#people are strange creatures and all that

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Hi, I have a request. I was hoping if you can do a one-shot or short story of Alastor x reader with telekinetic powers that's similar to Carrie White? It can be romantic or platonic, which ever fits better is up to you.

It can go something like this; the reader fell into hell because they did something really bad with their newborn powers, and it was during extermination day. When the exorcist angels were going to kill the reader, they use their TK powers to defend themselves against the angels and manage to kill one before getting away from them. This was caught on news and immediately caught the attention of all the sinners in hell to see the reader has telekinetic powers and manages to fight off the angels. This even caught the attention of all the overlords, including the three Vee's, the Hazbin Hotel crew and Alastor.

That was honestly all I got 😅, I'm sorry if it sounds confusing, but I was hoping you can do something like that, if that's OK with you, because your work is very amazing to read.

Welcome to Hell! - Alastor x reader

Helloo!! I’ve decided to keep this as a one-shot for now since I want to focus on finishing my ongoing stories. However, if inspiration strikes, I might dive deeper into this idea in the future! In the meantime, it was a wonderful request, and I hope you enjoy it! ❤️ A/N: I was supposed to post this tomorrow but I accidentaly clicked post instead of schedule so... here you have it. Warning: Not proofread!

Words: ~2300 TW: none.

Your hands were shaking.

What had you done?

Your heart was racing, your breathing erratic.

You’ve killed someone again.

You only wanted to protect yourself… you always had!

You're a monster.

The golden blood splattered all over you, all over the ground, awakening memories. It happened so fast, so quickly that you still believed it was all a dream. They attacked you, didn't they? It wasn't your fault. You just wanted to survive. Doesn't everyone?

What was this place? Why is everyone so panicked? Why are these beings attacking you?

The sound of a bell rang across the strange city you woke up in, the weird beings flying in the sky. The streets echoed in screams and cries, grunts of pain and suffering sending shivers down your spine.

Once the panic subsided, creatures surrounded you, whispering and watching with wide eyes.

"You... You killed an exorcist?" one of them asked.

"What?" you couldn't understand. What was happening? Was this a joke?

"We're gonna die!" another screamed.

"What? No, I-" You tried to protect yourself, but fear overwhelmed you. You noticed them approaching you, your eyes falling on a nearby wrecked car.

A loud noise echoed as the car blasted through the crowd, giving you a chance to escape. Corpses of these things surrounded you, and blood splattered all over the streets. What was this place? What happened here?

You felt threatened, like prey running from unknown hunters in unfamiliar territory. What was happening? Were you dreaming?

Am I dead?

"Welcome back to 666 News, the premiere station for all things Hell! I'm Katie Killjoy with today's top stories!" Katie's voice echoed through the TV in the hotel's lobby, mere moments after Extermination Day was over.

"Extermination day has just ended, and as usual, demon parts and blood litter the streets of Hell, as clean-up crews get to work."

Charlie watched the news, Vaggie's hand slowly caressing her shoulder. "You want me to change it?" she asked her.

"No... I need to know the damage..." Charlie said, sighing, clearly distressed about her people getting killed once again. Vaggie hugged her tightly, knowing how painful it must be. She'd erase that smile on Katie's face if she could - always so happy to announce the death of other Sinners every year.

"But the news doesn't end there! As it turns out, a newcomer has been reported for recently killing an Angel - using telekinesis, no less!"

They both watched with wide eyes, as Husker joined, his curiosity getting the best of him too. The images of you blasting a car through the car appeared on the screen, screams of people echoing through it.

"Holy shit!" Vaggie said, not quite believing what she was seeing. "They must be confused."

"And what a hell of a start..." Husker said, not phased by the events.

The doors of the hotel burst open, Angel frantically looked around as he tried to catch his breath. "We... We need- Oh, shit..." he tried to say, but running as fast as he could all the way there surely took a toll on him.

"Angel, what happened?" Charlie asked.

He took a deep breath, trying to let the words come out. "We need to take that sinner... I've heard Vox and Valentino talk... They want them!"

"No! If The Vees have them, especially with that power..." Charlie said, worry on her face. It would've been a catastrophe. Having someone like you, powerful and confused controlled by The Vees... It couldn't happen.

A laugh echoed in the room, as everyone's attention shifted. Alastor appeared in the room, shadows emerging everywhere, the smirk on his face wider than usual. He clearly heard what happened, lurking in silence for the perfect time to make his presence known.

"My, my... What an interesting little situation we've managed to find ourselves in! It seems our new arrival has made quite the impression." he said, excitement filling his tone.

"Alastor, you need to help us-" Charlie pleaded, only to be cut off by Vaggie.

"Hold on, Charlie... I don't think Alastor is the best to handle this situation."

"Let me disagree, my dear!" Alastor intervened quickly, stepping closer to them. "I think my skills in... persuasion must be of good help, don't you agree?"

"Manipulation, you mean," Vaggie said harshly, making his eye twitch a bit.

"Ah, that's such a negative word, my dear... I think my term is a little bit more friendly, hmm?" He pushed her aside, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulder. "Now my dearest Charlie, let's think about this for a moment, shall we?"

"Charlie, no!"

Charlie fiddled for a moment, thinking about it, but as much as she hated to disagree with Vaggie, Alastor was right... He always managed to convince people to do different things, and right now, having the newcomer come to the hotel was all that mattered. She sighed, turning to face Vaggie. "I think we should let Alastor try..."

A small chuckle escaped Alastor's lips, his smile growing even wider as he heard Charlie's words. "Excellent choice, my dear Charlie! I promise not to disappoint you!" He clasped his hands together, his eyes sparkling happily as he was clearly enjoying this.

"Ugh, fine..." Vaggie groaned. "But if you fuck up"

"No need for threats, my dear! I assure you there's no need for you to worry!" his eyes turned to Angel, a glim of mischief into them. "Now, where do I find this little dearie of ours?"

You walked the halls of the huge building that the demon took you, still shivering from the... unconventional way you were brought there.

"Ah, I truly apologize for my assistant's... way of bringing you here." The TV demon, who presented himself as Vox, said, resting his arm on the small of your back as he guided you from one corridor to another. "I specifically told them that shoving people in that... black van is surely not the best idea." he laughed a bit nervously.

Your heart was beating so fast, a knot in your stomach as you didn't know what to expect. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, confusion still washing over you.

"Am I in Hell?" you asked, things starting to make sense.

"Yes, you're unfortunately in Hell darlin'," he answered, his voice smooth and almost melodic. You weren't surprised to be here, not after what you've done. Not after how many people you've hurt. "But don't worry, you're safe here with me." He chuckled a bit, his clawed hand brushing slightly on your back. "Now, I don't want to pressure you into anything, but I do look forward to finding out more about you. I think we could really help each other."

"I guess..." you said, realising it was better than roaming around this strange city without knowing anything.

Your eyes fell on your reflection whenever you would pass the big windows. You didn't look much different from your human self, but you seemed to resemble a rabbit, rather than anything else. A reminder that you'll always be what you've been your whole life - a prey, something meant to run and hide, in order to survive.

Vox eyed you closely, humming to himself as a smirk slowly formed on his screen. "Looks like you've figured out what you are," he said, his arm still resting on your back. "A rabbit, huh? Cute."

You blushed at his words, trying to hide your face. You felt so cornered right now, so vulnerable to him, not knowing if he was really going to protect you or give you a much worse fate.

"No need to be so shy, doll," he teased lightly, his arm gently tightening his grip around you. "I promise you're safe here. You're under my protection now, after all."

You watched as he unlocked a door, keeping it open for you. You swirled inside, taking in the huge apartment, looking rather luxurious. Vox followed you, shutting the door behind him. The apartment was lavish and spacious, with large windows at the end of the room, and the city lights glowing underneath it.

"Welcome to your new home," he said, his voice slightly echoing through the empty space. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Is this all mine?" you asked, still not believing.

"Yes, darlin', everything in this apartment is yours," he answered, watching as you looked around in wonder. "Consider yourself lucky. Not everyone in Hell gets to have a place like this." He stepped a bit closer, pride lingering inside of him as he watched your reaction. "Velvette will take care of your attire while you're here, so really no need to worry about anything."

You turned to face him, a bit puzzled by this entire situation. "Why are you helping me?"

Vox’s smile widened as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "I'm a businessman, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost playful. "And I always have an eye out for potential investments. As for you..."

He walked toward you, striding over to you. He slowly trailed a finger along your chin, making you look up at him. "You're something... special. I couldn't let such a precious little thing get lost in this shithole of a city."

Your cheeks burned. You weren't used to being treated with such kindness, a warm feeling settling in your soul. He looked at the watch on his wrist, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "Ugh, have a meeting to attend to," he explained, moving away from you. "Settle in and think about my offer!"

"What about Valentino?" you asked, recalling the man you’d encountered upon your arrival, unbeknownst to Vox.

"What about Valentino?" He repeated, chuckling nervously.

"He said he has an offer for me too..."

You watched him sigh, his screen glitching slightly. "Just... don't. Ok?" You nodded, not sure if you should ask more questions or just keep quiet. Vox left, leaving you alone in your thoughts, a lingering sensation of loneliness filling your soul once again.

You walked around a bit, looking at how neat and beautiful everything seemed. You didn't expect to be like this and you surely didn't expect to be met with kindness, not here at least. With small steps, you took in the sight of the city. Was this how you were going to spend eternity? Was this all real?

"Impressive." a voice echoed behind you, making you jump. Your heartbeat quickened as you watched a demon that resembled a deer stand in front of you, his eyes fixed on your figure. "I have to admit, Vox really outdone himself with this one."

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice coming out more weak than you expected. Your ears flattened against your head, as you tried to distance yourself from the stranger, only to be met with the cold glass.

"Quite the frightened little bunny, aren't you?" he teased, a low chuckle echoing in your ears as static accompanied his voice. "My name is Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You just stood there frightened. In a moment, you made a lamp fly towards him, a frail attempt to protect yourself without making a big mess again. But just mere moments before hitting him, the lamp disappeared into a portal, nowhere to be seen anymore.

He chuckled, taking another step closer, almost towering over you. Alastor watched you from head to toe, clearly evaluating the situation and you. "Very interesting."

"I... Are you Vox's assistant?" you asked, feeling cornered by the deer demon.

He raised an eyebrow at your question, letting out a huff. "Well, of course not, my dear. I am actually here to make an offer." he crouched down to your level, his smile sending shivers down your spine. "You made quite a show for your first day... Those powers of yours..." he seemed almost lost in his thoughts, the possibilities you might offer pleasing him, but first, he had to make you leave Vox. "I know a place where you'll be safe, my dear. And perhaps..." he paused a bit, your ears perking up a bit in curiosity. "... perhaps even leave this place forever..."

Your face lit up for a moment. "Leave... Could I leave Hell?"

"Well, of course!" he said, getting up, his tone cheerful once again. "Is that something that you'd want?" You thought for a moment - you didn't think it was fair for you to end up in Hell... all you did was protect yourself, but... having the chance to go to Heaven? He smiled at your hesitation. "I take that you'd be interested, hmm?" he offered you his hand, helping you get back up.

"But... What about Vox?"

"Oh, don't worry about him. He just wants to use you to his advantage, dear. I can actually help you!" The static in his voice grew slightly when he spoke.

"How can I trust you?" you asked, making him sigh at the question, clearly frustrated by your questions.

"How about a deal, my dear, hm?"

"A deal?"

"Well, yes. I always respect my deals! You come with me and I guarantee you that one day, you will go to Heaven." he raised his hand, green flames engulfing it as you looked at it. "What would it be?"

"The fuck you mean she left?!" Vox asked, slamming the door to the apartment open.

"I told you, Vox! I came in, and she was gone!" Velvette protested. "I told you we can't trust the bitch!"

Vox walked around the apartment, his screen glitching from time to time. He was so angry, it felt like he was about to crash. "Ok, ok.... We can find her..." he tried to calm himself down, but his eyes fell on a little piece of paper on the counter. He quickly grabbed it and as soon as he read it, his screen almost overheated and froze.

"Maybe you should try harder than that, old pal."

"Um... Vox?" Velvette asked, a bit afraid he might have a short circuit again.

"I'm... gonna... kill... that fucker..."

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @xghostnuggsx @vxllys

@ustulia @n0tmentallystable @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog

@alastorthirsty @l3rittany @catticora

[thebarontheabyss]

The new version of The Bar on the Abyss 2.0 update is coming soon!

I've finished stocking the Library of Pseudonium with stories, tales, and entries for you to devour, and now I'm moving to overhaul some of the romance scenes in the game.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share one of those entries. See you soon in the Abyss :)

Waiting for You by Albus Gauss

"Did you see the moth, my love?

It was there when we said our goodbyes. I could see you holding back your tears. You had to be strong, I understand. But I wish you hadn’t. I was so weak, and all I wanted was to hold you, to feel your warmth one last time. I longed for your tears to flow freely, to form a river that would carry me away into the unknown, into oblivion.

As you whispered your final words, I saw it in that quiet moment.

A fragile, black-winged creature. It fluttered softly between us, hovering like a silent witness to our parting. It landed on my chest, just above my heart, and in that instant, it whispered something I couldn’t quite hear, or remember. 

The following moments are hard to hold onto—like trying to catch the wind. A blur of sensation and then… seagulls. 

I woke to the sound of the ocean.

An endless beach stretched before me, an ancient town clinging to its shoreline like something plucked from an old memory. Remember our honeymoon in Sanremo? The way the sun seemed to melt into the sea, the scent of salt and warmth in the air? It was just like that, only quieter. Still, Timeless.

The sand beneath me was warm, and the breeze carried not just salt but something else… something eternal, like time itself was holding its breath. The sea shimmered in silver hues, a glow that made it almost alive. I stood up, feeling lighter than I had in years—lighter than I had ever felt in life. The pain that had gripped me for so long was gone, but with it, the weight of myself—of being alive.

It’s strange to explain. You never realize how heavy your existence is until it’s lifted away.

I followed the shoreline, letting my feet sink into the soft sand. And then, near me, I saw it fluttering again—the moth, gently gliding on the warm waves of the sea. And it spoke to me.

So, I’m in a place called Kaitz, an ‘ethereal realm.’ Not Heaven, just… a haven. We talked for a long time, and he told me so much. My mind struggles to comprehend the details, but apparently, this is the afterlife.

I followed him into a small house on the outskirts of the town, overlooking the ocean. It was a simple, quaint place, like something we might’ve stayed in during one of our seaside holidays. The walls were cracked but alive with vines of unfamiliar flowers, their blooms glowing faintly as dusk crept in. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air—like the house had been waiting for me. The moth told me I could stay here if I wanted to. I was so confused, I really should have asked him for how long. Did he mean forever?

I wandered onto the balcony, looking out over the ocean as the sunset bathed everything in gold. The horizon shimmered in a way that I can’t quite describe—like the light was bending, swirling into itself, but never fully disappearing. For a long time, I just stood there on that balcony. This place was beautiful, yet I felt… alone.

The moth—Mavet, it whispered its name—perched beside me on the railing, its wings reflecting the dying light. It didn’t speak again, just hovering for a while until the sun was gone, and so did he.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The stillness was too loud, so I went outside into the town. 

That’s when I heard the music. There was a festival, with fireworks and sky lanterns floating in the skies above us. I’ve never seen clearer skies—whole galaxies stretching and spiraling, and I swear those sky lanterns rising above us were turning into stars as they met the heavens.

The streets were lined with people, all lost in the celebration, their laughter and voices mingling with the music that filled the air. I came here feeling lost and alone, but when I saw the happiness in their eyes and the calmness in their faces… for a brief moment, I also lost myself in that feeling. And it felt so good.

I followed the parade, blending into the river of souls and meeting a group of recently deceased souls like me. They were different from me in every way—one had skin like marble, another glowed faintly as if lit from within—but somehow, we felt acquainted with one another. There was an instant camaraderie, as if we had always known each other, as if we’d met many times before, in some other life. They told me they were from different realms. I had no idea there were other realms besides ours. And yet, here we all were, walking together under a sky that seemed to stretch forever.

We walked through the winding streets, drinking and talking like old friends. They told stories of their lives, and I told them about us. About you.

At some point during the night, as the festival flowed around me, I found myself dancing to rhythm of the celebration. And then it hit me—a wave of emotion that I couldn’t hold back. The freedom of it all. The weightlessness, the sheer absence of pain, of sickness. I cried. Tears of joy. Pure, unfiltered happiness. I hadn’t felt this alive in years, Malcolm. My new friends didn’t say a word, but their hands held mine tighter as if they understood.  

I’m so sorry for being this happy without you, my love. Please forgive me.  

By the time dawn arrived, we found ourselves back on the beach. The festival had faded, and the sky was painted in shades of violet and gold. We sat there, five of us, watching the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise fully. 

When it did, I said goodbye and walked back to the little house on the cliff. The streets were quiet now, the remnants of the festival scattered across the cobblestone roads. It felt strange to be back in that empty house. But for the first time since I passed, I felt the weight of exhaustion settling into my bones.

I fell asleep quickly, and I dreamt of you.

I was lying next to you, in our bed at home. We had just bought that house, remember? We called it our forever home. Funny, isn’t it? How man plans, and the cosmos laughs.

In my dream, I reached over and held your hand, and as I did, I saw your face. You were crying in your sleep, your cheeks soaked with tears. 

I’m glad you finally cried, Malcolm. 

When I woke, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that dream. It felt so real, like I was there with you. But I woke up to an empty bed, and I can imagine you were too. I guess this is our reality from now on. 

My new friends told me about a train that comes through once a day. It drives straight into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves, and it takes you to other places, other realms. 

They say you can visit all sorts of worlds and find places you never imagined–other afterlives, other paradises. I’m thinking of getting on that train soon, after spending a little more time here.

I want to explore, to see what’s out there. That dream… It gave me a purpose, something to do until we find each other again. I’m going to search for a place for us. A perfect place. A home where we can be together again, after your time has come. 

I will find our forever home.

And until that day comes, Malcolm, I’ll be dreaming of you. 

Here, on the endless shores of Kaitz… or somewhere else, entirely."

[bubba-luz]

Do you have like a summary of petals somewhere? From what i can understand from the comics its a zosan centric infection au and i wanna know more

Hi, thank you for the question.

Petals was an au for a now defunct fic I was writing earlier this year called “petals, a bloodied tongue” . I had published the first chapter and was working on the second chapter, but due to lack of interest from others and not really knowing what I was doing with a big story I wanted, I deleted it. I did make art for it, as you can see, and some notes when I was trying to map out the story.

You got it mostly right, it is an infection au, though I considered it be more Zoro centric, since I planned it to be told majority from his pov. I got the idea from One Piece Movie 6 Baron Omatsuri and the Secret Island and a 2008 film called The Ruins. It was a plant-based horror story with some cosmic elements. I mostly wanted to write a story where Zoro couldn’t really protect anyone. Zoro makes it his job to be the strongest and always protect the crew. But this is something beyond his control and he can’t slash his way through it.

The Strawhats end up on a mysterious island after a strange storm the night before. The island looks peaceful and has weird animals and creatures on it, but overall nice temporary vacation spot. Then Chopper goes missing. Then Nami and Robin. They find Robin, but shes sick? Nami is no where to be seen. So they eventually get picked off one by one. I made a numbered list of who goes first:

And manner of “death”:

The island itself is alive, it is it’s own being/animal. The souls of those that are consumed are trapped at the heart of the island, and their bodies are essentially fertilizers, some people grow into trees, or flowers, etc. There was a scene I wrote as a test run, of zoro finding a tangerine tree, the tangerines taste metallic like blood, and the juice is a red orange. So their blood also runs through the island.

For humans and the like it tends to infect them, they may cough up blood, sweat, hallucinate. They grow weaker in a matter of hours and lose mobility and the ability to speak, as there are plants growing inside them. Eventually they bloom and are consumed by the island.

Majority of the arts I did were scenes from the story, like Zoro giving the flowers to Sanji, Sanji telling Zoro he’s sick, Frobin having a moment.

This is the full layout notes I did:

I had some in between stuff planned, like Robin’s group exploring abandoned ruins which is where they are attacked and Robin is infected. Zoro and Robin have a conversation about some groups believing that when they die they become a star in the sky, so, eventually, they’ll see their loved ones again. Zoro digging into the ground hysterically after he realizes Sanji is gone.

The infection hits Sanji the hardest and slowest because of his genes and he’s the last to leave Zoro.

As for why Zoro never gets infected, I had this weird idea that the island recognizes Zoro as an animal like the island is. This would tie back to Sanji telling Zoro that he “doesn’t think Zoro is a mindless wild animal, even if he fights like one sometimes.”

Also I forgot to post this:

This would be Luffy’s death, but he comes back as the little dancing monkey orchid that Zoro sees when he’s all alone. Zoro believes he has lost it from grief.

Chopper turned into the little bean guys you keep seeing, he’s the one with the broken leaf. He seems to still remember Zoro.

Sanji turns into a field of dandelions and daisies. He got infected when he smelled the flowers Zoro gave him. The field seems to protect Zoro from any hostile animals.

Zoro has these recurring dreams of Sanji running away and leaving him, much to Zoro’s efforts. His final dream Sanji places a hand on Zoro’s heart and smiles and disappears, Zoro wakes up to Sanji gone.

Zoro also sleeps more now, since he sleeps with Sanji. He feels safe with Sanji, so he let’s his guard down.

Here’s chapter one, unfinished two, test run

If you have any specific questions, please send an ask in the inbox.

[luridon]

Imago Dei

A story of zealotry and bugs.

Or: Could you love a worm?

♡characters: yandere!bug x  deity!reader

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, bugs, blood, cannibalism, murder, obsession, gore, animal death, eldritch themes where YOU are the incomprehensible horror, religious themes, body horror, suicidal thoughts in an I have no mouth and I must scream kinda way, no smut but this is probably worse than smut honestly,  MINORS DNI

♡notes: Buggy People. Bug themes. Fantasyish bug world. Arachnophobes and entomophobes beware. You guys know the adventure time episode with tiny people on a separate plane of reality/existence that's sort of the logic we're operating on. This is the inverse of the "would you love me if I was a worm" meme because the worm comes first here. Does this count as bestiality is that what this is?? Ehh this is xenofiction ish this is FINE everything's FINE we don't have to psychoanalyze this we're all FINE this is all in good fun wtf did I write this

♡w/c: 2k+ | ♡masterlist♡ |

You chose him from the swarm.

You were a thing he could not comprehend, a being so vast his kind's vision was simply incapable of perceiving them in their entirety. You, in comparison, had an eye was so great you saw all his kin at once. You saw the lands beyond, their deep caverns and glass-castled cities, their seas-

And you saw him, an insignificant creature among many. A weak worm writhing among his brethren in the dirt. Your silver claws descended, and you plucked his prone form from the slums of his nest.

The elders had whispered of godkin and cruelty, of their favored being fed the still-squirming flesh of his kind. It was of little concern to him, a young thing starved and cold. He thought only of hunger. If not that, then of an end. . .but that end did not come.

For a moment and an eternity, you tended to him. You brought fresh fruit to his maw, the pulp dripping with sweet nectar. Though hesitant, his hunger won, and he ravenously tore into the meal. He was cradled in flesh soft and warm as he fed, and he could feel your lifeblood pulse beneath the plane of it. Slowly, he had his fill of the nectar, and he regained his strength.

Your great eye gazed upon him through it all. A low sound murmured all about him, and the maw that could have so easily devoured everyone he knew in a bite bared strange ivory fangs. He could do nothing but bare his own black fangs, to try and understand-

And that was his mistake. 

The world fell.

Once again, he was upon the meager dirt, only now his belly was full. He shifted about, but your warm hold was gone, so too was your gaze.

Your favor had ended as quickly as it came. You had vanished from the skies beyond, from the everything in his small, lowly world.

No matter what he asked of the elders or his peers, none could say what had happened.

Why would godkin care for us?  they scoffed, if they even believed in gods to begin with. You imagined things in your delirium. Banish these strange dreams from you head, child. They will only plague you.

Plagued indeed. He was haunted by your strange act. Why had you done so? Why had you shown kindness to such an insignificant creature, a runt fit to only to be torn apart by the rest of his nest when he'd finally keel over and die?

He could not understand.

He wanted to understand.

He wanted to feel that warmth, that gaze that found him worthy, taste that nectar, sweet and cool, hear that soothing god-tongue, even if he could not discern a word. Nothing but a daydream, whispered the nest, but he knew-

You were real. The stories of godkin must have come from somewhere. He would seek you, and understand.

To do so required sacrifice.

To survive, one needed strength. For strength, one needed sustenance, and in the nest, there was no better fare than flesh still fresh and bleeding.

Those the godkin favored fed upon lower beings, so the stories went.

As he tore into the flesh of those he felled, he thought the tales true. The tenderness of their bodies filled him with strength, and he felt something stirring within him with every dripping mouthful.

There were whispers of the power to change. Even the weak could grow strong. Even worms could grow wings and horns and armor.

A vain hope, some would say, clicking their fangs with disdain, delighting in small, pitiful pleasures. We are all destined to die as we are. Is it not lovely, to die as we are?

You did not let him die. He must have been destined for more.

He grew larger, and braver. From the deceased he went to hunt weaklings, then the hale, than the strong. Their cries were heeded no more than their scorn. Their blood wet his maw, their flesh filled his stomach.

They must have believed in gods then. They must have believed in you, for they were within him, a part of him, and he believed in you. Gods like worship, no? Now a whole nest sought you as he did.

Still, you did not appear.

The offering must not have been grand enough. It was a gift so paltry, of course it was unworthy of your attention. What did you seek then? Is there anything you could desire? What would it take to win your favor once more?

He despaired in the ravaged nest, and full and a weary from the fight and the feast, he fell into a deep sleep.

There are rumors of a beast.

One that devoured towns, one that ruined kingdoms led even by the great queens of earth and nector. Walls of crystal could not save their people. Claw and venom, stinger and wing- none could halt the monster.

It would come and conquer, feasting upon the fallen. It was horrible sight, a beast with armor, and wing, and venom- a creature that seemed to take into itself all the powers of those it fed upon. It persisted through cycles and seasons beyond those of mortal beings. It was unkillable, unstoppable.

Only those who spoke of godkin would live. Only those who proclaimed a devotion for the same entity it worshipped were spared.

The rumors spread until they ceased to be mere tales, because the beast was met, or the scoffers perished.

To survive, a cult rose in the monster's wake. Feigned following though it be, the masses were desperate to avoid the beast's wrath. The number of devoted grew, and grew, and grew, and fearing more power to the beast, fearing their own consumption by its fangs or its frenzied swarm, the rulers of nests gathered and one dared to ask the beast what it sought.

A fool's errand, a lover's folly, the ramblings of a lunatick. Still, cooperation was sworn, and scholars all across the soils and skies toiled to bring its god to the land. But how terrible a god it must be- for a such a zealot to be its first follower.

A spell of summoning was found, and alongside it. . . a spell of change. To bring god-kin to their lowly realm would only spell doom for them all. A fragile vessel then, to hold their mind, their essence. Something to placate its gluttonous fiend without ending everything as it did.

The beast knew nothing of the schemes of the fearful rulers. Through much sacrifice, at last the power to bring the god-kin was ammassed.

And so it was.

What a terrible thing it was, a god, or whatever portion was snatched of one, forced into the form of one of scaled wings and thin limbs. Something so vast could not be made so small so easily. Wings twisted with flesh and fat, eyes all about it. It thrashed in its new form, it wept and bled-

But that mattered little.

A godkin was brought low, and the beast was appeased. There was peace in the realm, and the people rejoiced.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You wake in pain, with senses stolen and an inexplicable wrongness about you. You can move, but nothing moves right. You can see, but your sight is strange. You try to call for help-

There is nothing you can say. You cannot feel your tongue or teeth, or lips, or throat, or anything at all where your mouth should be. A nightmare, a bout of sleep paralysis, a terrible dream is all it is-

You hope that's all it is. You hope in vain.

The world trembles and so do you. You try to bring a hand to your face but find it wrong, find scales and segments over your skin and the color is wrong the texture is wrong everything is wrong-

Your joints feel too low, or too high, your body too light and too heavy. There are heavy masses at your back and like a reflex when they strike something, you lurched forward and they unfurl in a most uncomfortable, off-putting matter. New nerves, you limbs, what is happening to you-?

You feel claws spined and sharp take what should have been your hands. You hear things you could not comprehend yet do- chitters and shutterings, clicking sounds all about filtered through your head as whispers and meaning. The world is too dark yet you can't shut or open your eyes. You need to breathe but can't feel lungs, yet everything smelled. Too strong, too clear, of food, of flesh, of flowers, of soil-

Too much, it is too much-

Your new form grants you one small mercy.

You fall asleep.

You do not know how long you've been here.

A strange, dark place. A burrow, a nest, one with a bed strewn with leaves and petals and silks for a bed. You move little. You do not want to, when every movement reminds you of what you are now.

You hate the dark of it, the cloying scent of decay and earth, the silence.

But you hate the figure beside you more.

It has a terrifying visage, one barely human the way the other few faces you've seen are, the way your own feels like beneath your horrible clawed, scaled hands. It's more buglike than anything, mandibles and chitin and eyes too big and dark. You are one of them now, likely. You have not dared to look.

The figure hums. It's a soft thing, alsmot a soothing croon, but you loathe it all the same. It's no human sound. There is no human here, not even you.

It sounds pleased with itself, as it speaks of the world outside, of pleasant weather and a garden. You cannot tell what sort of insect it is, but it's held in high regard by the others, it has its own land where none bother it, and so none bother you. It says those who tried to slay you have been executed, and their heads, clean and shining, are piked among the foliage and blooms.

That draws tears from you, and you hate the revolting beast beside you as it laps up the fluid from all the eyes.

How relieved you must be, it says. I'm glad I could protect you.

You hate it, the creature that brought you here and keeps you here. The one time you felt hope was when those intruders swarmed in, and tried to take your head.

An abomination, they had hissed, raising something sharp, An affront to nature.

You only prayed that they knew where your neck was, if you had one in this body.

Your soft flesh was barely pierced when they were flung from you. The figure now at your side had returned, and it took them all away, slaying some, maiming others. Then it had knneled beside you, murmuring apologies and begging for forgiveness as it tended to you.

You think you started truly hating it then.

Your captor never tires of muttering about how glad it is to have you here, your flesh and your warmth, your mere presence. It likes to lay beside you, or press its face or claws to your wings to feel the veins and arteries beneath your skin. It laps at your tears and blood and thanks you for the blessing, and you have much to give as you weep from the pain of your new form, of being here, from the eyes upon your head and the ones upon your wings.

It is a monster that kneels beside you and keeps you here, and you are a monster as well.

You are an abomination. You hope others of its kin feel the same, and will seek to finish what their fellows started. You can only hope one day, one of them will succeed.

Tldr: A worm fell in love with something way beyond it so metamorphosed into an abomination of a beetle and dragged its god down to its plane even if that mean much murder and squishing a human into a horrible fleshy butterfly abomination thing. It is now happily malewifing while its god wants to die.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Basement Bros

I haven't done a ghostbusters au fic in a while, so it's time to sow the seeds of romance between you and König. He's a little gremlin in his lab, but dammit somebody's gotta get through to him and it's gonna be Recruit. I believe in you, Recruit. That's why I'm shoving you down into the basement with the Big Gremlin (tm) and making you sit together.

CW: None. Ghosts? Maybe.

Wordcount: 1.9k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Basement Bros

“Hey, Recruit!” you heard Horangi before you felt him clap his hand on your shoulder as he leaned around into your vision, “can you go check in on König? He’s trying to do something to the proton packs, but I just wanna see if he needs any help.”

“Why don’t you go ask him?” you grumbled.

“König’s weird about people going into his lab,” Horangi explained.

“Then why are you sending me in there?” you shot him a dirty look, “isn’t he gonna bite my head off?”

Horangi shrugged, “Maybe. Better you than me though.”

Before you could argue further, Horangi had scurried down the hall to leave you in the dust.

Of course Horangi would saddle you with this job right before you had to go home. Of course he had to do it when you knew König would be at his crabbiest. Which, your supposed, is exactly why Horangi chose you to do the job.

It wasn’t that you disliked König by any means, and it wasn’t that he disliked you. It’s was just… Well, he’d hardly spoken to you since the day he told you about his grandfather’s life in Austria during the World Wars. Hell, he seemed to go right back to how he always was: shy, trepid, afraid to even say ‘boo’ to a ghost. Literally. He’d not been able to fight against a class one specter you had to lock away, lest it nibble on his bootlaces any longer. That said, you figured it was less that he was ‘afraid’ and more that he was distracted by the readings on his latest invention, too invested to notice the little spook munching away on his aglets. He’d howled up quite a storm when Nikto shot his boot though.

König was a strange creature to deal with. One day, he’d be open enough to share a room with you when drinking coffee. Out on the field, König was brave and daring. He was almost inspiring in how brave and confident he was. If you were honest with yourself, a bit hot too.

You shook your head clear of the thought. You? And König? Like that had a snowball’s chance in hell. König had one love in his life and that was science. He was a scientist through and through and nothing could change that about him. If you wanted to get close to him, you’d have to accept that you’d always play second fiddle to his love of ectobiology.

You sighed as you pulled the basement door open. You liked König, but he just made it so hard. He was difficult to talk to, harder to understand. It was miserable trying to get close to him. You felt like the ghosts he chased after would always catch his eye before you.

In the basement, you followed the sounds of drills and hammering to an opening where König was hunched over a small device.

“Hey König!” you called out.

The man jumped and whirled around to look at you. He glanced over you, held up a big hand for a tiny wave, then turned back to his project.

“So, uh…” you voice was drowned out by the sound of a drill boring into metal. When the drilling stopped, you tried again only to have the same thing happen all over again. You gave it a third shot, only to be met with similar results. You sighed, and walked around to the table and took a seat.

König raised the welding visor to give you a look from behind his mask.

“Horangi asked me to check on you,” you explained.

“I am fine,” he grunted and pulled the visor back down.

“Okay,” you nodded and leaned back on the stool. You drummed your hands against the tables, only to snap them to you chest when a shower of sparks nearly fell upon them.

You looked at the glowing embers and back up to König.

“If you want to stay, get some gloves and goggles,” he curmured.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You gladly swung around to go and grab a pair of gloves and slid a pair of clear plastic safety glasses over your face. You wriggled your fingers in the the thick fabric, happy to find they weren’t a bad size for you. You heard the drill again, and smartly grabbed a pair of soundproof headphones.

“Alright, gottem,” you said as you threw yourself back into the seat.

König only nodded and continued drilling. You watched the sparks fly up and shower over his welding mask before flying out behind him. A couple more drills, and he set the tool down to the side. He pulled up his mask to reveal the cloth mask underneath.

“You really wear your mask under the other mask?” you snorted.

König’s glare was withering, whether it be from being tired or if he was actually irritated was beyond you. Either way, he didn’t try to shoo you off, so that had to count for something.

“It’s comfortable.”

“Is it?” you laughed.

“Comfortable enough,” König replied as he plugged in a soldering iron.

You decided not to push it. Sometimes, it was best to let König be. Instead of bothering him, you contented yourself with watching him work away on the circuit board in his hands. He hissed a couple of times when he made a mistake, but it was interesting to watch him clean up his mistakes and try again.

Though the silence felt awkward at first, you found it to be rather companionable as time went on. König was surprisingly easy to share space with once he was left alone to his own devices. You were able to get your emails done from your phone in a staggeringly short amount of time. You even managed to clear your inbox before König had finished one side of the circuit board. You finished off sending a few texts by the time König finally flipped the board, leading to you having nothing in particular to do anymore.

You eventually put your phone down on the table to focus back on König. He seemed perfectly content with the silence. If you weren’t unsure about it, you felt like you might have even been able to say he looked positively relaxed. You almost wanted to take a picture to commemorate the moment.

König put down the soldering iron and held up the board to the light. You watched as he tilted it back and forth, then brought it back up to his face for closer inspection.

“Is everything alright?” you queried as you crossed your arms over the table.

“So far…” König muttered, “everything looks right.”

You nodded as though you understood what he was saying. With how focused he was on the circuit board, you were able to get a good look at him, a rare occurrence indeed. Usually he was huddled away in a back corner with Nikto or scrambling out of sight in search of something or another. More often than not he was grabbing a new device he wanted to show off. You smiled at the memory of him wrestling Hutch for a new meter he made that measured how radioactive spirits were.

“So what’s this for, anyways?” you asked as he got up from his stool.

“This?” König held up the board, “or that?” he pointed over to the counter behind him, where a great mess of electronics were tangled together in a heap.

You glanced between both before settling on, “Both.”

“This,” he held up the board, “is to measure the relative humidity and temperature of a room and compare them against each other. This,” he sauntered over to the trash heap, “is one part of a series of relay signals we can install around a haunt location to track the relative humidity and temperature of each room, allowing us to more accurately follow a paranormal entity’s movements through a monitored space. It’s connected to a program Hutch has been working on to help guide us more easily through a client’s home. It has the side benefit of giving him a better layout of the haunt location so he isn’t guiding us through the dark, so to say.”

“Sounds pretty complicated,” you nodded slowly.

“It’s only just coming together, but I think it’ll really change our whole operation!” König cheered, “Roze and Horangi keep telling me I’m a money sink in this company, but this device could truly revolutionize ghost hunting!”

“Wait,” you held up a hand, “there’s other ghost hunters around?”

König narrowed his eyes, “Ja? There are? Have you never heard of Team Fantom 141?”

You shook your head.

“British team located in South Kensington, London,” König explained, “they’re pretty impressive, but not nearly as advanced as what we’ve got. There’s also the Shadow Company, but that’s on the opposite side of the country.”

“So it’s most American and British?” you concluded.

“Nein!” König shook his head quickly, “there’s a Russian group called Inner Circle, but they are…” König cringed, “they are not so good. Very difficult to work with. There’s also the Opfor in the Middle East, they’ve got a few branches. Oh and a couple of different groups in Brazil and Peru, and one that runs in Trinidad and Tobago. Other than that,” König shrugged, “they’re all hacks.”

“I didn’t know there was anybody else who dealt with real ghosts,” you hummed.

“Of course there are!” König laughed, “we didn’t get this idea all on our own! Well, actually, we did, but that’s a different story.”

“Wait, you guys didn’t know of any other real ghostbusters before you started this whole thing?” you asked.

“We didn’t know anything about it,” König admitted, “we just thought there were hacks. That, and a few religious institutes, but we were very excited to learn about others! Though, well, the Shadow Company was founded after us. TF 141 and us really built off of each other to get set up.”

“So you guys talk to the others a lot?” you leaned your elbows on the table.

“Of course!” König turned to start working on his equipment, “it’s how we’ve managed to come so far so quickly! Technology like this doesn’t just appear overnight, ja?”

“Makes sense,” you replied.

König returned back to tinkering with his work. You admired him for a moment, but eventually you felt the urge to stretch your legs and leave this shoddy basement.

You passed by him with a wave and a smile, not really paying attention to him and instead focussing on figuring out the route home. If nothing else, at least you could tell Horangi that König was fine. You barely noticed a faint whisper.

“What was that?” you ducked your head down to see König as you headed up the stairs.

“I said it was nice having you here,” König replied, still timid but a bit louder.

You smiled brightly.

“It was great being here!”

“You should come here more often.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

“You think so?” you called back.

“Ja,” König nodded primly, “it would be nice to have some company.”

You smiled back at him brightly, “Alright, well, I’ll think about it.”

“Please do,” König’s reply was a bit too quick to be natural, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on you.

As you walked out of the basement, you realized that you were the only person on the whole Ghostbusters team to officially be given an open invitation to König’s lab down in the basement. Somehow, without even trying, you’d managed to get the most prestigious honor in the entire group.

You decided that on the way home, you’d get yourself a half pint of ice cream. After today? You deserved a little treat.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universe Stories

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 11

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  smut (MF, vaginal sex), blood-drinking

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 1850

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 11

Returning home after the mess she’d made of the mission had left Rose filled with shame in a way she hadn't felt since first being turned. In some ways that shame was a relief to her, being with Steve and becoming an Avenger had made her feel her humanity in ways she’d thought had been lost to her and shame was yet another sign that this curse hadn't changed her completely.

It did mean that things took a few steps back with Steve.  The shame she felt over how badly things had gone, and her need to feed off Steve when he’d spent so long telling her he didn’t want that, made her feel guilty and dirty.  His reassurance that it was fine and he didn’t think differently about her didn’t help.  If anything it made her feel worse because it cemented in her mind that he always had seen her as a predator that would end up trying to eat him.  If he couldn’t see her as at least safe, then how could they stand a chance of working out?

Not to mention that his blood now called to her.  It was like a drug. The way it made her feel was not just more human, but superhuman.  Her preternatural gifts were enhanced and her weaknesses were reduced.  It made her feel both alive and slightly high.  When she was near him, all she could focus on was the sound of his heart beating in his chest and the scent of his blood just under the surface of his skin.  It only got worse over the week as the effects of his blood faded.  She was like an addict jonesing for her next hit and her supply was walking around wanting to dance with her.

She started avoiding him.

After the fourth night of missing training, Steve went to find her.  It wasn’t hard.  Rose had barely left her house.  She needed to detox from people.  She needed to get a hold of herself.

Steve knocked, but he let himself in.  He found Rose in her drawing room, listening to some early 1920s Jazz.  He tapped on the doorframe.  “Rose?” he said.  “Can we talk about this?”

She looked up at him with a frown.  He had a bag of blood with him.  She could smell it.  Stronger than the cold congealing blood in a bag, she could smell his, fresh and hot and pumping through his veins.

She nodded.  “We can talk.”

He approached her then.  His steps showed no hesitation or fear but he still moved carefully, like he was approaching a prey animal that could run at the smallest trigger, not a predator that could turn on him and tear his head off. 

“I brought you blood,” he said, offering her the bag.  She took it and clutched it in her hands, watching him as he crouched in front of her.  “Rose,” he said, putting his hand on hers.  “You know I love you, don’t you?”

She nodded.  “I know.  But I also know that when you look at me, you see something that feeds on you.  Not just since I did, but before that.”

“I look at you and I see Rose,” Steve said, taking her hand in his.  “Rose - my friend and my lover.  Rose who is incredibly strong and brave and sometimes she can be a little scary.  Rose who had something terrible happen to her when she was very young and it’s now changed her and given her extraordinary abilities, but also some strange side effects.  Rose who has been living with that all on her own for more than a lifetime.  Rose who even after all the pain she’s been through and all the urges she has still manages to be kind and brave and who helps protect people - even when they look at her and see a monster.  Rose who knows and can relate to what I’ve been through better than almost anyone else I know.  Rose who I love.  And yes, that means that I recognize that you have unique needs, such as sleeping during the day and drinking blood.  But it doesn’t mean I look at you and see a predator or a monster.  I know you much better than that.”

She frowned and looked at the bag of blood in her hand and back up at Steve.  He was so pure and good.  For every piece of dark in her, he was light and it just made her want to be better. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and break down.  To cry until all this pain was cried out of her as he held her, and then kiss him until she couldn’t feel her lips anymore.  But there was still one major problem.

“That’s all well and good, Steve,” she said as she looked down at him. “But your blood did something to me.  You saw me.  You saw how the light touched me.  It’s faded and I look at you, and I just want to feel that again.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment and in that moment, Rose was sure she’d said the thing that had turned him off her forever.  Just as she went to pull her hand away, his fingers tightened.  “You haven’t bitten me, Rose.  Not since I offered.  You might want to, you might think that my blood is calling to you, or tempting you, but you haven’t done it.  I know you think you’re a monster, but everyone has urges they know better to act on.  This is just one of yours.  And the truth is - I liked it.  I’ve been thinking about how it felt ever since.”

Rose wasn’t sure if that was worse or better.  She did know one thing, it made her feel better.  He trusted her and he felt these things too.  Maybe that was dangerous and maybe they could work this out together.

“Thank you, Steve,” she said softly.

He reached up and cradled her jaw.  “There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said.

She leaned in, bringing her lips to his. God - she’d missed this more than she’d realized.  All this time she thought it was the blood, but it was him.  She wanted him.  His affection, and his love.  She wanted to feel the warmth of his body against her cool skin.

She hummed, parting her lips and her tongue darting out to coax his lips apart.  He resisted and pulled back. “Eat,” he said.  “Then we can go up to your room.”

She sighed and looked down at the bag of blood, squeezing it to make the dark red fluid slop around inside.  Her eyes flicked back up to Steve as she lifted the bag to her lips and she sank her fangs into it.  The plastic popped under her teeth and the thick salty liquid flowed into her mouth.  It was lukewarm and while she knew the fact it had been kept away from oxygen meant it couldn’t be congealing, it still felt like it was.  It was completely unpalatable - and yet she drank.  She drank for Steve’s sake.  She drank so that she’d be sated and when she followed Steve up those stairs, feeding would be as far from his mind as it could get.

As she drank, Steve ran his hands up her thighs and around her hips.  They slid up her back and by the time the bag was empty, she wrapped her arms around him, dropping the bag to the floor behind his back.  He leaned in, capturing her lips and lifting her.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her up the stairs.

Their kiss deepened and became more frantic as they moved up the stairs.  When they reached the landing outside her bedroom, the kiss had become a battle for domination.  He carried her to the bed and dropped her on the mattress, she started to strip right away and he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside.  She had moved with such speed that she was naked before he’d even managed to get his pants off.  She reached for him, grabbing his belt and unfastening it with deft fingers.  She practically tore his pants off and pulled him down on top of her.

Steve cradled her cheek as he ran the head of his cock up and down her sopping folds.  “Rose,” he breathed. “Don’t push me away again.  I love you.  I want this to work.”

She pushed him onto his back, straddling his waist.  “I love you too,” he said and kissed him.  She ground her pussy on his cock, soaking it with her slick.  He lifted her at the waist and as he lowered her back down, he entered her.

She moaned as he stretched her and filled her.  She began to ride him, kissing as she moved up and down on his shaft.  She angled her hips to try to get the head of his cock to rub her g-spot, but couldn’t quite get the angle right.

Steve flipped her again and pulled her legs right up, so her hips were angled just right.  He could read her perfectly, he knew exactly what she wanted and how to give it to her.  Each thrust of his hips sent pleasure coiling out through her, spreading out from her core right through her, so her edges felt fuzzy and soft.

Her lips grazed down his jaw and when she reached his neck, her fangs popped out and she skimmed them over his jugular.  His pulse beat against her teeth.  It made her shiver and despite the fact she wanted to sink his teeth in, the fact she could resist somehow made it feel better.  It added a sense of need paired with control that intensified everything.  It brought her careening to her release and kept her balanced there right at the edge.

It wasn’t just Rose who felt it.  As soon as Rose’s fangs touched his skin, Steve’s breath caught and his hips started to stutter.  “Rose,” he moaned.  “Rose… Do it.  Bite me.”

Rose pulled back, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so he could look at him. “What?”

“I want it.  I want you to bite me,” he said.  “Penetrate me, Rose.  Penetrate me as I penetrate you.”

She couldn’t think straight.  The offer was so unexpected and she wanted it.  God, she wanted it so bad.  She looked into his eyes, trying to see if she’d done something to him.  They were blown out with lust, but clear.  His thoughts were his.  He wanted this as much as she had always wanted this.

“You’re sure about this?” she breathed. 

“Yes, Rose,” he begged.  “Do it.”

She opened her mouth, her lips curling back, so she could see the points of her fangs.

She pulled his head back, exposing his throat.  She could see the flicker of his vein as his pulse beat through it.

“Bite me,” he pleaded once more.

She lunged forward and sunk her fangs into him.

// NEXT

[fisheito]

*rings the service bell* hi um i was wondering.. if there's any yakumo temperature play in here? sounds silly but i only realised after i circled the building a few times... that i haven't seen it at all. Seems to be common practice, actually- to not have it. i've visited several other buildings and there's been no sight of it.

which is... strange? if i think about it, it's surprising that i haven't encountered it yet! it sort of makes sense to have them together, you know? considering that temperature is so vital to a snake's perception of the world. and how sensitive reptiles are to temperature fluctuations.

so there's a lot of control to be had here. can you imagine controlling someone's energy level just by adjusting the thermostat? er- well, i guess we already do that. but imagine you put yakumo in an ice bath and he immediately falls asleep. brumation happens instantly now, sorry. and the only way to snap him out of it is to stick a flaming dildo up his ass

what?. no, i mean, restore his regular energy level with a soft warm-up. a heated blanket and a gentle steam. hahaha.

people plunge themselves into ice water before jumping into hot tubs and vice versa- for fun! they do this recreationally!! they call it a "spa treatment" and pay a premium for it! what's wrong with giving yakumo a spa treatment? who are we to deprive him of such sensory luxury?

i'm JUST SAYING that since he naturally gravitates toward heat, you could put him in a hurt AND comfort scenario he could be naked and cold, banished to the distant corner of the room.. but when you offer him a source of warmth, whether that be a hot rock or a warm hand or 20 lit candles suspended above him dripping wax on him at random intervals,,, wouldn't he have a tough time turning down your generosity?

i mean, he certainly would if he was tied up.

see, here's the other thing i cannot quite comprehend-- it's that--- how has a snake yokai not featured bondage scenes yet? i guess there was that one time with the.. hm. no, we shan't talk about the cellar. besides, ONLY ONE TIME is unacceptable for a sentient rope!! although yakumo would love to wrap up his prey and squeeze the cum out of em, i feel like we're missing out on a lot by not OutSnaking the Snake. tie up and restrain the Restrainer. it's just a liiiiittle step farther than putting him in a pillowcase! so mild!!!!

here's a guy who is always worried about losing control/// about being free to wreak havoc on his loved ones, despite his best intentions. so how about we give him a moment of peace? a moment where he believes he's subdued and unable to cause harm? just tie him up! keep him under TIGHT lock and key. (or some nice soft cloths for his sensitive skin, if we're being nice.) honestly, his brain will do the rest of the work. even if he's not truly incapacitated, his desire to BE So can fill the gaps in any questionable knotwork.

while he's half in the prison of his mind and half in the confines you've created for him, take some time to squeeze some whimpers out of him. although it pains me to cover up those soggy eyes, a blindfold may be an intriguing option. is yakumo the type of snake to rely on heat vision? WHY NOT FIND OUT! (if he's not terrified at his loss of sight, then i guess his pit organs are functioning . in which case, the blindfold doesn't really need to stay on. if he IS terrified and feels the loss of visuals acutely, this would be an excellent opportunity to soak in his panic. just for a bit though. we're not so cruel. guide him back with a warm touch. see? playing with fire temperature contrasts can bring such relief!)

maybe i'm getting ahead of myself. i don't expect yakumo temperature play to show up WITH bondage , why- that would be asking a lot, right?

but the basics are simple enough, yes? give the wretched creature the comforting warmth he wants, then perhaps inch closer to something bordering uncomfortable? Too Much? have him seek out what he craves, only to be burned (metaphorically and/or literally) if he indulges himself too much? oops! someone's become a slave to their senses!

i'm just saying that the sensory perception of yokai vs kink is (relatively) unknown territory. if temperature play already messes with humans, what could it possibly do to yakumo? he could experience it in facets unknown to others.-=- to levels others are incapable of appreciating---- like someone with synesthesia who can experience music with another layer of enjoyment.

if you give a snake ice cream, followed by a hot piece of meat [unknown origin], it'll really make him aware of the contrast, hmm??????

anyway. sorry about that. i'm not super clear on the specifics of it all. i just thought it peculiar that i haven't seen the yaku-hot-cold-sensitivity-finagling. out there, in here, nowhere as far as i've seen..

...or is it located in a part of the building i overlooked? if so, could you direct me there? i would really appreciate it.

if you don't have it after all, that's ok. i'll keep a careful watch now that i know what i'm looking for. maybe it's one of those things where, once i actively search for it, i'll notice it everywhere! wouldn't that be delightful!

with that, i guess i'll be on my way. thanks for your patience. yeah, i hope i find it too. have a good one!!

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Defenseless I remain before the first light breaks (part 1)

Younger!Dracule Mihawk x younger!reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series. This is part one of two.

This fic takes place before Mihawk joined the Seven Warlords.

*****

The woman is smiling at him. Lying on her back, an arm bent under her head as the other lies on the grass so close to his he could easily take her hand if only he wanted, she’s a vision of such rapturous beauty he can feel his heart break with joy and gratitude. He’s not usually the sort of a man who doubts his own value, but in the depth of his heart, the heart of a child who has been valued by few and loved by even fewer, he still can’t quite believe that this is true - that she has wanted him, chosen him, and loved him.  

A slight breeze gently stirs their clothes. A mile away below them, surrounded by the hills in such a picturesque scene of pastoral landscape any artist would cry happy tears at the thought of painting it, is the town they have escaped from to enjoy a few hours alone; the remains of their lunch lie abandoned on the blanket only a few steps away, the singing of the birds strangely subdued, as if even the small creatures of the woods didn’t dare disturb their peace.   

Suddenly, her lovely eyes turn in his direction; she smiles, languid and vaguely sleepy, and he doesn’t bother breaking the gaze as he finally intertwines their fingers. The woman by his side smiles, and for a moment, he’s the King of the world.

“Make a wish.” she invites him softly, and he raises an eyebrow, amused.

“There’s nothing I wish.” he truthfully admits “I already have everything I could ever want, here with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“A wish. Ask for something you’d like to see come true.”

“Hmm, you’re such a flatterer…”

She giggles, and a moment later she’s moved to straddle him, her shapely legs caging his hips. “I got you.” she murmurs, openly pleased as she observes the man under him, her fingers ghosting over the portion of his chest left naked by his coat “You’re in my power now, I can do whatever I want with you…”

Now he’s grinning, all too aware of the pressure of her pelvis against his as his hands raise to cradle her hips. They’ve never made love in the open, and he’s never had any interest in filling that gap, but after all they’re far from the town, alone save for the birds and critters populating the woods nearby and who will tell no one what they’re doing, and the sensation of her rocking on his already hardening member is too delicious, too sensual and heavenly to resist…

“... I wish?”

“What, my beauty?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, confused for a moment “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, do you know what I would wish for?”

Her smile softens; she stops moving to simply look at him, vaguely pensive, her hands now taking his. “I wish this moment would never end.“ she answers in the end. She’s not smiling anymore, as if already aware of how fragile and inconsequential dreams are when facing the harshness of reality, or maybe she’s unsettled, almost scared, by the intensity of her own feelings… as if she feared that what she feels, all the love and the desire and the affection, could destroy her “That we could stay here for the rest of our lives, forgetting everything else.”

“And what would we do?”

“Whatever we please. We’d talk. We’d eat and drink. We’d make love. You and I, and no one else to disturb us. I know it’s absurd, but… it’d be nice.”

It is absurd, they both know it perfectly: they’re both busy people, with duties and interests and ambitions of their own, but it would be nice to forget everything, he thinks, say to hell with everything else and simply live of love, like in the cheesiest and most unrealistic of films and novels. They’d move to a place where no one knows their names, build a little house, and spend their days fishing and tilling the soil… maybe raise a couple children…

As if. I could never be content with a life like that, and neither could she.

The woman pouts, adorable in her displeasure; she rolls her hips, and he yelps. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I swear I’m not!”

“You were smiling. I know it’s stupid, it was just a thought… You know I miss you when you’re away…”

He misses her as well, he says, so much at times he feels suffocating, but that makes his returns even sweeter - when he reaches the harbour of her island, and she’s there waiting for him, happy and relieved, and ready to enjoy their time together, however short it might be.

“Listen, I can’t promise you we’ll run away, leave the world behind and live like a couple of hermits, having sex from morning till evening.” he says gently in the end; he sits up, and a moment later he has embraced her, the soft body filling the space in his arms as if it had been created for it “You know it would only make us miserable. But this I can promise: wherever we go, no matter how far from each other we’ll be… I’ll always come back to you.”

“Always?”

“Always. I swear to you, (name); nothing and no one, not even death itself, will ever stop me from returning to you.”

The conversation has started as little more than a joke, the sort of sweet nothings lovers (and this is what they are, he reflects; friendship and respect and mind-blowing sex would have sufficed, but almost a decade has passed since his and (name)’s first encounter, and by now he knows beyond any doubt he is completely lost, lost for her beauty and grace and intelligence and strength. He loves her, and he will never be able to live without her) share during their intimacy, but both have perceived the real meaning of those words… a promise, instinctive but not naive, to keep no matter what.

(name) nods. “Then I'll be waiting.” she promises; she's dead serious, almost stern, as if to warn him against failing to keep his word “No matter how long you make me wait, even if it means spending the rest of my life here, I promise I'll wait for you.”

“I don't want you to spend…”

“Then don't stay away for so long. We both know what we feel; now we need to make sure to live it to the fullest. Come back to me, my love; I promise you'll never have to regret it.”

He already knows that he won’t. He sighs when she finally lowers herself to press her mouth, warm and soft, against his; holding her by the hips, he cautiously shifts so as to lay her on the grass under him. “I want you.” he murmurs, breaking the kiss; he’s been aware of the fact since their very first encounter, when he had only had to see the way her hips swayed as she walked in front of him to feel unable to swallow, but the intensity of his desire never ceases to amaze him… not because she doesn’t deserve it, but because he never thought he could feel this way, for anyone “(name), I want you so much.”

(name)’s smile is all the answer he needs; not breaking the gaze they’re sharing, she takes his hand to guide it under her skirt. “Then take me.” she murmurs “Take me now, my love, I’m yours and I swear I’ll be forever.”

*

He’s been sailing for at least three hours, letting the wind and the tide guide him in the absence of a map, when land finally appears on the horizon, and he allows himself to heave a sigh of relief. There, he tells himself, on that small island he doesn't even know the name of, he’ll find what he’s looking for. He’ll find help -a doctor for his wounds, perhaps, and food and water to satiate the hunger and thirst that are literally devouring him from the inside- and answers to the questions he has kept obsessing over ever since he woke up, lying on the wooden deck of this tiny boat, under the unforgiving sun of a midsummer morning.

What happened to me?

Where am I going, or at least, where do I come from?

And most important of all…

Who am I?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the slightest idea, not of his own name, nor of the town or country he was born in, nor of the reason he found himself at sea, completely alone, and this is… well, not scary -he is not afraid, even though perhaps he should be- but somehow destabilising, as if he had been asked to translate a text in a foreign language he doesn’t speak, or to make a long journey without telling him his destination. He’s completely devoid of any reference point, regarding himself and his course both, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. 

He doesn’t even know what part of the Sea he is on, whether the Grand Line or one of the Four Blues. When he opened his eyes, brusquely awoken from his dreamless slumber by a combination of the sun on his eyes and the grumbling of his empty stomach, there was nothing around him but water, fortunately smooth, in all directions. He doesn’t recognise the ship he is on, a tiny but well-built -but how could he know?, he wondered; he felt confident in his judgement, but had no idea where that security came from, how he acquired it. Is he a shipwright, used to build vessels and to repair them? Looking at his hands, strong but free from calluses and blisters, it seemed unlikely; then what? Is he a sailor? A fisherman? A waiter on a goddamned cruise ship?- craft with a single white sail, but thank the Gods, searching in his memory, he has realised he knows how to sail, even though he has no idea of who taught him, or how he learnt, so he has been able to govern the ship in search of land. The island in front of him gets bigger by the minute, its well-kept buildings and lush vegetation already discernible. He’s almost there, he tells himself, searching for an ounce of optimism in his heart and finding none; and once he has reached his destination, everything will fall into place. 

He'll be able to eat and drink, he'll feel better, and at that point he'll decide what to do. Who knows, maybe luck will smile on him, and he'll find someone who knows him; he’ll be told who he is, and what happened to him. Maybe his home, and his family, are there, and they’ll be happy to see him… 

She’s there as well. She is, he could bet his life on it, even though he has no concrete reason to believe it; maybe that is why he was so close to the island when he got sick or was attacked or whatever happened to him, he was going to visit her, and she’s waiting for him, like she had promised. You see, (name)?, he wishes he could tell her, and he will soon, if it’s the last thing he does, I promised I would be back, and I am. I lost my memory, I don’t even know my own name, but I returned to you, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms once more…

But even if she’s not here, whether because she has moved or because she lives elsewhere -after all, he reasons, for all he knows this island might not have been his original destination, only the closest place to where the tide led his ship while he was unconscious, or perhaps he had decided to go there for some other reason than a visit to his ladylove- he’ll find her. It won’t be easy, since he only knows her name, but difficulties do not scare him; (name) is the only person who can tell him who he is, and maybe even how he ended up in the middle of the Sea with no memory of himself and his history, and then there is another motive, another reason why he can’t wait to see the woman whose memory is enough to make his heart tremble, a reason he’d be too embarrassed to admit out loud but that would make him able to swim to the other side of the Great Line if needed, if it afforded him the chance to hold her in his arms just once more… 

The fact that he ignores his own name is what troubles him the most. As he regained consciousness he knew, without the need to observe his body and touch his face, that he’s a male, relatively young -not a kid by any means, but a still young adult- taller than average and fitter than most. He doesn’t have a mirror, and his hair is too short to move a lock in front of his eyes to check, but after a brief inspection on his arms he’s pretty sure it’s dark, and curly and soft to the touch; his skin is fair, and he has a short beard, moustaches, and sideburns. A pleasant face, it would seem, or at least well-groomed, just like his clothes are practical but elegant: he likes the flower-decorated jacket, and his boots are sturdy and of good quality. Is he a wealthy man? Or perhaps simply a fashion lover? Maybe he’s a tailor, used to wearing his own creations… 

Still, his clothes are not the items he has observed with the most interest; it's the sword, the only object present on the ship and large enough to occupy most of the space. 

It's huge, and beautiful, with its black blade and ornate hilt; it looks heavy, but when he attempted to lift it the sword felt perfect for his hands, durable and powerful, and while swinging it around on such a tiny ship, with the only mast within reach, would have had disastrous consequences, one fact is sure: he’s a swordsman, a probably powerful one, and this is his weapon. 

He has a beautiful sword, here in his hands, and a beautiful woman, potentially far but who’s surely waiting for his return. All things considered, it could have been worse.

Finally, the island’s harbour appears in front of him; his cruise has reached his end, in a few minutes he’ll be able to eat his full  -he doesn’ have any money with him, so how he’ll be able to pay for his meal remains a mystery, but still- and even search for a doctor to help him. In truth, medical attention seems to be the most urgent need, no matter how his stomach is growling: steering the ship feels more and more tiring with every passing minute, and at times it’s like he can’t properly focus on the scene in front of his eyes, as if he were looking at the world through a dense fog…

It’s going to be alright. I’ll find people who’ll help me. Who know me. I’ll find her. I’ll be fine. I just need to endure for a little longer…

The harbour is unexpectedly busy for such a small island, but finally he’s leaving the ship’s deck to step onto the gangplank, and immediately regrets it when a sudden bout of vertigo makes him stumble. The sword, that he has fastened to his back and that at first felt almost light, as if his body were already used to carrying it around even though he couldn’t remember ever doing it, is suddenly as heavy as a boulder. 

He tries grabbing the handrail to support himself, but his hand slips from the metal bar, and a moment later he’s on his knees; chatter rises around him, the alarmed voices of people who have noticed his distress and are approaching to help, and that is kind of them but it’s bad for him, because he’s not the sort of man who asks for, or even just accepts, help, not even if his very life were on the line…

“Are you alright?” 

He’s sweating, which is not surprising given the hot weather, but it’s not the sort of perspiration one can get rid of with a cold bath; still kneeling, he tries desperately to focus, to return the gaze of the many people who are now surrounding him, offering help -you want me to call for someone? Are you sick?- including an older man who has kneeled right in front of him, and who is saying words he can’t understand, and who wears an uniform he recognises, even though he can’t remember whether he has seen one before: he’s the harbourmaster. 

His mouth feels parched; he tries wetting his lips, but uselessly. “(name).” he murmurs, turning blindly all around him. Why is it so dark? “I’m looking for (name). Is there a woman… with her name… here?”

An excited murmuring follows; they know her, he thinks, relief filling him like a wave, but he can’t understand, can’t hear or see properly either, and who knows how long has it been since his last drop of water, not to mention his last meal…

“Please… please, I need to find her… It’s important…” 

“It’s alright, son.” the harbourmaster tells him, clearly alarmed by the state of the half-dead swordsman who has just stumbled on his pier; he nods in the direction of someone else, who quickly abandons the small crowd “We’ll call her.”

They do know her. They know how to find her! “Really?”

“Of course. I promise, we’ll tell her you’re here. What’s your name?”

If only I knew it, he thinks morosely, and alarm fills him; what if (name) refuses to meet him because she doesn’t know he is the one looking for her? 

“I don’t know.” he admits; he has no reason to feel ashamed, but he does “But I know… I know that I love her.”

A moment later he’s laying on the gangplank, the distant cry of a seagull brushing against his ear before his conscience succumbs into the abyss once more. 

*

You find yourself whistling softly as you cross the fortress’ main gate, having refused the harbourmaster’s offer to call for your carriage. A nice walk is just what you need after two full days of navigation back from the Marines HQ, especially on such a fine day, the sun almost blinding in the cloudless sky above you. You can’t remember the last time you felt in such a good mood; you’ll tell your mother about your latest success, have a bath, take a nap, and then take care of the no doubt numerous tasks and issues that have piled up in your absence. Sounds like a plan, you think, still unaware of what the rest of the day - no, what the next ten minutes have in store for you.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

“Thank you. Please have our bookkeeper take care of this.” you instruct one of the servants who have greeted you, entrusting him with the parcel Vice-Admiral Garp put in your hands two days ago, and that you have just retrieved from the hidden pocket inside your skirt “Half of it to the fortress’ treasure, half to whoever here on the island needs it the most.”

“It will be done, my lady.” the man in livery answers with a slight bow “And there is a matter that requires your attention.”

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing of the sort; it’s just…” the three people in front of you, all of whom have served in your home for years, exchange a look, as if they didn’t know how to describe the issue they are bringing to your attention “Three days ago a… guest has reached the island, looking for you. He was very sick, so your lady mother decided to entrust him to the fortress’ doctor.”

“Of course, that was the right thing to do. Who is it?”

“Forgive me, my lady, but it’s better if you saw him with your own eyes.”

Curious, you move in the direction of the guest room on the first floor, where your mysterious visitor has been residing since the doctor decided there was no need to keep him in the infirmary. Who could it be? It can’t be simply one of your friends from out of the island, there would be no need to be so secretive about it; and since you’ve always been careful not to reveal the name of your island to the people you meet on the job -informants, victims… the lovers you occasionally take during your travels to make sure your reputation remains immaculate when you’re home…- it can’t be any of them. Then who…?

Oh, Gods. It’s Theon, is it not?, you wonder with a sigh as you cross the corridor; your cousin would have no reason to visit, since he knows well you don’t like him anymore than he likes you, which is very little, but for a few years you’ve had the impression he has designs on your role as the island’s future ruler, and that he’s trying to convince your mother to exclude you from the line of succession in his favour. Which would never happen, of course, but still; you’d rather receive the visit of a Navy Admiral at the head of a Buster Call fleet than his. 

Your mother and the doctor are standing in front of one of the guest rooms, engaged in a whispered conversation that quickly ceases when they see you come; the man bows slightly before leaving, and your mother offers you her hands to take, smiling warmly as you exchange a kiss.

“How are you, my love?”

“Ninety-two million berry.” you announce proudly, and with reason: it’s the highest bounty you’ve ever earned, and even Garp complimented you when you presented him the severed head of your quarry. The captain you have captured was a known pirate and a fearsome combatant, not as much as him, of course, no, this guy -who didn’t expect the woman he had casually met in an inn and had offered to buy him a drink was a bounty hunter with a derringer and a round already in the chamber as she let him led her to the back of the building for some alone time- could never hold a candle to the man you have hunted for almost a decade and never been able to capture. He’s still stronger, smarter, more resourceful than you; you had to admit it, at least in the privacy of your heart, after your latest encounter, four months ago, when you failed to capture him for the hundredth time. But he won’t be forever, you have promised yourself as you licked your wounds; one day he’ll make a mistake, or at least lower his attention for more than three seconds. That’s all you need. “I’m unharmed, he didn’t even realise I was going to shoot him until it was too late. Not bad, right?”

“You’ve been great; I’m sure your grandfather would be proud. You visited that restaurant you told me about?” she asks, already well aware of your habits; every time you collect a bounty, you treat yourself to a nice meal, or occasionally a new dress, and then devolve the rest of the bounty to the well-being of your people, or your land. You don’t exactly need the money; that’s not why you do it, but it would be pointless not to use it, wouldn’t it?

“I did, and the black cod with miso was even more delicious than I expected; next time we’ll go together. Mother… who is this visitor we received?”

“Ah, yes…” 

Now serious, your mother explains that three days ago a man arrived on the island, gravely sick and almost starving, asking for you; it’s literally everything he has been saying, during the brief moments of consciousness since his arrival. Where is (name)? I need to talk to (name). 

“Who is he?”

“That is the most peculiar thing; this man claims he has lost his memory, and the doctor concurs the result is compatible with the sort of wound he has received. Everything he seems to remember, it’s you. Your name, and your face, that I asked him to describe to make sure he wasn’t looking for another woman with your name. It’s… so unexpected…” 

“Do you know who he is?”

“I do. I had never met him before, but… well, it was easy to recognise him. He’s awake now, and the sooner you talk to him, the better.”

So it’s not your cousin. More and more intrigued, you wordlessly step closer to the door, brush your fingers against the derringer hanging from your waist -you doubt you have much to fear from this man, since apparently he was at death’s door just three days ago, but you never know- raise your hand to the door to knock, and then enter. 

The room is bathed in the early afternoon’s light, the light breeze coming from the open window gently stirring the bed’s canopy; on the wall facing the door there’s a painting depicting a pastoral scene, not exactly a masterpiece which is why you and your mother have confined it to a room you have never been in for at least a year. 

The man who has apparently lost his memory except for what concerns you is sitting on the bed, completely still as he lifts his gaze towards you. The shirt he is wearing is probably a loan from some courtier, but the sword is his: his favourite weapon, the huge black-bladed Yoru, is propped against the wall next to the bed, within reach should his owner decide to wield it. 

“(name).” he says, without a moment of doubt, just like you don’t hesitate in recognising him; how could you, when you have spent much of your life as an adult hunting him?

“You.” you murmur, completely stunned, and for a whole minute you’re completely incapable of uttering a single word more.

You are dreaming. He’s an illusion. You were wrong and it’s not him, just a man who resembles him more than a twin brother could. You quickly consider whatever options your brain supplies before dismissing each of them; you’re awake, he’s real, and by now you know this man well enough you could recognise him even with your eyes closed, and then there are his eyes, those eyes you’re ready to bet no other man in the world has and that sometimes seem to have an unexpected effect on you, as if they could see through your clothes, and even into your heart…

Before you realise, your feet have guided you to the bed. “What are you doing here?” you ask softly, before remembering that he has no way of telling you, since apparently he lost his memory. 

Still, you can’t help wondering. What brought him to your island? Was he looking for you? You really can’t think of a reason why he would do something like that -but the simple thought makes you feel… no, you better not reflect on that, because that’s a line of thinking that might end up revealing truths you’re not ready to face- but it can’t be a coincidence, can it? Your home is days of sailing away from the Marines HQ and even farther from Kuraigana Island, where he’s been residing for years; that he was in a completely different part of the sea and reached your island simply because the tides carried him there is too much of a coincidence to be believed. But then, why does he still remember your name, if he has forgotten everything else? Why was it so important that he spoke to you…?

“(name).” Mihawk murmurs after a minute, tearing you from your thoughts. He’s looking at you with an intensity that at first feels overwhelming, his bird-eyes overflowing with an emotion you can’t readily give a name to. It’s relief, and joy, and… and… desire? “It’s… it’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s me. Mihawk, what are you…?”

“Oh… oh, Gods, I am so glad to see you!”

Those words are highly surprising to hear coming from his mouth, for several reasons - namely, taciturn and impassive as he is, Mihawk is the last man in the world you’d expect to hear express his feelings so openly, especially towards you, given the fact that while you’ve known each other for many years, you can’t exactly say you are friends. Maybe he’s still confused, you tell yourself as you do your best to ignore the slight blush that has blossomed on your face, which is probably natural given his state; your name is all he remembers, which means you’re the only person he knew he could ask for help, and anyone would find comfort, even happiness, after finding…

But if Mihawk’s declaration had surprised you, that is nothing compared to what he does, a moment later, too quickly for you to have the time to react.

Mihawk smiles -another first time, and it’s incredible how that simple expression can change his face, making him appear not only younger, but a completely different person- and despite his evident weakness he reaches out towards you, still standing next to his bed, and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.” he murmurs, affection filling his voice; a moment later he has pressed his mouth to yours in a searing, passionate kiss.

Your mind blanks out. You’re under shock; an unmistakably pleasant sensation, but traumatic nonetheless in its intensity. 

You have time to perceive how soft his mouth is, firm and warm and naturally sensual; your eyelids flutter, and your own lips part to deepen the kiss… 

And then, almost reflexively, you raise your hand and use it to slap Mihawk with all your strength across the face.

*

He has never felt so stupid.

That’s a probably meaningless claim to make, considering that his never only dates back to three days ago, but he’s nevertheless confident this moment would come out on top even if he had full access to his memories and he was an especially awkward person, prone to blunders and gaffes - which he’s not, he instinctively decides. 

He doesn’t even dare to think about the impression his gesture may have given; to kiss someone suddenly, without asking for permission, the way he did to (name) deserved more than a slap, especially after her people have taken care of him when he was already at death’s door. Shame weighs so heavy on his heart he can barely breathe; he’s not that sort of man - he doesn’t want to be, at least, and hopes he’s never been, and the last thing he wanted was to impose his attentions on (name).

But he had been so sure. Those thoughts… those images in his mind… they were together, he and (name), the love and desire and intimacy between them so intense he could have almost tasted them. He could have bet his life, without a moment of hesitation, that he and (name) were a couple, lovers or maybe even married; it would have explained why she -her name, and her lovely face- was the only thing he remembered, and why he had woken up closer to her island than to any other piece of land: he had been on his way to visit her. 

He was wrong. Sorely, acutely wrong, judging from her reaction. They clearly aren’t lovers, either official or otherwise, given her reaction to his kiss; what are they, then? They might have broken up, their relationship now belonging to the past, but… what if it was all in his head, not the memory of a real event but just a dream, maybe an illusion his mind had concocted? Maybe he has been in love with (name) without her knowing -or reciprocating- and that scene of the two of them frolicking on the grass was nothing more than wishful thinking, a desire to have his beloved by his side. Or maybe that romantic scene had been his brain’s unconscious way to tell him it was imperative that he found her and spoke to her, whatever the reason. 

At least he is pretty sure they are not related; now that would have been embarrassing, given what he did, and dreamt of doing.

“Damn me.” he swears softly; he needs (name)’s help even more desperately than he needs food, and he couldn’t blame her if the woman decided to give him the boot. He’s been so stupid, so reckless, convinced as he was that everything would be fine now that he had found his lover, and yet…

Lost as he is in his self loathing, it takes him a while to realise someone is shooting, right under his window judging from the proximity of the noise. Tension fills him: has someone come for him? Worse, is (name) in danger? What on earth is happening now?

Standing from the bed takes him an embarrassing amount of time, and he needs even more to make sure his legs can actually support him once he stops clinging to the headboard, but in the end, he’s able to walk the brief distance that separates him from the window. The shooting continues, a single bullet being fired every few seconds, and when he looks outside it becomes immediately clear that no one is in danger, and no armed assault is being moved to the fortress.

(name) is training.

The targets are lined on a fence in front of her in order of size, the biggest a tin can as large as his hand and the smallest too far for him to discern. (name) is standing perfectly still, the gun he has seen hanging from her waist during their brief encounter in her hand; she looks determined, focused, methodical, and utterly breath-taking as she shoots, hitting bullseye every time, her targets falling to the ground one after the other. In the end, the fence is bare, but (name) doesn’t seem satisfied yet; he sees her search in her skirt’s pockets, and then retrieve a single coin. She turns so that the sun is in her eyes and closes them, as if enjoying the light’s kiss on her face; a moment later she has tossed the coin in the air, her gun at the ready…

Another bullseye. 

“That was amazing.” he says without thinking, loud enough for (name) to hear; she turns, startled, her gun raised, before lowering it as she arches her eyebrow. She has changed her clothes since their first, brief encounter, but her dress is of a similar model, with a long skirt and a holster for her weapon.

“Should you be on your feet? The doctor said you’re still very weak.”

“I wanted to see who was shooting; and I feel much better, thanks to your people’s help. (name), I… I owe you an apology.”

“I agree.”

“I am sorry, truly; I…” I don’t know what came over me, he’s about to say, but the truth is that he does, even though it’s too embarrassing to share “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or to… hurt you. I will leave, if you want me to, and never bother you again.”

She stares at him for a full minute, openly judging his sincerity; what she sees seems to please her, because a tiny smile blossoms on her lips, and “Very well.” she decides as she holsters her gun “There’s no need for you to leave, at least until you’re back to health. Give me a minute and I’ll be with you.”

He looks at her until she has disappeared through a backdoor into the fortress, and then smiles, relieved, before lowering his gaze to contemplate his body, naked under the shirt. He could go back to bed and cover himself with the sheet, but fortunately his clothes have been returned to him this morning, washed and folded; he quickly retrieves his trousers from the back of a chair, and has the time to put them on and wash his face in the water basin before a soft but firm knocking announces (name)’s arrival.

“Come in.”

She enters slowly, almost hesitating despite being in her own home; but then she smiles, and a chair is brought closer to the bed, so that they can sit face to face.

“The doctor says you’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I know; I feel better already. (name), I really am so sorry…”

She shakes her head to silence him. “I believe you; no need to talk about it again.” she points out, and he could swear he has seen a trace of blush on her face “Now… you really don’t remember anything? Not even who you are?”

“I don’t; only you. Your face… and your name. I woke up on a ship, sailed towards the closest island, and fainted on the harbour. When I woke up I was here.”

“Oh, Gods…”

A minute passes; they look at each other. “How do you feel?” (name) asks in the end, watching him closely, and suddenly he feels unable to swallow “Are you… worried? Scared?”

He reflects on the matter for a moment before answering. “I feel frustrated, because I can’t remember who I am and where I come from; and worried I will never remember, a little, because your doctor said it’s impossible to know whether it will happen, and when. But scared, no.”

“I’m not surprised; you’re not the sort of man who scares easily. I’d even say you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

There is a trace of admiration in her voice; he smiles. “Can you tell me my name? You said it before but I didn’t catch it.”

“Of course. Your name is Dracule Mihawk; many know you as “Hawk-eye” Mihawk.”

Dracule Mihawk. It’s a good, strong name, that he -that Mihawk- repeats under his breath, and while he can’t say he feels it as his own, he decides that he likes it.

“And who am I? I mean, what do I do? Do I… have a trade, or…?”

The question seems to amuse (name). “Who do you think you are?” she asks back, and once again, Mihawk takes a moment to reflect before answering, his gaze moving to the huge black sword propped against the wall a few feet from them.

“I think I’m a swordsman. It’s not just because I had that with me, I… I feel I can use it. That it’s part of me.”

“It is.”

“Am I good?”

“You are more than good; you are exceptional.” (name) explains; she speaks matter-of-factly, like a student repeating a not particularly interesting lesson to their teacher, but Mihawk could swear there is a trace of admiration in her voice “You’re known, not without reason, as the world’s strongest swordsman. You’ve conquered the title when you were still a boy, and since then no opponent has ever been able to trouble you. You’re a very powerful pirate, known in all Four Seas and across the Grand Line; you’ve vanquished countless other crews, and even the Marines have given up years ago on trying to apprehend you.”

Silence falls; Mihawk almost doesn’t realise he’s staring at her, open-mouthed, overwhelmed, disbelieving. “You are joking.”

“I promise you I’m not. You’re an extraordinary person, Mihawk; you have much to be proud of.”

Rather than proud, he feels humbled, because the last thing he feels at the moment is exceptional, powerful. The strongest swordsman in the world… if only the opponents he destroyed could see him now, barely able to stand and wield his weapon. How can he represent a threat to the military forces of the World Government, if he doesn’t even know where his home is?

(name) is still looking at him, sitting composedly on her chair, hands in her lap, empathy and compassion evident on her face. Her mother is the island’s lady, the doctor has mentioned to him that morning, and she’s the future ruler of that small but wealthy fief. Mihawk can clearly see the refinement and elegance she exudes, not simply in her clothes and discreet but precious jewels, it’s something more…

She is one of a kind; steel under velvet, much more clever and dangerous than many would expect from a pretty noble lady. Even in the midst of his vast ignorance Mihawk is sure of it, but there’s something else he needs to know…

“And you?” he murmurs, leaning forward until he and (name) are almost breathing the same air; he can feel his heart pounding, as if his very life depended on the answer he’s going to receive. For all he knows it could; he certainly feels that it does “Who are you, (name)?”

Who are you for me? What are we? Why do I still remember you even though I forgot everything else? Why do I feel that I love you, and that I did it even before all of this?

“Me?” she asks, and now she’s not simply smiling; she is grinning, openly amused, unlike him well aware of the absurdity of their situation “I am the bounty hunter who has sworn to kill you.”

* 

Mihawk refused to use a cane, but (name) has convinced him to lean on her arm, at least for the brief walk towards the fortress’ gardens. His fair complexion does not agree with a man who spends much time outside, but Mihawk feels better, after three days spent locked in a room. A maid has brought tea and a little food, and he enjoys the drink while (name), sitting by his side on a wooden bench, tells him about him and, consequently, about herself.

They have met for the first time as teenagers, the woman explains, when she was just starting out as a bounty hunter -literally starting out; it was my first assignment- and he an up-and-coming swordsman who had been challenged to a duel by the man (name) had decided to neutralise. Years later, their paths crossed once again, when the woman, by now an experienced killer, decided to make him the next item on her list of victims.

“And I escaped?”

“You did. That time and, it pains me to say, all the ones that followed.”

(name) is one of the most capable bounty hunters allied with the World Government, she explains without false modesty; ever since she started, and especially as she gained experience and refined her technique, very few targets have escaped her, and no one has done it twice. 

No one apart from him.

“How many times have I… escaped you?” Mihawk asks; the situation, he sitting peacefully side by side with a woman who has attempted to kill him and who is now hosting him in her house, is more than a little surreal, but Mihawk can’t help finding it amusing, and given the barely concealed smile on (name)’s lovely lips, he’s not the only one.

“I have lost count. Believe me, it’s… it’s more than a little frustrating; I know I can’t beat you on the physical level, but I have already neutralised many powerful pirates. I’m a bounty hunter, not a warrior; I usually sneak up on them, waiting for them to be too relaxed or unharmed to react, put a bullet in their head, end of the story. With you… I don’t know what else to do. I’ve reached the end of my rope.”

“Well, I guess it’s harder to be caught off guard when you already know the face of the person who wants to kill you.”

“True; but it’s not just that. I’ve tried everything, but you keep escaping me; who knows.” (name) admits with a sigh “Maybe it’s simply impossible - you are simply impossible. So many great swordsmen haven’t been able to beat you, no matter how hard they trained; perhaps it’s the same for me, and you’ll always be the one man I can’t capture, the one failure on an otherwise impeccable curriculum.”

Mihawk grins; he can’t help it. “I’m sorry I’m such a source of embarrassment for you.”

“Don’t be; I can’t very well blame you for doing your best to stay alive, can I?”

They both reflect on the matter as they enjoy their tea. Whatever he might have expected from his encounter with (name), it wasn’t this, Mihawk reflects; the woman he thought was his partner, maybe even his wife, is actually a killer who clearly would like nothing better than to neutralise him and earn his bounty. He has seen with his eyes how capable she is as a markswoman, and wouldn’t be surprised to know (name) has hunted him across the Grand Line, risking her own life for a chance to put a bullet through his skull. He wonders if the old him, before he lost his memory, simply did his best to survive, or if he ever fought back; if he was -if he is- such a formidable swordsman and pirate, why didn’t he simply kill her, to save himself the trouble of having to watch his back all the time?

Because you are in love with her, that’s why; she would give half of her blood to kill you, but you couldn’t even harm a hair of her head. Maybe you were even happy about those attempts on your life, because they meant yet another occasion to meet her…

It’s vaguely pathetic, but Mihawk can’t bring himself to be sorry for it.

“You know.” he begins after a while, his cup now only half full “I would have no way to defend myself if you attacked me now. I left my sword in my room, and I’m not even sure I would be able to lift it weak as I am; you could call your guards, have me restrained, and shoot me in the head.”

(name) looks at him, clearly unimpressed. “You really think I would do something like that? What sort of person do you take me for?”

“I meant no disrespect; but please remember that from my point of view we have known each other for half an hour. You and your people have taken care of me, but you did say you have tried to kill me several times.”

“True.” she admits; she bites her lip, as if embarrassed for having judged him unfairly, and Mihawk discovers he can’t look away “But believe me, I could never take advantage of a man in your state. First of all, if a man, any man, arrives at my door asking for help, I’m going to give it to him; I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror otherwise. Also, I don’t simply want to pocket your bounty; if I hunt you, it’s because I want to prove how capable I am - more capable than you. That is why I never attempted to poison your drink, or to sink your ship in the middle of the Sea; I would find no satisfaction in winning without a fair fight.”

Mihawk smiles. “So it’s a matter of honour.”

“I knew you would understand. With most people I wouldn’t bother, but you… you, Mihawk, are a special case.”

She is smiling as well now, her gaze that after a moment drops to the cup on her lap; she hasn’t blushed, Mihawk doubts she’s that sort of person, but the chaste intimacy of that moment is too intense for either of them to ignore.

Have you really attempted to kill me, (name)? Every single time? Or have you prayed in your heart I could escape you once again, torn between your duty and your feelings?

It’s only wishful thinking, clearly; the fact that she hasn’t pointed her gun to his forehead as soon as she recognised him and didn’t take advantage of his weakened state means she’s an honourable woman, not that she’s the sort of hunter who falls in love with her prey. He’ll have to depart as soon as he’s strong enough to, even if his memory won’t have returned by then, it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of (name)’s hospitality… and he doubts she’ll want him there in any case.

“Good to know…”

“So you’re going to nurse me back to health and then release me to the wild, as if I were a prized buck?”

“Well, I don’t plan on mounting your head on my wall, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”

They share a grin; a moment later (name)’s hand is resting on his, her touch delicate but firm. “You’ll have nothing to fear as long as you remain in this house.” she murmurs; she’s not looking at him, but Mihawk can’t help perceiving the determination in her voice “You have my word.”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak; the impulse of turning his hand to intertwine their fingers is so intense he has to force himself to remain still.

“Does the name Shanks mean anything to you?” (name) asks after a while. Mihawk shrugs; considering that his own name didn’t evoke any particular emotion, he doubts he’d recognise another’s. 

“Who is it?”

Red-Haired Shanks is a -perhaps the only- friend of his, (name) tells him, a well-known pirate he has fought many times already; he is probably the person who can tell Mihawk the most about himself, since they’ve known each other for years. 

“I can try and find where he is.” the woman proposes; she seems sincerely eager to do something for him, which makes Mihawk feel something he’s not sure he has the courage to analyse “Since he’s a pirate he obviously doesn’t have a permanent address, but I’m pretty sure there are a number of islands under the protection of his crew; I could find a way to send him a letter there, or to have someone give him my Den Den Mushi number.”

In his heart, Mihawk is not sure it’d help; after all even his best friend wouldn’t be able to do much more than telling him things about himself, which is only useful to a certain extent, and since his memories don’t seem about to return when (name) herself is doing it, why would it be different if Shanks were in her place? Still, he has no better option, and since it was (name) who proposed it…

“That’d be very kind of you. Thank you, (name); I am really grateful.”

*

Having finished their tea, they take a short stroll in the gardens, surrounded by the lush vegetation that, (name) explains, is her mother’s pride and joy. Mihawk asks her to tell him all she knows about his past, which, it turns out, it’s plenty: even though they’re not exactly friends, she’s the sort of person who prepares meticulously for every assignment she accepts, and she has gathered plenty of information on her favourite target.

“I’m not exactly sure where you were born, but when the papers first started to write about you you were on the Grand Line, which suggests you came from there. You’ve been living for a few years on an island called Kuraigana.”

“Alone?”

“Very alone, considering that as far as I know the place was abandoned before you arrived there; there are probably animals in the woods, but nothing more. That I know of, at least; not that… I’ve ever been there…”

Mihawk could swear she’s embarrassed, even though he can’t begin to know why. 

“No, I mean…” he begins, and then he hesitates “... do I have a family…? Am I…”

Gods, he can’t even say it, let alone sound nonchalant as he does it.

“... married…?”

“Oh! I don’t believe so; I mean, you’re a quite solitary person, and I never heard about you having a partner. Then again, as I said I have never been on your island, so for all I know you could have a spouse and five children waiting for you on Kuraigana. And with regard to your family…��

She’s biting her lip again. “There’s something I found out years ago, as I researched you. I don’t want you to think I was snooping around, sticking my nose in your personal business, I just wanted to know more about you to find out if you had a weak point.”

“And I do?”

“Not that I have found. Anyway, I met this woman, who told me she had worked for your family when you were young. Your mother… your mother died in childbirth, and your father remarried when you were seven. I don’t know why exactly, but by that time you had already left the house… together with your sister.”

His sister was much older than him, she tells him, and more or less raised Mihawk in the place of their mother: they were very close, until… until the woman was killed, the night before her own wedding, but not by a robber she had caught in her home or a former suitor who didn’t accept she had moved on.

“He was mainly known as The Blue Crane, and he was… well, he was the world’s strongest swordsman before you. According to your old maid, he came into the house while you weren’t there, and killed your sister; I have no idea why, perhaps he wanted to provoke you. And then you returned, and killed him; that is how you conquered your title.”

He stops; he’s tired already, despite the brief distance he has covered at a sedate pace, but that is not the only reason why he can’t wait to return to his room - alone, preferably, no matter how much he enjoys (name)’s company.

“I’m so sorry, Mihawk. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you…”

He forces himself to smile. “No; it’s fine, I’m glad you did. A sister… I can’t even begin to understand what it feels like.”

(name), who is also an only child, nods silently. “I’m sorry.” she murmurs once again, and now she seems frustrated, as if well aware of the uselessness of her words “I shouldn’t have…”

“Forgive me, my lady.” 

Neither had noticed that one of the fortress’ servants had joined them; the man bows low, and Mihawk has to force himself not to glare.

“Yes?”

“There’s a call on your Den Den Mushi, my lady. Vice-Admiral Garp.”

(name) tenses.

“Who is this man?”

“My contact with the Marines; he’s usually the one who pays me when I bring in a bounty. He might have a new job for me, it wouldn’t be the first time, but…”

She turns to him, steel in her gaze. “I’ll talk to him. You want me to accompany you to your room?”

“There’s no need. I… I’ll see you later.”

She winks. “Of course; you can’t escape me, can you?”

Mihawk looks at her go, followed by the servant. Once alone, he lets his feet bring him back to the bench, where a by now cold half-pot of tea is waiting - an image that could fittingly describe his life, Mihawk ruefully thinks; he sits, to the relief of his already tired legs, and looks at the suddenly darkening sky, wishing he could read his future in the clouds, like some people claim to be able to do. Perhaps it’d be happier than his past, or his present; it could hardly be glummer.

The only surviving member of his family. A single friend in the world, who he doesn’t even know how to contact. The woman he was -is- in love with is only waiting for him to once again represent a valid challenge before hunting him down and killing him. And on top of all the rest, he has no idea when his memories will return.

Mihawk is not fully sure he wants them to.

[coolearistrashcollection]

Chapter Three: Questions and no answers

Ccharacters: cult leader!Geto, cursed spirit!Reader TW: manipulation?, talks about death

Prologue (part 1) here, CH2/part3 here

You hate him for sealing you away. Or so you think. When he absorbed you, he saved your life, made a pact that bound you both. You had pledged your loyalty then. How could you truly hate someone who spared you from death?

No, hate isn’t the right word anymore, is it? Resentment, maybe. Annoyance, certainly. And now, here you are, working for him again. Not as a powerful entity, not in the grand role you once held, nothing as fearsome as the special grade curse that left destruction in its wake. No, now you're reduced to being a nanny, looking after his twin foster daughters.

"Nanako, Mimiko, time for school." Your voice is firm, though inside, you're still adjusting to this strange, mundane task. Babysitting children. Of all things. When Geto asked for your help, you thought he wanted you back beside him in battle. But this? Escorting two small humans to school? You have no experience with humans, let alone children. It's baffling, exhausting, and utterly beneath you, considering the power you once wielded.

Nanako, the more outspoken of the two, scrunches up her face in a pout. “Hey! Why can’t Geto take us?” Her tone carries that special blend of childish entitlement that grates at your nerves.

Mimiko, quieter but no less troublesome, chimes in. “Yeah! Why can’t he? He took us every day!” She clutches her stuffed animal –a small, worn creature with an unsettling noose around its neck– and stares at you, clearly displeased with the new routine.

You fight the urge to snap. The irritation has been simmering since the start of the morning, and it’s far too early for this nonsense. “He’s busy, and he asked me to take care of you two. Now let’s move, or you’ll be late.” Your words are clipped, your tone betraying how little patience you have left.

The twins, however, don’t seem to care about your mounting frustration. They stand there, eyes wide, expecting you to somehow summon Geto out of thin air to take them. With an exaggerated sigh, you motion for them to follow you. Nanako huffs but starts moving, while Mimiko drags her feet behind, sulking.

As you guide the twins through the busy streets, your eyes are constantly scanning the crowd, alert for any lurking threats. Sorcerers are always a danger, especially now that Geto’s leadership of the Time Vessel Association has made them a target. Funnily enough, you recognised the cult, it's been around since your era, surviving the testament of time. However, you didn't fully grasp what happened that has led to this situation. 

The city is alive with noise and activity, yet you feel like a ghost, watching from the outside. And in a way, you are. Despite the crowds, no one acknowledges your presence. They instinctively avoid the space you occupy, oblivious to the invisible figure walking among them.

But the twins? The twins are always aware of you. As you walk, Nanako tugs lightly at your sleeve, her small, clammy hand a contrast to your cold, distant aura. “Why can no one see you?” she asks, her voice soft and curious. She hesitates, as though she’s been wondering about this for a while but only now has the courage to speak. Nanako has noticed how people pass without even glancing your way, unaware of your existence. Well, everyone except her, Mimiko, and, of course, Geto.

Before you can respond, Mimiko interrupts, her tone sharp with embarrassment. “Nanako! You can’t just ask people why no one notices them!” Her cheeks flush slightly as she scolds her twin, as though Nanako had broken some unspoken rule.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to answer. With what feels like your millionth sigh of the day, you finally respond. “I’m a curse” you say, your voice flat, factual. “Non-sorcerers can’t see me.”

The explanation is simple. A curse. A monster. It’s the truth, though it hardly explains the full depth of what you are. You used to revel in destruction, to thrive in chaos, and now you walk unnoticed through streets: to most people, you’re closer to a shadow that doesn’t quite fit.

Nanako tilts her head, her wide, innocent eyes studying you with an expression mixed with confusion, wonder, and fear. “A curse?” Her curiosity is palpable, and you can almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to imagine you; Her strange, quiet caretaker with the dark, mysterious title of cure.

You sigh again, resisting the urge to explain further. You’re not in the mood for a lengthy conversation– especially not now, when your focus should be on keeping them safe in the crowded streets. “Something like that,” you mutter, your voice laced with weariness.

Their curiosity lingers, but they don’t press you further. Perhaps they sense your mood, maybe they’re just excited to go to school, or maybe they just got distracted by something else. Either way, the silence that follows feels almost like a relief.

As you continue leading the twins, you can’t help but feel that taking them to school is somehow more exhausting than any other task Geto has assigned to you. Even the endless drudgery of cleaning the temple pales in comparison. At least then, you knew what to expect. Here, surrounded by unpredictability and the need to constantly watch over his bratty children, the mental strain is far greater than you anticipated.

You glance down at the twins, now walking ahead a little, chattering quietly to each other. They’re so small, so fragile, two beings whose safety you are now responsible for. And yet, despite how draining this task is, you are thankful for Geto to release you. 

For now, the only thing that matters is getting them to school safely.

—

“Geto–”

“Please, call me Suguru.” He interrupts you smoothly, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes closed from the smile, yet it feels like he's intensely staring at you, watching your every move. “C’mon, we were a close duo once, weren’t we?”

You narrow your eyes with suspicion. “Then, Suguru” You emphasise, voice dripping with sarcasm, “When the hell did you get two kids, and why am I stuck playing babysitter? Actually, screw that, how many years have passed?”

“Let’s go somewhere more private, I believe we have many things to discuss.”

The room feels heavy around you, confrontation ahead. The conference room seems to close in from the surreal conversation, even the situation feels odd. It’s been a while since you last saw him. Outside, the cult members, fanatics who listen to Suguru’s every word, are gathering for his daily sermon. You can feel the muted hum of their excitement, their reverence for him. It sends a chill down your spine, you were one of his first supporters and probably the most neglected too. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, casually locking his arm with yours as though this is a simple stroll between friends. The gesture feels unsettlingly intimate given the current situation, but you don’t pull away. You let him guide you out of the conference room, away from the eerie gathering that awaits his presence. His grip is firm, showing the power he still holds over you, but caring at the same time.

The door swings shut behind you with a soft click, leaving the murmuring cultists behind. You glance sideways at Suguru, your jaw clenched tight. He’s always had this way of dodging your questions, of sidestepping the reality of the situation in favour of his own whims. It was infuriating then, and it’s infuriating now. You study his face as he speaks, searching for the remnants of the person you once knew beneath the hardened exterior. His transformation is shocking, yet feels strangely inevitable, as though this darker version of him had been lurking beneath the surface all along.

“When did things change? What happened to you, Suguru?” You ask, your voice lower now that the two of you are alone in the hallway. “Where’s Gojo?”

He glances at you with a dark expression, as though your questions bring up undesired memories to him. For a moment, he says nothing, and the silence stretches out uncomfortably, as though your words have dragged something painful to the surface. His black locks shining in the light, his sharp eyes glistening. “We had a couple disagreements…” His tone is heavy, almost mournful too. He shifts slightly, his posture rigid but controlled, as if keeping some darker emotion at bay.

“Disagreements?” You repeat. “Cmon, I thought you two were as thick as thieves… It was more than a disagreement, no?”

Another pause.

“Let’s just say we both have different… philosophies… and we have parted ways.”

“And that's where this cult comes in, no?”

“Correct.” He smirks. "Like I said," He begins in a casual tone, "my views regarding society have changed… and I took over this cult." He continues, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His response is frustratingly smooth, like he’s rehearsed it a hundred times before. 

“Like I said, my views regarding society have changed,” he smiles, his eyes flickering with amusement as he smoothly dodges the question, “so, I took over this cult, where we all strive to achieve our goal, a new world order with an only sorcerer society.” 

This new persona of him was manipulative, you doubt people wanted their own extermination. Despite everything, a part of you is drawn to this version of him. This darker, more dangerous version of him is closer to your kind, to your true nature. He understands something fundamental about the world, something he couldn’t grasp before: humans cling to their illusions of civilization, of progress, when in truth, they are nothing more than weaklings. Vermin. You’ve always known this, it was ingrained into your being, but now Suguru knows it too.

“So… Gojo was trying to stop you, wasn’t he?” You press, watching for any expressions on his face. “He didn’t agree with your ‘new world order.’”

Suguru’s eyes darken, his amusement fading. “Satoru couldn’t see the bigger picture. He believed in saving humanity.” He spits the word as though it disgusts him. “But non-sorcerers are the disease, they are the only reason why curses exist in the first place. Their inability to manipulate cursed energy makes them a liability. They are simply stupid monkeys.”

“I’d say more like bugs, but sure. I got the picture. I wouldn’t exist without their fear,” You respond, a smirk playing on your lips. The thought of humans cowering before you, their screams for mercy echoing in your head, sends a thrill through your entire being. The allure of having your full powers back, unrestricted and untamed, is intoxicating. You can almost taste it, the raw energy that would come from their terror.

"But," You pause, the excitement fading momentarily, "I don’t understand why I’m stuck being a nanny for those two. I’m a curse, Suguru, not a babysitter. I’ve never taken care of kids before."

At the mention of the girls, something shifts in his demeanour. His expression turns soft. It was clear he deeply cared about them. There’s an unspoken tenderness behind his usual sharp eyes.

“Well," He begins, his voice carrying a note of nostalgia, “I found Nanako and Mimiko a few years ago, before quitting. I took them in, you could say I'm like a parental figure to them.” 

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Can’t anyone else take care of them? Really, I’m not exactly qualified for this. I’d much rather be helping you directly with your... 'new world order.’" You crave the thrill, the chaos, the destruction.

Suguru smiles at your words, seemingly unfazed by your rejection. There’s a warmth in that smile, a gentle amusement, as if he knows something you don’t. "I thought it’d be a good bonding experience. You cut me off when I was asking if you wanted to help," he adds lightly, though there’s a subtle edge of teasing in his tone. "Besides, they love brushing people’s hair. You’d enjoy it. They can be very sweet when you give them the chance."

Narrowing your eyes at him, you cross your arms defiantly. “They will not be brushing my hair, Suguru.”

“You’re missing out, then,” He chuckles, the sound low and almost affectionate. He’s not pressing the issue, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes that tells you he finds your frustration amusing. "Still, I’ll ask you again later to help me out. Absorbing more curses, gathering power... you remember how it was back in the old days. The thrill of it all."

His voice grows more serious, a sly grin creeping across his face as he leans in slightly. "And if you do well, prove yourself, I’ll reward you with something you’ve been looking for. Information about yourself."

You stiffen at that, his words cutting through the fog of irritation. "What kind of information?" You ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. You��ve always known there were things hidden from you, things you couldn’t remember about your past. But to hear Suguru mention it so casually feels like he’s dangling something precious just out of reach: and he knows exactly that you’ll do anything to grasp it.

He tilts his head slightly "Tengen. You know, the sorcerer responsible for sealing you?” His smile widening now too. “He formed this group around your time, and documented things about you. In fact, there’s a whole series of books dedicated to your existence. I know how much you’ve wondered about who you are, perhaps you have hidden curse techniques too."

Your breath catches in your throat. A whole encyclopaedia? Dedicated to you? The mere thought of it makes your pulse quicken, a flood of curiosity swirling in your chest. For so long, you’ve been in the dark about your origins, your purpose. And now, Suguru is offering you the chance to finally uncover it.

But of course, there’s a catch.

"You’re serious?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling beneath the surface. "You’d really give me that information if I help you?"

He nods, his gaze unwavering. "Do good by me, and I’ll make sure you get your answers. But in the meantime, you have to take care of the girls." He leans back, his tone becoming lighter again, "Give the girls a chance. They’re not so bad, once you get used to them."

You glance away, the prospect of looking after Nanako and Mimiko still unappealing, but the promise of information... that changes everything. For a moment, you imagine the power you could gain if you knew your full history, your true self. It would unlock parts of you that have been dormant for far too long.

"I’ll do it," You murmur, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much he’s gotten under your skin. But Suguru knows you well enough to recognize the spark of interest in your eyes despite your shy gaze avoiding his direction.

"Good," He says softly, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and promise. "I knew you’d come around. We’re going to change this world, you and me. It'll be the perfect world, and it’ll be your revenge, death’s revenge." He pauses, giving you one last grin before turning to leave. "Oh, and one more thing," He adds over his shoulder, "they really love braiding hair. So just... keep that in mind."

You roll your eyes as he walks away, but a small part of you can’t help but smile despite yourself. Death’s revenge sounds good. You’re back for good, you're back by his side, and no one will be able to stop you two.

—

Feel.

The soft duvet envelops your cold, restless body, the plush fabric wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. You don’t need sleep, not like humans do, yet the comfort of the futon calls to you, coaxing you into its warmth. It’s a luxury you’ve never known, a strange indulgence. He had given you everything: robes of silk and satin, both kimono and yukata, each more delicate and ornate than the last, embroidered with the most intricate of details. Marigolds, red spider lilies, and wolfsbane adorn them. The accessories, the care, the thoughtfulness… it was all new to you. No one had ever treated you this way, with such tenderness, as though you were more than a weapon, more than a curse. For the first time, you felt... like a human, a person.

The warm light of the morning sun creeps through the shoji screens, caressing your skin. The sensation is foreign yet welcome, like the sun itself has chosen to bless you with its touch. Waking up never felt so good before, so serene. Every morning felt like a new beginning, the softness of the world around you contrasting the hardness of your past.

But no... feel.

This is different. There’s something stirring inside you now, a sensation you can’t explain, unfamiliar and unsettling. It isn't just the comfort of the robes, the warmth of the futon, or the sun on your skin. No, this is deeper, creeping through you, uninvited. Something that wasn't there before. Something that... shouldn’t be there, that was never there until now. You can’t place it, can’t name it. But it gnaws at you, especially when you catch the small moments—when he looks at you with a softness you can’t explain, when his voice is gentle, almost kind. The way he treats you, not like a curse, not like a servant. But like someone who matters.

A strange and unsettling warmth blossoms in your chest. It is foreign and unnerving, because it’s unfamiliar. You shake the feeling, try to ignore it, try to rationalise it. You’ve never felt anything like this. Not as a curse, not as something meant to destroy. This is something else, something fragile and alien to you.

Is this what they call... affection? Could that be it? Could you– no, it can’t be. You’ve never felt this way before, never even thought yourself capable of it. You’re feeling something, something dangerous, something you never experienced before in your lifetime. Something that is pulling you toward him, even as you try to resist it.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not sure if you want to resist it anymore.

And for the first time, you're terrified of yourself.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Nineteen

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 4,646

Themes; isekai, slow burn (eventual smut), Canon divergence

Rating; 18+ for some swearing and mature themes

Notes; Hey guys! Finally done with Sea God Rafayel and now we're on Foreseer Zayne! Currently, his chapter spans until twenty-three, so hopefully I'll be able to wrap up his story soon and get on to the next one. I'm unsure if I want to do Abysswalker Rafayel since that's in the future or if I should skip past that and go straight to the next one 🤔 either let me know or I'll figure it out myself!

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Masterlist

"I will cut out your heart with a dagger honed, my darling. And in Love’s name, your heart will become my faith. Your body will be washed clean like a pearl. I will care for your heart. Till we meet again and you can reclaim it for yourself."

- Siren’s Ballad, Act 3: Muia 

You felt your feet sinking in sand, endless is the yellow sky. Plants grow along a dried riverbed. You walk beside it for a long, long, long time. The skin on your fingers is dry, cracked. Your feet begin to bleed.

 At the edge of the riverbed is a young man and a giant sea creature. You cannot make out his features, but you think he’s taking in the animal’s warmth. He appears to be singing a melody. ‘Tis strange, alluring. But you can barely make out any notes as his voice is barely above a whisper.

 You take a few steps, wishing to hear him better and when he looks up, you immediately recognize those eyes. He stands up and reaches out to you like you were an old friend returning from a long trip.

“There’s Whalefall City.” He points to the bones of sea creatures long dead. In the distance, they rest in the sand dunes. 

“That’s where I can look at the sea?” 

“...yes.”

You take his hand and you arrive at your destination when the sun rises. The teen turns toward you and– a dagger plunges into your chest. 

Warm blood drips and seeps into the sand below. You watch helplessly as he rips open your chest and holds your heart in his hands, red with your blood. A tiny flame feeds on your fresh blood and a shiny crystal, emitting a strange light, rests at the center of the flames. 

There’s a voice in the air whispering, “The reason for us to leave the desert is not to find an oasis…We’re here for a heart, to take it back and make it our worship.”

You jolt up in your bed. A dream within a dream? That was...insane.

Your hand clutches at your chest, almost worried that your heart isn’t there even though you’re alive and breathing– breathing?

Yeah, no.

You felt like you were suffocating. It genuinely felt like your heart was ripped from your chest. You take a few breaths to calm yourself.

To calm yourself, you talk with Algie about the ceremony tomorrow. She says girls wear light, flowy clothes and braid their hair with beautiful pearls and shells. She also says they prepared a lovely garment for you. You also worry about what all you need to do, but she says all you need to do is stand in a conspicuous spot and give Rafayel your hand. She quickly dissuades your worries, telling you that the Sea God’s follower will help him see Lemuria’s future and that the prophecy will reveal the fate of Lemuria.

It’s just a bit nerve wracking, you hope your dream wasn’t a premonition of what’s to come.

 

Today was the day. After thousands of years, Whalefall City holds the Sea God’s ceremony again.

Before the sunrises, the whole city is in festival mode with everyone looking forward to the ceremony celebrating the Sea God’s coming of age and gaining the power to protect the ocean.

As Konche and Algie argue amongst each other, she turns around to spot you in a corner.

“Y/n, what’re you hiding over there for? The sea god won’t be able to see you!” She gently scolds you and you sigh, “Does it matter? There’s so many people, he might not…”

 “Quiet, here he is,” Konche whispers and the crowd erupts in cheers. You look up and spot a huge shadow sweeping over Whalefall City.

‘Tis a beautiful and sacred creature of the ocean. It appears to be a whale and yet has bird wings. The Sea God sits on its back, passing by his loyal subjects before stopping at the gates to Whalefall City.

He walks through the crowd until he stands in front of you, your breath hitches in your chest as he lifts the veil on your head and takes your hand. 

Beautiful, intricate patterns are painted on his body. His eyes are shaped like crescent moons with how much he was smiling. It's as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. 

Everyone moves aside, creating a path for you both as you make your way down. Every child says their blessings in Lemurian. Gorgeous coral branches are thrown behind you as you approach the temple’s doors. 

The door slowly closes behind you both, songs from the outside melding with prayers for inside the temple.

In the dimly lit hall, the fire twists in the darkness, about to go out. The young Sea God intertwines your fingers and holds your hands against his chest. You close your eyes before calling out his name silently. 

Yes…You were willing to give him your heart. You are willing to give him your sincerest form of worship, that’s how much you care for him. You are willing to have his very being etched, engraved onto your soul as you praise and pray to him for the rest of your life. 

Soft like a silken thread, the Sea God’s fire touches your hand. The fiery thread embeds itself into your palm, becoming a line, a part of your very soul. Your eyes flutter back open to meet Rafayel’s gaze. 

The young Sea God’s voice like the wind, blowing out the only light in the darkness, “This is my promise to you. For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow, a bond everlasting.”  

‘No one knows what happened that day. Lemuria is plunged into endless darkness and panic seeps into every part of the ocean. The deep sea is angry and in its wrath, waves slam against the cliffs and rocks fall into the waters. Even temples are turned to rubble.’

‘Tis a long time before the sea god walks out of the temple alone, bringing light back to Lemuria. As he leaves the temple, the alcove that once held the flame collapses.’

‘The Sea God’s follower is gone.’

‘Bathed in sparks and cinders, he holds a small, pulsing flame. It writhes like a newborn. Some said that the flame was born from the purest faith. Some said that the sea god sacrificed his follower to save Lemuria…’

‘Different stories, some true, some not, circulated until the people gradually forgot about the ceremony. No Lemurians have ever seen the Sea God’s follower and the little fish that swims around him– they are gone, whereabouts unknown.’ 

‘Only many, many years later than the god of the sea has perished, when the kingdom has sunk to the depths of the ocean, a rumor begins to circulate Lemuria. The God of the Sea had lied to the deep sea. For his beloved.’

- Lemuria: The Days to Come

The sunlight burns behind your eyelids and you feel more tired than when you first fell asleep. You rest your hand over your eyes and groan as you sit up, your other hand feeling oddly heavy. 

You open your eyes and turn to look before realizing Sylus was still holding your hand with his head limply off to the side as he slept in the chair.

 “That must be pretty uncomfortable..” You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you feel a headache pulsing through your temples.

What exactly happened at the end? Did Rafayel…Take your heart or? 

“The God of the Sea had lied to the deep sea for his beloved,” You murmur, holding your chin in your hand. You wonder what that meant.

Did he give his heart away instead? You clearly didn’t leave the temple with him at the end…

Wait– Not you, her. The main character–

You rest your head in your hands with a low groan.

 What was going on?

You were slowly forgetting who you were, being overwhelmed with all of these unfamiliar memories and unable to remember what your past life– what your real life was even like. You felt like you were actually becoming the protagonist of ‘Love and Deepspace’. 

“This is insane,” You sigh, leaning your head back against the headboard.

“What's insane? Did you get a good rest?” Sylus asks, cracking one eye open as he looks at you, before he chuckles and shakes his head, “Nevermind, don’t answer that, sweetie. The dark circles under your eyes tell me all I need to know.”

 “I mean, I did sleep. I just...” You trail off and Sylus pats your hand. “Felt like you didn’t sleep?” He stands up and holds out a hand for you, “First, let’s get you changed out of that dress and then, we can get you some coffee to wake you up.” 

You take his hand, your body suddenly feeling heavy as if it recalled how light it felt under the water in Lemuria.

Then, you hear something clink around your neck and bring your hand up to touch the necklace that rested flat against your chest. 

“Now where did that come from? I’m pretty sure I took all of your jewelry off before you fell asleep,” Sylus raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest before he grabs some folded clothes. “It doesn’t matter. Here, this is what you wore to the Nest. I thought you’d want to wear it back home.” 

But you shake your head, hand clasped around the blue scale on your necklace. “I’ll take one of your shirts again,” You clear your throat, but grab the white skirt, “I’ll wear the skirt though.”

After minutes later, you’ve groggily changed into the oversized black t-shirt and tucked it into your skirt. A pair of sneakers on your feet as you leave the room, fiddling with your necklace.

“I boxed up everything I’ve gotten you and had it sent to Linkon,” Sylus says as he walks toward you, holding a mug toward you and you gratefully take it.

You take a few sips of the scorching hot liquid before you raise an eyebrow, “Do you know my address?”

“No, I just had it sent to your workplace,” He chuckles and motions for you to follow him as Mephisto flies over to rest on his shoulder.

“Now, come on. Drink that and we’ll take you back home.”

You try to drink as fast as you can without burning yourself and then rush out the door behind Sylus, your phone resting in your backpocket as messages upon messages pile up.

Your phone finally pinging with notifications as you and Sylus entered the city limits of Linkon City. You assume you didn’t have the best of service in the N109 Zone, or perhaps Sylus was somehow blocking all outside interference from contacting you during your stay. You’d never know. 

What you do know is, you’re so tired... You can barely keep your eyes open as you grasp at Sylus’ leather jacket before your hands limply fall to your side as your eyes start feeling heavy. 

“Y/n?” You can hear Sylus question before he sighs, and uses his evol to hold you up on the bike, the reddish black mist wraps around both your waists.

Then, you fall back asleep once more– just hoping for a normal dream this time.

"Under Astra’s command may the Foresser deliver His will, for that is his fate.”

- Philos: Tome of the Foreseer

In the coldest regions of Philos, the Foreseer has resided in the Tower of Thorns since time immemorial. The Almighty Astra bestowed His power unto him, ordering the Foreseer to act as an emissary for the divine. 

The royal family sends an envoy to the Tower of Thorns every 100 years to listen to the Foreseer’s prophecies. Yet, the Foreseer has not bestowed a prophecy to the royal family in hundreds of years. Envoys sent by his majesty never returned and their whereabouts remain unknown to this day. There is a rumor that the Foreseer has been perpetually frozen in an icy tomb.

To him, 100 years is but the blink of an eye. 

And so, a new envoy travels through snow and ice, entering his tower. It happens again and again- as it always has for the past thousands of years. But you?

You’re not a real envoy– you’ve come here to treat your illness. 

To do this, you must take the Creatio protocore from the Foreseer’s scepter. You have no other choice. This is your only way of survival.

Suppressing your anxiety, you walk into a massive room. The room was cold, almost as cold as the snowy outside, but bright as the moonlight glimmered against the many spears of ice decorating the room. A throne stands in the back of the room, a frozen throne.

You take a deep breath, before you bow respectfully. “I am his majesty’s envoy sent here to listen to the Foreseer’s prophecy.” Your voice echoes through the empty room, not a person in sight until you look up and notice a man wearing a blue robe sitting atop the icy throne. He holds a scepter in his gloved hand.

How strange though…His body is ensnared in brambles, thorns wrapping around his arms, legs, and chest. It almost appears like he’s shackled to the throne.

Maybe he wants to leave but something is stopping him? 

You slowly approach him, seeing that his head is lowered and his eyes are shut. He’s encased in ice. 

“Is he…unconscious?” You murmur to yourself. You look him up and down, wondering if you should just take the protocore now and run, but you stop yourself. His gloved hands were frosty, almost fusing the scepter to his palm. He was pale, not a hint of redness on his body at all, save for his lips.

He looked alive but…not at the same time. The thorns just a breath away from touching his black hair.

After wrestling with your thoughts, you decide it’s best to take the protocore. He’s not using it, afterall.

Might as well put it to good use.

You reach up toward the staff to grab the protocore with your gloved hand, but then a shard of ice shoots toward your hand and you jerk it away to avoid spilling any blood.

 “How impudent..” 

You suddenly hear a voice and you don’t immediately assume it was the man in front of you because why would it be?

He’s been asleep for thousands of years, not to mention his eyes are still closed. You look around with your brows furrowed. 

Was your imagination playing tricks on you? Or…is he simply pretending to be frozen?

Your eyes widen as the thorns that were steadily wrapping around the man suddenly crumble before they disappear into thin air. You take a few steps closer to the Foreseer, confident that he’s not actually awake right now, and you take a good look at his face.

“He’s a lot more spritely than I thought...Every book I’ve read describes him as an old man,” You talk to yourself, holding your hand up to your chin before you jump in surprise as his mouth starts moving, “It seems that those Tomes you’ve gleaned through have taught you nothing about etiquette.” 

Then, his eyes finally open and you’re caught off guard by how pretty they are.

They’re green, no brown…Hazel perhaps?

He glances over at you and you take a few steps backward, suddenly feeling more anxious than you did before.

“Y-You’re not actually frozen!?” You sputter out but realize he’s still not moving.

But is he still immobilized? Now, you’re curious.

You tap the side of his neck with your finger, it’s cold to the touch. Almost as if you had touched one of the ice spikes in the room. 

He grunts, annoyed, “Do you know what happens when fools disrespect the Foreseer?” His voice was fittingly cold and monotone. Though you were worried, at least, he couldn’t move so you brought your hand up to touch his shoulder. It was just as freezing as his neck and stiff, akin to a corpse. 

“Your actions are testing my patience.” He keeps his eyes trained forward, refusing to look at you as if you were a bug underneath his feet. As anger sparks within your chest, you place your palm against his chest and push, trying to get any kind of reaction out of him other than a monotonous reply that you would compare to an angry cat. 

“It seems you do not know what true horror is.” He brings his gaze back to you. His face unchanging, keeping the same expression of slightly turned down eyebrows and an otherwise neutral look on his face.

“And you are frozen. My expectations were a bit higher than this,” You sigh with a small shrug as you step back from him.

“Winter punishes every wrongdoing in due time.” 

Gods, he really sounds like an npc. 

“Haven’t you heard of doing what is necessary in a bad situation?” You raise a brow, placing your hand on your hip.

“But who exactly is in a bad situation?” The Foreseer hums, tilting his head up at you. 

You shake your head with a small laugh as you move forward once more and pat your hand across his lower abdomen. The man sucks in a deep breath before he sighs, otherwise staying silent.

You look up at him as you tap his stomach, “The ice is more like a crystal…What is it?” 

“You have a wild curiosity and a brazen tongue.” He looks away from you and you let out a scoff, “And your tongue is like a winter’s loveless embrace.”

You bet this guy was real fun at parties.

As you roll your eyes, you pat along his stomach again, trying to figure out just what is keeping him in place.

 You hear another noise from the Foreseer but decide to ignore it and instead, you have a teasing look on your face. “That’s your punishment for being impolite.”

“A punishment?” You finally hear some emotion in his voice, though it’s annoyance mixed with a hint of disbelief.

“Aren’t you furious? You are being treated like a plaything.” You tilt your head to the side, a bit shocked that he isn’t even trying to move. 

“Fury? Those sorts of emotions I no longer have any use for.”

Well, that’s just sad.

You take a few steps back once more to reassess the situation. If he can’t move, that means you have the best opportunity to grab the protocore and promptly leave. 

Though it is a bit unfortunate to just leave him here, he’s a Foreseer. You’re sure Astra, at least, values His emissaries enough to pardon a small mistake like this. 

You reach up to grab the protocore once more, confident you’ll be able to take it but, once again, a ball of ice comes toward your hand and knocks you off your feet.

You land on the freezing cold stone floor, your face close to smashing against the bottom step that led up to the throne. You quickly look up as ice erupts from behind the Foreseer’s throne, and your eyes widen as you watch the frost disappear from his limbs. His gloved fingers twitch around his scepter.

He…can move?

Ah shit, you need to get out of there fast.

As you scramble to your feet, the Foreseer is already standing up and taps his staff against the ground.

 “I’ve played enough of your little games. You forget yourself, testing the limits of my benevolence.” He starts walking toward you and you fall back down to your knees, seemingly unable to move as your legs felt like jelly underneath you. As he swings his staff, bright blue light swims around his body and you tense up. 

You’ve got to calm down and get ready for a fight. You lift your arm up in front of you and spit out a quick response, “I-I am his majesty’s envoy! You can’t kill me!” Though, the man scoffs, “An honest death is not a suitable punishment for every pretender.” 

Wait, does he know you’re not from the castle?

Before you can react, a cold sensation coils around your feet. You look down and see frost climbing up your legs.

“Tell me, do you know the fate of thieves who sought the Creatio protocore?” He asks. The ice soon reaches your neck and it’s like a cold hand that’s tightly gripping your throat. 

That’s kind of hot— 

Without sparing a glance, the Foreseer walks past you and he disappears into the shadows…

“Wait– Where are you going, Foreseer? Mm..!” The crystals cover your mouth, sealing it shut and you feel panic beginning to sink in. You couldn’t breathe, your body felt so cold and heavy…You could feel your eyes sluggishly, slowly closing and you really hoped everything would be okay the next time you opened your eyes…

You woke up to a bright light shining behind your closed eyelids. Sunlight drifts through the windows adorned with brambles and roses. 

He…left you here for the whole night! At least you weren’t dead, but still.

The Foreseer sits on his throne, reading a book. The sun’s glow casts an illusion of softness on his otherwise cold demeanor. You clear your throat, deciding to strike a conversation with your would-be killer, “...Foreseer? Uh, a fine morning we have today. Isn’t the weather great–”

But the moment the latter leaves your lips, a frigid snowstorm begins to brew outside before promptly subsiding.

Okay…so he has control over the weather. Isn’t that just lovely?

Other than that, he doesn’t look at you. It seems he won’t even give you a chance to explain yourself. “So…You’ve been encased in ice for ages, but you still read on that throne…Shouldn’t you be tired of the world’s greatest chair after staying there for hundreds of years?”

“You may try it yourself and then inform me of your findings,” He says without looking up from his book, turning the page with his index finger.

 “No, no. I…uh, can’t feel my body at the moment,” You sheepishly laugh off your panic of not being able to feel your limbs.

It’s honestly a bit terrifying.

“I have yet to eat anything after entering the Tower of Thorns so could I…” You try to choose your words carefully, yet he still doesn’t look up. “A human can survive for seven days without food.” He plainly states, “Given your stubborn character, you should live for an extra two days.” 

“You’re…not going to leave me frozen for nine days, are you?” You ask, your aching and stiff neck straining to look up at him from his throne. Your throat choking up as your eyes begin to water at the thought of dying in this way.

“Are those tears of your remorse?”

No, they’re tears of someone who was supposed to die years down the line, now only given nine days. Idiot.

“I… Look, I’m not his majesty’s envoy,” You sigh. “I’m here to ask for a prophecy of my future. Every prophet I consulted said I had three years left to live and I refuse to believe them.” 

This finally makes him look up from his book.

“I’m telling you the truth this time...” You trail off, a bit embarrassed that you’re talking about your fear of death with a seemingly immortal man.

“Indeed, they are delusional.” 

“Huh? Have you scryed my fate, Foreseer?” You seemed a bit hopeful with an excited look on your face.

“To disguise yourself as the king’s envoy and sneak into the Tower of Thorns…You certainly have less than three years.” The Foreseer leans back on his throne and crosses his legs.

“Foreseer, you can’t– mmph!” Ice covers your mouth again and he continues his reading.

A seemingly endless silence returns to the throne room...

Nightfall greets the Tower. Taking the place of sunlight, moonlight shines into the room. Today is the first day of your punishment for entering the Tower of Thorns. You’ve come to that realization after being frozen here. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased him so much, but it’s not like you knew he could do this to you.

It is nigh impossible to warm the heart of a demigod who lives in these rime-kissed lands.

In the middle of the night, you’re suddenly awoken by a radiant flash. Golden words float before you. They are magics cast by the Foreseer’s book.

What…is he looking for?

The Foreseer stares at the words, brow furrowed. It seems he’s not happy with what he’s seeing.

You squint from the light and try to clear your blurry vision by blinking a few times. Then, you clear your throat as if to let him know that you are awake, though he remains unmoving. 

“Do you wish for your mouth to be sealed once more?” He questions and you pause before quickly speaking, “That’s a book about gardening, is it not? I also adore flowers.”

His wintery gaze falls on your face, he clearly doesn’t trust you. “Your mouth is only capable of spouting nonsense.”

“I’m not lying! I used to be a gardener. Every flower I care for turns out splendid.” You tried to speak excitedly with your hands, but they were still as frozen as ever. The Foreseer stops what he’s doing.

The sharpness of his gaze pierces you, trying to gouge the truth from your head. 

“Did I…offend you?” You ask after a moment of silence. Though, he looks away. You think for a second that the conversation is over, but, with a lift of his finger, the ice on your body begins to melt. “Is...my punishment over?” You ask, rubbing your reddened hands together to try and warm them back up. 

Though, as your body has been frozen for almost two days now, you end up falling to the side. Your elbows cracking against the floor.

Ouch.

“If you desire it, then I shall indulge you.” He closes his book. The words of gold dissipate and the room is plunged back into darkness. 

Once your eyes readjust to your surroundings, the Foreseer has already descended from his throne. “Come then.” He motions for you to follow and then begins walking toward a spiral staircase. You shakily stand up and quickly follow behind him. 

You’re out of breath by the time you reach the top while he is unfazed. In the distance, snow-capped mountains are like white seashells. You realize you weren’t brought up here to admire the scenery, however you can’t help but take a few minutes to gaze upon it in awe. 

Then, you notice a tiny white flower bud between the bricks. “Why is a jasmine growing in a place like this?” You question, confused at how this flower could be trying to grow here of all places.

The Foreseer’s frigid gaze observes your every action as you carefully examine the bud. “There’s something wrong with it. I doubt it’ll bloom any time soon.” You sigh, fingers brushing against the fragile little thing. 

“Will you be able to care for it?” He asks as you consider the possibilities, but he seems to predict your next action. He moves toward you, looking into your eyes, “Answer me.” 

“Y-yes..! Of course. It’s a miracle for anything to grow here. Without a competent gardener tending to it, the bud will inevitably die.”

You emphasized the phrase “tending to it” and glanced at the man’s expression. He gazes at the bud and touches its small leaves, “If this jasmine blooms, you may leave the tower with your livelihood intact.”

You’re not sure if you’re imagining things, but it seems like the Foreseer holds the jasmine in higher regard than you.

For now, in order to buy yourself some time and an opportunity, you have to say yes.

“Alright, I agree to your terms.”

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! I don't really have much to say this week tbh but thank you for over 500 notes on my newest drabble!! I didn't expect for it to pop off this much, but I'm glad you all enjoyed it 🩷

I'll be working on a personal project this weekend, but I'm going to try to write a few more chapters for ToF and maybe one chapter of Divisa— I'm not sure just yet on the latter, but I'll give it a shot!

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes , @mitzkooni , @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog

[starpros-sunshine]

My knowledge on culturally significant media is like. The only thing I have going for myself who am I if not the guy that knows fun little references about things...

[1495-gauge]

there's that fucked up three-eyed thing that lives in the woods. whose turn is it to chase it off again??

[darkfictionjude]

Please Jude I want to hate on Nia to give her and mc relationships development

I never know what you guys are expecting when you tell me you want to hit Nia or verbally assault her…

[lifenconcepts]

Oh I’m utterly fascinated by how people of the past expressed the unexplainable through art and poetry, turning their turmoil from being alone and misunderstood into something beautiful that all may see.

Honestly a shame that people now just whine about not enough flags to represent them when at some point in the past many individuals would not even know how to justify what they were feeling nor find people alike, and to atleast find comfort in the solitude escaped through music and literature, fanaticising about worlds where such a thing was normalised or turning themselves into a beast, to share with the world the level of their inner workings.

[hyrules-warrior]

Stanley is well aware of the true creatures of Gravity Falls and that is why all his Mystery Shack exhibits are fake

What better way to re-direct people from noticing or searching for the real things when he has evidence of those "real" things".

After the portal incident it didn't take long for Stan to come across the real anomalies living in the woods of Gravity Falls. And where Ford treated them as things to observe and study, Stan decided to actually get to know them. He needed to work on the portal and keep the house in good shape so it was best to get to know the creatures around the house and make sure they would not cause trouble. He also needed to search the woods for the other journals and it was easier to do that when everything living in the forest wasn't trying to ruin his day.

So he did what he did best and he talked. He went into the woods to look for the journals and chatted up everything he met. He now has regular meetings with several of the creatures that live nearby. The manotaurs are great fun to arm wrestle with and compare scars, the multi-bear has great taste in music, and the gnomes were easily pacified to stay out of his garbage with the occasional box of pizza and a new pin-up model calendar each year. The unicorns love to share gossip and scamming strategies. He also reached a truce with the giant, no way was that thing taking his precious stanleymobile!

The fake creatures of the Mystery Shack keep people from looking to hard at the creatures in the woods and that works out well for everyone.

A part of him thinks he could write an entire journal for each creature with the things he knows about them compared to his brother's single page entries. He often wonders how Ford would handle that realization.

[lemonthepotato]

Cringe warning: very bad Esperanto.

Mi povas mergi min en Esperanto čar mi ne faris multe da progreso ekde 2019. Mi kredas mi komencis lerni en 2019, sed mi rezignis dum (por?) unua jaro. Mi rezignis la hispana, la franca, la japana kaj la irlandano čar… nu, estas evidente kial. Tro da lingvoj lerni (por lerni? Lerni sentas malgxuste.)

Sed, mi restis kun la Esperanto(n?) čar gxi estas facila. Mi volas lerni lingvon por la sakeo (that’s… is that seriously the word? Sakeo? I joked once that Esperanto is 80% English words with -o and the end and 15% other languages with o- at the end, but I digress) de lerni lingvon. Homoj diras ke tio estas malbono kialo, sed, kial? Estas amuza… ne estas krimo amuziĝi.

Honeste, mi estis (estis for ‘have been?’ doesn’t feel right…) uzi Google Translate por helpi min, sed ne por lambastono. nur por kontroli se mia gramatiko estas bona. Ne estas, evidente, sed… mi estas nesekura pri gramatiko. Mi scias ke gxi ne estas bona, sed gxi estas probable pli bona ol mi sed mi ne uzis gxin.

Cxiuokaze… mi havas punkton kun ĉi tio; estas malfacila mergi en konlang! Jes, mi povus aligxi servilo de Discord, sed… la embaraso. Mi estus kiel, “Bonvolu… mi estas…” kaj havas furzo de cerba! Cerba furzo? (Googling how to stutter in Esperanto. Great.) (also I’m realising I said bonvolu instead of… oh my god? Am I seriously forgetting hello? Oh, Saluton!)

Cxu mi probable lernu la lingvon de miaj lando, la irlandano? Probable, sed honeste? Neniu parolas la irlandano en la nordo. Ili apenaŭ en la sudo. (Ne estas sude, mi ne zorgas se Google translate diras alie… ne sentas gxusta.)

Cxu mi havas punkto kun cxi tio? Ne. Sed, hej, diras al mi kiel CLAPPED mia Esperanto estas. Kaj, jes, mi eĉ ne provis traduki clapped cxar gxi estas pli amuza al ne.

Mi estas tiel malbona pri Esperanto. Mi devas fidi al tradukistoj por helpo. Mi uzas Google Translate por helpi kun tempoj kaj gramatikoj, sed la vortoj estas plejparte el mia cerbo, se tio havas sencon.

Mi ne havas kialon pri ĉi tio. Mi supozas, ke ĉi tio estas testo de miaj kapabloj. La rezultoj? Tre malbona, sed, hej, mi afiŝos ĉi tio, ĉiuokaze.

Edit: after writing this post, I got an easy, actually video about languages recommended… lol