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idekkkjja · 2 months ago

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Eyes on you,, ۫ ꣑ৎ (G!P) Giselle x f!reader

── .✦ everywhere, hidden in your shadows; Giselle is there. With precise use of her unlimited knowledge of you, she knew your schedule by heart. Better than you did. Every subtle detail was taken down to the basics: your favourite colour, your favourite show, your socials, and such. To extremes as knowing what panties you’re wearing on a Monday evening. The only thing you ponder is why there are gorgeous bouquets on your doorstep every Friday night at midnight.

Although you appreciated the effort of your unknown admirer, you had to bin them after taking a picture for your story, there was no purpose for them lying around. Little did you know it was from your sick bestfriend Giselle who ‘curiously’ after mere seconds of your story posted, bombards you with questions about who this weirdo is packaging you these.

Heads up: As usual, English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Giselle is a bit sick in the head here. She’s too obsessed w u, toxic stuff, like gaslighting and manipulation. She stalks, and you have a boyfriend so mentions of cheating here, unprotective sex and umm this is so short im so sorry. By the way, this is my first g!p smut EVER AND IM NOT FAMILAIR W THIS SO ITS SHIT 💔. I’m still not that used to writing smut yall.

—

The grand clock strikes noisily announcing to its invisible audience that the day has ended, you shuffle amongst the comfortable waves of blankets laid upon you, completely limp underneath and content.

Noises from the TV faded in the background, and the main characters became irrelevant as the realisation sank in. Your eyes draw themselves to the neverending buzzing notifications vibrating from your phone, the reasons temptingly displaying themselves on the bright screen. You should have put it on dnd.

Stretching your muscles lazily by extending your arms to the air, you let out a groan before plopping straight back to the couch, eyeing the phone mere centimetres from you. Bold numbers light up the screen, advising it is finally 12:00 am. Well, specifically 12:03 am by now but who cares? Certainly, you don't.

12:00 am, the flowers must have arrived by now. It has been accustomed for you to constantly peer through the windows to note down the features barely shown from the person's black clothing, the bagginess, unfortunately, hiding the silhouette under. Most would have been reporting it, being a panicking mess and causing a huge chaotic search for this stalker who apparently knows their address but you... you felt pleased with these rather expensive and rare bunch of flowers arriving at your doorstep, simply your ego-inflating from the sincere anonymous affection.

Though, sometimes, you did crave to know this mysterious person's identity. Do they know you? Definitely. Do you know them? There is a chance, small or big, still a chance. Unwilling to voluntarily escape the bounds of your blankets, you got up slowly, leaving the dim living room unbothered to close the lights off and climbed up the stairs to one of the bedrooms with the window showcased to the front of the house.

Peeking out of the window, your barely half-lidded eyes wander around the area before finally settling on your desired sight, this admirer (or stalker which is better fitting) carefully placing new and different vibrant flowers on your doorstep with shaky hands. By now, it roughly nearing 12:10 am, this time they're quite late, aren't they? Unusual, and their hands are freed from the thick gloves they wear. Could they reveal themselves as your boyfriend? That was your first guess after all.

But the more you analyse the hands in your vision until the figure disappears into the darkness, the more you commit them to memory. The hands appeared too feminine to be his rugged ones, but you never let them lay a finger on you anyway. Shifting back your focus on the mental task ahead, you did notice the nails, which seemed quite long paired with slender fingers. The nails had nail polish on them, and the light pink was cleanly painted.

Is this possibly a girl? Someone you knew so well? From everything you have, just details of the hands, it was clear it wasn’t a feminine boy.

Turning around sharply, you ran downstairs, taking two steps at a time ignoring the risks accompanying you. At the door, you opened it, the cold chill blowing in your face as you yanked the flowers off the mat.

Your fingers instinctively tighten around it, letting the paper wrapped around it crumple. You go back inside to the comforting warmth as you close the door gently, grabbing the forgotten phone left on the sofa.

It seems you're receiving notifications left and right. Some are from your aggravating boyfriend. He’s too clingy. You do consider dumping him on nights like this. One is from Giselle. It's just a TikTok video saying a cute pair of cats suit you two perfectly. So typical. Leaving her on seen, your gaze rests on the bouquet, with a sweet aroma invading your senses.

Click. First, you post it immediately on your Instagram story, letting your curious acquaintances call them to pamper your DMs with questions.

Seconds pass by, and surprisingly, no response from your dear bestfriend. You started to grow worried, annoyed perhaps, she was online right before you posted. Nearly on all occurrences, she texts you, not you reaching out to her unless it is necessary. For once, you pushed your dignity (ego) off your gnawed mind, deciding to message her eagerly.

You: FaceTime?

Long, stressful minutes pass by, and a response dinged; making your uncomfortable waiting period worth its while.

Gigi: give me a moment

A moment? You have already waited long enough, your patience worn. Impatiently, you drummed your agitated fingers against your thigh, staring at the screen. Nearly throughout your so-perfect life, you got anything you wanted in a snap of a finger, including Giselle.

Five agonising minutes it took to see a familiar picture of her displayed on her profile picture for months now,ever once a blue moon she changes it. But everytime it’s up close on your phone, it manages to always annoyingly spread some kind of uncomfortable warmth along your chest. Despite your constant nagging on having matching profile pictures, since you got influenced by eager others. Sometimes, she reluctantly accepted.

“Hello?” Watching the girl set herself up to be in the view of the camera; subconsciously, as if an immediate response, a smile tugged on your lips from getting to see her. She did look exhausted: a mess by the looks of it.

Ragged pants barely getting by, messy strands falling upon her forehead, and her flushed cheeks. What occurred before this call that caused her to be in this state?

“What happened to you? Did you do some kind of… workout?” You teased, arching an eyebrow to thicken the implication of your words that made her more redder as it is.

“No, no… of course not. You know I’m not like that.” Denying the subtle accusation laced in your tone, she shook her head, covering her cheek in growing embarrassment.

And that’s where you noticed. Her hands matched your earlier description almost perfectly, on point. Slim, slender and pale fingers with light pink nail polish. This cannot be true, for months on end, this constant admirer or stalkers you’ve discreetly noticed hiding in your shadows was Giselle.

Your very own bestfriend, who knew every single detail about you to the point that in some depths, you didn’t even know yourself. This new comprehension you've developed had to be concealed for now, though.

Pausing in your words, you pressed your lips tightly together to form a line.

“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you. You’re unpredictable.” You said, not letting any of your inner turmoil leak through your softly spoken words.

“Unpredictable?” She echoed, visibly confused as her eyebrows knitted together to form a small frown, sensing the conversation contrasting to what she anticipated. On a common evening, nearly every day but preferably on Fridays; your phone calls with her consisted of gossiping about the latest drama at school, talking nasty and atrocious hearsay about almost everybody disguising it as an 'honest opinion', and what else? Giselle again convinced you to break up with your chopped boyfriend.

Despite your whiny protests against her 'very valid' points about all his flaws, you did agree with them.

Did it make it right for her to trash talk your boyfriend’s every single movement? No.

“You are,” you insisted softly, not wanting it to seem confrontational, yet despite you still processing this secret of hers that altered your view on her permanently.

“How?”

Unpredictable as in stalking you, putting on a facade the whole time you complain about the stalker, knowing that it’s her.

Was it hard to contain your impulsive mouth? Yes. But surprisingly, pressing your lips into a thin line helped it from spilling out any unprovoked insults against her that would spoil your plan.

“You’ll know soon.”

—

Every Fridays you anticipate for than you fail to admit, keening over your barely opened windows noticing how everything clicked into piece bringing a hint of peace to your conflicting confusion you had.

In your hidden notes, when you were sprawled on the bed, you scribbled down messily on a ripped piece of paper.

‘Red Flags - Giselle Uchinaga.’

- Gets jealous easily, too easily over anybody.

- Fake sometimes?

- Hear some shuffling in my bedroom whenever I leave her alone there.

- There isn’t much trust here.

- I have missing clothes whenever she sleeps around sometimes, including my expensive underwear!

- Whenever I interact with other hot dudes before my annoying boyfriend, she’ll treat me like some slut on the streets.

- Too pretty especially whenever angry.

- Has too much to pay back.

- Hypocrite.

- Has too many social media accounts yet never tells me about them… :(.

- Fuc

As you wrote, your running thoughts manifesting onto the thin, wrinkled paper, you heard a small thud from downstairs making you pause for a moment in your writing.

Did you forget to lock your doors again?

Cautiously without making too much noise to alert the intruder, you peek from upstairs and clutch on the stair railing, seeing a familiar shadow.

It is a Friday.

A feminine silhouette.

Giselle.

“Isn’t this too far?” Sharply you remarked, almost to yourself and the hooded figure froze in their footsteps, obviously caught snooping around in where they aren’t supposed to be.

Mentally, you knew you had the upper hand now, so you acted like you knew all this long where you knew for only a week.

Dramatically making an entrance, you went downstairs and sauntered towards the woman: unfazed by this despite the context.

Your bestfriend has been stalking you and now sneaked in your own home, why aren’t you freaking out?!

“Giselle,” reaching out, you grabbed one of the hoodie strings impulsively and yanked her forward having an impulse, frightened yelp escape her exaggeratedly stretched lips due to shock.

Absolutely humiliated, the girl froze, stiffening in your grip and stood there; preparing herself internally to either be thrown into prison or even worse—losing your friendship.

Slowly, you realised the difference now; you had so much advantage of Giselle. You could do whatever you want with her.

“You know if you miss me that much, you could text me, you know that? I do appreciate the flowers though, you know my favourite ones.” Those preciously sweet Lillies wrapped in a paper bouquet, and a small note tucked amidst the petals that you never read.

She was much better than your silly boyfriend, he doesn’t even know there’s different types of flowers except roses.

“I-I’m so sorry, this is so messed up—“ a finger pressed against her lips to mute the repetitive apologies coming out of her mouth like a broken record, you preferred to silence her with a kiss instead.

Leaning forward, your breaths mingled with one another, and you drew your finger back. “Shut up,” you murmured, acting upon your desire, and pressed your lips against hers causing a muffled, pretty sound between you two before falling to the floor.

A high-pitched gasp panted through her ragged breathing, her chest heaving up and down mesmerizingly so, your eyes glued on every bit of her anxious body language. As if she was a cornered small animal from a predator.

Stiffly, her aching hardness pressed needily against your core when you settled against her; your clothed sexes nearing dangerously.

Even by this small contact, Giselle felt like she would cum apart immediately.

“F-fuck,” Giselle breathed out, desperately trying to control her impulsive urges to… maybe prove that she could be much a better fuck than your loser boyfriend dreamed of doing.

Her arms encircled your waist, gripping it so tightly that it engraved ruby-red handprints on the sides of your lower bare torso, roughly turning you over and switching the roles swiftly from her greedy need to brag and show through her jerky movements. Trembling fingers lowered down to the rim of your shorts, her puppy eyes looked up at you, a silent plead for you to give in.

To give in what you craved.

“Fine, my dumb stalker…” you eventually huffed, having the resistant facade still displayed over to protect the controversial fact that your heart was about to jump out of your ribcage this very moment.

“Thank you, thank you,” the girl babbled, her voice muffled as she pampered messy kisses all over your neck, leaving a shiny lipgloss with a smudged shape of her plump lips.

With a sudden change of mind, she effortlessly turns you over so she can see your pretty face in no time shift to a lustful haze. Stripping down your precious hidden parts, her cold fingers out of ‘natural’ instincts, massaged your dripping heat to prepare you.

Just in case, you’re not used to big dicks.

Revealing herself to you hastily—her boxers hanging down—she didn’t let you absorb the view of her cock springing up, the precum glistening down the pastel pink tip, and how she had specific prominent veins on the side.

Painfully slowly, she drags her cock in you, to feel the moment she anticipated for so long and savor it. Not noticing a pained hiss barely making out your clenched teeth at how her almond, sharp nails dug in a little too hard.

You didn’t complain though.

“A-ah, f-fuck, fuck…” Giselle sputters, inhaling sharply to calm herself down.

Letting herself get used to the warm and tight sensation, she moaned lowly with you, now plunging in and out and settled to a familiar rhythm comfortable for both of you.

“Just like that mhh… oh, oh, God— Ah!” Clawing her back creating temporary red designs, drawing out pores of blood, you threw your head back and a choked gasp tored out of your throat.

“Am I better..? A-ah— Am I better than your boyfriend’s small dick?” Giselle managed to blurt a full sentence, a little epitome of her jealousy of that bastard for months and months on end. Knowing you were never satisfied with him.

“Mh… mh… yes, yes, yes…” Being fucked too silly, you unknowingly submitted to her, reassuring her the truth that she was indeed much, much better.

Sweat clung onto the girl’s messy bangs, some of the strands blurring her vision while she rammed in and out of you more desperately, hitting new deep spots you never even thought of having as she chased her impeding satisfying release.

Wet and sloppy slaps of skin echoed throughout the hallway, thankfully, the windows of your front door were covered.

Although, right now, being caught was the least of your worries; your mind fogged with her dick and her dick only.

Warm ropes of semen coated your insides and a silent scream was out of your gaping mouth, drool trickling down the corner of your lips as you moaned incoherent babbling. Eventually, it leaked out of your well-fucked pussy, reaching your shimmering inner thighs decorated by your wetness now mixed with her cum.

Post-orgasm, the deafening silence except for the panting talked for the two of you instead.

“Please, please, y/n… can't you… break up with your boyfriend?” Giselle hoarse out, her head resting on your neck when she admires you lazily with huge, adoring eyes.

Those that your dummy boyfriend never gave you.

“Sure.” Nonetheless, you dryly agreed. You were going to consider the option sooner or later anyway.

And the hallway, the intro of your huge home reeked heavily of sex and sweat. Not a good first impression for those who can come over tomorrow or the next day, you sighed in utter defeat: not wanting the snug feeling of her cock still lounging in you to be ripped away from you.

“Love you.” Giselle dreamily mumbled, her arms draped all over you in an almost possessive manner.

“Whatever.” You huffed in response, and the small conversation said more than enough about the dynamic.

#aespa #kpop x female reader #toxic yuri #wlw #girlgroup #giselle x fem reader #lesbian #giselle #aespa x fem reader #aespa giselle #g!p aespa #g!p Giselle #idk how to tag this #idekkkjja

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blue-jisungs · 10 months ago

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horizon zero dawn

# author's note … sigh. i started writing it in feb 2024 LMAO when me n zanna would play (i mean i would play horizon n zanna would watch) so this is dedicated to her <3 im so so sorry how shitty it gets later, you can see the diff when i came back to finish it ... (fun fact this fic was inspired by that one gif of yeonjun who took off his shoe and kicked beomgyu LMAOOO n we were like... wow that was so sneaky... imagine him attacking like that...)

# summary … you're an outcast, no one can talk to you and no one wants to... except a weird, red-headed guy

# word count … 3432

# genre … horizon zero:dawn au! (wow if u coudlnt tell by the title... axe u r sooo smart) its not really lore based, only the fact that theres dangerous machines of diff kinds and there's a major law of being an outcast but fic explains it :D

# warnings … rushed ending + an open ending so its up to interpretation what yn (you!!) choose! blood, swearing, fighting (yn bites a man lmao), killing an animal (the way i wrote the scene after seeing deers while in a car BYE), flashback in italics

it was his moment of glory.

the machine stood there, a few feet away from him yet close enough to take it down with one, precise hit.

he’ll take it down and bring the parts, gaining respect amongst the villagers.

crouching in the high grass, the gentle wind making the grass-stalk tickle his face. hands gripping the spear, he took a deep breath and slowly released it.

it was his moment… though that’s a shame that no one will see it. maybe he shouldn’t have wandered off so far.

better to hunt it fast and return before it gets dark.

the machine had massive antlers which were the most precious part. other than that he could possibly loot some shards and valuables.

yeonjun jolted forwards, jumping out of his hiding spot. the blue light in the machine’s lenses changed to red in the blink of an eye. the spearhead landed right above the eye, not making a critical damage.

“fuck” he grunted and ripped the spear out, rolled over and sank it again, this time aiming for the fragile part hidden under the belly of the machine.

it made a loud, whining noise and fell lifelessly with a thud, dust swirling in the air.

“ha, suck it” yeonjun hummed happily and kneeled down, rummaging through in search of parts.

that’s one of the reasons why he preferred mechanical animals rather than real ones. no blood, bones and skin… mess in general. just metallic gears, wirings and containers.

he noticed something shiny and dived in, a foxy smile of satisfaction painting on his lips.

yeonjun failed to notice that the noise when the machine fell dead alarmed a nearby predator.

just when he grabbed the heavy metal antlers and stood up, his eyes met with the thin red light of an angry creature.

“oh shit” he grunted and reached for his bow, fingers almost slipping with how sweaty they got.

the cheetah looking beast started running, its slim

legs making its movements faster. before yeonjun could draw a bow and shoot an arrow, the murderous creature was opening its mouth. metallic, silver fangs even from afar reflected his face in them. mere moments before it jumped and yeonjun almost released an arrow, there was a sudden swish. an arrow cut the air faster than the wind blows and it pierced the machine’s eyes from the side. it fell down on its face, moving on the ground due to the momentum. the dead piece of metal landed at yeonjun’s feet and he stared at one of the ends of an arrow poking through the lifeless lens.

“i almost got it!” he grunted and looked up. he saw someone approach him, a bow in their hand. “nice shot”

“i know” a feminine voice reached his ears and he sighed. great, now everyone in the moa village will laugh at him “that was foolish of you to stay in the open space like this”

you approached him quietly, if he didn’t see you – he wouldn’t even know you’re here. your steps were noiseless. upon further examination, he noticed your equipment – it was handmade but fully professional, adorned with blue sewings… similar to those in his tribe.

“where are you from?” you asked, noticing his eyes wandering on your bow. kneeling down to deatach the lenses of the machine. yeonjun watched how swiftly your fingers moved, prying open the material with your nails.

“moa village” he stuttered.

“you shouldn’t be talking to me then” your voice was cold as you hid the broken lens in one of the sacks you carried.

“why? i’m a curious person, i wanna talk. besides, thank you… even though i’m a great archer i guess… my timing was a little off” yeonjun grinned, patting his weapon.

“i’m an outcast” you grunted and heard him mutter a quiet ‘oh’.

the law (at least the law in those lands) forbid people to talk to outcasts. if one broke the law, they would be subject to being outcast as well. it’s a punishment – some people get exiled forever and some for a certain amount of years. it all depends on the crime committed, from stealing to murder. however, some outcasts even after being allowed to return to the village decide not to.

“but… no one is here anyway. and i want to thank you. is there a way i can repay you for saving me?” yeonjun mumbled, scratching his neck.

you looked up at him and your eyes met, his ebony irises glowing with genuine honesty… and a spark of curiosity.

“just go home and don’t get killed” you grunted and stood up, nudging the piece of metal with your foot. yeonjun nodded, a mischievous idea blooming in his head like a snowdrop flower after winter.

“sure, of course. i won’t. farewell, outcast stranger” he smiled like a fox and waved.

you watched him leave. the boy was turning around to glance at you from time to time before his silhouette blended with the landscape.

and so you parted your ways.

crouching down, bow drawn and arm stretched, you aimed at a deer. it was a bit away from its herd so you wanted to use it as an opportunity to attack without startling the rest. you just had to land the arrow perfectly between its eyes, causing an instant and painless death. your mentor always taught you that it’s the least you can do while hunting – a quick and painless death for the animal.

the deer lowered its head to start munching on fresh grass and that’s when you released an arrow. with a whistle of the air being cut, the animal dropped dead.

before you walked up to it, there was a quiet crunch of a branch breaking. you turned around, scanning the area and drawing your bow again. was it a machine? you would’ve heard it before, surely.

another crunch.

this time you were able to locate the source of the sound and moments before releasing the loaded arrow, someone jumped out of the bushes.

“don’t kill me!” he yelped and you froze, not lowering your bow. the nearby deers ran away, scared by the sudden noise. well, besides the dead one at your feet.

“you…” a grunt left your lips, realizing it’s the guy you saved two days ago. his face lit up, stepping closer. but you aimed the bow at his head “don’t. move.”

“ah– why? i’m– i don’t want to hurt you” he whined, a pout forming on his lips.

“then explain yourself. why the fuck you’re here? it’s the complete opposite direction from the way you were headed. you were spying me… but why?” you came to a conclusion, eyes trained on him. the man just giggled nervously.

“i… i know it will sound weird but i was just… curious, yeah… and i didn’t even tell you my name yet!” he reasoned and pointed at the deer “i want to help you. let me carry the deer for you?”

you sighed, putting down your bow and hiding the arrow. standing up, you nodded.

“fine. what’s your name, stranger?” you tilted your head, grabbing the arrow that was stuck in the deer. some crimson blood splashed on the ground.

“yeonjun. choi yeonjun” he said and walked up to the animal. you watched him with a puzzled look on your face “what?”

shaking your head, you smiled.

“do you even know how to–” you started but he leaned and grabbed the dead body.

“i was… taught. nevermind. lead the way, lady outcast” yeonjun hummed happily. so you did, avoiding branches.

“be careful. we’ll eat it later” you grunted, looking at him through your arm.

“we?” he repeated happily

“i’m an outcast, not a weirdo. you’ll have a stew and leave” you sighed and immediately stopped, causing yeonjun to bump into you “shh”

there was… a quiet squeaking sound somewhere in the bushes. you looked at him, cocking an eyebrow, and suddenly he smiled softly.

“that’s a fox” he smiled, catching your confused daze “i… ever since i was a kid, i attracted foxes. weird thing. but ignore it, it’ll eventually leave on its own”

letting out an amused huff you began walking again. yeonjun followed you, catching a glimpse of a copper-colored tail in the bushes.

“so… may i know your name, oh mighty outcast?” he cooed and you fidgeted with a pocket knife that you always carried around.

“at my place. also, if you think about it, it’s highly unreasonable to track a stranger and then follow them to their house, don’t you think?” you said casually, stepping over a rock.

“well, they call me ‘unserious fool’ at the village so i guess i know exactly what i’m doing” yeonjun hummed.

for a moment comfortable silence fell between you two so you took in the spirit of the woods.

autumn was your favorite season. trees turning into beautiful bouquets of yellows, reds, browns and oranges. under the sunlight, some leaves looked golden and filled up your heart with nostalgia. you lived alone so most of the time you spent outside, hunting or gathering herbs. during autumn various animals were preparing for the winter sleep so you even had a chance to admire bears if you wandered far enough. badgers, raccoons or squirrels… you loved to sit down and watch them wander in their natural habitat. not to mention all the precious mushrooms growing after a heavy rain. and during this season, the air was crisp and refreshing, even if it stung your cheeks with coldness. what’s there not to adore?

“i apologize in advance for my cooking” you said suddenly. yeonjun hummed.

“don’t worry. i ate my friend’s food and survived so it will take much to take me down” he grinned proudly.

“i noticed” you snickered, touching a tree that you passed by. its tree bark was rough and coarse but you enjoyed that feeling.

“are we there yet?” yeonjun suddenly asked and you just let out a deep sigh.

arriving at your place took a bit longer than usual… apparently yeonjun was a very slow walker and tripped twice over a stone. but you made it eventually. and the deer - surprisingly - managed to stay in one piece.

you insisted yeonjun sat down as you started preparing a stew from your whatever was nearby. herbs, dried mushrooms, leftover broth, fresh vegetables from your garden…

you felt his gaze on you and heard his calm breathing. it was quite an usual sound, as for someone who lived alone since–

“nice place you’ve got there, outcast” he hummed and when you looked over his shoulder, you saw him admiring your place.

it was rather simple. all the furniture handmade from scratch, bunches of herbs and braids of garlic attached to the walls to dry, bows and tools scattered on the floor. and a rug.

“this rug…” he breathed out, the sound of a chair scratching the floor reaching your ears. the faint sound of his bones cracking signaled that he kneeled down.

yeonjun’s fingers traced the rough material of the beautifully crafted rug. light blues, greens and yellows braided and intertwined together only to blend with a thick white stitching. a spiral of colors leading to three x signs in the middle.

he turned around, eyes widened. he felt a cold metal on his neck, of a nearest weapon you grabbed, your cold gaze meeting him from above. raising his chin, his mouth fell ajar.

“you’re from moa village?” yeonjun breathed out, utterly shocked.

“so what if i am? were you sent to spy on me, yeonjun?” you grunted and he shook his head vigorously as a no.

“no! no, no! i was just… it’s difficult to explain but there was just something pulling me towards you and i couldn’t… i had to figure out what…” he started explaining. his hands roamed on the floor but you only poked the spear at his throat further.

“don’t. move.” you hissed through your clenched teeth.

“i promise i don’t want to hurt you!” yeonjun whined, panicked.

“you wouldn’t even hurt a fly, junjun. i’m not scared ‘bout that” you said slowly, watching his features morph into pure shock. eyes widened, nose flaring, mouth open wide and chest rising up and down quickly “i’m just thinking what to do with you now”

“no one has ever called me that in ten years” he murmured. and then you saw it: a spark of realization in his ebony eyes “y/n…?”

lowering your spear, you saw you might’ve accidentally pressed too hard: a faint trickle of scarlet blood ran down his neck.

but he didn’t care, rising to his feet and… wrapping his arms around you. now it was your turn to be left frozen, not knowing how to react. you haven’t felt the touch of a human in ten years, not to mention how it was to hug.

“it’s you” he stuttered, burying his head in your neck. whereas you choked back tears, he didn’t hold himself back. broken sobs escaped his lips, body shaking in your arms. you slowly, awkwardly even, hugged him back.

being a girl is tough, especially in a village when there’s a majority of men. luckily, you had some friends that weren’t as bad as other boys in the village. beomgyu, soobin, kai, taehyun… and yeonjun. you lost your parents while they were out on a hunt whe you were 8 and ever since, soobin’s family took care of you. but you loved playing with all of them equally.

when they hit the age of 13, they had to prepare to become an important part of the tribe one day. their trainings began, slowly losing time to hang out with you.

but yeonjun always tried to spend some time with you. sometimes you two would sneak out at night and go on walks, to catch up.

it all took a turn when one day one of the village boys, older than you, started bugging you.

“come on, why are you hanging out with those losers? they are all gonna end up as butchers or blacksmiths, you should stick with me. i’ll be a hunter” he grinned, grabbing your wrist.

“leave me alone, fucker. at least they are normal” you grunted, trying to run away from his hold.

“normal? come on, they’d ditch you the second they had a chance” the boy, kinam, pulled you closer.

“they wouldn’t. don’t even try to talk about them” you shook your head.

“come on, it’s not even like they’re gonna defend themselves because yeonjun is a pussy!”

“he’s not!” you huffed, attempting to wriggle away from his hold. when you noticed trying to run away doesn’t work, you decided to take a swing and punch him. not only to run away but also he deserved it: no one will talk bad about your friends. especially junjun.

his, oh so manly, scream attracted attention. people gathered to see what was happening.

“oh i’ll beat you up” he hissed, coming at you.

yeonjun heard yells and frowned upon realizing there’s a feminine voice. running to see what’s happening, pushing through the crowd… he saw you, covered in blood. but so was kinam, in who you were currently sinking your teeth.

“y/n, stop, you’ll–” yeonjun called and ran to grab you, separating from the other boy. kinam started attacking him but yeonjun’s hold around you only tightened. curling your back, he took the hits.

“enough! what is happening here?” an elderly voice spoke up. it was kinam’s father, the tribe leader.

“she started punching me, i only acted in self defense!” kinam shouted. you just shook your head, tears running down your cheeks.

“that’s not true… i just wanted to escape and he wouldn’t let go…” you whispered. yeonjun lulled you softly.

“i know, don’t worry. it’ll be okay” he hummed; however, there were dark thoughts in his head. violence in the village wasn’t accepted. and this was the leader’s son, after all.

“you attacked my son?” his father asked, the bass of his voice booming in your ears. shaking your head as a no, the realization began to settle in.

you’re in trouble.

“no, it was him who…” you started and slightly tapped yeonjun to move. he helped you stand up and grabbed your hand.

“you did attack my son. there are witnesses” the leader said, eyeing you up and down. soobin and his parents arrived, fear in their eyes.

“no, it was-!”

“kinam would never attack a lady. we saw and heard when you hit him first” an older lady standing by cut in. you began shaking your head as no, managing eye contact with mrs choi. she knew.

“you will be punished” was all what the leader said and turned around, grabbing his son’s wrist. before walking away, kinam sent you a victorious smirk.

the crowd disappeared and you clutched onto yeonjun, unable to control your sobs.

“i attacked him but only because he was saying shit about you… and he wouldn’t let go of me” you cried, panicking. yeonjun saw soobin’s family approaching “i don’t wanna be exiled, junjun, please…”

but life - nor law - isn’t always fair. this was the last time you hugged yeonjun, being sent into to wild to lead the life of an outcast. no one was permitted to talk to you and you weren’t able to say goodbye to your guardian parents, friends.

with tears in your eyes and just a bunch of your stuff in your arms, you saw them for the last time. beomgyu and taehyun had to hold yeonjun back from running after you as the village guards closed the gate.

your exile was meant to last 15 years.

so as a 14 year olds you thought you'd never see each other again. especially that you didn’t have any knowledge of how to survive in the wild.

but here you are, reunited.

yeonjun leaned away, his eyes puffy.

��how… i… holy shit” he breathed out, his lower lip quivering. you smiled softly and wiped his wet cheeks.

“i managed. i’ve stumbled across some people, they were travelers and didn’t mind helping me. i’ve learned how to hunt, gather… it was okay. hey, don’t cry” a gentle scoff left your lips upon seeing his eyes tear up again.

“you were just a girl… i’m so sorry” he croaked out, shaking his head. then, he managed to smile “you recognized me right away, didn’t you? why didn’t you tell me?”

“when you said you’re from our village. i didn’t want to say because i knew you wouldn’t want to come back. i didn’t want you to live in pain that i’m in” you hummed and brushed his hair away

“we were sure you are alive. no one doubted you– holy shit” he gasped, eyes twinkling.

“what?” you frowned. yeonjun ran his fingers through his hair nervously but a huge smile painting on his lips gave him away.

“kinam is the leader now, his father passed away. it was like two years ago and he admitted he angered you on purpose. he, um, felt really bad and said that it haunts him everyday. he wished he could tell you that you are safe to come back” yeonjun breathed out and you blinked, sitting down on you bed.

he did the same, grabbing your hand.

“that’s why i became a hunter. the day you were outcasted, i changed my training. i suck at it, yeah, but that was the only way to leave the village. and i can’t believe i found you” the man grinned, admiring your changed features. changed but still beautiful.

you observed his eyes widen.

“come back to the village. or let me live with you! i- i can’t live without you now that i know you’re here and, and-” yeonjun mumbled, falling to his knees and burying his face in the fabric of your shirt. you ran your fingers through his soft locks and smiled gently.

“junjun, stand up” your voice was quiet but he obliged in a blink of an eye, taking in a sharp breath “i missed you so much”

and with that, you captured his lips in a long kiss. it was full of never spoken confessions, ever-lasting feelings and love. pure love that only parted lovers could share.

with that, his soft lips on yours; you made up your mind where you will continue your life. whether it was in your faraway safe place or back in the hometown you haven’t stepped foot in years, you knew everything will be perfectly fine because now you have yeonjun by your side.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @mirxzii ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura

@nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @ocean-minho ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @nonononranghaee

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ravencincaide · 2 years ago

Text

Surprise, You son of a-

Summary: You acquired a stalker. A man who harmed those around you, but never touched or approached you. The plan was for you to play bait, lure him and mace him. Then Dazai would take care of the rest. Unfortunately there was just one thing you did not calculate with…

Pairing: Dazai x fem!reader (x dark/ Yandere Chuuya)

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 7: Sharing clothes

Warnings: Cursing, abduction and drugs, stalking, mention of sexual content including hint/mention of non-con, voyeurism and questionable consent. Insanity- if you really try. It’s dark, okay?

Enjoy?

_____________________________________________________________

“ I think you’re right, this might actually work!” You exclaimed excitedly as you stared at yourself in the mirror; you were dressed in a pair of light pants and a white shirt. Over it, you borrowed your boyfriend's vest- a dark thing that was just a tad too long coming down to your midthigh. And over it his beige coat, which too was oversized, the sleeves coming past your fingertips and the coat itself stopped mere inches above the ground. Though you didn’t necessarily think it a bad thing, the less of your body that was visible the better. You had gathered your hair up into braids which you then shifted around your head, hiding them beneath the wig cap and the dark brown wig which almost matched Dazai’s shade.

The rest was just bandages and make up.

You both noticed that you were not a perfect replica of Dazai; too feminine even with all the binding, wrong hair lengths and colour, wrong height and paler complexion, but you both reasoned that no one would be looking too closely. At least not the one this disguise was intended for.

“ See Y/N, I told you it wouldn’t be an issue to get you to look exactly like a lady kill-aouch” Dazai hollered in pain as you pinched him, sending him a warning glare not to re-attempt to finish that sentence. The grin you got in return made you wonder if the physical pain was actually a punishment to him- or foreplay.

Rather than find out you turned your attention back towards the mirror, your fingers moving to fidgeting with the wig. You were playing ignorant to his advances. This earned you a dramatic sigh, as if you were crushing his heart. “ Ohh Belladonna why must you be so cruel to me, my love? If only you’d fulfill my humble request of–

“ No We’re not turning this into some self-cestious kink-exploration for you.” you cut him off with a warning glare as your hands finally left your wig and grasped the can of mace from your nightstand. You brought it close to yourself, the control-freak part of you wondering if it worked and a rational part of you reminding you that it was best not to find out.

Especially inside.

Sensing your nervousness Dazai came up and rested his hand on top of yours, a moment of seriousness on his face. “ It will go fine Bella” he promised “ I’ll be right behind you. You just need to lure him into an alley and spray the mace. I’ll handle the rest.” Then a quick peck on the lips, which made you smile.

You leaned forward and gave him a slightly deeper kiss salvaging the closeness. Before it could go too far you broke it off and pushed some rogue strands out of his face, staring at him with all the love in your heart. You were so lucky to have him. “ You know If this works and we get rid of this stalking sun of a biscuit quickly we’ll have plenty of time to take a version of this outfit for a ride in bed- what do you think?”

You were met with a Cheshire’s grin, Dazai’s lips on yours while he carefully walked you backwards towards your front door. “ Then let's get this over and done with Belladonna” he purred before he opened the front door and shoved you out before slamming it in your face, in your typical- he’s-annoyed-you-enough-fashion.

You stumbled, caught yourself before you made an act of clingy Dazai; banging on the door, a fake cry of ‘why Belladonna why’ before dancing away to the sound of Dazai laughing through the wood.

You just hoped he didn’t blow it.

The act was about as perfect as your appearance; but you hoped it was enough to fool your stalker. After all this was a man who never got close to you and never approached you- from what you could tell at least. But he did seem to hold a grudge towards anyone who dared visit your apartment. In fact, if he hadn’t hurt one of your childhood friends a few weeks ago you wouldn’t have even noticed his existence. Now however you felt like you were watched wherever you went. Yet no matter how hard you looked you never saw him.

Dazai suggested turning this game of cat-and-mouse around; they’d still think they were the pray and be too blind to notice they were walking right into a trap. The only thing you had to do was pretend to be Dazai and lure him away and disarm him, then your boyfriend who’d follow from a distance, would take care of the rest. You shuddered slightly when you thought over what ‘the rest’ meant. But decided against asking.

Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

As you left your apartment complex you headed down into the half busy streets in a rather relaxed fashion, arms folded above your head, using the sleeves of the coat as a way to keep another part of your face obscured. Your eyes flickered from one person to another; teenagers sharing candy in the corner of the street, a young couple shopping together and a bunch of punks trying to trick an older teen into buying them cigarettes. There were some elderly too enjoying the warm weather, sharing pleasantries and complaining about how things have changed from their youths.

No one looked particularly threatening and you were beginning to think your charades failed. Just when you were about to turn back around you sensed it; that bone chilling feeling of being watched. You resisted the urge to look around or pick up your pace as you turned off the main road and towards a smaller street filled with tiny mom and pop shops- the route Dazai told you to follow. The narrow street drew less attention and had several decent obscured alleys. You kept your pace slow, listening closely. About a minute after you turned into the alley you heard the fast click clack of dress shoes behind you.

Bingo.

You heard the steps grow closer and quickly rounded a corner towards an even smaller alley. One step, then you pressed your back against the wall, mace in hands. Your eyes closed as you focused on silencing your breathing. Seconds ticked in your head as the footsteps grew closer and closer, growing faster, eager to not let you out of sight.

3, 2, 1 .

You jumped out back onto the larger alley. “ Buu you son of a –” you yelled, pressing down on the mace and spraying for a good thirty seconds. It wasn’t until it was too late that you realized who the figure doubling in pain was. But when you did, you dropped your weapon with a bewildered cry.

Clang of the metal echoed against the walls as the mace rolled away out of sight.

“ Chuuya what the? I’m so sorry!” You started taking a step towards him. Then as you felt your eyes burn you quickly moved back again and ran a hand through the wig trying to mask your embarrassment.

“ I-its okay Y/N” he coughed a few times waving his hand in an attempt to get some clean air into his lungs. It took him surprisingly little time to completely recover. The only trace of your little attack being a redness around his eyes and a slightly runny nose which he took care of with a clean handkerchief. Now his attention was on you, his look clearly demanding to know what the hell you were up to.

You just shook your head a no- it was best not to ask. “ I’m so sorry again” you mumbled feeling incredibly stupid. “ Come, let me get you a cup of tea as an apology.”

Chuuya raised his hand as if to say not to worry about it. Then he lowered it and flashed you a smirk; “ Only if we can agree on coffee”

“ Deal!” you exclaimed before taking a look around. Realizing you were still in the alley you turned on your heel and continued heading straight towards the exit.

At the corner there would be this wonderful little shop that sold all sorts of imported coffee and coffee-based treats. It was one of the pricier shops in the area so you deemed that it would be good enough to suit the executives tastes. Chuuya followed you, however rather than walk right beside you he kept a step or two behind you. You glanced up at him, then carefully glanced behind him towards the alley entrance with slight confusion.

You still couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched- the icy cold dread in the pit of your stomach which grew with each step that you took. A warning bell was going off in your head but you couldn’t quite place a finger on why. The notion was ridiculous after all, Chuuya was your friend.

“ What are you doing here, Chuuya?” You asked, making small talk. Suddenly you paused mid step as the sense of dread became overbearing. Dazai should have caught up with you already.

But he didn't. Why?

Did it mean that the stalker saw through your charade? Impossible. You weren’t perfect but you knew the act was good. You and Dazai had practiced for hours and even fooled Atsushi with it when you took it for a test-run. No, the act was good enough. Unless your target knew Dazai very well. Say, like the back of their hand, familiar with every single mannerism of his down to the way he walked, talked and breathed. If that were the case they’d first prevent your boyfriend from helping you and then, “ Say Chuuya, Dazai was your twin dark. You’d have realized I’m not him unless-”

You never got to finish your sentence as a sweet scent filled your senses a second before Chuuya took one larger step closing the distance between you. He clasped a cloth over your nose and mouth. His other hand wrapped around you in an iron grip, keeping you in place and restraining your struggles. You screamed and screamed, trying to bite the cloth away from yourself, your fingers clawing at his hands. But with each scream you inhaled more of the substance. You could feel your body growing weaker on you- betraying you.

It was no use.

“ I’m sorry Y/N, you’re too smart for your own good” Chuuya whispered in your ear as dark dots played in your vision “ You should have just left it alone- you really should have.” That was the last thing you heard as you passed out, praying that Dazai would find you..

Your head was killing you, like a thousand woodpeckers pecking away at your skull. Your body felt heavy, groggy and your limbs refused to cooperate properly. You silently cursed yourself as you tried to pry your eyes open. The mixture of medicines in your body fighting with you, trying to keep you under. What was it? Anastesia? Were you under an operation? No, it was something else, something else and chloroform. You knew chloroform, you’d recognize it anywhere; the sickly sweet smell that made your stomach turn. So why didn’t you recognize it before it was too late?

Because it was Chuuya.

The thought made you angry and with it came a burst of adrenaline: snapping your eyes open, you sat up in one quick motion before you felt your stomach turn. You clutched it, uncertain whether whatever you ate that morning was going to stay inside you or not. The world span, the colors twisting and fleeting into one another making the unfamiliar objects around you almost indistinguishable. One thing you were certain though; this wasn’t a hospital, your room or any kind of mom and pop shop.

You heard a sound, someone rushing to your side and then felt an arm quickly wrap around your shoulders steadying you. A hand was on your back, rubbing up and down “ Shhh shh shh, not so quickly Y/N, you need more rest, you’ll feel better soon I promise.” You tried to focus on the voice as another wave of nausea rolled over you. On instinct you curled more in on yourself trying to make the world stop spinning

“ Wanna throw up Sweetheart or are you good?”

That nickname made you freeze. You shook your head making a weak attempt at pushing him away from yourself. Damn traitor was what you wanted to call him but all that came out was a pitiful “ njah”

You felt something cool press to your lips before he tilted you back slightly. “ Just water. Drink, it will help clear your head.”

The water splashed against your lips, a drop rolling down your chin. You resisted the temptation. You heard Chuuya sigh before he moved. He shifted the glass more, giving it a deeper angle. The glass pressing past your lips, the water now almost slipping down your throat. You had no choice, so you drank, feeling instant relief. The water felt soothing, like a miracle for a dying man and you could feel your stomach settling down. Almost too quickly it finished, yet you were too stubborn to ask him for another. You felt so tired again, to the point you barely noticed as he lowered you back in bed and covered you with a blanket.

You were out cold in seconds.

The next time you woke up, you felt well enough to take in your surroundings. You were in an unfamiliar room, laying on a rather large bed with a metal headboard. You could see cuffs dangling from above your head, one set on either side, yet your arms were free, resting beside you beneath a thin fuzzy blanket. You guessed the room wasn’t very big but didn’t dare turn your head and check. Not yet. You could hear him breathing a few paces away and did not want to risk having to look at that traitorous hypocritical bastard without proper assessment of your state.

When you shifted your legs,you felt the cold metal of the cuff cutting into your right ankle and heard the shift of the metal chain. It was heavy, so much you could say. You doubted you’d be able to break it with sheer force. Your fingers inched towards your pockets, still icy cold and somewhat slow in their movement. As they brushed against your clothes you realized you were still in Dazai’s attire and cursed silently in your head. Then you drew in a deeper breath and closed your eyes, thinking of your next move.

“ Don’t try to use your ability” you heard Chuuya’s voice ring loud and clear a small distance away from you. “ It’s a government chain, you’ll only end up hurting yourself if you try.” You didn’t grace him with a reply. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued speaking” I’m sorry I had to take your gun away. I couldn’t have you do anything stupid”

Before you knew it you were back in a sitting position. “ What the fuck do you mean stupid? And why the hell are you doing this.” You yelled at Chuuya who was sitting on a chair a good distance away from your bed. His legs were crossed, his hands resting on top of them palms up. His usual jacket was not on him; it hung casually across the back of another chair with his hat on top. On that second chair was a tray of food, a flimsy bottle of water and a handful of pills in a small white paper cup.

“ I know it's hard to see it right now, but I’m not here to hurt you Y/N. I’m here to help” He said each word slowly and calmly, clearly hoping to soothe you.

Your face shifted into an expression of bewilderment and anger “ Help me? How does beating up my friend and then abducting me ‘help me’ Chuuya? How?!”

“ Because Y/N you’re so caught up in Dazai’s webb you’ve stopped caring about yourself and your future. You just bow your head to his every beck and call and that’s not you” he stated as he leaned to the side and lifted up the tray moving it closer to you.

“ What are you–” Your sentence got caught in your throat as you took a look, finally took a look at Chuuya. He was older than what you remembered him to be. More worn out perhaps? There wasn’t a hint of a smile on his lips, not even a smirk or a grin. His lips were just set in a straight line, slightly white from how hard he was pressing them together in barely contained anger. But it was his eyes that shook you down to your core; the normally vibrant shimmering blue orbs which put even the sky to shame as they glistered with a wide range of emotion were completely empty. They were a hollow blue grey shade- a shell of their former self. “ Chuuya what did you do?”

Your question put him in a frenzy, the way you looked at him, as if he was the monster was killing whatever sliver of light that was left in him; “ Don’t think I haven’t seen you Y/N, haven’t seen you cry your eyes out when slimy Dick’s not home cuz he’s fucking another woman.” Chuuya’s hollow eyes stared down at you, his lips pulled up into a sadistic sneer “ or when he forces you to take him whenever or whenever, or pressures you to agree to whatever shit his mind comes up and you’re crying both during and after Y/N. Don’t think I haven’t seen you. Ugly sobbing and all. It’s not right Sweetheart. It isn’t”

You gaped: your mouth opening and closing like a fish, your cheeks dusting a light pink, words stuck in your throat. They were refusing to come out. You didn’t know where to even begin, or how you were going to reason with him.

Chuuya wasn’t finished, however.

He moved closer, his gloved hand slowly inching towards you. “ But I’d never disrespect you like that sweetheart, never force you or hurt you. I’d never abandon you- you know that the bastard pretty much gave you away to me? ”

“ Dazai would never” you glared darkly at him. As his fingers grazed your cheek you flinched and turned away putting distance between you. The action made Chuuya sigh heavily and move back, running that hand through his hair. He looked bitter.

“ You think? The mackerel served you up to me in his attire with an added comment ‘you can have my left overs.’ slimy bandages. And you still think he cares for you?” He was shaking as he stared down at you. Chuuya took a deep breath before his voice took on a sad, heartbroken tone.” While I’ve always been here, waiting and waiting ready to sweep you off your feet and yet you’re eyes were only on him”

“ Dazai isn’t- he wouldn’t.”

“ Dazai this, Dazai that. Even now when we both know he’s already balls deep in another woman! And you’re still relying on him hah-!” Chuuya shook his head before something seemed to change in him, the contained anger spilling into something dark and full of malice- “- You think I’m smaller than him, is that it?! That somehow that womanizing bastard is better in bed? That only he can satisfy you ehh? Is that why?” Chuuya yelled, his hands landing away from his hair, dangerously close to his belt.

At that moment, for the first time that night, you realized that you were in danger. Real actual danger. This wasn't Chuuya, the sweet hot-tempered ginger man whom you’d share stories and dirty jokes with over a glass of wine. This was a man with slipping sanity capable of anything. His eyes alone were an atonement to that. Those hollow blue orbs told you that if you didn’t think fast enough you’d learn on your own skin- your own pussy- how far he was willing to go to have you.

You moved, launching forward as far as the chain would let you and pressed both hands on top of his larger ones, trying to get him to leave his belt alone. “ No not at all, I must be still a bit hazy after the drug. I didn't mean to upset you.”

He didn’t react, his fingers finishing pulling the edge of the belt out of the first loop and starting to fiddle with the clasp.

You tightened your hold on his arm. Your heart beating loudly in your ears. You thought you were going to throw up. Maybe you should- maybe it would disgust him enough to make him stop. No, a little voice in your head told you. All that could do was enrage him more. And that would end up making it worse on yourself.

“ I’m definitely still not clear in the head, so lets talk some more later please Chuuya, please stop” You called to him, leaning more of your weight onto him. That didn’t stop him, if anything it made you more aware of the growing tension in his pants.

Fuck.

You needed a plan- a way out and you needed it now. However each plea and logical call fell on deaf ears and you were in no condition to fight him. Ability or not he’d overpower you in seconds. You were running out of options and this was your last card to keep yourself safe;

You forced your mind to think of each embarrassing and humiliating memory until your cheeks glowed a dark red. Then you tilted your head down, faking a shy appearance.“ but you wouldn’t want our first time together like this, right? All dry and then bloody. And me passing out and missing out on the fun mid-way through, right?” You felt his movements grow less erratic and continued; “ So would you let me rest a few hours more, clear my head a bit, please? Please Chuu'' you pleaded

You glanced up at him, staring up with big pleading eyes. You saw the newly made nickname stir something in those hollow orbs. Like a spark of life glimpsing through insanity.

“ Please Chuu” you pleaded again, continuing to stare at him, praying that this was enough. A moment passed, two, three before he let his hands drop away from his pants.

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from flinching as he raised a hand and rested it on the back of your head, then he leaned forward pressing a long kiss on your forehead. “ You’re right, I’m sorry, Sweetheart, it was so selfish of me. You need your rest. And I need to get you something comfortable to wear- slimy mackerel clothing really does not suit you.” With those words he turned around as if nothing happened and grabbed the hat and jacket from the back of the chair.

He paused in the doorway long enough to wish you sweet dreams and tell you not to eat what he brought earlier, and that he’ll be back later with some fresh food and water for when you’ve had your rest. Then he left. As the door clasped shut you heard the automatic lock kick in, shutting you in place. Then two more additional ones; a chain and a key.

Slumping back into the bed you curled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms tightly around them. Tears were running down your cheeks in steady unpretty streams.

You bought yourself a few hours tops but what were you supposed to do then?

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #dazai x you #dazai x reader #sweetober #chuuya yandere #yandere #obssessive #abduction

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thenightfolknetwork · 1 year ago

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Im a nypmh. A forest nymph specifically. My days are spent dancing and singing and existing in the forest I was born to. Its great really. My forest is even protected so I dont need to worry about any sapios coming in an bothering me!

But Im also trans. Im a guy. But nymphs are supposed to be feminine and Im. Not. Ive already felt myself loosing connection with this forest as I begun transitioning. Im scared that if I fully transition, Ill lose it entirely. Can that happen? Or is the forest just disappointed in me?

Should I stop my transition? Ive tried to communicate with the forest but she wont respond to me when I bring it up. Im just not sure what to do

I'm sorry your forest seems to be struggling with your transition, reader. However, I think there is plenty of reason to stay optimistic here. You know as well as anyone that, if a powerful nature spirit really doesn't want you around, you'd know about it. The fact you still have a connection with her means she still wants you to have a connection with her.

You're correct in saying that nymphs tend to be female, but my understanding is that this is a linguistic matter rather than a biological one. The word we use for females of your genus is “nymph”, while males with similar cultural identities tend to be referred to as “satyrs”.

Your feeling of disconnect are very likely more related to how you perceive yourself rather than how the forest is perceiving you. The fact is, you cannot simultaneously think of nymphs as inherently feminine, and of yourself as a nymph, while also respecting and celebrating your own masculine identity.

Your forest can feel that inner conflict. She can see you're no longer comfortable with your identity as a nymph, but doesn't have the tools to help you through that discomfort. All she can do is try to give you space, loosening her hold on you and allowing you the freedom to make your own choices.

So, what are those choices, exactly? For one thing, I certainly don't think stopping your transition is a good idea. Your gender is not defined by your body, and a lack of medical transition won't make you any less male.

It also won't solve the underlying issue – that you, as a man, do not feel able to identify as a nymph. In fact, I suspect it will serve to disconnect you even more from your body and your forest, with the pain of dysphoria acting as a constant reminder of the authentic, masculine self you're trying to hide.

Instead, I recommend either unpacking your gendered assumptions around being a nymph, or embracing a positive, male alternative identity for yourself. Do you feel able to say of yourself, “I am a man and a nymph and these do not contradict each other”? Or would you be more comfortable identifying as a satyr or some other identity that feels more affirming?

There isn't a right answer here. You need to find something that works for you. But you do need to make that decision, and try to heal this conflict inside you.

As you do, I feel certain your connection with your forest will bloom anew – different than it was, perhaps, but also more authentic, connecting not with a mere idea or aspiration, but with the man you truly are.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

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monvenusblg · 1 year ago

Text

A new beauty routine I’ve recently invested in is getting my nails done at a salon.

I haven’t seen a lot of people discuss the esoteric significance of doing your nails more intentionally. Onychomancy is a divination tool that explains how a person’s nails signify energies that one intends to attract more of in their life. Essentially, the shape, health condition of a person’s nails as well as how it’s colored and/or designed carries messages from each person’s psyche and divine source(s). Once i’ve learned of this magick, doing my nails have helped me to become more aware of the energies that i need to embody more and which for me to release.

I thought it’ll be cool to analyze the inspiration behind my new set and discover what it is that i’m trying to manifest with them. 🎀🤍

This is what my new set looks like !

At first glance it’s pretty apparent that i’m going for a wintery snow vibe overall. Perfect for the colder January - early February days. Aesthetically, i was most inspired by:

clean, crisp, winter days when the branches turn to icicles.

The look of glaciers and ice during sunny mornings which in some shade turns everything white to a gorgeous translucent blue.

The waif-like elegance of figure skaters. Especially, the way a body could be disciplined to move, bend, and twirl on harsh and frozen surface.

The icy and delicate femininity of an “ice princess” appearance.

The catch however, is in my choice of coffin tips which is where onychomancy reveals the true inspiration and intention behind it.

🧊Grace Kelly in Rear Window (1954)

“She’s not cold. She’s a volcano covered in snow”

This quote from Alfred Hitchcock summed up the energetic essence of my nails. When Hitchcock was asked about his distinctly cool, blonde female leads, he disagreed with the consensus that she was merely icy and sterile or submissive. Instead, underneath the cool mask burns simmering passion and emotional complexity. Despite the calming or icy effect of the designs (depending on how you perceive them), coffin shaped nails according to onychomancy, corresponds to fire. I’m personally aiming to activate my tropical chart’s water houses 4,8, and 12, aka houses of things hidden and the subconscious. These houses in my chart are ruled by the fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius).

This set is less about manifesting an outcome and more focused on embodying a persona. In the book Hitchcock/Truffaut, Grace Kelly recurring presence on his films was described as a paradox between the inner fire and the cold surface: “she is sensitive, disciplined, and very sexy”. Such duality makes Grace and other women sharing similar roles on screen a compelling and mysterious force of art.

🪞Kim Novak in Vertigo (1958)

So my current nails shows rather than tells about the wearer. In a book of Onychomancy, it states how glass tips are like windows. A purely transparent set express full candor yet if it is embellished, the wearer may enjoy a bit of poetic license in its revelation. This is for someone who says “please look. but don’t touch”. I like how the book also states the support glass tips provide for setting boundaries and discernment which is something i’m trying to incorporate in the otherwise explosive self-expression of my inner truth. When I do express my emotions outward, I’m reminded that not everyone deserves to know this side of me. Color wise, my set can be placed in the light blue category. Based on color psychology this shade of blue symbolise patience, peace, and calmness. I view this color as Saturnian in nature. Because boundaries + coolness vibrates with Saturn.

A person whose fire elements is in her hidden houses posess a lot of passion and energy within a calm surface. There’s a tendency to hide this side of myself out of shame. I was made to feel that this authentic side of me was too much even frightening, thus not meant to be seen. I think my set wants me to feel safe expressing more of my fiery creative side by being assured that I’ll naturally remain “cool-headed” while doing so. I’m encourage by the intensity of my emotions and expressing my passions unapologetically without the fear of losing my mind. The addition of a 3D snowflake heart on my mars fingers (thumbnails) represents heart-centered willpower. Even if she’s a little cold, she’s not without life.

I find the women of Hitchcock thrillers act as invitations to explore the hidden inhibitions of his protagonist. If they aren’t capable of maintaining a healthy sense of mind, they’d lost it in the pursuit of her mysterious secret inner world. I think her independence, range, poise, and determination is something I like to embody more of recently💋.

*I don’t claim invention or expertise of onychomancy. For more depth on the subject you can check @/occult nails and @/taibunnii on Twitter.

*Ki Lunula books such as : “The Ancient Art of Onychomancy” and/or “Explorations in Onychomancy”are great sources of knowledge on this subject.

#onychomancy #nail art #witchblr #astrology observations

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northwest-cryptid · 1 year ago

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I think one of the big reasons I identify with gender queer more than say "gender fluid" or "non-binary" exclusively is because I don't know which of the two best defines what I experience.

The truth of the matter is that while most trans people I know have some kind of hatred towards their body/past identity, I do not.

I don't see that man in the mirror and go "that's not me, I must kill this man and release myself from my flesh prison!" Rather I see myself in the mirror and undeniably feel like that is me, some days it's a good feeling, other days it's not. I originally attributed this to gender fluidity the idea that some days I felt more comfortable as a man than others.

This made sense to me because if I looked at myself and felt my more masculine features were off putting, typically I would shave or in some way get rid of or hide those features and it made me feel better. However the problem with that was that while sure sometime this feeling wouldn't revert for weeks, other times I'd wake up the next day and hate the way I looked simply because I lacked the more masculine features I had come to find made me comfortable to begin with.

I thought maybe I was just "more" gender fluid than others, maybe I "switched" more often; this lead me to believe that maybe I didn't fit the binary, I was something in between the two. However that's also not entirely true, because while yes I don't always feel comfort in my masculinity or femininity seeking something else entirely or rather to be rid of them both; I also DO find comfort in them from time to time.

I'm a fervent believer that gender neutral/non-binary is not the same as androgynous though I do understand why those who identify as such may find comfort in it.

I noticed quickly upon coming out as NB/Gender Fluid that even close friends still referred to me with he/him more often than not, and I conceded myself to "being okay with it" because I realized that if even my close friends couldn't see me as anything else, the world around me surely couldn't either. Especially when my close friends have no issue correctly gendering others no matter what pronouns they happen to use. This isn't meant to point a finger or assign blame, it's merely to say I assume my masculinity is too strong for me to be seen as anything other than a man.

I had considered getting on estrogen to possibly become more androgynous but I fear I'd be doing it for the sake of getting others to respect me, what if I become something I don't associate with in the mirror, what if I hate what I become; and what if people still don't view me differently for it?

I'm comfortable in my skin, at least for now. I see the man in the mirror and recognize them as myself, and that's nice to me; sometimes I wish to see something I could more easily identify as a woman but I more often than not do not feel any dysphoria towards myself from myself; rather it comes from feeling like those who do respect my pronouns are forcing themselves to, and those who don't are merely being honest with me about what they see.

Sometimes I wish I weren't so complicated, I often wish I was simply just "trans" male to female simple as that, maybe then it would be easier. Easier to gauge my "success" in transition, easier to respect my pronouns, maybe I'd be more believable, maybe I'd be seen differently.

Unfortunately that's just not who I am. I often don't make a big deal of it, because I fear people would consider me a hassle to deal with if I did. If I cared too much about something like my identity, then I fear people would leave me. Sure I understand, you might say "if someone doesn't respect your identity, would it be so awful if they left you?" Yes, it would. These are my friends, and they're all I have. I know that may be hard to understand, but all of my friends have other friend groups; I do not have a Group B so to speak, I have tried, time and time again; to make friends. It never works, I'm not good at socializing, it's very difficult for me to make friends, I don't know how to talk to people.

Sometimes I come across as distant, other times I come across far too overbearing, it's never intentional. The fact of the matter is the people who I am friends with understand me on a certain level, we're comfortable around each other and I do have a lot of love for them. They mean a lot to me, and to lose them over something "as minor as my gender" would probably push me to a sort of depression I don't want to ever return to. That being said I do often wonder if I will ever truly be okay with my identity, if I'll ever really feel comfortable, or feel like myself.

Because I fear that even those closest to me will never see me as I wish to be seen; and it feels forced when they say they do, because so many others don't see it, and I just feel like they're the ones being real with me.

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aidanchaser · 2 years ago

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Boulangérella: A Miraculous Fairy Tale AU - Chapter 3

Table of Contents Read on Ao3

beta’d by @7wizardsshallanswerthecall, @mothmanhamlet, @ccboomer and @aubsenroute

Chapter Three Monsieur Pigeon

Ladybug was not entirely sure how she and Chat Noir would be able to successfully free Monsieur Ramier from Hawk Moth’s control. When Monsieur Ramier had been transformed by Hawk Moth in the past, he was given the power to control pigeons. Tonight, however, Hawk Moth had granted him an ability to get revenge on those teenagers who had harassed his pigeons by transforming them into the very pigeons they had come for. Now no one in the city was safe; merely the brush of a cursed pigeon’s wing would transform them into another bird in Monsieur Pigeon’s flock.

Ladybug and Chat Noir ducked behind a chimney and pressed themselves flat against the wall, hoping to hide from Monsieur Ramier—or, rather, they ought to call him Monsieur Pigeon while Hawk Moth had control of him.

“My lady—” Chat Noir pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. In a nasally whisper, he continued, “I think he’s got us pinioned down.”

She ignored the terrible pun. This was hardly the time. “This power of his is new…” She tried not to sound too doubtful as she unclipped her magical bandalore from her waist, but she couldn’t see a solution yet. “How can we possibly get close enough to find the cursed object?”

“I can distract him,” Chat Noir suggested. “My sneezes will make it easy for him to find me, and you can find the object Hawk Moth has cursed.”

“He doesn’t need to find us. Any of his pigeons can touch us and that’s it…”

“Hawk Moth won’t want our miraculous gifts to transform with us,” Chat Noir pointed out. “Maybe we can use that to our advantage—”

He stopped as a flash of orange on a nearby rooftop caught his eye. It stood out strangely in the dark night, especially when most of the movement in the sky was made of gray and black pigeon feathers. But before he could mention it to Ladybug, Chat Noir sneezed.

A nearby pigeon called in response, and Ladybug and Chat Noir ran. He pulled Ladybug in the direction of the orange blur, unsure where else they ought to go. He hoped that, just maybe, it was a stroke of luck, the sort that Ladybug could turn into a victory.

Ladybug and Chat Noir slid over a roof top and down to the street level, just in time to see something orange and white slip into one of the many tunnels that ran under the city. Underground certainly seemed safer than the skies, so they both followed.

Chat Noir dropped down beside her and rubbed his nose. “It might smell down here,” he said, “but it’s easier to breathe than among all those feathers.”

“What was that orange… thing?” she asked.

Chat Noir glanced around, but he saw no sign of the orange blur that had led them here. “I hope it’s help.”

Ladybug cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello?” she called, and her voice echoed down the tunnel walls. She hoped that the birds would not have bothered to explore the tight, underground maze that ran beneath the city. Of course, they would eventually get to her and Chat Noir, but she should have enough time to make a plan.

“Ladybug?” a soft, feminine voice called back. “Is that really you?”

“Who’s asking?” Chat Noir’s voice echoed in the tunnel. He leaned casually against his baton, but his senses were fully alert. His ears twitched with the magic that pulsed through his veins and his green, cat-like eyes shimmered in the dim light of the underground sewers as they searched for movement.

A girl stepped out from an alcove, and Chat Noir’s shoulders twitched with the urge to pounce. She had long, dark hair with a reddish tint to it. In the front, her hair had been pulled into two red tails with white tips, reminiscent of a fox. She wore white trousers tucked into black boots, and a bright, orange sash wrapped around her waist and trailed off into a sort of tail, white-tipped like her hair. She wore a tight orange bodice edged with black lace and black gloves that ran the length of her arms. Her shoulders and neck were bare, decked only in a gold chain from which hung a curved orange pendant. A pair of tall orange ears sat on her head, not unlike Chat Noir’s own leather cat ears, and her face was covered by a mask in the shape of a fox’s head.

The part of her that drew Chat Noir’s attention, however, was the large bamboo stick in her hand. He kept his brilliant green eyes trained on it, waiting for her to lift it into an attack position.

“Ladybug, I was so hoping I would find you,” the girl said effusively. “Those pigeons—they attacked my family.”

“I think we’re safe here for the moment,” Ladybug said, but Chat Noir was still hesitant to relax his guard.

“How did you get away from the pigeons?” he asked.

The girl touched the pendant at her neck. “This is the gift of illusion. I was able to hide myself. It did not last for long, though…”

“You’re all right now,” Ladybug promised. She held out her hand to the girl. “We’ll help you, and we’ll save your family.”

“Thank you! I know if anyone can help, you can, Ladybug.” She took Ladybug’s hand and squeezed it.

Chat Noir eyed Ladybug and decided he ought to trust her judgment. They were a partnership, but they were not exactly equals. She was the captain and he was more like her first mate who supported her decisions. If she thought they ought to help this girl, he would go along with her plan.

He re-clipped his baton to his belt and gave their new friend a dramatic, sweeping bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your cat-quaintance.”

Ladybug and this new friend were equally unimpressed with his chivalry and humor.

“You said you had the magic of illusion?” Ladybug asked, as if Chat Noir had done no more than clear his throat.

The girl nodded.

Ladybug smiled. “Illusion just might be the distraction we need without risking turning Chat Noir into a pigeon.”

Ladybug tossed her bandalore into the air and called for her Lucky Charm. There was a bright rose-colored light from her bandalore. Her spots flashed and the magic of creation flowed from the bandalore until it had finished constructing the lucky item that she needed. The object that fell out of the light and into her hands was warm and buzzed with magic. She examined the curved reed, red and decked in black spots like her dress. She pursed her lips, unsure exactly what she needed to do with it.

“Do you think you're supposed to hit Monsieur Pigeon with it?” Chat Noir asked.

Ladybug glanced over at their new friend and the bamboo reed in her hand. “Can you make both sound and images with your gift?”

The girl nodded, and Ladybug laid out their plan.

Chat Noir didn’t like it, but Ladybug was in charge, and so he did as Ladybug asked. He stood on the fifth bridge from the palace and stared at the dark water below. It looked cold. At least his allergies would probably be unaffected while he was in the water.

With a sigh, Chat Noir put the hooked end of the reed in his mouth and jumped into the river.

He could not see well in the water, but the dark itself was not much of a problem for him. The city was well-lit at night, which left her alleyways and the depths of her river dim to the average person, but for Chat Noir it was easy for his cat-like eyes to adjust. He stayed below the surface, careful to keep the top of the reed above the water so that he could breathe, and waited for Ladybug’s signal.

It was not long before he saw what he was waiting for. Ladybug and Chat Noir approached the river bank, pursued by a flock of dark pigeons, whose wings reflected iridescent purple in the city’s many lights.

The illusions of Ladybug and Chat Noir hesitated at the water’s edge, apparently cornered. Monsieur Pigeon, in his dark pink and purple suit approached.

“Which will it be?” the man asked with dark glee in his voice. “Join my pigeon army or hand over your miraculous gifts?”

Chat Noir watched Monsieur Pigeon closely in search of the object Hawk Moth had infected in order to amplify Monsieur Ramier’s anger. In the past, it had been Monsieur Ramier’s pigeon call whistle, but Ladybug had warned Chat Noir to be careful and sure before he made his move. They would not get two attempts with Ladybug’s magic of creation, nor Chat Noir’s magic of destruction.

Monsieur Pigeon lifted the whistle to his lips. It was as black as ink, and Chat Noir was certain that he was using it to control the monstrous pigeons. It must be the object they needed. Around the reed in his mouth, Chat Noir muttered, “Cataclysm.”

His ring burned and dark energy gathered in his palm. It may not have hurt, but it required a lot of focus to hold onto.

The first time Chat Noir had summoned his power, he had hastily grabbed a lamp post to keep from losing control and shattering a building; the lamp post had crumbled to dust beneath his hand. After that first night testing his new powers, his fay had warned him that the stronger his emotions, the stronger his Cataclysm would be. In those early days of grieving his mother, it had been almost impossible for him to use it effectively.

But he had learned to control it, and the freedom of being Chat Noir combined with working alongside Ladybug had given him hope in a future again. His Cataclysm had become manageable from not only use and practice, but thanks to a quelling of his grief.

Now, it was a tool he could manage as easily as Ladybug used her Lucky Charm. It cracked and popped in his hand, eager to destroy the first thing it touched, but he held back and waited. He watched as the illusions of Ladybug and Chat Noir removed their illusory miraculous gifts and dropped them into the river.

Chat Noir’s mouth quirked into a small smile. Their new friend had no idea what he and Ladybug looked like underneath their masks, and he thought the tall, plain looking man that took Chat Noir’s place an odd choice. Whoever that man was, though, Chat Noir figured his life was probably easier than Chat Noir’s true identity.

Monsieur Pigeon, as Ladybug had predicted, dove into the river after the miraculous gifts. Chat Noir made his move.

He shot forward in the water and grabbed the whistle out of Monsieur Pigeon’s hand. It crumbled to dust in his grasp. Like ink dripping off of a quill, the suit Monsieur Pigeon had been wearing fell away, and Monsieur Ramier reappeared. He swam up to the surface hastily for air. Chat Noir did the same, careful not to lose sight of the dark iridescent butterfly that flitted through the water.

As Chat Noir broke the surface, Ladybug extended a hand to help him up. Chat Noir reached for her hand and was shocked as his hand passed through hers. Ladybug vanished, and nearby, their new fox-like friend laughed.

Chat Noir climbed out of the river and turned to help Monsieur Ramier. “Ladybug?” he called, annoyed with both himself and their new friend. Carefully, he shook the water from his arms. He hated the way it clung to him. It made him feel sticky, unable to slip easily and invisibly through the night.

Ladybug—the real Ladybug—hurried across the bridge. The large pigeons that had surrounded the illusions returned to their normal size and color, and Ladybug no longer had to avoid them as she chased down the dark butterfly that was struggling to fly away with wings weighed down by water. She unleashed her bandalore on it. The circular clay on the end of the string slid open and captured the butterfly within it. There was a flash of white light as the butterfly was sealed inside, and the bandalore returned to Ladybug’s hand.

Once she had whispered the incantation to purify the cursed creature, Ladybug opened her bandalore and released the butterfly. The butterfly, now as white as snow, flitted off into the night. Ladybug wished it well on its journey, as she always did. And as he watched, Chat Noir’s heart fluttered as it always did; he loved her for her confidence, determination and intelligence, but her kindness, more than anything else, left him full of adoration. His love never waned, no matter how many times he watched her wish a future of hope onto a creature that had been turned into an agent of destruction.

Their new fox-like friend stepped out of the shadows beside Chat Noir and watched as Ladybug threw her bandalore into the air and her Lucky Charm undid all the damage to the city and its citizens that Hawk Moth had wrought through Monsieur Pigeon. There was a sweep of red, flitting ladybugs that swarmed the pigeons, the streets, and then hurried down the alley, finishing their work throughout the city.

All was as it had been when Ladybug and Chat Noir had first transformed and slipped off into the night, except for the whistle. Ladybug’s magic was powerful, but the object that Hawk Moth infected with his curse remained damaged in whatever way Ladybug and Chat Noir chose to free the curse. It was the one thing Ladybug did not have the magic to fix.

But Monsieur Ramier had grown quite used to replacing his pigeon call whistles in the past year.

“Are you all right, Monsieur Ramier?” Ladybug asked.

Monsieur Ramier wrung out his dripping cap. “Did it happen again, Ladybug?”

“I’m afraid so,” she smiled. “But everything’s been set right.”

“I am so sorry,” he said. “But thank you for saving me. I know I can count on you each time.”

“Of course you can,” Ladybug promised. “And Chat Noir and our new friend, of course.” She gestured to Chat Noir and the girl in orange.

The girl in orange grinned and rested her flute-like reed over her shoulder. “You can call me Volpina,” she said.

“You have my gratitude,” Monsieur Ramier said with a bow.

Chat Noir wrinkled his nose in an attempt to stall a sneeze, but he was unable to stop himself. The group of pigeons lifted into the air in surprise, then followed Monsieur Ramier along the river’s edge, back towards his home.

“We really couldn’t have done this without you, Volpina,” Ladybug said, and held out her hand to the girl in orange. “I hope we’ll have your help in the future.”

Volpina took Ladybug’s hand and even managed a small curtsy. “Any time, Ladybug. I think I’ll be in the city for a while longer.”

“You’re not from here?” Chat Noir asked curiously.

Volpina’s mouth twitched into a crooked smile. “I thought you heroes liked secret identities.”

“We do,” Ladybug said quickly, “but it is surprising that you just showed up suddenly.”

The smile on Volpina’s face faded. Though her eyes were hidden behind an orange and black mask, complete with the snout of a fox, she looked sad. “My grandmother passed away recently. This pendant was hers. I didn’t know it was a miraculous gift until I put it on. I was afraid to use it, unsure that I could uphold the legacy she left behind, but when my family was hurt in Monsieur Pigeon’s attack, I called upon the power of illusion to escape and find you.”

All of Chat Noir’s wariness melted away in an instant. He knew grief. It cloaked him as thoroughly as the masks he put on for each of his identities.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. “You were a great help today.”

The green emeralds on his ring flickered and the magic in one of the stones of the cat’s paw dimmed.

Volpina eyed it curiously, then said, “I think I need to take my leave.”

“Of course,” Ladybug said.

And as Volpina disappeared into the night, Ladybug’s earrings flickered.

“We ought to go too, chaton,” she said with a smile.

But he was loathe to leave his lady after their time together had been so brief. He looked down at the five glowing green emeralds set into his ring. Only one had flickered out. “I have a bit longer.”

Ladybug shook her head, but she was smiling. “It’s a good thing we met Volpina tonight.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Her smile faded ever so slightly. “Well… I might not be around very much over the next month. It’ll be good to know there’s someone else here to help the city.”

Chat Noir’s heart sank. But he swallowed down his own hurt and focused on her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, but Chat Noir did not believe her. Ladybug was many things, but chiefly she was a hero, and a hero did not show her weak spots, not even to her partner.

“It’s just…” She struggled to find the words then finally managed, “In my other identity, I’m about to be very busy. I have a lot of people that I’m responsible to, and they’re all going to need my attention. I’ll still be around, and if Hawk Moth attacks I’ll be there, but these nights where we patrol… I don’t know how many of those we’ll have for a while.”

“Oh,” he said. He did not know how to put words to his heartbreak. Nights with Ladybug were the best part of his life. He wasn’t sure what he would do without them, and he wasn’t sure how to tell her about his own looming deadline.

Her earrings flickered again. Another emerald on his ring went out.

“Promise me something?” she asked.

“Anything,” he said readily.

“Try not to steal anything, please? I don’t want to come after you because Audrey Bourgeois can’t find her pearls.”

Chat Noir flicked at the silver bell that rested at his collar. It jingled softly. “I wear this bell for you,” he grinned. “Can’t get past any hunting dogs with this on.”

It was not entirely true. Chat Noir was good at sneaking around even with the bell around his neck, but it symbolized his loyalty to Ladybug more than anything. It had become an addition to his outfit only after he had fallen for her.

It had not taken him long. The very same night that she had first dragged him from the Bourgeois's manor only to send him right back in to return the rings he had taken, one of Hawk Moth’s monsters had attacked.

Chat Noir had readily run to help, and though he would never know it, it was his confidence that had encouraged Ladybug to join him. She might never have dared to use her magic to face the monster if he had never asked her to help protect the city.

Together, they had learned that they could defeat the monsters in a way that the castle’s soldiers could not, and that the gifts they bore from the Forest of Fay were gifts that could be used not simply for their own benefit, but to help and protect the kingdom. And, more than that, Ladybug could undo in a moment whatever damage had been wrought by Hawk Moth’s attack.

It was during that first fight that Ladybug had learned that Chat Noir was a better friend than he was thief, and it was during that first fight that Chat Noir had fallen in love.

So he had worn a bell, ever since that first fight. A faux-deterrent from stealing, because his lady had asked him to.

“Thank you, chaton,” she said, and smiled.

Chat Noir cherished her smiles as much as he cherished her laughter, but he could not bring himself to match her smile.

“I also have some bad news,” he said. The third emerald on his ring flickered out as her earrings flashed.

Ladybug’s smile faded and she tipped her head. “What’s wrong?”

He liked that she had echoed his question. He wished that he could, like she had, assure her that it was nothing.

“After this month, I don’t know that I’ll still be around.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I have one more month before… well, before I assume some new responsibilities in my other life. I think they’ll make it harder to spend my evenings with you, Ladybug.”

It was not often that Chat Noir used her name properly. Ladybug knew that he was being serious, and not just trying to tease her or make her feel guilty for leaving him alone for a month.

She wanted to press him for details, but it would not be appropriate. She was the one who had set the boundaries between their daily lives and their lives as heroes, and it had been for a good reason. She was protecting him and his loved ones as much as she was protecting herself.

“Are you… sure?” she asked, unsure herself what she ought to say.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

It struck them both that from now on, then, any moment might be their last night together. And though it broke Ladybug’s heart to know there was a chance she might lose her best friend for good, she said, “You should go.”

The fourth emerald on his ring flickered out, and her earrings flashed.

“What if I didn’t?” he asked.

“Chaton…”

“Just kidding, of course.” But he had not been kidding, and he and Ladybug both knew it.

She kissed his cheek, then said, “This isn’t good-bye yet.”

“Not yet,” he agreed, and disappeared the way Volpina had gone, but whoever she was, she had already vanished

The final emerald on Chat Noir’s ring flashed and flickered out as Chat Noir murmured, “Plagg, claws in,” and his dark disguise vanished. The black suit fell from him and gathered in his ring, revealing a set of clothing that was just as dark but of much finer and more delicate cloth. The black wisps emerged from his ring and solidified into the form of the tiny black creature he had found in the forest almost a year earlier.

Prince Adrien Agreste leaned against the brick wall that formed half of the alley way and looked up at the sliver of stars visible above the close rooftops while the black cat-like fay dug through a nearby pile of garbage for some discarded cheese. They would need Chat Noir’s disguise to return home, but first the fay creature Plagg would need an offering of cheese to complete their initial bargain before he could give Adrien another turn with the magic of chaos and destruction.

Adrien considered, not for the first time, what might happen if he simply strolled up to the palace gates, and how his father might punish him for sneaking away. On his darker days, Adrien almost dared to do it. What was left for his father to take away from him? He had no control over whom he spoke to nor how he spent his time. Did he even really have control over whom he would marry, or would he just accept whatever his father asked of him? Shy of locking him in a dungeon, there were few ways for his father to restrict his freedoms much further.

But those were only on Adrien’s dark days. He knew that his father only wanted to protect him. He could not imagine how even his aunt might react, knowing the crown prince put himself in the path of danger almost nightly to protect the palace and the city from Hawk Moth’s attacks. He didn’t think she’d be any happier about it than his father. His mother might have understood, though. She’d have been upset, he thought, and worry, but he liked to think that she’d have understood.

“We need to do something about our new fox friend,” Plagg said as he dug through the piles of garbage.

Adrien tore his eyes away from the stars. “What’s wrong with Volpina?” She had helped them, despite his initial suspicions, and her grief had seemed genuine.

“Weren’t you listening?” Plagg disappeared into an old wooden box and re-emerged with a wedge of pungent, mold-covered cheese. “It’s not camembert, but it’s aged alright.”

Adrien wrinkled his nose in disgust as Plagg swallowed the cheese whole. He was not sure how Plagg managed it, considering the wedge itself was about twice Plagg’s size, but the fay creature seemed to stretch around the cheese, then compress back into his fay form.

“What do you mean about Volpina?” Adrien asked, when it was clear that Plagg was too interested in digesting his meal to return the conversation on his own.

“Did you notice how her pendant didn’t flicker with magic after she used her gift? That’s not a normal bargain. That’s a lifetime debt. Those trades don’t come cheap. Sounds like she may have stolen it from her grandmother.”

“Weren’t you listening? Her grandmother died. Surely Volpina just wanted something to remember her grandmother by.”

Plagg, however, was concerned for Trixx, who was his best friend in as far as fay creatures had best friends. Trickery and chaos went hand in hand. But he paused his concern for Trixx and took a moment to gauge the grief in Adrien’s eyes.

Plagg was not a sensitive creature by definition. He was born of chaos and destruction. His power was a curse, meant to inflict harm on others. And even then, it was mostly targeted at those who would hurt Tikki and her bondsman—or bondswoman, as was more often the case.

As a rule, Plagg did not express fondness for his bondsmen—or bondswomen, as it had been on several occasions—but Adrien was an exception. Plagg had observed many things in his year at the palace, but he had observed very little fondness. Adrien deserved a bit of care.

So Plagg shifted into his preferred form, a scrawny black cat, and threaded himself around Adrien’s feet. He nuzzled his whiskers and cheeks against Adrien’s ankles in a rare show of affection. It earned him a small smile from Adrien. It was still a sad smile, but most of Adrien’s smiles were sad. Someday Plagg would get a real smile from this boy. Something absolutely feral. It was what the boy deserved, especially after all he had been through, and especially given what was to come.

Plagg could not see the future—that was a different fay’s gift—but Plagg knew a few things about what went on in the palace that Adrien did not know. He chose to keep them to himself for now. Adrien would find out in time, and hopefully he would be ready to face those secrets when they eventually unraveled, as secrets always did.

Adrien knelt beside Plagg and stroked his spine. “We can’t do much more to investigate Volpina tonight. I suppose we ought to go home.”

Plagg tilted his head. “I bet we could still snag one of those pendants you were thinking about. Ladybug doesn’t have to know.”

The sad smile twitched ever so slightly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Something smaller then,” Plagg wheedled. “Something that really won’t be missed. Oh, we could stop by that boulangerie! It isn’t far. They’re the only place I’ve seen in this half of the continent that sells those fluffy cheese-filled pastries.”

“I can just order a bunch to be delivered to the palace,” Adrien said, but they both knew it would not be the same. There was something thrilling about slipping in and out of somewhere unseen, of having power and control over one little thing in his life when he was denied that power in so many other places.

When Plagg made no additional argument except to stare up at Adrien with pleading green eyes, the prince sighed. “Plagg, that’s a business, and the shop owners are very kind. I don’t want to steal from them.”

“Take the old stuff. It tastes just as good. We can leave something in exchange. Please,” he drew out his plea with a long whine. “We haven’t stolen anything in over a week, and you just promised Ladybug that we’d be good for another month. Can’t we have one last teeny-tiny hurrah?”

Plagg was Adrien’s closest friend and confidant while simultaneously being Adrien’s worst influence.

“Plagg, claws out,” he whispered, and the black cat at his feet stretched around him, spreading out from his ring, and cloaking him once more in the disguise of Chat Noir.

So when Marinette Dupain-Cheng finally returned home, well after her parents had retreated upstairs to bed, she found that three of their popular deep-fried, cheese-filled pastries were missing, and in place of the pastries, someone had left behind a small bouquet of budding hellebore.

#ml fairy tale au #fairy tale au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ladynoir

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sonicasura · 2 months ago

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“Poyo?”

Imperialdramon found their eyes drifting open as they felt water batter at their sides because of their submerged wings. The bio-merge fusion dimly registered that they must have nodded off at some point. Floating around on the ocean’s surface materialized—embarrasing.

They exhaled—

“Po-poyo!”

Before stilling entirely as they registered the high pitched voice of something. The digimon very faintly felt something light moving around on their chestplate. A curious sounding “Poyo” sounded off from where they guessed was the eye sections of the face design there. Curiously, Imperialdramon lifted their tail out of the water to feel at whatever or whoever was on them.

This forced the very light being to scramble further up onto to them. Once the little one was near their neck, they quickly reached a hand their and managed to grab the being. “Poyo! Poooooyo!” Muffled cries sounded from with their hand as they shifted around…

‘Do you think it’s a Poyomon?’

‘Most baby digimon just giggle. Not say part of their name’s so I imagine it’s unlikely.’

They moved around so they were now swimming over merely floating, wings splayed out a bit half-hazardly to stabilize themself.

Finally.

The bio-merge fusion opened the hand that the being’s cries were coming from to see—

“Kirby?” Imperialdramon’s voice drifted toward more feminine sounding range as Archaic couldn’t keep the surprise out of it. The human portion of them was genuinely surprised to see the hero of Popstar. He seemed just as surprised at them knowing his name if the admittedly cute head tilt he gave was a clue.

The puffball blinked for a moment, then leveled a pink stub at them. “Poyo???” Kirby squeaked albeit in a slightly questioning tone.

‘Wait How do we introduce ourselves?’

‘Do we introduce ourselves?’

Pronouns were a bit of a pain when bio-merge and they were a bio-merge fusion!

‘If or when we unfuse, we’ll properly introduce all three of us. Until then, species name.’

“I am Imperialdramon.” They revealed to the little hero, though he was very small in their hand. Or rather they were truly ginormous.

Kirby hummed as he looked them over “…’mperrrdraamo?” He tried, but largely couldn’t seem to pronounce their full name.

‘Can he not talk?’

‘Kirby never speaks actual sentences in any of the games as far as I’m aware…’

‘He reminds me of some Fresh stages.’

‘Eh. We can throw the little guy a bone, right?’

“Call me ‘Dra’ if it’s too hard.”

“Dra! Dram!” Kirby cheerfully repeated latching onto the quasi-nickname.

“Let’s get back to shore, little one.”

——————————

Two Cappies were taking advantage of the early morning in trying to reel in a haul on the beach. Granted, the two men were more experienced in freshwater fishing than saltwater. This was just a small break in routine to dust off skills they rarely used. One reeled in his line only to have to clear off more tangled seaweed.

A veritable pile was sitting a small pace away.

The one with a line still in the water paused… he saw something pink on the horizon. His fellow fisherman looked up, seeing the same sight.

Neither could believe it as it got closer.

Kirby.

Kirby was floating?

Except instead of the normal puffed up appearance he had when doing that—he seemed to be sitting in mid-air.

“Pooooooyooooooooo!” He called out happily as water was being heavily displaced underneath him. Waves were kicked up by an unseen force, causing both the Cappies to be drenched as he floated past them. The beach shook as something if massive climbed ashore.

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

Stealth Hide turned them invisible, not intangible—dematerializing accomplished both.

The bio-merge fusion preferred the Hacker skill over a full dematerialization though so they chose to swim to shore. Imperialdramon had switched to Dragon Mode for better ease of action. They carefully walked further down the beach with some of their steps purposely kicking up water to hide their claw prints.

Kirby happily babbled on their head unaffected by the fact they turned invisible. One had to wonder how he managed to get to them when they were floating in the middle of the ocean…

I can only wonder how many shenanigans it is gonna take before someone realizes Kirby has an invisible dragon friend. The citizens of Cappytown are still clueless to our pink puffball's capabilities so they'll chalk it up to Star Warrior weirdness. Except for Tiff and Tuff who knows their friend.

#sonicasura #sonicasura answers #asks #hisuianhistorymaker #digimon #digimon series #digimon digital monsters #digimon story #digimon cyber sleuth #digimon story cyber sleuth #digimon story hacker's memory #kirby #kirby series #kirby right back at ya

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megashadowdragon · 3 months ago

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context juna is a tomboy ( and I suppose this is the thing they changed because they thought it was sexist

what I say to this is " dont care should have kept it I wanted to see the same game that the japanese got but in english

so that the characters personalities would remain the same along with attitudes etc

I want to see the game that the creators made

The English line merely says that she has cooking skills, but the point of the original line, in particular the term 女子力 (literal: girl power) was to specifically hint at her girlish side.

The stackexchange thread points the meaning of the term out quite well:

"The underlying idea being that a girl with 女子力 will be able to indirectly attract males."

That's the nuance NISA omitted to remove sexism.

They removed any notion that cooking is a feminine trait, specifically one that's considered attractive for the opposite sex, Juna was lacking until now. Again, this was not about Juna being good at cooking but Juna having a feminine side to her.

Not only do NISA hide the original meaning but their line feels more clumsy and unprofessional in the process.

In fact saying:

"Juna, you are surprisingly more feminine than I thought."

would be a much more elegant solution. Linguistically the cooking was implied in the original. NISA however blatantly used the line to comment on her cooking (something we see happening, we don't need it mentioned).

Again, as I pointed out, 女子力 isn't JUST about being feminine but carries the connotation that she's desirable as a woman. NISA deliberately omitted these connotations.

Altina mentioning Juna's cooking skills in NISA's localization is merely contrasting her rather forceful personality and temperament. Cooking after all requires more delicate skillsets. And it's easy to come to this wrong conclusion in NISA's script. And evidently, you also did come to said wring conclusion.

So what would be the best way to translate it more accurately AND to convey both "feminity" and "desirability?"

Conveying the nuance of 女子力 I'd guess you could localize it like this:

"Juna, you are unexpectadly more feminine than I thought. You might get a boyfriend after all."

Don't forget, these are typical high school girls. Such subject matters are quite common to discuss among girls their age, so that line would make sense. Moreover that slightly emotionless second sentence that comes off as if she meant it sarcastically even though Altina didn't mean it that way is perfectly in line with Altina's personality.

But this would be considere sexist by NISA, so obviously they took the easy path and censored it.

millium is more cringe in english version

which is annoying and an example of what I was saying they dont need to upjump dialogue or change the dialogue because they think its funny treating it like it was their story

I dont see why they changed it to comment on her personality rather then her appearance

bodyline

the localizers may have had an issue with that but dont care should have kept it since it keeps juna's character and thoughts on musse

Context: [Party is in a red light district town] [Nun is Ash's acquaintance] Note: Ash is teasing her by making her church services sound like prostitution. In the localization she still respond with "why do you have to say it like that" despite Ash not saying it inappropriately like in the Japanese version.

Note: Jorōgumo is a spider youkai that takes the shape of a beautiful woman to deceive men and eat them. More Context: Ash calls Musse a Jorōgumo during the first class they have with class-7 (it was localized to Harpy) Second time is when they visited Mussee's home, which Ash called "Jorōgumo's nest" (it was translated as "Spider's nest") Opinion: And now we're back to Harpy, which I think does not accurately fit the context.

Note: "Joshi domo ni maketenja neeyo" is untranslated. Opinion: We can't have that line in current year

( yeah this is an example of them letting their own politics/feelings get in the way of translating accurately

they should have kept it

Japanese: Watashi o hitoban skinishtai Localization: A romantic night under the stars

Note: 男冥利に尽きる: [Dif: The best blessing someone who is born male can have] (being popular with women) Context: Rean's Harem Opinion: localizors keep changing interesting lines with generic ones. Was this line "too straight" for western localization?

again dont care how they feel they should have kept it

#trails of cold steel 3 #localization #localizers #juna crawford

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quinnverse · 4 months ago

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"Not even to me? Well, that sounds like a challenge. And I'm never one to back down from a challenge." Emma narrowed her eyes, arching a single brow as she spoke. Being around him had already proved to be quite the challenge when it came to her sanity, but now she wasn't entirely sure how to proceed with her life. When the sun rose, things would be different. Perhaps not drastically and perhaps not even noticeably on the outside, but Emma would know something had changed. And she could only hope it wasn't a change to be regretted.

"Iron trap or not," She cooed, leaning in once more to press a gentle kiss against his lips. "You don't seem to be very opposed to what my mouth can do."

Although she fought to maintain as seductive an expression as she could, Emma's focus faltered and a cheeky smile cracked across her features. It was difficult to think that mere weeks ago, she had been floating along in life without someone like him. To think that her life might've carried on in such an untethered, unbothered way without a John Bolton in it felt strange.

“I feel the same. It feels like…” She hesitated, closing her eyes as she thought for a moment. “It feels like drowning. Like my lungs are filling with water and I’m sinking deeper and deeper, but there’s the weightlessness to it, the urge to let it take me fully." Opening her eyes again, Emma met his gaze and a fierce flush crept onto her cheeks. "It makes me wonder if it’s always supposed to be like this.”

Did her mother feel this way when she’d met her father? Did her parents experience this same earth-shattering turbulence that Emma was feeling? It was jarring and exciting but she never knew whether it was better to lean into the flow or to fight against the tides. Both ended in heartache. Either she fought against fate, pushed him away and tried to carry on as normal, or she allowed herself to be swept away in the currents and risk getting lost along the way.

She knew who she was. She was Emma Elizabeth Dunster, only child of John and Claire and the future owner of Dunster Shipping Company. She'd always known who she was and who she was supposed to be. But the Emma she'd always known had always been alone and unattached. She had friends and family members to keep her afloat, but her heart had always remained marooned and isolated. A part of her, a rather large part, feared that if she allowed herself to welcome someone else into her heart, she wouldn't know who she was anymore. She knew Emma as a singular entity, but she had no idea who Emma in Love was or could be. And the unknown terrified her.

I don't think you're a harlot. His words snapped her out of the mental spiral she'd began to descend into, meeting his gaze with a hesitant, shy smile. I never have.

“No, I suppose you didn’t. You more than likely thought me a prudish shrew to be tamed. And I'm willing to bet you thought of yourself as a modern day Petruchio.” Lowering her voice, Emma preened, gesturing to their entwined bodies with a smirk. "But I find it rather hard to tell who, exactly, has tamed who in this instance."

I'm rather easy to please. At this, Emma let out a laugh, louder than she intended and it swiftly turned into a hushed fit of giggles. "And here I was, thinking I'd have to try much harder to impress a man like you."

She sobered a bit at his words, her smile giving way to a soft pursing of lips. He was right. Humans often fought hard to conceal the worst of themselves, only wishing to put forth the very best parts for the world to see. Emma hid far more parts of herself than she cared to admit, but it had all been a means of survival. If she wanted to be respected, she couldn't be seen as dainty or feminine. If she wanted people to take her seriously, to believe that she could serve in a leadership position, she had to conceal the gentler, more romantic sides of herself.

“And what about you, John? What parts do you hide away from the world?” Lightly, she traced her finger in circles across his chest, hoping to tease out some sort of secret from him. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

“Is that your way of asking me to stop kissing you?”

Benjamin snorted, his lips quirking incredulously. "I never beg, nor do I surrender anything, Miss Dunster -- not even to you. Though admittedly..." Here, he watched her beneath low lashes, suppressing a shudder as her breath tickled his mouth. "You are putting up a very valiant effort."

Fool! he thought. Was this not the perfect opportunity to sever all ties? To push Emma away rather than yank her in closer? This would only end in the most violent of tragedies, and yet he was willingly barreling headfirst into the abyss.

I'm sorry, he wished to beg, but instead, he brushed his lips over her forehead, soothing himself with the stability of her presence.

“I guess that’s fair," Emma hummed, "but don’t think I’ll forget what you said. My mind is an iron trap, Bolton.”

Despite his nerves, Benjamin snorted. "From what I've gathered, your mouth is an iron trap too," he teased.

Admittedly, Emma's question took him aback. "I haven't felt forced into this, if that's what you're implying," he cautiously treaded, "but...it is a new experience for me. I've never...I-I've never felt this much for anyone before." His face heated beneath her gaze, and he swallowed, his throat bobbing reflexively. "I have no way to contain it."

The air felt stale between them, and Benjamin remained deathly still, almost afraid to reach out to touch, to take, lest she shatter beneath his palms and evade him just as she had in his never-ending nightmares.

“Since we’re confessing our deceit, I’ve never been with a man, either."

Benjamin hesitated at that, his brow furrowing.

Emma seemed to misunderstand his response. "I know, it's quite shocking, but it’s true.”

"I don't think you're a harlot," he lowly said, his gaze softening as he cupped her cheek. "I never have."

“I’ve kissed boys before. Before now, that is. But I’ve never taken one to bed myself. Though, I suppose I never realized how easy it was to do.”

Her fingers stroked along his jaw, careful and slow -- far more gently than a woman of her fire and ice tended to exhibit -- and yet Benjamin found himself melting into her touch.

"What can I say? I'm rather easy to please," he murmured, kissing the pad of her thumb as it swept across his mouth.

“So much for your hedonistic harlot, huh? It seems neither of us have really shown our true selves.”

He froze at that, his spine growing rigid. True selves... Was that something he could possibly grasp at this point in his life? Could Benjamin ever go back to the man he once was, or had the war eradicated the boy he'd been, and merely devoured him and spit out a man?

"I...I think it's human nature to wish to conceal our very worst parts," he carefully offered. "But Emma, if this is your absolute worst, then perhaps you should consider the monastery." His lips quirked into a wry smile at his quip, but his heart thundered like horse hooves against cobblestone. He was a liar, a blackguard, and he had no idea how to justify such a thing in her eyes.

#emma dunster ( interactions ).#queuely beloved #honorhearted #long post

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feral-embrocations · 11 months ago

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Shoot and Interview in i-D - Italy - 2021

Makeup and styling by me, shoot by Gloria Moreno and Kumpaw

"" Whats you're inspiration? Once upon a time there was a young jester, serving the king of highest kingdoms in all northern lands. The old king had accused the jester of attempted poisoning, so the jester was banished from the kingdom for eternity. The jester ran out into the woods, despite the devastating blizzard that ruled the terrain, and it didn't last long until the young gent was now lost in the forest. - and not just any forest- These were the northern forests where wild wolves, grey foxes and packs lynx reigned with carnivorous manners. The jester ought to use his mutability, intellect and creativity to survive. After several years in the company of the sacred critters of dark woodlands, deep swamps and deserted hills, the jester returned to the castle. It was dirtier than any court lady’s worst nightmare, trotting on all fours directly towards the big gate. It left a trail of mud along the endless hallways and finally reached the ballroom.

The king got an utter shock at the sight of the tattered jester, who to the king's surprise, was only wearing frayed bloomers, and a tattered shirt that once was white and rugged hunting tools dangling from a rope belt. The king couldn't hide his rage and demanded the jester to be immediately executed despite his former fondness with the adolescent. The ferocious jester eyes were bright and deep, as he purred with spite against the throne. He had not returned for the mere sake of enshacklement, but rather to warn the emperor that a painful change was about to submerge within the golden walls. It was as if an irreversible bestial essence had infested the jester. It’s fast paws swiftly jumped to hide behind a statue as the princess walked in. She caught only a glimpse of the savage creature, sensing something familiar about him. Twilight was approaching and the jester’s plan was almost complete.

The king’s army followed by a herd of angry villagers had scattered in search of the felon, “Dead or alive” shouted the king. The princess laid in her room, thinking how the jester could seem so different and odd… . At the break of dawn, it sneaked into the princess’ dorm, lurking behind the velour drapes, glimpsing the beautiful princess as she was sleeping. She awoke from the sounds of fumbling across the room and saw two yellow eyes flickering. She was frightened, though curious. She approached it, and the now gentle jester hunched its back and she caressed the brown and humid fur. She remembered how her dreams of escape had faded when the jester was banished a long time ago, but before her next breath, the jester had a tight grip around her waist and splintering glass flew to all sides as it jumped out the castle window. She clenched its warm body, awaiting to accompany the wild jester on ferocious travels through the forest, hunting down sensuous secrets, notorious nests, hazardous holes, deistic discharge, sizzling skin, and leaky landscapes.

How do you identify?

As for many queer people I have been sexualized and objectified to a point where it is hard for me to differ between my own life path and sexuality, and the one that’s expected from me. I find strength when I find the representation that mainstream media won’t allow me to see, that shows me how literally any gender identity and sexuality is so real and valid (recently through alt-/trans- & black-tik tok) and how you can NEVER assume someone’s gender from how they present themselves.

Through identifying myself as nonbinary, I came to realize how I am more nuanced than they thought I was, and that I am the only one who can give myself permission to channel any form of masculinity/femininity/alienlike/childlike/bossy/bimbo/submissive/dominant/animalistic/dirty/scattered/spiritually/wholesome vibe I feel like, at any given moment. It is a lifelong journey to break up with the internalized white capitalist patriarchy, which deems me to choose one path that I should rigidly live up to, instead of seeing myself as a fluid, everchanging energy that grows into new per(/fur-)sonas all the time. - Being able to see people as they want to be seen, requires a willingness to listen and understand, on their terms.

I believe that the binary is a made up construct (also biologically, yes) that EVERYONE suffers from, so in this construct I feel most comfortable identifying as queer, nonbinary, pansexual, polyamourous, switch, bdsm-furry/hunter-lover, who will never limit myself and obey to what society told me is romantic, beautiful, attractive and ambitious. I am a victim of the cistem (as everyone is), therefor I must try my best to unlearn every toxic trait it told me, by loving myself unconditionally and with that comes the shame and guilt of acknowledging that I am capable of being predatory and offensive. Therefore, especially as white queer, it’s mine and our responsibility to find the knowledge we weren’t taught, about consent, boundaries, white supremacy, colonialism, racism, queer history and intersectional feminism. A journey I will encourage everyone to join. I can assure you it’s painful but even more so, freeing, interesting and euphoric.

From Levi <333

(note: I'm wearing an fly whisk in my belt found at the recycle station which I wouldn't wear today, knowing it is used in a number of diferrent cultures that are not mine for ceremonial purposes among other)

#leviathanfurtiliuswritings #leviathanfurtiliusmodel

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casspurrjoybell-27 · 1 year ago

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Moving Forward - Chapter 36

*Warning Adult Content*

Frozen

At Max's side, Kyle was becoming a force to be reckoned with, Max's hold on his fur the only reason he hadn't already leapt onto the porch but it was... so clearly a trap.

********

They'd been watching for a least five minutes, the rain doing its best to drown them and the cherry scent was strongest here... but there was no sign of anyone being here.

No brainwashed wolves guarding the area, nor any movement inside the house.

A laugh carried on the wind.

High and feminine, the familiarity of it had Max's teeth grinding.

The rumble of a growl vibrated through Max's tight fist but no real sound escaped Kyle.

Lara's laugh was only a harbinger, timed perfectly to set them on edge.

There was no clear source, it came from no direction.

In front and behind, both loud and faint, it sounded as if it came straight out of a horror film.

So she could do more than just make scentless zombies.

Good to know, but Max would've preferred to have the info earlier.

They should just go, just back out and recover.

Do some recon, get more on their enemies other than the fact that one had some kind of magic ability on some unknown scale and the other was the boss.

God, what a shit-show but Kyle wouldn't, he'd never allow Finn to be their hostage without good cause and according to Kyle, no cause was good enough to leave him behind and Max agreed.

He did but he was also selfish.

Kyle leaving Max here to get Finn back was the best option but that wouldn't happen either.

"Kyle..." he started but was cut off by another bout of laughter.

*********

"Thinking of running Maxie?" Lara voice was taunting.

"You know the odds aren't good. What? You'd rather get your mate to safety than his little brother? What kind of monster are you?"

Max scoffed.

Sure, she knew him but Kyle knew better.

Sowing dissent wouldn't work with them.

Kyle's gold eyes met his and Max could tell that he didn't believe one word coming out of her mouth.

That was enough for Max.

They were getting nowhere hiding in the bushes.

Un-holstering his Glock, he swept the area and crept forward, Kyle crouched and following behind.

What an odd pair they probably made.

When the guns came out, Max was usually the one shifted.

Reversing the roles had a weird effect.

Like sitting in the chair to the left the one he'd been assigned, unsettling... another tilt.

********

The PTSD was setting in with a force that had Max wondering if Kyle had always been a part of his team.

He gave hand signals, letting Kyle know that the enemy hadn't yet been spotted before he remembered that Kyle had never been taught them.

Lara giggled, ominous and clear.

The porch door was open.

No sign of forced entry other than the wicker chairs being strewn about the garden.

Inside was a different story.

Blankets were piled in the corners.

Furniture shoved aside.

Even the fluffy rug had been flung behind the breakfast bar.

Max felt himself tense up at the mess they had made, that he'd no doubt be required to clean up.

Wolves blocked every entrance, any angle of escape covered and there, in the middle of the chaos, was Lara.

Surprise streaked through Max at the sight of Gillespie, though he shouldn't have been.

"Gun down, please," Gillespie said, tone annoyingly cordial but as chilled as it was the last time Max had heard him speak.

Max kept his gun pointed at the man's chest.

"Fine," Gillespie merely waved a hand.

Finn appeared in Lara's arms, tears streaming down his face and chest heaving with sobs.

"Kyle," he screamed, kicking Lara in the shin to break out in a run.

He almost succeeded, almost ploughed right into Kyle's dense fur but between one blink and another, he was back in Lara's grasp, her face... sad.

"Max... put the gun down," her gaze seemed to bore a hole in him.

Max holstered it.

"Lara."

"Now now, I'm the orchestrator of all this," Gillespie drew their attention back to him.

"And I've got demands."

Kyle growled.

"See? This is why it should've been you in human form. At least then we could negotiate. As is, you either agree or you die," Gillespie's smile was gleaming, pure white with sharp pointed teeth, Max's were bigger.

"You're going ta renounce the title of Alpha and bequeath it to me," he shrugged.

"The Evergreen Rivers pack is mine."

The same shade of sun-kissed blonde, pretty blue eyes and the light brow with the Roman nose, delicate on Lara but proud on Gillespie.

"You really are related," Max muttered.

"You know what happens," she smiled but it was angry,

"When a witch and a wolf make a baby? You get one or the other. It's all hereditary and when Gillespie's father died, he came ta us."

"It's a shame he's a dud," Max said, knowing that Gillespie wouldn't like it.

"I reckon we could do with a pause, Lara."

"Coming right up," she lilted and just like that... the world froze.

********

Kyle's paws no longer padded in restless anger.

Finn's chest was suspended in a broken hiccup and Max... was fine.

Stepping away from the frightened child, Lara was grinning.

"You see my power?"

Tilting... Tilting... Tilting.

She was talking but all Max could hear was gunfire.

Pinned down by the enemy, unable to do anything.

Trapped behind enemy lines with no one coming to save them.

The men beside him frozen in fear.

It was nothing like this situation but the moments merged as if they were the same.

It didn't make sense, the forced stillness here to the overwhelming chaos there but it might well have been.

He wasn't there... Max wasn't back in Afghanistan.

Body flushing, hot and cold, he wondered if he should've been listening but he couldn't.

All Max could do was stare as he recognised the powerless position he'd put them in.

Lara's power hadn't touched his body but his mind was trapped.

Rage, absolute fucking rage.

How dare she?

This woman came into his life pretending at friendship and she turns around and does this?

Lara lured him into trusting her and she thought it was okay to toy with him like this?

Magic tricks and spells worked to hold Kyle and Finn but Max knew his body was fine.

It was his mind, it was all in his head.

The noise, the distortion, the inability to distinguish the past from the present.

Weakness, this was a weakness and they were exploiting it.

Did they even know they were doing it?

Max could use that ignorance.

Wading through his PTSD back to the surface, all he'd have to do was wait for the right moment and hope that his limbs obeyed him.

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samael-i-am · 3 years ago

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to be a boy

trans hunter week day one - childhood (@rqmdae)

He’d always had a strange sense of dislocation, when it came to his body and his place in the world.

He wasn’t sure when it started - he couldn’t remember much from his childhood, nothing at all before that moment kneeling in charred ashes, his uncle’s hand caressing his shoulder, not even the barest glimpse of a memory before gilded gauntlets curled around his arm. It was just- always sort of there, that odd disconnected sense of different-ness, of wrongness, a little creeping feeling that made his skin crawl and had him tug on the collars of his shirts so they were all baggy in the front and no-one could see his chest. It wasn’t so bad when he was in uniform, body shielded by a thick white cloak, but when he attended the Emperor in his thin cotton shirt and black trousers, there was nothing for him to hide in, phantom eyes tracing the curves of his body that he hated.

He was a girl - he should be a girl, the Emperor told him he was a girl, and didn’t the man who gave him his life know best? Still, he took a strange, secret glee in thinking of himself as a boy, and sometimes he would take wrappings from his first-aid kit and bandage his chest, only out of curiosity, of course, but he felt a perverse sort of pleasure in it, heart beating like he’d won a race. Sometimes, when he was alone, he would hum deep in his chest, and delight in the way it lowered his voice like so many of the other scouts. At some point, he’d begun thinking of himself as a he instead of a she, an inexplicable train of thought that he couldn’t quite shake away, and it jarred him to hear the soft edges of words he no longer thought in terms of whenever someone addressed him.

A few months ago, Kikimora had sat him down with a few books on his ‘changing body,’ and with a long-suffering look to her eye, told him to consult them if he had any questions about things. She had been rather vague about what things entailed. He had read the books cover to cover, some more than once, a horrible revulsion at the images of female witch’s bodies settling in his gut - he did not want that, did not, that was not what he wanted to happen to him, and no matter what he did, it was going to happen anyways. And happen it did - slowly, at first, more padding to his hips, his thighs, his chest - and then it felt as if one day he had woken up, and his body was merely a puppet that he sat inside, something not meant for him, dancing miserably on its strings. It was wrong.

He thought about what life would be like, sometimes, if he were a boy. If his uncle would still comment dryly on the spare curves of his body, in a way that Hunter knew he proved unsatisfactory in this measure, too. Once, when his uncle had been in a good mood, he asked what his name would have been, had he been born a boy. Hunter, his uncle had said, so simple and easy, without a moment’s second thought. Hunter. The name felt rough around the edges, a glove with a lumpy hem, but he took it for his own, when he lay in his bed late at night. Hunter. He wrapped himself in its embrace, and imagined what Hunter might be doing - if Hunter would be more pleasing to Belos than he was, the nephew to take his father’s place instead of a gangly niece with soft cheeks and fat in all the wrong places.

It all came to a head the day he found dark spots of blood in his underwear, the day where the world seemed to collapse - the day, according to Kikimora’s books, that he became a woman, a concept so foreign to him that for a while all he could do was stare at the mess in his pants and hiccup desperately, not quite crying. A woman - Head Witch Terra was a woman, he thought, and Lilith Clawthorne, but him? He was a square peg in that round hole, and he couldn’t shave his edges down to make himself fit. He had to do - something, anything, because suddenly even the barest hint of femininity was something so unbearable it was like a knife to the chest.

He’d never kept his hair long, as a matter of practicality, but it still hung far enough down his head that he could tie it in a tail. That day, in the barrack bathroom, he took his pocket knife and sawed off his blonde locks so that they lay like tiny, wind-curled leaves on the grubby tile floor. When he was done, his hair lay ragged and uneven on the back of his head, and his scalp prickled when he ran his hand along it, and he still looked like a girl, really, but he felt- better. Not good, but better.

He wore a uniform for most of his day, of course, and no one saw what he had done until he attended the Emperor late that evening. Anxiety had eaten away at him with each passing hour - he had never been told how to do his hair, other than to keep it manageable, but his uncle did not take kindly to surprises of this short. Still, the deed was done, and there was nothing he could do but wait.

Wordlessly, he had taken off his mask and hood, and stared at the Emperor’s feet, head bowed underneath the man’s masked gaze. Neither said a word, for a moment, and then something forced its way out of his chest.

“Uncle, I- I don’t think I’m a girl,” he said quietly, eyes glued to the floor.

“Is that right?” He nodded cautiously. “Look at your betters when you speak.” He raised his head, and hunched his shoulders against the Emperor’s cold-eyed stare. “Are you a boy, then?” He wasn’t sure what laced his uncle’s voice, but it was eerily, distinctly unfamiliar. Excitement? Maybe he had been right, that being a girl was unsatisfactory, and his uncle had merely been waiting for him to make the right choice all along.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” the Emperor said slowly, thoughtfully, in the way one regarded a pleasant but unexpected piece of news. “Let us see what there is to be done about that.”

#thank GOD i had something to pull out of my drafts for this oh my god #trans hunter always on my mind fr fr #*slaps hunter* this bad boy can fit SO many trans headcanons #the owl house #toh #hunter the golden guard #toh hunter #the golden guard #the owl house season two #hunter the owl house #hunter toh #the owl house hunter #toh fanfic #the owl house fanfiction #transgender #trans hunter week

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iobartach · 3 months ago

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Solving a problem by throwing money at it had been a problem he'd seen his father employee numerous times, and with a substantially higher rate of success. Playing that same card now had appeared to earn Miguel a figurative black eye, soon to be paired with a real one if the jarring manner in which his hair was seized and his neck was forced backwards served as any indication. He'll need to use a different approach.

Poised to respond, before his jaw moves to form an answer, a disturbance spreads through his captor's ranks, chomping at the bit for a slice of the monetary remedies he was poised to dole out. All written in Tyler's name, rather than his own, but the instructions he had received were clear and left no room for doubt; take care of this mess before it made the evening's news bulletins.

"They're right, you know." Adding fuel to the fire that was beginning to spark under John's feet, he went on to stress; "I came here with no ill intentions. And though you might not like my employer, unlike them, I only wish to help." At risk of overselling his apparent generosity, Miguel's tactic was soon rewarded with a few "Yeah! That's true!" claims and "Leave him alone, John!" shout. Ingratiating himself with those not willing to beat him bloody felt like a low branch to reach for, but given current conditions, it felt like the shortest route to a favourable resolution.

A plan that seemed to work until it suddenly didn't, as faced with the glint of steel, Miguel's eyes widen suddenly, a hint of scarlet mingling with mahogany hues before subsiding again. So much for trying to avoid violence. "Safe passage is what you're requesting then?" Gaze shifts, moving slowly from face to face before eventually settling upon the blond again. The same man that, mere moments prior, he had contemplated overthrowing, before changing his mind.

Then, with a bang, and the residual stench of burnt sulphur, all prior disagreements are put to rest, control shifting away from the dissents to the man in charge. For how much longer that will last backslides all of a sudden into unknown territory, for almost instantly, he knows that feminine scream, and what it tends to indicate; attack. Not good for business.

And yet, with danger potentially closing in, rather than unite, further divisions are seen to play out before his own eyes, the blond being jostled and pushed aside, before clawing back room with the wild brandishing of his gun. The tide was beginning to turn against the man, and yet, instead of trying to calm, he options for... release.

Ropes sliced, Miguel draws in his arms to protect his chest as he motions to stand, a leveraging of immense height, done at a slanted angle, that sees him brusquely form his own circle of space he presses against the scrambling clutch of survivors like a web. For their part, the man that asked had their leader cared about their families takes a tumble, knocked onto their rear as another terrifying chitter bounces along the tunnel's walls, growing louder, sounding hungry.

Something needed to be done, and, thus, left with little choice, Alchemax's geneticist silently nods as he accepts the hunting knife. It felt like an unnecessary accessory to wield, given his own claws, but seeing as he was in no position to expose his mutate status, an Infected that got lucky, rather than dead, just yet. Nor did he put more than a slight bit of human-equivalent effort into the run he breaks into as he follows after John's lead, heading for their zombie guests whilst orders were being tossed over shoulder for the others to hide and make themselves scarce.

"You sure about this?!" Not forgetting his place, a question is hastily asked of his new alley as Miguel steps within reach of a zombie, arm flicking outwards in a straight line as blade is brought to neck, severing skull and gnashing teeth from the rest of the undead person's body.

“huh! You think you can buy me?! How cute! But that’s where you’re wrong, boy!” he takes a step closer to fist a hand in those dark brown locks, forcing Miguel to bare his neck, looking directly up at John “my men are not to buy for the likes of you! We want something and we won’t let you go until we get it!”

One of the men standing in the room approaches Miguel cautiously “if.. if he’s paying, I want to hear how much?” John turns sharply to him, letting go of the man strapped to the chair “what the fuck are you doing?! Don’t listen to him, he’s lying!” his eyes wide, hands extended on either sides as if to insist on his point, pointing vaguely as he talks when he looks at his men “he’s using flourish words to trick you people! The second you step out of here, you’re dead! Your families-“

“-why you care about our families, John?” another man interrupts him, crossing his arms as he takes a step closer, face daring their leader “you don’t have a family, you aren’t even married! How we can trust you not to put our kids and wives in danger? You can put all men here in danger!”

“who even put you in charge?!” another one yells and the men tighten the circle around John and Miguel by stepping even closer, some of them even draw their knives “boys! If that foreigner says he can give us money, then we can kill him and go out to capture more of them!”

“we can kill him and still blackmail his friends outside!” someone says with maniac excitement. John backs off, reaches for his own gun “YOU IDIOTS! I’ve been working for these companies! It’s not the way, let us just take the families out of the city and get away from this place!” this is going down faster than what he anticipated. He draws his handgun and shoots one bullet up toward the ceiling. The men stop prowling toward him.

“I want what’s the best for you, people! I want out, too! okay?! And I know some of you need money but.. believe me, men like him, corporates are always lying!” he screeches, trying really hard to convince them but nothing happens..

Suddenly a feminine scream pierces through the space around them and all heads turn to where their shelters are, at the end of the tunnel where leads to where the rest of their group is..

“oh God..” can it be zombies who found a way inside?! He rushes to part the crowd and run to help but another man pushes at him, sends him on his back on the dirty floor near their hostage’s chair. “omphf!” he pulls himself up, pointing the gun toward the men who were just about to jump on him “BACK OFF!” the hand holding the gun trembles slightly. He doesn’t waste the time to cut the rope of Miguel as he pulls himself up. “I’ll regret it but I need help to protect those people in shelter..” he mumbles to the man, handing him the only other weapon he has, the hunting knife.

#homelanderrpblog #verse; domhan ionfhabhtaithe #*shows up late with coffee*#ty! lemme see what i can do with these npcs :D #long post

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