior?”

Y/N grinned, his nerves easing at her teasing. “Nah, I’m good. Just don’t cry when I outscore you in loot.” He tapped the air, the HUD flickering to life with their quest: Claim the Heart of Aether. The golden arrow pointed down a narrow path, where mist swirled like ghosts. Their banter was a shield against the caverns’ eerie weight, but Y/N couldn’t ignore the runes etched into the walls—faint, glowing symbols of knights and dragons, hinting at a history older than Aetherion’s code.

Trouble found them fast. A pressure plate clicked under Y/N’s boot, and he barely registered the whir of gears before spikes shot from the floor, their tips glinting like daggers. Instinct took over—he dove, grabbing Gaeul’s waist and pulling her down with him. They hit the ground in a tangle, her breath warm against his cheek, her eyes wide but glinting with adrenaline. “Okay, hero,” she gasped, shoving him off with a playful scowl, “watch where you step, or I’m billing you for this gown.”

“S-sorry!” Y/N stammered, his face hotter than a Fire Spell. He scrambled up, offering her a hand, and her fingers lingered in his, soft but firm, sending a jolt through him. The caverns didn’t let them linger—a crystal golem lumbered from an alcove, its faceless head glowing with inner light. Y/N swung, his sword sparking against its hide, while Gaeul’s Frost Bolt froze its arm, giving him an opening. His HP dipped to 80/100 from a glancing blow, but her Healing Touch—a warm pulse of light—mended the ache, her hand brushing his arm. “Stay alive, noob,” she muttered, but her smile was softer than her words.

The path twisted deeper, bridges of crystal arching over chasms that swallowed light. Every trap, every golem, drew them closer—Gaeul’s magic lighting the way, Y/N’s blade clearing the path. The caverns’ pulse grew louder, the runes brighter, as if Aetherion was testing their resolve, daring them to reach its heart.

-

The cavern’s heart was a cathedral of light, a vast chamber where crystals soared like spires, their reflections dancing in a haze of color. At its center, a pedestal held the Heart of Aether, a glowing orb that pulsed with a rhythm that matched the cave’s hum, its light both inviting and ominous. Coiled around it was a crystal dragon, its scales like molten glass, its eyes twin flames that seemed to see through them. Y/N’s HUD flashed—Boss: Crystal Guardian—and his throat tightened. This wasn’t just a fight. This was judgment.

The dragon didn’t strike. Its voice echoed in their minds, deep and resonant, like a storm trapped in stone. Only those bound by trust may claim the Heart. Answer, or perish. Its first riddle hit Y/N like a blade. What do you fear most, warrior? The air grew heavy, the chamber’s light dimming as if the game itself demanded truth.

Y/N’s grip on his sword faltered, his heart pounding. He glanced at Gaeul, her eyes steady but searching, and the words spilled out, raw and unguarded. “Failing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not being enough to get you out of here.” The confession hung between them, heavy and real, and the dragon’s form flickered, its scales losing their sheen, as if his honesty had chipped away at its power.

Gaeul’s turn came next. And you, princess? The question seemed to pierce her, her confidence wavering as she twisted the hem of her gown. She looked at Y/N, her eyes glistening, and her voice trembled. “Losing myself,” she said. “Becoming just… Seraphine. Not Gaeul anymore.” The vulnerability in her words made Y/N’s chest ache, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, a silent promise that she was still her. The dragon flickered again, its eyes dimming, but it wasn’t done.

What binds you? The final riddle demanded they speak as one. Their eyes locked, and without hesitation, they answered together: “Trust.” The word was a spark, igniting the chamber’s light, and the dragon roared, its form solidifying as it lunged. The fight was brutal—Y/N darted in, his sword sparking against crystal scales, his HP dropping to 60/100 from a tail swipe that sent him sprawling. Gaeul’s Frost Bolts slowed the beast, her voice fierce as she shouted, “Get up, Y/N! We’re not done!” Her magic wove through the crystals, amplifying into a dazzling Aether Surge that stunned the dragon, giving Y/N the chance to climb its back and strike a glowing weak point. The beast shattered, its fragments dissolving into light, and the Heart of Aether floated toward them, warm and alive in Y/N’s hands.

-

The victory was fleeting. The Heart pulsed in Y/N’s grip, its light flooding the chamber, but the caverns trembled, a low groan echoing as cracks splintered the crystal walls. The HUD glitched—text flickering into gibberish, colors bleeding like a corrupted file. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her breath hitching. “Y/N, it’s breaking!” she cried, her voice sharp with panic as the ground bucked beneath them. Pixels sparked in the air, and for a horrifying moment, her form flickered—her gown dissolving into static, her hand in his turning translucent before snapping back.

“No!” Y/N grabbed her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as the chamber shook. “You’re not disappearing, Gaeul. I’ve got you.” His voice was fierce, cutting through the chaos, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his tunic, her breath shaky against his chest. The Heart’s warmth steadied the glitches, its pulse a lifeline, but the caverns were collapsing, shards raining like glass.

The HUD flickered, barely legible: 

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ. 

The Heart was their key—Valthor’s weakness, and maybe their way out. But the glitches revealed something darker. Runes on the walls flared, showing glimpses of Aetherion’s truth: a sentient program, designed to trap players, feeding on their will. The dragon’s defeat had destabilized it, but at a cost. Gaeul’s eyes met Y/N’s, her fear tempered by the same fire that had carried them this far. “We’re ending this,” she said, her voice steady despite the trembling ground. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, his hand still in hers, the Heart’s glow a beacon in the chaos. “Together,” he echoed, his grin shaky but real. The chamber’s light flared, the caverns’ pulse fading as debris fell around them. Whatever lay ahead—Valthor, the game’s final trap—he knew one thing: Gaeul’s trust, her warmth, was worth fighting for. And he wasn’t letting go.

The wasteland stretched before Valthor’s Tower like a scar on Aetherion’s vibrant heart, its cracked earth dusted with ash and lit by a sky roiling with storm clouds. The tower itself loomed, a gothic spire of black stone that clawed at the heavens, its spires wreathed in lightning that crackled with menace. Y/N’s boots sank into the grit, the Heart of Aether pulsing warmly in his inventory, its glow a faint counterpoint to the storm’s fury. His Steel Longsword felt heavier now, as if it sensed the battle ahead, but Gaeul’s presence beside him—her gown tattered but her stride fierce—made the impossible feel within reach. 

The HUD’s quest log burned bright: 

ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ: ᴅᴇꜰᴇᴀᴛ ᴠᴀʟᴛʜᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ.

“Last chance to back out, warrior,” Gaeul said, her voice light but her eyes sharp, scanning the tower’s arched entrance. A gust tugged at her hair, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, the gesture so ordinary it grounded Y/N in the chaos. “This place looks like it eats noobs for breakfast.”

Y/N smirked, his nerves buzzing but his resolve ironclad. “Good thing I’ve got the best co-op partner in the game.” He bumped her shoulder, a playful echo of their village days, and her laugh—bright, defiant—cut through the storm’s howl. The warmth of that sound lingered as they stepped into the tower, the air shifting to a damp chill, heavy with the scent of old stone and magic.

The ascent was a gauntlet. Spiral stairs wound upward, their edges worn smooth by unseen centuries, lit by torches that flickered with unnatural blue flame. Minions—shadowy wraiths with glowing eyes—swarmed from alcoves, and Y/N’s sword sang as he slashed through them, his HP holding steady at 80/100 thanks to Gaeul’s Frost Bolts and quick Healing Touches. A magical barrier blocked a landing, its runes pulsing red, and they pressed against it, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space. Gaeul’s fingers traced the runes, her brow furrowed, and Y/N shielded her from a wraith’s claw, his grunt of effort drowned by her triumphant shout as the barrier shattered.

“Nice one, princess,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. Her grin was all mischief, but the way her hand lingered on his arm—steadying, grateful—sent a flutter through him. The tower’s stained-glass windows cast eerie patterns, depicting a crowned figure falling to darkness, and Y/N’s HUD pinged with lore: Valthor, once a hero, succumbed to greed, binding Aetherion to his will. The game was telling its story, but the real one was unfolding between them—every shared glance, every brush of hands, a thread tying their fates tighter.

-

The throne room was a void, its walls swallowed by shadows that pulsed like a living thing. At its heart stood Valthor, a towering figure cloaked in darkness, his eyes twin voids that seemed to drink the light. The Heart of Aether flared in Y/N’s inventory, its pulse syncing with his racing heart, and Gaeul’s hand brushed his, a silent signal to stay sharp. The HUD flashed—Boss: Sorcerer Valthor—and the air grew thick, charged with power that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

“You dare challenge me?” Valthor’s voice was a hiss, slithering through the void. “A boy and a puppet princess, bound by fleeting trust. You are nothing.” His words targeted their doubts, and Y/N felt them—fear that he wasn’t enough, that Gaeul would be trapped forever. But her eyes met his, fierce and unwavering, and the doubts crumbled.

“Shut up, creepy,” Gaeul snapped, her Aether Surge flaring, a dazzling arc of light that lit the room. “We’re taking you down.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand, her warmth grounding him, and they charged.

The battle was chaos. Valthor’s spells—shadow bolts, chains of dark energy—tore through the air, and Y/N dove to shield Gaeul, his HP dropping to 50/100 as a bolt grazed him. Pain flared, but her Healing Touch soothed it, her voice fierce: “Stay with me, Y/N!” He struck back, his sword sparking against Valthor’s barriers, while Gaeul wove magic, her Frost Bolts slowing the sorcerer’s movements. Valthor’s taunts grew desperate, targeting their bond—“She’ll forget you, boy, in the real world”—but Y/N roared, “She’s not your puppet!” and Gaeul’s laugh, sharp and defiant, echoed his resolve.

The Heart of Aether was their edge. Y/N tossed it to Gaeul, who caught it mid-air, its light amplifying her magic into a blinding Aether Nova. The room shook, Valthor’s form flickering, and Y/N saw his chance—a weak point in the sorcerer’s chest, pulsing with stolen light. He sprinted, dodging chains, and drove his sword deep, the Heart’s energy surging through the blade. Valthor screamed, his body dissolving into pixels, and the throne room pulsed, the shadows retreating to reveal a broken man—Valthor’s true form, frail and defeated, before he vanished entirely.

Y/N collapsed to his knees, panting, his HP at a shaky 30/100. Gaeul dropped beside him, her breath ragged but her grin triumphant. “We did it,” she whispered, and before he could think, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tight around him, her warmth chasing away the void’s chill. He hugged her back, his heart pounding not from the fight but from her—her laugh, her strength, her trust. For a moment, the world was just them, and it was enough.

-

The tower trembled, its stones cracking as the Heart of Aether pulsed wildly in Gaeul’s hands. The HUD glitched, text dissolving into static, and the throne room warped—walls bending, floor rippling like water. Valthor’s defeat had broken Aetherion’s core, and the game was unraveling. Gaeul’s eyes widened, her grip on the Heart tightening. “Y/N, it’s now or never,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos.

A portal tore open at the room’s center, a vortex of light that hummed with promise and peril. Beyond it, Y/N glimpsed his dorm—messy desk, flickering PC, the real world—but the portal flickered, unstable, as debris fell around them. Gaeul’s hand found his, her fingers lacing through his, and he felt her tremble, her fear mirroring his own. “What if it doesn’t work?” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What if we’re stuck?”

Y/N squeezed her hand, his voice firm. “We’re not. You’re Gaeul, I’m Y/N, and we’re going home.” He pulled her close, their foreheads nearly touching, and her nod was small but fierce. The Heart flared, its light stabilizing the portal, and they ran, hand in hand, as the tower crumbled behind them. The vortex’s pull was dizzying, light blinding, and Gaeul’s grip tightened, her voice a soft, “Don’t let go.”

They leaped, the world dissolving into white. Y/N’s senses spun—weightless, then heavy, the air shifting from Aetherion’s storm to the stale warmth of his dorm/ He landed hard on his carpet, Gaeul beside him, her gown gone, replaced by jeans and a hoodie, her short hair framing a face that was unmistakably her. The console sat on his desk, dark and silent, its screen blank. The Heart was gone, Aetherion with it. He looked at the clock at his desk:

6:02 P.M

What was eternity for them, was merely a minute in the real word. Gaeul’s laugh broke the silence, shaky but real, and she punched his arm lightly. “We made it, you dork.” Her eyes sparkled, relief and something softer—something that made Y/N’s heart skip. He grinned, rubbing his arm, and for a moment, the dorm felt as vibrant as Aetherion—because she was here, real, and they’d won.

-

The dorm smelled of instant ramen and faintly of burnt popcorn, a stark contrast to Aetherion’s pine-scented forests and metallic caverns. Y/N’s desk was a mess—empty soda cans, a tangled mess of controller cords, and the now-silent console, its screen dark as if it had never pulled them into a world of magic and danger. The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, casting golden stripes across the carpet where Y/N and Gaeul sat cross-legged, a steaming pot of ramen between them. Gaeul, no longer in her princess gown but in a borrowed hoodie and jeans, twirled chopsticks with the same grace she’d wielded Frost Bolts. Her short hair framed her face, and her smile—bright, unguarded—made the dorm feel like the coziest place in the world.

“Never thought I’d miss instant noodles,” she said, slurping a mouthful with a contented hum. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned closer, nudging Y/N’s knee with hers. “You’re a terrible cook, you know. This is, like, 80% water.”

Y/N laughed, his cheeks flushing as he poked at his own bowl. “Hey, I’m a warrior, not a chef. Besides, you’re eating it, so I’m calling it a win.” Her nudge lingered, her knee still pressed against his, and the warmth of it sent his heart into a familiar flutter—one he’d felt in Aetherion, dodging spikes or hugging her after Valthor’s fall. But here, in the real world, it felt bigger, realer, like a spark that refused to fade.

They traded stories over the ramen, their voices overlapping in a giddy recount of their adventure. Y/N mimicked his clumsy first swing at the slime, earning a giggle that made Gaeul’s nose crinkle. She reenacted the dragon’s riddles, her voice dropping dramatically, and Y/N couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how her hands danced as she talked, how her laughter filled the room like music. “You were so serious back there,” she teased, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. “All, ‘I’m not leaving you, Gaeul.’ Total hero vibes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his blush deepening. “I meant it, you know. Couldn’t let my favorite princess stay trapped.” The words slipped out, bolder than he’d planned, and Gaeul’s eyes softened, her teasing grin shifting to something warmer, something that made his breath catch.

“You’re sweet, Y/N,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere. She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and didn’t pull away, letting their hands rest together on the carpet. The touch was simple but electric, and Y/N’s heart raced as he laced his fingers with hers, tentative but sure. Her smile widened, and she squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment that this—whatever it was—was real. The dorm, with its cluttered chaos, felt like their own little world, a new adventure just beginning.

-

The sun dipped lower, painting the room in hues of orange and pink, and Gaeul’s phone buzzed on the desk, a reminder of the real world waiting outside. She sighed, checking the screen—messages from her IVE members, a schedule packed with rehearsals and interviews. “Duty calls,” she said, but her tone was reluctant, her hand still in Y/N’s as she leaned against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. The weight of her was warm, grounding, and Y/N’s heart thudded, torn between the thrill of her closeness and the ache of knowing she’d leave soon.

“You’re gonna be okay, right?” he asked, his voice soft, almost afraid to break the moment. “Back to being Gaeul from IVE, dazzling the world?”

She tilted her head to look at him, her eyes glinting with mischief but softened by something deeper. “Only if you’re there to cheer me on, warrior.” She poked his chest, her finger lingering, and Y/N caught her hand, holding it against his heart. Her teasing faded, replaced by a quiet intensity, and for a moment, the dorm was silent, the world narrowing to just them.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, sitting up but keeping her hand in his. “We game together again—something less… life-threatening. Co-op, you and me, maybe some Mario Kart to see if you’re as good with a kart as you are with a sword.” Her grin was playful, but her eyes held a promise, a future beyond this moment.

Y/N’s smile mirrored hers, his nerves replaced by a quiet confidence. “Deal. But only if you let me take you out for real food first. No more watery ramen.” His boldness surprised him, but her laugh—bright, delighted—made it worth it. She leaned in, her forehead brushing his, and the closeness stole his breath, her warmth a reminder of every moment they’d shared in Aetherion.

“You’re on, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice a mix of challenge and affection. She pulled back, grabbing her phone and typing quickly, then handed it to him. “Put your number in. No escaping me now.” He did, his fingers shaky but sure, and when she saved it with a heart emoji next to his name, his grin was unstoppable. The dorm’s glow felt like Aetherion’s twin moons, a light that promised new quests—together.

-

Night had fallen, the dorm now lit by the soft blue glow of Y/N’s PC. Gaeul had left an hour ago, her IVE van whisking her back to her world of stages and spotlights, but her presence lingered—in the hoodie she’d “borrowed” from his closet, in the warmth of her hand still tingling in his. Y/N sat at his desk, the console still silent, a relic of their adventure. He powered on his PC, half-expecting it to be as ordinary as ever, but a new notification popped up—a game invite from “SeraGaeul.” The screen flashed, and a pixelated heart appeared, its glow a nod to the Heart of Aether, to everything they’d fought for.

Y/N’s heart skipped, a laugh bubbling up as he grabbed his headset. He accepted the invite, and Gaeul’s voice crackled through, bright and teasing. “Took you long enough, noob. Ready to lose at Among Us?” Her giggle was infectious, and Y/N leaned back, his dorm transforming into a portal of its own—a bridge between their worlds.

“Only if you’re ready to admit I’m the better gamer,” he shot back, his grin wide as he joined her lobby. The game loaded, but it was her voice, her laugh, that filled the room, making the ordinary extraordinary. The pixel heart lingered on his screen, a reminder of Aetherion—of wolves and dragons, of trust forged in chaos, of a bond that had crossed worlds.

As they played, bantering and scheming, Y/N’s eyes drifted to his phone, where a new message from Gaeul glowed: 

See you soon, hero. Don’t forget our deal ❤

His heart soared, the promise of coffee dates, game nights, and maybe more stretching before him like a new quest. Aetherion was gone, but this—this spark, this connection—was their true victory. “Here’s to new adventures, Gaeul,” he murmured, his voice soft but sure, and her laugh through the headset felt like a vow, a pixel heart beating forever.

[badboydevotee]

Midnight Opal

Summary: "Hey, servant. Did you get the package from Tohma yet? ...No? Tch... What the hell is he doing..." - Jin's birthday greeting (2025).

The Frostheim dormitory was cloaked in its usual silence, the kind that pressed in around you like snow falling in slow motion—cold, weightless, beautiful. You had spent most of the day being greeted by your classmates, receiving messages and small gifts, and trying to forget one crucial, bothersome thing: Jin Kamurai hadn’t said a word about your birthday.

…Well, not directly.

You were halfway up the marble staircase that led to your room when a familiar, clipped voice echoed behind you.

“Hey, servant.”

You froze in place.

Of course.

Turning on your heel, you raised an eyebrow at Jin, who stood on the landing above you, leaning on the rail as though he had been waiting.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” you sighed, crossing your arms.

He smirked faintly, but his voice carried no heat. “Did you get the package from Tohma yet?”

You blinked. “Tohma? No, I haven’t seen him all day.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Tch… What the hell is he doing…?”

You watched him carefully. Despite his usual aloofness, there was a slight edge of restlessness in his posture—his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders tight, eyes flicking away from yours a bit too fast. You were beginning to recognize the signs. When Jin wasn’t being an arrogant ass, he was painfully awkward. Which, frankly, was even more entertaining.

“Did you send him to give me something?” you asked innocently.

He scoffed, turning away. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

A beat passed.

“…So yes,” you grinned.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“You’re imagining things.”

You let out a soft laugh, walking up the stairs to catch up with him. “You know, for someone who insists I’m ‘just a servant,’ you sure spend a lot of time thinking about me.”

That got him. He turned, narrowed eyes flashing as if you’d just dared him to duel.

“Don’t make me regret acknowledging you.”

“You already did,” you teased. “Acknowledged me, I mean.”

Jin opened his mouth to fire back—but the words didn’t come. Instead, he exhaled sharply, pulling something from his coat pocket. A small, velvet box. The kind that practically screamed “expensive.” He shoved it into your hands with the grace of someone disarming a bomb.

You blinked down at it. “…You got me something?”

“Technically,” he muttered. “Tohma was supposed to give it to you.”

You opened the box.

Inside was a necklace—delicate, silver, with a single glimmering opal at the center. Iridescent, flickering with blue and lavender under the lights. You gasped.

“This is beautiful…”

“…It matched your eyes,” he said under his breath.

You looked up at him, startled.

He cleared his throat. “I mean. It looked decent. That’s all.”

“You picked this out yourself?”

Jin turned away, walking toward the window with a low grunt. “Whatever.”

You grinned at his retreating figure. “You’re cute when you’re like this.”

“What did you say?” His voice was sharper now, almost smug.

Your stomach dropped. Shit.

“I said you’re cute when you—wait—I didn’t mean—!”

He turned, a predator’s grin forming as he strode toward you.

“Oh? Say it again.”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

He was close now—closer than he ever got unless you were arguing. His blue eyes bore into yours, smug and daring.

“I’m pretty sure you said I was cute.”

Your face was on fire.

“You’re imagining things!” you squeaked, backing up a step.

Jin leaned in slightly, smirk still in place. “You’re stuttering.”

“I’m NOT—!”

“You are.”

He chuckled. Laughed. A rare sound, low and amused, and it made your stomach flip.

“…You’re so annoying,” you muttered, though the smile betrayed you.

“Yet you’re still standing here.”

“Because I want my birthday gift.”

“That was your gift.”

You tilted your head. “That’s it?”

He gave you a look. “Tch. You’re greedy.”

“I’m joking. Really, Jin… thank you.” You looked down at the necklace again. “It’s perfect.”

His smirk faded a bit, replaced by something softer, more difficult to read. He glanced at his watch.

“Come with me.”

“Where—”

“Just follow me, idiot. And bring a jacket.”

You had no idea where he was taking you, only that it involved walking past several off-limits staircases, an elevator only used by Jin, and a set of security locks you didn’t even know existed.

At the top of the building, Jin pulled open a heavy door and stepped aside. Cold air rushed in, but you weren’t focused on that.

You were focused on what lay beyond.

A rooftop garden.

Illuminated by hanging lanterns and tiny, floating glass orbs that glowed like fireflies. There was a table set near the center, covered in a crisp white cloth, topped with candles and a decadent dessert spread. A soft jazz melody drifted from hidden speakers, and a heater hummed nearby, keeping the air comfortably warm in your little private pocket of the sky.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“…You did all this?”

Jin stepped beside you, his hands buried in his coat. “I had people.”

“But… you planned it?”

He glanced down, not answering. Which was enough.

“Why?”

He sighed. “Because I don’t do things halfway. Not even birthdays.”

You turned to him slowly. His eyes were on the city skyline, the soft gold light casting elegant shadows on his face. There was a vulnerability to him right now, rare and unguarded.

“You really didn’t have to go this far,” you said softly. “I would’ve been happy just getting ramen with you.”

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t say shit like that. You deserve better than ramen.”

You blinked at him. “I… I do?”

“You’re annoying,” he muttered. “But you’re not just some nobody. You’re mine.”

Your heart stopped.

“…I’m what?”

He didn’t repeat it.

Instead, he pulled out a chair for you, still avoiding your gaze. You sat down in stunned silence, watching as he settled across from you with the air of someone who had just revealed a war secret and regretted it.

The evening passed like a dream. The cake was too rich. The lights too soft. Jin’s awkward attempts at small talk slowly gave way to genuine conversation. He asked about your childhood, your favorite memories, your future dreams. He listened.

He rarely did that for anyone else.

And then…

“…Hey.”

You looked up from your half-finished dessert.

“Hmm?”

He was leaning back in his chair, the stars mirrored in his silver hair.

“I know I’m not easy to be around. And I’m… not good at this kind of thing. People. Feelings. Birthdays. But…”

His voice softened.

“…I don’t hate being around you.”

You blinked. Your throat tightened.

“That’s… the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you whispered, laughing through the emotion.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You nodded, lips trembling with the effort not to cry.

“I won’t.”

But you both knew you would.

Later that night, as he walked you back to your dorm, you paused outside your door. The silence stretched between you, warm and brittle.

“…Thank you, Jin.”

He stared at you, unreadable.

Then, without a word, he stepped forward—and gently, gently—tucked your hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek. He leaned down, lips ghosting the top of your head.

“…Happy birthday, dear”

Your heart caught. You stared at him.

“Dear…?”

“I’m allowed to have my own nickname for you, aren’t I?”

You nodded wordlessly, stunned.

“Now go,” he muttered, stepping back. “Before I change my mind and steal your cake.”

You laughed, warm tears in your eyes.

“Good night, Jin.”

He gave you one last look—the kind that said too much, the kind he’d never dare to put into words—and turned, disappearing down the hall.

But you knew.

And just maybe—so did he.

Notes:

> I ran out of ideas of what Jin could ever call reader if there is such a thing for him on endearments, and I kind of don't want to dwell on common ones.

> Also this is a birthday gift for myself but of course I'm still sharing <3

Ao3 vers.

[thesassypadawan]

Santa Tell Me (A.J. x Button!Reader)

Summary:  It’s Christmas Eve and you except your boyfriend of year to pop the question…again.  However, before he can…you surprise him with a special gift of your own.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the fluff with a bit of the smut. Fun from behind (giddy up), misuse of a jolly old elf’s hat, size diff, ho ho hoe lingerie, and… A.J.’s big, fat dick.

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track seven of my special holiday mix, Santa Tell Me! ❤️💚

(Merry Christmas, @everydaydreamer! And thank you for making the perfect pic for this! 🎅)

- ‘Santa, tell me if you're really there…  Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year…’

- One big hand comes to settle on your hip, squeezing gently.  The other taking your smaller one, lazily lacing and intertwining your fingers together.  Swaying you both slowly back and forth to the familiar, festive music.  Blue eyes locked with yours in the mirror’s reflection; gaze warm, affectionate…loving.

- “Look absolutely flawless, doll,” he mutters.  Voice low and gravelly, rumbling deep in his chest…through your petite frame.  Goosebumps forming on your skin…and not from the nonexistent chill in the air.  “Gorgeous like always, ‘cept it’s missin’ one thing.”

- You knew all too well where the conversation was going.  In the short year you two have been an item, you’ve heard it at least a dozen or so times.  The same sweet, endearing request; accompanied by the same little, velvet box.  That he seems to make appear out of nowhere, just like…

- “Oh, baby,” you sigh, hint of sadness in your words.  Watching A.J. pull it out from his vest pocket, fiddle and roll it with his long digits.  “I know you want to marry me bad, but…”

- Words fall short when he pops the lid open.  Revealing not a ring.  Instead what was easily the most beautiful, breathtaking opal necklace you’ve ever seen.

- “I know, I know…‘we’ll see’,” he chuckles.  Repeating your usual response, while helping you put it on.  Calloused fingertips brushing, lingering for an extra moment or two on the nape of your neck.  “Someday though, it’s gonna be…‘yes’.”

- Slight smile pulling at the corners of your pink tinted lips.  As you admire the way it sparkles in the twinkling light, the fact he remembered the significance of this stone.  At the amount of faith, patience he has in and when it comes to you.  Plus a few other things.  “Yeah…we’ll see.”

- Shrugging, leaning down he places a tender kiss on your cheek…the top of your head.  “Come on, we better get goin’.”  Before straightening up once more, giving a quick tap to your perfect bottom.  “Don’t wanna be too late to the party.”

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

- All evening long, you’re very much an inseparable pair.  Never one without the other, practically glued together at the hip. 

- With you holding onto, pressing into his side.  Peppermint swirled nails occasionally trailing up his spine, gently scratching a certain spot between his shoulder blades.  That has him grunting softly in appreciation…those lean muscles contorting, relaxing beneath your welcomed touch.

- As for him, well…  Hardly a minute passes when he doesn't have an arm wrapped around your waist or a palm resting on the small of your back.  Fingers rubbing, massaging.  Sometimes traveling a bit lower, under the hem of your cocktail dress when he thinks no one is looking…drawing out a tiny, muffled squeak from you each time.

- But on the rare instance when you weren’t attached to your better half.  You could be spotted with the rest of the ladies.  Mingling, being asked, more like grilled, on whether you finally caved…finally gave him the answer he wants to hear and officially join their patchwork family. 

- “We’ll see,” you would reply simply and politely.  Smiling coyly over the rim of your glass, at his turned back from across the room.  Watching as he folded another hand in the guys’ silly card game.  Listening to him echo your own words, undoubtedly given the same question.

- All in all, he whole night went by in what feels like a blur.  Of hearty laughs, variety of decadent treats, one too many cups of good cheer…a few stolen kisses below the mistletoe.  And, soon enough, you find yourself tugging on A.J.’s hand.  Bring him level, whispering in his ear for you to be whisked home.  Where the real party could begin, the best part yet to come…his last gift.

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

- Crashing through the front door, nearly chipping the paint and knocking a picture off the wall.  Tongues tangled, lips meshed together in perfect harmony.  With your digits unabashedly pulling at his belt, fumbling for his fly.  And his slipping beneath the folds of your skirt; seeking out that string of mysterious, elusive lace felt during his earlier escapades.

- “Don’t be stingy, sweetheart,” he murmurs between heated kisses.  Hand inching ever higher, palm cupping and kneading a sweet cheek.  “It’s already after midnight.”  Thumb nonchalantly hooking, fiddling with the delicate fabric teasingly…letting it snap.  “Wanna open my present.”

- Jumping slightly, a squeal mixed with an excited giggle bubble up from your throat.  “Mmmh, all right.”   All the while rubbing, massaging that delectable bulge; enticing it to grow, strain the front of his trousers.  “Since you’ve been such a good boy this year.”  Giving it one last gentle squeeze, earning one more grunt.  Before…

- Gone for only a hot minute or two, you return to find him lounging naked on the couch.  Arms draped over the back lazily, long legs spread casually.  Santa hat perched perfectly, barely covering his candy cane and sack of goodies.  “That’s certainly a look, J.”

- Smirking, rising to his feet.  He keeps the jolly old elf’s cap securely in place as he saunters over, comes to meet you in front of the panoramic window.  Fingertips tangling, playing with the ribbon wound and tied perfectly around…  “Says the woman wearin’ paper like a dress.”

- Anticipating the inevitable sassy quip that would undoubtedly come, he acts quickly and smoothly.  “Not that I’m complain’.”  Bending, burying his face into the crook of your neck.  Lavishing your sugar cookie scented skin in love bites and nips.  “Or grateful.”

-As he tears away, takes his time. Savoring, slowly and carefully unwrapping.  “Musta been real good.”  Revealing the sexy, little ho-ho-hoe number that lay beneath.  “To deserve somethin’ this sweet…”

- Skillfully and in a single, fluid motion.  A.J. whirls, twirls you to the music that plays softly in the background.  “…exquisite…”  Pushing you against the cool glass.  Pinning and holding, encompassing you completely with his larger frame. Stocking hat left forgotten on the floor, laying amongst the shreds of discarded paper.  “…wonderful like ya.”

- Eyes hungrily sweep and take in your red, tulle clad form.  Meeting, locking with yours in the reflective surface.  “Now, on them tip-toes, baby doll…”  Palm smoothing down your semi- clothed back, following the intricate details and patterns of the bustier.  Settling on your hip, tugging on it a bit too roughly.  “…lemme try out my new toy.”

- Eagerly you ease, precariously balance on them.  Sparks of anticipation bursting, bemused smile crossing your face.  Watching him still have to slouch, crouch slightly.  To align himself with your aching entrance.  “Sure you’re not too big for this one?”

- Laying tender, adoring kisses along your spine.  His free hand finds, gropes a pert breast.  “Nah, not too big.”  Thumb swirls, fingertips rolls and pinches your pebbled bud.  Fat tip prods, teases at your soaked folds core.  “Always liked my playthings to be a little on the small…”  Surging forward, steadily stretching.  Forcing your tight cunny to open with his thick cock.  “Fuck…side.”

- Moaning, whimpering…nails scramble, scratch lightly.  Palms flatten, brace against the steamed-up glass.  While he thrusts, pounds into you unbridled and wild.  Toned chest pressed to, resting his full weight onto you.  A.J. looms above, grunting and groaning in your ear each time he bottoms out.  Increasing his pace with every powerful drive.

- “So…shit…”  Bullying and hitting, bruising your cervix over and over.  “Lemme get…”  The heat rises, pools in the pit of your stomach.  “Lemme get this straight…”  Peak approaching swiftly, gummy walls fluttering and burning.  “You’ll become the Clause Man’s wife before m-mine?”

- Body tenses, goes ridged.  Starts to shake from all the overwhelming pleasure that courses through.  “Who…who said that wasn’t you…”  You can feel him twitching and throbbing.  Shuddering as he draws closer to his own release, mind-numbing orgasm.  “That you’re not San-San…”

- Slamming hard, you both cry out in bliss.  You clamping and clenching, gushing all over him.  While he paints your insides a sticky, snowy white; stuffing your little stocking nice and full.

- Panting, knees shaking.  He helps you back down onto your feet.  Immediately wrapping, swallowing up your unsteady form in his strong arms.  Laughing happily and joyfully.  Peppering the top of your crown in frantic, loving kisses.  All because you finally agreed.  Said the one thing he’s been waiting to hear since he first presented you with that little, velvet box.  “Then I guess ya better call me Santa… Mrs. Clause.”

- Bursting out into a fit of giggles, sporting an elated grin.  You tilt your head back, teasing playfully…finally getting in a smart remark.  “So, Santa…tell me what else you want?”

- “Yeah, actually.”  Mirroring your smile, he starts to lazily rock…buck and rut again.  “I could think of one thing or two.  Maybe even three.” 

- Santa, tell me if he really cares…  'Cause I can't give it all away if he won't be here next year…’

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @lotte08, @rafeswifeyy2, @exsamlockwood-kate, @sythethecarrot, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker, @everydaydreamer, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @erosmutt, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @anakinstwinklebunny

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove,  @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou, @whoisgiinaa, @kentaviax, @arcj

[shantismurf]

Thanks @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt, and @lucigoo and @conkers-thecosy for the inspiration and encouragement today 🥰

[#FFF 273 Invisible Guest]

Invisible Guest

Teen, 790 words, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield

A scrape of sound caught Thorin's ear, and he had to fight to keep the satisfied smirk from his face. It seemed that his invisible guest had returned once again.

He sighed dramatically and pushed back the pile of paperwork he'd intended to review that night. Perhaps it was time for a different strategy. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he let his shoulders slump, then rolled his neck and sighed once more. He needed to be careful not to lay the mortar on too thick with his act. His target was too clever by half and had little patience for being made a fool of.

He carefully stretched his arms overhead, only slightly exaggerating the twinge that sparked in the scars still healing along his ribs, and stood from his desk to shuffle slowly towards the door of his office, which he locked firmly. Slipping the key into his pocket, he made his way to the armchairs near the fireplace with a careful slowness. It wasn't an act for him to press a hand to his side in an effort to soothe the echoing pains, but the little grunt of discomfort might have been a tad put-on.

His ears were tuned to the subtle shift of fabric he heard as he slowly lowered himself to a chair and propped up his throbbing foot. Hmm, how best to end this charade, he wondered.

Reaching into the inside breast pocket of his coat, he withdrew a familiar deep red velvet cloth, rolling the smooth contents in his hand with satisfaction. He heard a creak and a small intake of breath and knew that he had his prey's full attention now.

Bringing the small package up to his lips, he thought of all the sentiment and adoration he poured into it's precious contents. It was as pure a representation of his heart as he could imagine, and he allowed the love that rose within him to show freely with a soft smile and a gentle sigh. A stifled gasp told him he was digging in the right mine.

"Would you join me, Burglar?" he rumbled softly. He was met with utter silence, but waited with the patience of stone until a flicker of russet gold curls appeared in the corner of the room and the hobbit stood slowly.

He looked around blearily and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, Thorin," he said with an exaggerated yawn. "I must have nodded off in the corner there. So sorry to bother you. I'll just be-"

"Come." Thorin said implacably.

The hobbit ducked his head a little sheepishly and shuffled over to stand behind the opposite armchair, a wary look in his eyes though his expression was pleasant. Thorin often wondered how many masks the little burglar wore at any one time, and how he might tear them all down and see the truth of things.

Speaking plainly seemed to be the one thing Bilbo was utterly defenseless against, so Thorin employed it now. Holding out the wrapped lump, he said simply, “This is yours.”

“Oh, no, really,” the burglar stuttered. “I'm sure it's not necessary to-”

“Take it.” Thorin said, again with the same placidly unwavering tone.

Bilbo gulped audibly and shuffled forward, reaching out and accepting the small bundle. He seemed surprised at its shifting weight and quickly peeled back the folds of cloth to reveal the precious gift inside.

Four oblong beads rested in the hobbit’s small palm, glinting in the firelight. The distinctive sheen of silver steel flowed around delicate stones of sapphire and opal, emerald and swirling golden chalcedony. One set was styled with a motif of curling forget-me-nots, the other with a vibrant oak leaf sheltering an acorn.

“Th-these are for me?” his voice shook a bit with what sounded like hope. The fist that had gripped Thorin’s heart so unrelentingly started to ease.

“If you would have me.” Thorin whispered. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the way pure joy and incredulity emerged in Bilbo's eyes as the wariness and fear parted like fleeing storm clouds.

“You're better. You're really truly better,” Bilbo gasped as he threw himself into Thorin's lap, clinging to his neck and all but attacking his lips. The fist clutching the courtship beads pressed to the side of Thorin's beard sweetly.

Thorin sighed into his love’s mouth, melting under the onslaught. He wrapped his arms around his precious form and held him close, twinging scars be damned. As Bilbo’s warm tongue swiped his lips, he forgot about pain entirely and lost himself to bliss.

No longer was there a need to hide in the shadows and fear the unknown. His invisible guest was now a most welcome permanent inhabitant of his heart.

[rederiswrites]

@opal-bee got me thinking with her tags wondering how Misty and Viktor talk about V when they're not around, because that shit is right where my brain is, too. Didn't have long to dig into it, but here's a quick start:

Viktor looked up just a little too quickly at the sound of Misty's footsteps in the stairwell. She knew the cause; it was why she'd hurried back to him, after all. V had been all he'd thought about for days, and she knew letting the man out of his sight in such a state had been hard as hell.

“He's settled,” she said. “I think he was going straight to sleep.” Vik’s face relaxed. Almost imperceptible, but not to Misty. “He'll be ok, you know.”

“You know that's not true.”

Misty’s heart ached. “He's strong. Stronger than this. I choose to believe he'll find his path.”

Vik shifted in his chair, running his hand over his face. Misty practiced patience. She chose to be gentle, now more than ever.

“I'm glad your beliefs bring you comfort,” he finally said. She knew he was clinging to a lifetime’s practice at patience, too. She knew they were both hurting.

“And we'll be there for him,” she added.

“That we will,” he said. He gave her a tight smile. “For what it's worth.”

“You could send him a text,” she said. “Tell V to call when he wakes up. Update you on how he's handling things.”

“I'm not his mom.”

The words could have been harsh, but Misty knew better. It wasn't “I'm not responsible for him.” It was “I have no claim on him.”

“As his doctor,” she said. “It'd be good.”

Vik grunted. He stared at his phone for a second before shifting towards it.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just to check in.”

She smiled at him in encouragement. She could only hold the expression for a second.

[mjrtaurus]

Luffy would be 7 when Lucci joined the Bloodfeather Pirates which means it's highly likely that he first saw Lucci napping on the deck in leopard form and leapt onto him like "KITTY!!! 🤩" (frankly it's a miracle Lucci didn't instinctively eviscerate the boy, has his haki dipped that much in such a short amount of time?)

Naturally Dragon isn't quick to trust strangers around his little chick, but the months pass and Lucci finds that a considerable amount of the time he isn't spent killing is being dedicated to watching his captain's cub. His very loud, very grabby, very hyperactive cub. It mostly consists of Lucci doing his own thing while occasionally looking up to see if the kid is in danger of falling overboard or messing with something he shouldn't be. Of course Luffy talks incessantly to him, but Lucci never gives him any response beyond a grunt of acknowledgement. Maybe an "I see" if he's feeling particularly chatty.

It's puzzling to Lucci why this kid lacks Dragon's bloodthirstiness. Lucci was trained to fight from the time he could walk. So were most of his fellow CP agents. What reason would a man as brutal as Dragon have not to do the same?

One time when some mountain bandits (not anyone from Dadan's crew) decided to pick on someone who wasn't their own size, Lucci knocked them into the woods and tore their throats out while Luffy got his bearings a good distance away. He also didn't understand why Dragon was so insistent the boy not witness carnage, but those were captain's orders and Lucci was nothing if not obedient.

Lucci doesn't know what it was that made him break his usual silence while he carried the boy back to Foosha on his back. Maybe it was Luffy's whimpers that he would become strong someday no matter what.

To that, Lucci replied "Your enemies will die screaming one day. Perhaps by your hand. Or your father's. Or mine. But they will die"

Lucci finds that a particular trick that Luffy finds endlessly amusing is his skill of ventriloquism. He makes Hattori “talk” to the boy when his own responses would be… distressing. Through throwing his voice, he can be anyone and anything he wishes, from Dragon’s vultures and Crocodile’s fruitwani to the opal eyed Amaru figurehead of the Mantaro.

Years later, when the Straw Hat Pirates sail out to meet them on the newly built Thousand Sunny, Luffy asks Lucci if he made the Merry talk to them, or if the Klabautermann story that Franky told them all after leaving Water 7 was true.

Lucci tells him no. He did not make the Merry talk.

Meanwhile, Dragon and Crocodile hear this and think about the fierce jaws of the Sobekneferu, and the call from them that saved her dying captain’s life.

Lucci… does not understand Luffy. Perhaps that’s where this unbidden fascination stems from. This boy has no hand that guides him. He looks to the glory of a dead man and strives to take up his mantle and surpass him. He is boundless, resilient, and free…

And now that he’s older, he’s talking him into sparring matches. Him. The assassin that had been sent to kill his father. The man who felt more suited to talk to him through the beak of a pigeon.

Was this little cub… trying to teach him how to play?

[beikonsims]

This time Opal stepped in and when the two were out of earshot, she went ballistic on Buzz for pushing another son away from himself. She might've been angry at Rick, but she missed him greatly and couldn't believe her husband was willing to lose Buck over prejudice.

Buzz tried to explain to her why aliens have been a problem in Stangetown for decades and why he joined the army to protect the town from green people taking over, but she was not having any of it. If he was able to move on from his hate towards the Smiths, he should be able to accept Buck's boyfriend as well.

If there was anything Buzz was helpless against, it was angry women and Opal was able to turn this retired military man into a mouse. She warned her husband he will end up all alone if he doesn't stop harassing everyone around him.

Opal: You will be a grandpa again, for Watcher's sake! And you will love the baby - green or not!

Buzz: But-

Opal: You WILL apologize to the boys and make sure they stay here! Is that clear?

Buzz: Yes, ma'am...

[katz-chow]

my first time requesting im sorry if it sounds really bad or cringe ehehsbbejrr

how do you think Simon would react to someone who has a seashell collection they are v e r y overprotective of and they give him one of the seashells because they trust him???

selling seashells by the seashore? nope!

synopsis: what the ask said! + a bit more because i started to really get into it

warnings: fluff, sfw, gn! reader, established relationship, marriage, a glimpse into simon's private life, soap being soap

a/n: i’m literally on an island rn and i’m pretty sure this seagull is screaming at me so i thought this would be very fitting 😝

Simon definitely has his pockets filled, only with Moroccan sand and shells and rocks and…possibly a starfish? It’s not much, but truly it’s honest work when it comes to him picking up and inspecting every shell or sea cookie there is out here on this damn beach. Soap hollers at him from a few yards away, hand beckoning for him to come over.

“Ain’t this one a big ol' Lad?” Johnny says with his hand on his hip and the other pointing down at a huge mollusk, it’s opal and rainbowed color shone in the blazing sun.

The taller one smiled behind his mask and grunted as his knees popped, reaching down to pick it up. With a knife, he poked and prodded into whatever was in it, which was now just a dead, sandy mess at his feet. “Pretty, then again, anything prettier than your face, Johnny.”

Soap glared at him, “Yeah, at least I have a face.”

Simon missed you terribly. Miles and miles away, he just thinks about how his lovely spouse is on their daily walk down the beach, trading and finding pretty shells to show him once he gets back. You two do this every time he comes home. After a few days of resting (with mostly Simon either shutting off in his own room or hiding his face in the crook of your neck in your shared room), you sit him down on the kitchen table and pull out your beach bag to debrief about the new shells. Each one with a different story attached to it and each one you wanted to share and love.

“I got this one from a fisherman that caught it in his net when he went fishing in the Bahamas!” You showed him a huge, pink and white conch shell that was larger than both your hands combined.

Simon smiled at you and took your prized possession from your hands and inspected the shiny finishing of it. “You weren’t at the Bahamas, Lovie, what did you do to get it?”

“Oh I traded a hermit crab shell for his nephew’s crab.” You said fondly, petting the shell that looked normal sized in his own hands.

Simon pockets the large nautilus shell into his bag somewhere and feels his breast pocket for the small, spiral shell that you’ve gifted him. It was his birthday, the day you saw his toothy grin for the first time.

You had found a beautiful, black, spiral shell the size of a blade. Taking it home, you filed the tip into it was sharp enough to cut through…something, you thought. You don’t know what he exactly would cut, but it’ll come in handy right?

He cried that day when you sheepishly offered him this small gift box, a silver bow resting on the top of it. After you calmed him down and held onto his arm, he opened it and a goofy smile replaced his tears.

“I sharpened it, it’s like a…like uhm a shank?” You said, rather confused actually.

Your husband snorts at your reasoning and picks up the lustrous black shell into his hands. He examines it closely, spinning and turning it in his fingers to make it shine in different angles. With the hard padding of his index finger he grazed the tip of the shell, and sure enough, it was sharp. Simon huffs a laugh to himself thinking about how he could potentially use this as his next melee weapon.

“Do you…like it?” You ask him hesitantly, sitting across from him on the couch. Your own hand fidgeted with each other as you pull and push on your knuckles, making them pop gently.

The large man in front of you looks up at you, eyes a bit wide in confusion. A small gasp is heard from the parting of his lips and he softens his gaze, looking at you fully. He didn’t laugh at you, he laughed at himself. “It’s silly…to be killed with a seashell, hmm?”

Large hands found yours as he abandoned the shell temporarily on the safe coffee table. He kisses your forehead. “Of course I love it, my sea star…best gift ever.”

Simon knew that it wasn’t just a gift from his spouse that day. No that’d be too simple, and his life is anything but. That was a piece of you, your love for him manifesting in such a small, delicate object. To break it, was to break a piece of you…and you would raise hell if he did.

His face settled on a slightly less disgruntled face under his mask as he looked off into the coast. With a pat on the breast pocket of his vest, he pondered to himself, ‘This time, it’ll be different.’ This time he has his own collection to present to you. This time he knows you’ll be even more excited than that time you found a perfectly round sand dollar when he shows you these little treasures. Maybe this time you’ll even scream when he shows you this dried starfish.

But one thing’s for sure, he’ll come home to you after all this. And one day, there’ll be no more war, no more bloodshed, just two old spouses sitting on the beach, the sun rising steadily, and a wall of shells from coasts all around the world.

[desertsportshipping]

Do you think Giovanni ever tried recruiting Wes after seeing his skills and talents? And what do the other Galar gym leaders think of Wes (maybe the first time Leon introduces him to them all)?

Team Snagem and Cipher did have business relations with other evil organizations: the Paldean mob, Team Rocket, Team Plasma, Team Galactic, and others. However, given the reputation of Orre, no team leader ever goes in person, so usually it's a Team Rocket grunt and admin going to buy the stolen Pokemon.

Usually the report is that there's this scrawny, feral looking child with a weird machine strapped to his arm and trying to bite them, so Wes goes overlooked, and by the time Giovanni meets Wes in person, it's after Wes has gone to Galar and established himself as an antihero. So Giovanni's best hope is to negotiate with Wes to make sure he doesn't go after Team Rocket.

Raihan is pissed at Wes even before he meets him. As Leon's ex, Raihan hears every single unhinged thing that Leon thinks about Wes. His phone is being spammed for literal months until Leon finally asks Wes out.

The first impression is even worse. After Leon accidentally sweeps Raihan in a battle, showing a leap and bound in skill that's inexplicable to the audience, Raihan challenges "Leon's new boyfriend" to a battle right then because that's his only explanation. Wes is a little shit and accepts immediately, somehow sweeps Raihan even more brutally than Leon did, and then proceeds to make out with Leon on the field in front of him. Thus begins his and Raihan's petty rivalry.

Nessa hears about this and thinks this is the funniest thing ever. When Leon officially has a friend meet up (which is Raihan and Sonia), Nessa joins them since she's dating Sonia. She does think Wes has a few screws loose but is hilarious to be around, so tentatively positive.

There's a very unlikely friendship between Nessa and Piers, so for one friend meet up, Nessa invites Piers to join. Piers brings Ferma and Reath with him as the other two Orrenites he knows. Surprise surprise, Ferma and Reath do know Wes, but "Keep business business and personal personal," so they're chill (especially since Wes did release them from prison). Leon is busy having an aneurysm in the corner because what do you mean they tried to kill each other and are now friends and Piers is watching this all like I don't want to get involved but this sure is entertaining.

Piers is that quiet friend in the friend group who just enjoys watching his friends banter and bicker, so his opinion of Wes is that he's crazy but enjoying to watch.

Milo meets Wes when Leon takes Wes to Turffield's petting zoo for a date. Milo just sees their sweet interactions, with Wes absolutely covered in Dubwools and Leon stressing over him but also absolutely in love. Leon seems like a completely different person, his smiles are so genuine and his laughter is true.

Then Milo starts hearing news about Wes and is confused. They make each other better and Wes seems so nice, what do you mean Wes committed murders?

By this point, the Galarian news has started its slander campaign against Wes. Most of the gym leaders have heard that Wes is a dirty evil Orrenite who is corrupting Leon and did drugs and murder and debauchery, which definitely colors their opinions of the man.

Opal thinks this is hilarious. She's friends with Mustard, whose friends with the former Champion of Orre, Eagun. Granted, she believes all the claims about Wes, but she also doesn't care as long as he isn't committing crimes in Galar (which he is sometimes but its fine). Opal just accepts that Orre is culturally different from Galar, especially since she's heard good things about Wes from Eagun. "If Champion Leon were to date any Orrenite, he picked the best one."

Bea is disturbed by everything she's hearing about Wes. She's vowed to keep Allister away from him at all costs and keeps trying to talk sense into Leon, without success. She's firm in her convictions to hate Wes, and no amount of sad looks from Leon or Allister (who she's been shielding from the worst of the news as they also publish images from the dark web that definitely break several laws) will convince her that Wes shouldn't be locked up in prison for the rest of his life.

Gordie and Melony are also on the same page. They make it clear to Leon that Wes is not allowed in Circhester, and they wouldn't be hesitating to call the police if they spot him. Melony has a little more sympathy, as she can read between some of the lines and can tell that Wes is a victim to some degree of the cruelty's of Orre, but it doesn't outweigh her feelings that he should be punished for his crimes.

Kabu is a little more reserved than the other three, mainly because he'd rather focus his energy on his gym and his city than whoever the Champion is currently dating. Kabu has spotted Wes skulking around Motostoke, in the city's shadows, on occasion, but turns a blind eye: he'll intercept if Wes is actively doing something bad, but otherwise it's not his business.

[coffeen-deaths]

I have waited a long time to talk about her!

Meet Tiger Lily Cookie (Dragon Lily Au)

She was raised by her mother (she doesn't know she is her aunt) Rambutan and her mom Blue Lily.

She was raised with the mentality of protecting the forest and the animals that live there.

Tiger Lily is selectively mute, besides speaking more in grunts and dragon language.

The claws attached to her bracelets are made of fire opal, which were found by Rambutan and given to her as a gift along with her spear.

Tiger Lily is a quarter dragon (thanks to her father and that "side" of the family), so she is stronger than a normal cookie and more intuitive.

She is able to sense and (sometimes) see beings that are not there, like her grandmother White Lily.

Her partners are Werewolf Cookie and Kumiho Cookie.

I seriously hope that when the Hollyberry update comes out, tiger lily will receive more attention.

[pokemanix]

Welcome to POKEMANIX

Enjoy your stay. I like reblogging pkmn stuff of all kinds! That includes fanart and official stuff

I also post pkmn card posts for every pkmn character. If your favourite isn't up yet, they either don't have a card or theyre in the queue.

Official Pokemon Trainer Cards Easy List;

Gen 1

Red, Blue, Green, Leaf, Ash Ketchum, Mom, Professor Oak, Imposter Professor Oak, Daisy Oak, Bill, Celio, Mr. Fuji, Copycat, Giovanni, Jessie and James, Butch and Cassidy, Sird, Team Rocket Grunts, Brock, Misty, Lt. Surge, Erika, Koga, Sabrina, Blaine, Lorelei, Bruno, Agatha, Lance

Gen 2

Ethan, Kris, Lyra, Mom, Professor Elm, Silver, Eusine, Mary, Mr. Pokemon, Kurt, Buena, Archer, Ariana, Proton, Petrel, Falkner, Bugsy, Whitney, Morty, Chuck, Jasmine, Pryce, Clair, Janine, Will, Karen

Gen 3

Brendan, May, Mom, Professor Birch, Wally, Zinnia, Scott, Mr. Briney, Mr. Stone, Gabby and Ty, Lanette, Brigette, Professor Cozmo, Captain Stern, Aarune, Lisia, Archie, Matt, Shelly, Maxie, Tabitha, Courtney, Team Aqua Grunts, Team Magma Grunts, Roxanne, Brawly, Wattson, Flannery, Norman, Winona, Tate, Liza, Wallace, Juan, Sidney, Phoebe, Glacia, Drake, Steven Stone, Noland, Greta, Tucker, Lucy, Spenser, Brandon, Anabel

Gen 4

Lucas, Dawn, Johanna (Mom), Professor Rowan, Barry, Felicity, Looker, Roxy and Oli, Cheryl, Riley, Mira, Buck, Marley, Bebe, Roseanne, Cyrus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Team Galactic Grunts, Charon, Roark, Gardenia, Maylene, Crasher Wake, Fantina, Byron, Candice, Volkner, Aaron, Bertha, Flint, Lucian, Cynthia, Palmer, Thorton, Dahlia, Darach, Argenta

Gen 5

Hilbert, Hilda, Nate, Rosa, Mom (BW), Mom (B2W2), Professor Juniper, Cedric Juniper, Fennel, Cheren, Bianca, Hugh, N, Colress, Ghetsis, Zinzolin, Gorm, Bronius, Giallo, Ryoku, Rood, Anthea, Concordia, Shadow Triad, Team Plasma Grunts, Cilan, Chili, Cress, Lenora, Burgh, Elesa, Clay, Skyla, Brycen, Drayden, Iris, Roxie, Marlon, Shauntal, Marshal, Grimsley, Caitlin, Alder, Benga, Ingo, Emmet

Gen 6

Calem, Serena, Grace (Mom), Professor Augustine Sycamore, Shauna, Tierno, Trevor, Alexa, Cassius, Inver, Sina, Dexio, Gurkinn, Bonnie, Emma, AZ, Lysandre, Chalmers, Aliana, Bryony, Celosia, Marie, Xerosic, Team Flare Grunts, Viola, Grant, Korrina, Ramos, Clemont, Valerie, Olympia, Wulfric, Malva, Siebold, Wikstrom, Drasna, Diantha, Dana, Evelyn, Morgan, Nita, Kali, Katherine

Gen 7

Elio, Selene, Mom, Professor Kukui, Professor Burnet, Lillie, Hau, Samson Oak, Guzma, Plumeria, Gladion, Team Skull Grunts, Lusamine, Wicke, Faba, Aether Paradise Employees, Phyco, Dulse, Soliera, Zossie, Ilima, Lana, Kiawe, Mallow, Sophocles, Acerola, Mina, Hala, Olivia, Nanu, Hapu, Kahili, Molayne, Mohn, Ryuki

Gen 8

Victor, Gloria, Mum, Professor Magnolia, Sonia, Hop, Bede, Marnie, Sordward, Shielbert, Ball Guy, Team Yell Grunts, Rose, Oleana, Milo, Nessa, Kabu, Bea, Allister, Opal, Gordie, Melony, Piers, Raihan, Leon, Cara Liss, Jack, Dan, Mustard, Klara, Avery, Honey, Hyde, Peony, Peonia, Digging Duo, Koko

Hisui

Rei, Akari, Professor Laventon, Kamado, Cyllene, Zisu, Pesselle, Tao Hua, Sanqua, Colza, Beni, Ress, Rye, Cogita, Choy, Anthe, Charm, Clover, Coin, Vessa, Adaman, Mai, Arezu, Iscan, Melli, Sabi, Irida, Lian, Calaba, Palina, Gaeric, Pearl Clan Members, Diamond Clan Members, Ginter, Volo, Tuli, Mani

Gen 9

Florian, Juliana, Professor Sada, Professor Turo, Nemona, Arven, Penny, Clavell, Jacq, Dendra, Miriam, Raifort, Saguaro, Salvatore, Tyme, Katy, Brassius, Iono, Kofu, Larry, Ryme, Tulip, Grusha, Rika, Poppy, Hassel, Geeta, Giacomo, Mela, Atticus, Ortega, Eri, Carmen, Youssef, Team Star Grunts, Carmine, Kieran, Perrin, Kitakami Caretaker, Billy and O'Nare, Briar, Cyrano, Drayton, Lacey, Crispin, Amarys, Liko, Roy, Friede, Dot

Go

Professor Willow, Candela, Blanche, Spark

Other

Imakuni?, Holon, Trainer Classes (1, 2, 3, 4, 5), Pokemon Center Ladies, NPCs (1, 2, 3, 4)

[jilixthinker]

embryos

☆ MASTERLIST ☆

PART 1 PART 2

pairing: felix × jisung

genre: angst, supernatural, smut

summary: "purity. those who possess it can have the access. it's like a key. only the pure souls who die in your world can enter in mine. the only requirement is a body. flesh in exchange for the eternal sun".

word count: 5.5 K (in part 1)

content warning: depression, death, mentions of suicide, pain and sufference, parallel universes, smut, jisung and felix are so in love it hurts, eventual happy ending

a/c: i wrote this a few years ago and never finished it, but i cared so much about the idea itself that i forced myself back to finally put an end to it. i still don't know how many chapters i will divide this into, but i guess it will be 3/4 maximum. please, enjoy it at least half as much as i did ♡

I have never been a diamond. For as long as I can remember, I have always sided with the useless. Many have tried to make me face who I am, and still, the only thing I could see were black eyes and no intention to exist. Even after years, when I look in the mirror, my image continues to show me something I do not recognize as myself. I never wanted to shine, I was always at the bottom of a hole. Never a diamond, just a lightless opal. Strings pulling a puppet without someone to maneuver it. A reflection.

Jisung wakes up the way incongruents do. He opens his eyes, blinks twice, maybe three times. As the light overbearingly invades the room, he curses and swears at everything around him. If he knew more than one language he would probably curse in that one too. He throws his legs off the bed and slowly stretches them. He arches his back like a cat and feels his vertebrae snap as if they were moving away from each other.

The first foot on the icy floor is traumatic, as always, and the second is certainly no better. With shuffling steps he makes his way to the window, the cause and fault of all that light, and behind the wide-open sashes he finds a busy Seoul, more alive than ever. Jisung snorts contritely and pulls the small rope that holds the blinds up. Only when the room stagnates in a lazy half-light, he lets out a sigh of relief. He takes two steps toward the mattress and for a few seconds he thinks about throwing himself back on it, fuck all commitments, classes, university, and fuck his phone that just decided to ring.

Groping around, with his eyes still half-closed, he slips an arm under his pillow and looks for the cause of all that noise. He brushes against the cover of his cell phone, which slides a few inches forward, slipping from his fingers. Oh, that's perfect. Thank you. When he finally manages to grab it, he unlocks the call without even looking at the screen.

"No".

From the other line he ears a grunt and a cough, then an overly deep voice.

"No, what?"

Jisung rolls his eyes and sits on his bed, crossing his ankles and shaking his head.

"Minho?"

"No, your majesty the queen. I won't take a no as an answer from anyone, especially not from you".

More noises in the background. Jisung thinks he hears a slap, another grunt, and the squelching sound of a kiss.

"Jisung? Sorry, that animal took my phone from my hands while you were answering me".

Another voice, much more graceful and alert than the previous one, rings inside his ear. Jisung barely pulls the device away while looking up.

"Do we want to continue with all this whining or are you going to tell me why you called me? I'm quite busy".

"Busy? Are you jacking off? Anyway, I heard you answering no. And you know I don't accept a no as an answer from anyone, especially from..."

Jisung stands up from his bed and stumbles over a slipper. Not that balance has ever been his best quality.

"Did you and your boyfriend decided to talk the same way to irritate me endlessly? Because you always do it without even trying, just for you to know".

The voice squeaks in a distinctly offended tone, and Jisung can imagine his interlocutor's lips curving into a grimace.

"Han Jisung, if you don't get your ass out your house and get ready in twenty minutes, I swear to God I will set fire to your life and everything I can find in it. You cannot miss another class. That is mandatory".

The sound of the closed signal wakes Jisung up from the morning fog. He runs a hand over his sweaty face and, with the phone still wedged between his shoulder and head, he whispers.

"Good morning to you, Chan".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

After twenty minutes and many other curses, Jisung is standing outside of his elegant building. His lace-up shoes, combed hair, and an off-white shirt shine as if lit by stage spotlights. He glances at the expensive watch he wears on his wrist and he thinks that, if impressions were always right, then he would be a spoiled daddy's boy with a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life. Instead, he reflects bitterly as Chan's car pulls up in front of him, he is a daddy's boy who hates his privileged status, with no one beside him and a nuclear explosion always about to burst his brain. But there is no need to worry. Impressions are everything.

"You have awful dark circles".

Jisung slips into the back seat of Chan's expensive car. He tosses his shoulder strap and smiles sarcastically at Minho.

"I wouldn't worry about other people's dark circles with an ugly face like yours".

Minho bursts out laughing, slowly driving back into the lane. Jisung leans toward the seat in front of his, hugging the backrest.

"Someday you will explain to me why you always let him drive your car".

Chan turns to look at him and pinches his nose. He does this on purpose to make him nervous because he knows how much Jisung despites physical contact.

"Because I can recognize my limits, unlike you. And don't try to deflect the topic. You missed a week of classes, the professors were starting to get impatient, and I couldn't take notes for the three of us. Can you explain what the fuck were you doing?"

Jisung shakes off his best friend with a vacant stare.

"The three of us?" He asks, sidestepping the question.

"You know that this animal", Chan reaches out to point at Minho "does everything but paying attention. However, an answer would be more than welcome".

Jisung huffs and crosses his legs against the seat in front of him. He does not want to answer. He has no reason to justify his absence from classes. He did absolutely nothing during that week. He procrastinated everything that could be done, ate very little and showered even less. He spent all his time lying on his huge bed in his huge house, alone, looking at the ceiling and thinking about how his life was going in a completely unfamiliar and negative direction. Starting with the university that had been chosen by someone else, his house that had been delivered to him already furnished, and all the relationships that he had that now seemed false, distant, and unattainable. Jisung felt like his essence was been split against his will and another person was living his life. His real self was behind a mirror, imprisoned and motionless, watching him silently, without uttering a word.

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to the junction of his nose.

"I had a fever, I couldn't get up".

Chan sighs. He doesn't believe him for a moment, but insisting with Jisung is like yelling to a mountain to get up and walk.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Minho pulls over near the curb to let Jisung and Chan off. He said that he will not join them. He has an interview with a colleague of his parents who may decide to take him as an intern. Chan places a kiss on his boyfriend's lips. A kiss that, according to Jisung, lasts a little too long considering they are not alone, and then he runs into the cafeteria next to the university to get them two iced americanos. Jisung picks up his briefcase and smooths out the creases on his blue cigarette pants.

"You are not well".

Minho is looking at him as people may look at an underfed dog on the side of the road.

"Why do I feel like this is not a question?"

Jisung gets out of the car and closes the door, then walks over to stand next by the other boy and he scrutinizes him for a few seconds. Minho works as a model, it's inevitable for him to be attractive. He has muscular legs, fair skin, and big eyes. But Jisung knows that's not the reason he was hired. The truth is that Minho knows exactly what he wants, from everything. From his job, from his relationship, from life. He has a very strong determination that is impossible not to notice in his gaze.

Jisung instead, and he turns around to look at his image in the rearview mirror, has the gaze of someone who does not even want to be noticed.

"It wasn't. It was an observation".

"I don't need any help".

"I know. You and I are the same".

Jisung bursts out laughing, his laugh drained of any sort of amusement.

"You and I have nothing in common, for your luck".

Minho smiles at him accommodatingly as he places one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear. Jisung steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

He looks at his reflection on Chan’s shiny red car. He can barely recognize the lips he was so proud of, even if it’s ridiculous to think about it now that it seems like centuries have passed. They are a lurid, wispy copy of what they used to be. He has absolutely no recollection of how long it has been since he last kissed someone with that mouth. There is not a single time he can look at himself without a sense of nausea pervading him from head to toe and forcing him to look away immediately. Despite his best efforts, however, his image haunts him wherever he goes and whatever he does.

A rather violent push wakes him up from his thoughts. Minho is still in front of him, huffing because the light is still red and preventing him from moving forward. Jisung turns his head to see where the push came from. He catches a glimpse of the back of a boy who is quickly walking away.

"Hey!"

He yells at him loudly enough so that the latter can hear him above the infernal noise of the traffic, but the boy keeps walking fast, almost quickening his pace.

Jisung moves forward and decides that no, he absolutely does not want to be ignored like that by someone who has just run into him.

"Hey!", he repeats, and starts running until he finds himself behind him. A few meters behind, the green light finally lets Minho turn on the engine.

"I'm not saying you have apologize, but at least you could turn around".

Jisung grabs the arm of the rude stranger who quickly walks into the crosswalk, dragging Jisung with him. He doesn’t even give him a glance and doesn’t turn around.

Jisung opens his mouth and now he is sure that he will not continue to be so kind if this guy is going to avoid him. He absentmindedly hears Chan's footsteps coming out of the cafeteria and he's about to tell him to wait for him just a moment, just long enough for him to clear a few things up with the stranger who has, he's pretty sure, hit him on purpose.

Instead, his ears catch only the sound of the two coffee cups slipping down from his friend's hands and a shrill quiver. He just has the time to turn his head and see Chan with his mouth wide open and his eyes terrified, standing motionless on the sidewalk, with one hand extended in his direction.

"What..."

But he does not have the time to finish the sentence because he feels a tug from the stranger he is still grabbing by the elbow, and then a dull pain.

The last thing he senses is an immense red stain in front of him, smell of burning tires irritating his nostrils and a loud ringing noise in his ears. Then nothing.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

beep beep beep

-Jisung-.

Jisung hears a familiar voice calling him. Jisung? Was that the right name? His ears do not react. Another low sounding voice echoes around him.

"Jisung. Come back. We won't let you go".

Something touches his face, very lightly. A deep breath. Jisung tries to figure out in what position his body is placed. He feels forced into something even though he is almost certain he is lying down. He seems to be missing a piece, a part of himself. There is a strong foreign smell of disinfectant alcohol. He tries to open his eyes but cannot find the right muscles to do so.

"Please".

The first voice, the softer, more familiar one, continues to speak to him. He feels a hand caressing his face and eyelids. Once he feels that pressure, he finally identifies where his eyes are and manages to blink once.

"He is waking up".

It takes him a few moments to bring the scene into focus. There is too much white and the light is glaring. He sees, first blurred and then increasingly sharp, three faces leaning over him. Two of them he recognizes, one of them he does not know to whom he belongs. He closes and reopens his eyelids several times until he completely focuses on his surroundings.

"Where..."

He tries to speak but his voice is unfamiliar, as if he had just finished working in the mine. He coughs and regrets it bitterly a second later. Every breath causes him a painful twinge in his chest.

"You are at the hospital".

Chan speaks to him with shining eyes. Jisung turns his head and sees several tubes attached to his arm.

"What?"

Minho curls an arm around Chan's waist and pulls him close. The doctor, the man whose face he did not recognize, checks the IVs and the monitor beside his bed.

"Talk and move as little as possible. The more you try to rest the faster we can discharge you".

He gives him a smile, then looks apprehensively at the two boys next to him and leaves the room.

"What", repeats Jisung panting. His breathing quickens as he realizes where he is.

"You had an accident". Minho squeezes Chan tightly as he speaks. "You crossed the street all of a sudden, I was too close. I tried to hit the brakes but you were..."

He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes. He tightens his lips as he tries not to fidget like his boyfriend.

"Jisung", continues Chan. "I came out of the cafeteria and I saw you crossing the street with someone. The light was green, Minho was a meter away from you, he couldn't stop on time. He literally drove all over you. You were in a coma for a week. I, we thought ..."

His words are interrupted as he begins to cry his body shaking violently.

One week. One week of coma. Jisung's eyes are wide open and he feels his heart stop.

"We thought you wouldn't make it".

Minho's voice is terribly serious. It is obvious that he feels responsible for what has happened.

"What do I have now?".

The voice seems not to belong to him, as if it came from miles away and he heard only its distant echo.

"You have nothing, that's what no one can understand. You should have your pelvis broken, together with all your ribs, arms and legs. You should have a head injury. You should be dead, really. They did all the checks on you as soon as you got here. Nothing came up. In fact, you weren't even really in a coma. It was like you were asleep. No one has given a plausible explanation, Jisung. It seems like a miracle".

At those words, Chan detangles himself from his boyfriend's protective embrace and collapses on Jisung, crying on his neck and caressing his shoulders and all the parts he can reach.

"I will never be able to forget the noise the car made when it crashed into you. Never".

Minho lowers his head and begins to tremble as well before slumping down in the chair beside the bed. Jisung just lifts his arm to let it rest on Chan's head and stroke his hair. The movement costs him immense effort.

"It's not your fault, Minho".

Minho sinks his hands into his hair and a few tears line his cheeks.

"Yes it is. I should have gone slower, I should have tried to stop earlier, I should have..."

Jisung raises a finger to silence him and shakes his head very slowly. No, he mimes with his lips, it's not your fault. Chan seems to recover and looks up at him.

"I don't think I've ever been so afraid in my life". he whispers and caresses Jisung’s sweat-soaked forehead.

Jisung closes his eyes. He feels his head bursting as if he had a crowd of people inside of it, jumping and banging their feet on his brain.

A week asleep in something which is not even a coma. Nothing broken, no repercussions. Like it never happened. It seems so unreal to him that he thinks he's going to wake up in his room, with the alarm beeping annoyingly and no will to go to class.

Then, in a second, a thought hits him on the spot and he stiffens.

"There was another person. There was another person with me".

It’s little more than a hiss, but Chan and Minho hear him. The two boys look at each other, and Jisung clearly sees something snap. He can almost hear the sound of it when Chan takes his right wrist in his hands, gently.

"The other person died".

Jisung does not sleep that night and neither does the following.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is discharged three days later.

His parents called him from the US. The line was bad and he couldn't say much. Not that he had much to tell, he couldn't remember anything, and he wouldn't have wanted to hear their voices anyway. Their son could have died in a car accident, and they didn't even care enough to take a plane to visit him. But he expected it after all. In fact, he is not even that disappointed when he finds out that Chan and Minho were the only ones staying with him during the days he was unconscious.

Jisung decides not to ask the other boy's name. He simply cannot. And even though he does not believe in the existence of God, he thanks him. He thanks him all the way home, with Chan and Minho attached to him, afraid to let him move. He thanks him for seconds, minutes, hours. He thanks him, but not for being alive. He thanks him because he didn’t see his face. If he had, if the boy had turned around when he grabbed his arm, his face would have been sculpted in his mind like a firebrand.

But he didn’t see it, and that allows him a sort of detachment, some dignity. It spares him some pain. That’s why he is grateful to a God in whom he doesn’t even believe. Maybe Jisung will be able to move on without the remorse hunting him, reminding him that if he hadn’t chased him, if he hadn’t screamed and touched him, the boy could still be alive. alive. alive. alive.

"Jisung".

Jisung looks away from the buildings flowing behind the cab window. Chan smiles at him. Minho, two days earlier, confessed that he destroyed the car. He would never be able to get into it again after the accident.

"I'm fine". he answers to the unspoken question.

In fact, it's not even a lie. He is fine, he feels no pain whatsoever and he is able to move perfectly as nothing ever happened. But then he remembers the nape of that neck, the slim waist, the thin arm he grabbed, and he realizes that no, he is not fine at all.

They get outside of his building a few minutes later. Jisung stares at it, standing imposingly in one of the most luxurious parts of the city, and inside he knows he doesn't deserve any of that.

"I'll walk you upstairs".

Chan takes his hand and tries to open the door, but Jisung pulls him back and forces him to sit back in his seat.

"No need. I can go. You guys go and rest".

"Jisung, I will not leave you".

Chan crosses his arms over his chest and looks at him seriously, with a worried frown in his voice.

Jisung knows he just wants to protect him, but Chan doesn't understand how much he needs to stay alone with himself and his thoughts.

"But I need to be alone".

Minho nods understandingly and holds his boyfriend against his chest.

"Call us if you need anything. You know we are here".

Jisung forces a smile. Minho looks at him and he knows it's not spontaneous, but he appreciates that he tried despite everything.

"I know. Thank you".

He gets out of the cab with his small bag containing his clothing, medications and tranquilizers, plus a prescription for a psychologist session that he is certain he will not use. The vehicle behind him disappears into the traffic.

Jisung looks around and everything seems so strange, unnatural, and different, almost frightening to him. With a sigh he crosses the threshold of the building and walks down the hall feeling everyone's gaze on him.

Before anyone can speak to him, however, he steps into the elevator and leans his back against the polished wall. He looks up and tries hard not to think about when, an instant before the crash, he pulled the boy against his chest.

When he enters in his apartment, it almost seems that time did not pass. Everything is still as it was the day of the accident. When Minho came to get his clothes he evidently did not touch anything else, and Jisung mentally thanks him for that. Jisung faces the bed, which is still unmade, and throws himself on it carelessly. The mattress bounces under his weight.

The window is closed, but Seoul's afternoon light filters inside from the large living room balcony. Jisung curls up and closes his eyes trying to silence the voices in his head, and he thinks that somewhere in the universe someone must really hate him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

He wakes up that it is barely dawn. A dim ray, too weak to really disturb him, hits his sleep-wrinkled face and softens his forehead. He has been tossing and turning in bed all night. Not that he thought he was going to sleep, but he hoped that his head would give him at least a few hours of rest before starting to replay in slow motion the full dynamics of the crash. He listlessly gets up and shuffles into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator in search of something to eat.

He picks up a jar of yogurt, but when he looks at the expiration date he tosses it into the dumpster. A black banana falls into his hand. Jisung shudders because he only eats unripe fruit, and he throws that too. Eventually he finds a box of rice cereals buried on the top floor of the pantry. He begins to eat it leaning against the peninsula of the table while chewing slowly and looking out from the balcony. The city has woken up before him, as far as he can hear from the sound of the engines and horns coming from outside. Living on the top floor of a building in Gangnam is irrelevant if you can't have some peace, he thinks.

When his stomach seems to have calmed down, he decides to take a shower. Maybe that will wash away the horrible feeling of heaviness, together with the hospital smell he has been carrying around for days.

He is about to take off his shirt and pants when he hears his phone ringing insistently.

"How are you?"

Jisung lowers his pants and boxers in one swoop while he puts his phone in an impossible position on the crook of his neck.

"As I should".

"And that is?".

"Like shit, Chan".

He hears a soft snort from the other line. He can imagine his friend pacing up and down in his apartment, trying not to wake up Minho.

"Do you want me to come over? You won’t have anything to eat. I'll bring you lunch later".

Jisung takes off his shirt too and stands naked in the half-light, crossing his legs and closing his eyes.

"Thanks but it's not..."

Chan interrupts him, the angry tone clashing with his pain.

"Han Jisung, don't tell me it's not necessary or I swear I'll kick your ass. I'll just bring you lunch. And don't you dare not to open the door. I spent the night thinking about you, all alone in that huge thing you call home, so I expect you to eat whatever I’ll get you. Did I make myself clear?"

Jisung remains silent a few seconds, waiting for his friend to finish his rant.

"You have made yourself clear. But now get a couple of hours of sleep. When I said I feel like crap I didn't mean I'm going to jump out of a window. Okay?"

"Not at all. See you later".

As usual, the sound of the line makes Jisung wake up completely.

"See you later". he murmurs to himself.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The water is warm and reddens his skin. Jisung stands still and looks at the ceiling. For a moment he forgets what did happen up to that moment. For a second he is just Han Jisung, he is twenty-three years old, a law student who has two very good friends, a beautiful house and no problems. A normal guy. Everything looks so right inside that steamy cabin where everything exists in its proper place, perfectly set in every corner of his head.

However, when he slides the transparent door open, everything reverts to its disordered state and evaporates along with the drops of boiling water. Jisung absentmindedly observes the skin of his stomach. There are no marks left to testify the accident, and the IV holes are disappearing from his arms. Perhaps time will heal his thoughts as well.

He takes a towel from the closet next to the shower and he vigorously rubs his hair and face. He has no idea about the conditions of his face, to tell the truth. He has not looked at himself for more than a week.

He places the spongy fabric on a shelf and he approaches the mirror. He crinkles his eyes and thousands of black dots appear in front of him, blurring his vision. He staggeringly leans against the sink and waits until he can see everything clearly again. The lights above the mirror are too bright, and Jisung quickly thinks he needs to replace them.

"I must look terrible". he murmurs to himself, laughing dryly.

"You do not".

A voice clearly resonates inside the room.

Jisung turns icy, motionless. A meaningless echo rumbles with the quick realization that someone is there.

Someone broke into.

Into his house. Into his bathroom.

Jisung breath quickens. He keeps his gaze on the sink, trying to figure out where that voice might be coming from.

No one has the keys to his apartment, he thinks disconnectedly. Only Chan knows where he hides them. But a break-in seems unreasonable to him. His apartment is on the 25th floor of a building which is under constant surveillance.

Then who, how, why

"Who are you?"

His voice gushes out rather controlled compared to the nuclear bomb that has just exploded inside his chest. Jisung barely straightens his back and, from the corner of his eyes, he looks behind him, searching for a shadow that would give him a hint of where the stranger is hiding.

"Look up".

The stranger's voice is calm, gentle. A simple observation.

Jisung straightens up a bit. The voice is not coming from behind, he is sure.

"Who are you?" he repeats.

This time his mask of fake strength cracks blatantly. He takes a fleeting glance at his hands and he is not surprised to find them shaking.

"Why don't you see it by yourself?"

Jisung's brain makes a space-time jump. He is no longer inside his bathroom, but in his parents' house. In the living room, to be exact. He is sixteen years old, with fairly long and neglected hair, and an uncertain smile on his face. His brother is sitting in front of him. He is talking to him.

"When you find yourself in an uncomfortable situation", he tells him, "and you can't make the right decision, you have to consider everything you see as a dream inside your imagination. A dream you are living as the protagonist. You think you don't know what is going to happen, but the only one who decides the fate of the ending is you. Even if you don't know it. Even if the events make no sense. You are the only master of your dream and the only director of your life. So, take a breath, open your eyes and observe. Don't get carried away by your emotions. Watch everything as if it doesn’t affect you personally. Because, at the end, it’s just a scene in the movie you are filming. Twists and turns are inevitable, but if you pay attention you will see that there are small discrepancies between the reels that you change. You just have to watch and breathe. Just that, Jisung. Watch and breathe".

Watch and breathe.

Jisung hears those words blowing in his ears. He lifts his head and, somewhere far away, he hears the ticking of water drops falling on the floor.

In front of him there is still the same mirror framing in perspective the bathroom where he is standing. Watching and breathing.

Jisung watches and breathes.

He watches the reflection of a fair body in front of him, a body with a small chest and narrow shoulders, eyes large and expressive, hair blonde, long and neat.

He breathes what must be liquid oxygen, because he feels it flowing differently inside his lungs, it cannot be just air.

He watches a pair of red lips, a small nose, and milky skin adorned with freckles. A face that almost seems to glow under the light of the bulb. He breathes sweat, and he feels as if it rests on his body in a veil, enveloping him completely.

He watches a shy smile, not bold or opinionated. A smile which is just overwhelmingly sweet.

He watches a face of a stranger he has never seen. And he breathes, breathes blood bubbling unsteadily under his enlarged veins.

The reflection in the mirror is not Jisung. The reflection in the mirror is everything Jisung is not. Because Jisung has a tan body, a broad chest and broad shoulders. Jisung has sharp, dull eyes, wet hair, and pale, wispy lips. His nose is bigger and his skin is dull despite of being damp from the shower. Jisung does not smile under the light bulb. Jisung has something that prevents him from pulling his facial muscles and curling his mouth. Jisung is naked in front of the mirror, yet he is wearing a mask. Jisung doesn’t shine, above all. He doesn’t shine.

The boy behind the mirror watches him and breathes. He watches him and breathes in a way that is the same of Jisung, but so much different that it almost hurts. So he reaches out his hand and rests it on the surface of the glass, as to reassure him.

And that’s when he speaks again, when his voice echoes inside that room, that Jisung knows that he is really what he will never be.

"I have always been here". he says.

Then all the lights turn off, or perhaps it’s Jisung himself that is turning off. He closes his eyes and it almost feels like an abomination because he was finally seeing a light.

The last image he sees it’s a hand on a glass in a bathroom, in a building, in a city whose name he cannot remember.

But that's okay.

Because Jisung believes him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[candelasobscura]

dorym week, day 2: "Maybe tonight he'll wander into my dreams."

Dorian laid in his bedroll, pulling the threadbare blanket tightly around him. He made a mental note to get a new one soon. It wasn't doing much in terms of keeping him warm anymore.

He stared at the wide expanse of the Exandrian sky, counting the stars and watching as an owl flew overhead.

Fourteen stars made up the constellation of Sehanine's symbol. Eighteen stars made up the constellation of Pelor's symbol.

Eleven stars made up the constellation of Melora's symbol.

He laughed at himself softly, holding onto the Sending Stone that he asked Opal to fashion into a pendant. Just in case he calls, he had said. Gods, he was hoping for a call.

Dorian felt silly, staring into space with a feeling of affection swirling around him. Something about star-crossed lovers and the like.

A soft breeze swept past the camp and Dorian heard a grunt of disdain from Dariax, followed by a loud snore.

Orym would have laughed at that.

Dorian rolled over in frustration, burying his head into his pillow. He didn't expect to miss a friend this much. Was Orym even a friend at this point?

He just wanted to see his bright smile again. The joy that would light up his face, especially back in Byroden. The feeling of being safe and protected, knowing that Orym was strong and able to protect the party at any cost.

A feeling of anxiety passed over him. What if Orym was hurt? Or, gods forbid, dead? What if Orym had lost the Sending Stone or just forgot to send a message?

Dorian activated the Stone. "Hey Orym, I miss you. Hope you're doing well. Tell Fearne I say hi." He took a moment. "I really miss you."

As he released the Stone from his grip, he was met with loud, screeching feedback that tore through his ears and seared his brain in pain. Well, that bounce back confirmed that Orym wasn't ignoring him, at least.

Dorian sighed in frustration and rolled onto his back once more. He stared up back at the constellation of Melora, hoping for any reassurance from her about Orym.

"Wildmother, if you hear me..." Jeez, now he felt really silly. "I want to see Orym again. Let him wander into my dreams. I miss him. A lot."

At that soft prayer, Dorian drifted off into sleep.

Maybe it was the will of Melora, or he was making it up, but Orym did wander into his dreams last night. He saw Orym sitting watch over Bell's Hells, one hand on his blade and the other holding the Sending Stone. Dorian watched as Orym said something to the Stone, and flinch as he got a response of screeching feedback. Orym looked into the sky, up at Catha. Dorian barely heard Orym's voice as he asked Melora to let him know that Dorian is okay, to let him know that he's alright and he misses him.

Dorian woke up the next morning, the weight of anxiety and fear about Orym and the fate of Bell's Hells lifted from his shoulders.

[preg-fandoms]

Fandom: Hevulla Boss

Pairing: Blitzø/Stolas

Word count: 1.1k

Content warnings: trans masc birth (semi graphic)

Author’s note: decided to just roll with the silly writing binge and well made this! Story beneath the cut!

Today was definitely the day, he had noticed the signs in Stolas with both of his labor with Ophelia and Opal. Belly sitting low, the contractions that became stronger each hour, the intense nesting (if he was able, Blitzø would’ve rearranged the entire living room by now).

He wasn’t really nervous, well he was- but he wasn’t letting it show.

Thankfully Octavia had offered to watch the girls for the night, knowing Blitz probably wanted some space.

“Blitzy?” Stolas’s soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, the others warm claws pressing into his aching back.

Blitz couldn’t help but groan in relief, tail swishing slightly.

“Are you alright?” Stolas asked, he had been timing Blitz’s contractions since they started much earlier in the day. 6 am to be exact.

It was now 4 pm in the evening and things seemed to be getting more active.

“Yeah-“ Blitzø nodddd, leaning into the dining chair. Sweat was beading on his forehead, eyes squeezing shut with a low groan as the contraction peaked.

“Stolas—“ Blitzø couldn’t help but whine, feeling an increase of pressure in his pelvis.

“Yes?” Stolas spoke, immediately standing beside Blitzø, worry written all over his face.

“It hurts-“ He muttered, resting his forehead on his arms.

“I know love-“ Stolas soothed, rubbing his hips gently as Blitz grunted out in pain.

Hissing out in surprise, his eyes widened as a sudden puddle of water was beneath him.

Stolas blinked a few times, giving a small smile. “Oh- there goes your waters- that’s good-“ Stolas explained.

“Oh gross..” Blitz grunted, making a slight face.

“I know lovely-“ Stolas chuckled, leaning down to kiss his head.

“Mmh-“ Blitz whined, shifting slightly, the pressure was getting worse every minute.

“Do you want to sit down?” Stolas asked, gently taking his hands as Blitz nodded.

“Yeah- sitting sounds great-“ Blitz huffed, tail flicking anxiously.

“Okay, let’s get you to the bedroom hmm?” Stolas cooed, carefully leading the laboring imp into their bedroom. Keeping the main light off, Stolas had turned on the bedside lamp.

“Do you want your pants off?” Stolas asked as Blitz nodded.

“Do you need help?” Stolas asked as Blitz shook his head, slowly stripping out of his soiled clothing.

“There we go- let me lay some spare towels down okay?” Stolas spoke, grabbing a few that sat on the dresser.

Setting them down onto the bed, he helped Blitz into the bed.

After getting Blitz settled, Stolas had settled in behind him. Pulling Blitz into his lap, he rubbed slowly circles on the other’s tense hips.

“Just try to rest Blitzy-“ Stolas cooed, as Blitz slowly settled back in an attempt to nap.

—

The next several hours were a blur for Blitz, he had been laboring for quite some time now.

It was clear he was in the transition stage, having fallen silent besides a few grunts and whimpers.

Sitting on his hands and knees, his tail was curled against his back with a low groan.

“Stolas— I gotta push-!” He huffed, suddenly jerking his head up. Eyes wide with panic.

“It’s okay, it’s okay-“ Stolas soothed, gently cupping Blitzø’s face into his hands.

“Just take a moment to breathe, okay?” Stolas spoke as Blitz gave a nod, managing to steady out his breathing.

“I’m going to check okay?” Stolas spoke softly, dipping a hand in between the imp’s legs.

Slowly pressing a few fingers in, his own eyes widened. He could feel the head just barely pressing into his finger tips.

“Okay Blitz, you can push on the next contraction-“ he spoke, giving a watery smile.

He was trying his hardest to hold back the sudden rush of emotions he felt.

“Y-yeah—“ Blitzø muttered, shifting to sit back against the pillows, his trembling hands gripping the sheets as Stolas stayed in front of him, keeping the imps legs parted.

“There we go.. just like that-“ Stolas soothed, rubbing his thigh.

As the contraction let up, as did Blitz.

Leaning his head back, he let out a shaky breath.

“I can’t do this Stolas-“ he suddenly blurted, anxiety seizing at his chest.

“What-? What are you talking about?” Stolas frowned, glancing up at Blitzø with wide eyes.

“I can’t do this Stolas— I’m not ready-“ he whimpered.

Stolas’s face immediately softened at the others, wiping at the tears.

“Blitz sweetie- we’re never ready, but that’s okay- it’s all worth it-“ Stolas reassured, gently caressing the imp’s tear stained face.

“It hurts so bad though-“ Blitz admitted.

“I know Blitzy- here, squeeze my hand as hard as you need okay?” He spoke, intertwining their hands and giving a gentle squeeze.

As the next contraction started, Blitz gave another push. Gritting his teeth as he had a tight grip on Stolas’s hand.

The process repeated for about 30 minutes before Blitz felt a sudden sting between his legs.

“Fuck! Stolas! Something’s happening!” He yelled, as Stolas gently shushed him, glancing down between his legs.

“Good job Blitzy! She’s starting to crown!” Stolas praised, reaching to cradle the emerging head.

“Is that why it feels like I’m shitting a bowling ball?” Blitz huffed irritability as Stolas tried not to laugh.

“Well that’s one way to refer to it as-“ Stolas mused, letting out a soft gasp as the head suddenly popped free. Resting in his hand.

“Oh Blitzy.. she’s perfect-“ Stolas cooed excitedly to his partner.

“Ugh-“ Blitz groaned, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“C’mon Blitz, one more big push!” Stolas encouraged, as Blitzø finally delivered the shoulders.

“Oh hell!” Blitzø yelled out in surprise, eyes widening.

“She’s here!” Stolas chirped, not being able to help himself as he laid the wriggly newborn on Blitz.

“Oh..” Blitz grinned tiredly, holding her as close as he could. “Hey there kiddo-“ he muttered, leaning back as he tried to process his own emotions.

“Shh shh.. you’re okay-“ Stolas cooed, wiping her down with a towel as her cries finally began to settle to little whimpers of protest.

“Oh Blitzy-“ Stolas breathed out, pulling the other into a kiss.

“You gave up another beautiful daughter- I’m so proud of you-“ Stolas spoke, resting his forehead on Blitzø’s.

The imp couldn’t help but let out a purr despite his tired he was.

“Yeah.. yeah- she’s perfect-“ Blitz muttered.

The baby had settled down, content to snuggle close to Blitz as he tucked a fresh towel around her.

“Oh the girls will love her-!” Stolas spoke softly, but excitement was still evident in his tone.

“Yeah of course they will-“ Blitz grinned.

“Oh Blitzy, you should rest-“ Dtolas spoke, having cleaned up the mess, getting some fresh blankets to drape over Blitz.

“Nah, I'm okay, just wanna cuddle with you guys-“ he shrugged lightly.

“Alright, if that’s what you want-“ Stolas spoke, settling into bed beside him. He wasn’t going to push Blitz, he knew how stubborn the other could be at times.

The two had fallen into comfortable silence, Stolas studying their daughter, Blitz resting.

It was a perfect way to end a perfect day for the two.