#so it can mean ‘reflection’ or even ‘shadow’ or ‘silhouette’

[abyssus-aeterna]

汝よ、くたばれ。反敵意主義などもくたばれ。由無ければなり。

内なる月影の中を忍び寄る翳りたる惡しき者、

媒介者を沁み透り、唾に溶くる喰ひ捲りの素、

内向きの停止裝置惰性、外向きの單純象徵反轉、

内なる淡紫の靈氣によりて呼び出だされし暴れ癖、

許しは讓られ、果てし無き永久の醉ひに迷ひ込み、

彩やかなる氖の通ひ路を通り拔くる天圖り、

幽くなりたる靈氣ぞ、心に傷を負ふ夢幻を通して碎け散りたる。

切り裂かれて朱に塗られたる手首、黃泉に沈み込む總ての亡き魂。

[Classic transliteration]

Nare yo, kutabare. Fantekii syugi nado mo kutabare. Yosi nakereba nari. Uti naru tuki-kage no naka wo sinobi-yoru kageritaru asiki mono, Baikai-sya wo simi-tofori, tuba ni tokuru kufi-makuri no moto, Uti-muki no teisi saũti daseĩ, soto-muki no tanjun syaũtyoũ hanten, Uti naru afa-murasaki no reĩki ni yorite yobi-idasaresi abare-kuse, Yurusi wa yudurare, fate si naki tofa no yofi ni mayofi-komi, Azayaka naru newon no kayofi-di wo tofori-nukuru ama-fakari, Kuraku naritaru reĩki zo, kokoro ni kizu wo ofu yume-maborosi wo tofosite kudake-tiritaru. Kirisakarete ake ni nuraretaru te-kubi, yomi ni sidumi-komu subete no naki tama.

[Modern transliteration]

Nare yo, kutabare. Hantekii shugi nado mo kutabare. Yoshi nakereba nari. Uchi naru tsuki-kage no naka wo shinobi-yoru kageritaru ashiki mono, Baikai-sha wo shimi-tōri, tsuba ni tokuru kui-makuri no moto, Uchi-muki no teishi sōchi dasei, soto-muki no tanjun shōchō hanten, Uchi naru awa-murasaki no reiki ni yorite yobi-idasareshi abare-kuse, Yurushi wa yuzurare, hate shi naki towa no yoi ni mayoi-komi, Azayaka naru neon no kayoi-ji wo tōri-nukuru ama-hakari, Kuraku naritaru reiki zo, kokoro ni kizu wo ou yume-maboroshi wo tōshite kudake-chiritaru. Kirisakarete ake ni nuraretaru te-kubi, yomi ni shizumi-komu subete no naki tama.

fuck you & fuck your anti-hostility principle, ain't mean nothing:

shaded demonic entity creeping through the inner moonlight,

seeping through vectors & dissolving in saliva, binge material,

inward killswitch inertia & outward simple symbol inversions,

violent minded tendencies summoned by inner violet auras,

permission delegated, lost in endless perpetual intoxication,

celestial mapping through the vivid neon shaded hallways,

darkened aura, shattered through these traumatic visions;

wrists slit & slick with vermilion, all lost souls sink below.

[todoriin]

adore me, hold me and explore me | moze x afab!reader

18+ NSFW, MDNI or i will delete your account, vanilla ass sex, no established relationship, obsessive themes from moze, cunnilingus, p in v, porn no plot

Being Feixiao’s closest advisor means you get to experience various interesting interactions.

Since joining her ranks, you feel as though you’ve lived through countless lifetimes, consulting and strategising with her and Jiaoqiu against formidable foes and expansive armies. You’ve seen the Merlin’s Claw swing her blade and slash countless enemies in half, learnt medicinal techniques from Jiaoqiu that may cure simple illnesses, like the common cold. 

However, the most interesting soul, without a double, is a certain Shadow Guard of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, one you have the pleasure of working with most intimately. Figuratively and… literally.

There’s a creak coming from the windows of your bedroom, the hinges wincing softly as they’re pushed open gently but too wide to be an action of the wind. At this stage, you’re no longer surprised by the stealthiness of the intruder, after all, you had purposefully left the windows open, waiting for the moment an intruder who could coat himself with invisibility would show up. 

Besides, it’s nearing dusk, he promised he’d visit then. 

“Good evening, Moze,” you greet, back turned to him as you look in the mirror, swiping balm over your lips before puckering them. 

A breath of satisfaction leaves you when he finally materialises before you, purple haze clouding out around his silhouette, revealing the usual, skin-tight attire he opts for daily. It’s a shade you’ve grown to love now, seeing it everyday (and taking it off for him a few times a week).

“You look nice,” he comments, words curt but sweet. 

You omit to tell him that you didn’t doll up because you doubt he’ll live longer with that information. “Thank you,” is all you say, smiling up at his reflection. Then, a cold hand comes up to your neck, fingers resting over your pulse as he traces your skin, eventually snaking back to fix your hair.

“The lipstick you wore today also looked nice,” he mumbles, meeting your gaze with his piercing one. 

You turn around in your vanity stool, swinging your legs over to the other side of the seat as you look up at him. His hands move up slightly to cup your jaw, indiscernible eyes gently admiring your features as you look up at him. Here, in your home, he can unwind, a skilled assassin let in to a haven too safe for him and the blood on his hands.

That’s why you’re perfect for him, because you know how to slice a man’s neck and leave him begging for more.

“Did you like it, Moze?”

He’s silent as ever, opting to just play with the strands of your hair. There are moments when Moze is silent because he does not wish to speak, but there are always thoughts circulating in that head of his, you realised that a year into the job when he started providing a sarcastic retort whenever he could. This time he’s silent because he doesn’t know how to respond, rendered speechless as you blink up at him. 

It’s an honour to render a man like him speechless, but you still want to have your fun.

“So quiet, I’ll take it as a no?” You ask, rising from your chair and walking past him. An arm snakes itself around your waist before you could get too far, tugging you right back against the chest of the Shadow Guard. “Use your words, Moze.”

“There are no words worthy enough to describe your beauty.”

Your mouth drops slightly as a sudden shyness creeps up your expression, an uncontrollable smile that you can’t hide behind your hands tugging on your lips. “Smooth talker,” you retort, pushing his chest lightly, but he hardly budges. 

You’re used to being the one to initiate all the conversations, as well as ending them.

“The day must have been treacherous. I’ll make some refreshments for you.”

Just as you turn to go downstairs, he’s once again tugging you back against him. This time, he leads you to the edge of the bed where he sits down with you standing between his legs, now a head shorter than you. Your positions have switched, now it is you running your fingers along the hood he keeps on his head, looking down into his multi-coloured eyes.

“No need for any of those,” he denies, “I am well.”

“Are you sure? No tea, snacks?”

“I have no desire for any of those, only you.”

You look away from him, bashful from his flirtatious words that he says in that serious tone of his. Seriously, how can he say that with a straight face?

“Okay, fine. You can have me,” you mutter and a phantom of a smile appears on his expression, eyes glimmering when you finally give him the indication he’s been waiting for. The thin strap of your top is being dragged down your shoulder and you shudder when he hovers a ghost of a kiss over your pulse point, getting flustered when you then feel him smile against your skin. “Please don’t tease.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” in an instant, your chest is bared to him and his hands creep up to explore the expanse of your body, touch gentle but purposeful, as if he was sculpting your curves himself, careful not to ruin you with any rogue or unwelcome grazes. “I’ll reap what’s mine.”

Then, he yanks your shorts off and cups the back of your thighs. A yelp leaves your lips when he suddenly switches you around so that you are now sat on the edge of the bed, and he, awaiting on his knees before you with hungry eyes.

There’s no time to think because all of a sudden, his mouth is on you, infiltrating your most sensitive part and the whimper that leaves you cannot be held back. You don’t know when your leg got on his shoulder, but it grants him more access as his tongue licks up a slow, torturous swipe up your entrance. 

“Moze!” You exclaim, legs twitching as if trying to kick him away, but he immediately holds you down you, an arm wrapping around your thigh to keep you there. 

You’re his target after all, he won’t stop until he’s through with you.

“Be good and take it,” he says against you, pressing a kiss to your clit before sucking and you gulp at the sensation as filthy sounds fill the atmosphere. No matter how many close nights you’ve experienced together, you’ll never get sick of him, grip inhumanely tight to keep you still as you beg for mercy, but the feeling of his mouth is too sweet to push away. The apex of his tongue circles the nub as his spare hand crawls up, collecting the slick from your entrance before two fingers intrude, breaching your walls. 

When he curls them, you know you’re done for, falling against the mattress to try and deal with the onslaught of pleasure that Moze knows how to inflict. It keeps coming in waves and waves, and neither his fingers or tongue lets up. You didn’t even realise you were crying until you felt tears drop down your face and onto the sheets. 

He’s pumping into you, briefly curling and scissoring his fingers, and his ministrations on your clit go from suckling to tracing shapes with the bud; a cruel torture that eventually results in a buildup of tension in your lower abdomen. 

You warn him about your incoming orgasm with a shrill cry of his name and a babble of words that loosely resembles a sentence, and the only thing he says in response is:

“Let go, pretty.”

So you do, mind becoming cloudy, hazed with nothing but the feeling of pleasure. Moze has now swapped his mouth and fingers, tongue lapping up everything you give him, licking you clean whilst his thumb rubs your clit in circles, trying to prod more out of you; a routine choreographed for your demise.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your core, letting you come down from the high as he presses a few kisses up your stomach. 

His hawkish eyes watches as your expression untwists itself, no longer contorted by overwhelming pleasure. He can’t help the way his gaze then drifts to your chest, how it rises and falls hurriedly, still trying to regain your breath after he stole it. 

Your reverie is interrupted when you feel his tongue licking your entrance once again, folds pulled back by his fingers to bare more of you, and your nerves flinch at the sensation of pleasure enhanced to the maximum. “Moze! Stop!”

He obeys, pulling away immediately, serious expression unchanged save for the little glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time,” he gruffly promises. 

Wrapping both of your thighs around his waist, you’re maneuvred further up your mattress by the assassin, completely helpless in his grip as he moves you however he wants. You would not have wanted him to stop anyways. 

Nimble hands shed his clothes and you unabashedly admire the sight between your legs, eyes so brave to wander across a scarred body that none others will get to lay their eyes upon. You trace the curve of his defined torso, how the shadows and light dance along the crevices, enhancing his already-impressive muscles. You leisurely run your gaze further down, following his abs to his cock.

Red and leaking with precum. 

It was intimidating when you first came face-to-face with it, and whilst you’re still impressed by his size, he’s taken care of you through the process every time, walking you through the pain and adaptations whilst being completely patient with you.

You want to prepare and take care of him like he had with you, so without thinking, you reach out and begin stroking him exactly how he likes it and a grunt passes by his lips, composure faltering ever so slightly.

There is no other Moze would bare himself like this to and, as a sign of his own twisted desires, he wants you to think the same of him. He wants you in ways he cannot justify, especially the part of himself that drips with violent and obsessive tendencies.

Should he get too close, he fears he will devour you when neither of you are expecting it.

Although, recently it seems that Moze allows himself to indulge in pleasures that he hadn’t permitted before, and as his hand wraps around your wrist to stop your ministrations, he can’t help but smile at the small pout that graces your lips. Rubbing his erection along your cunt, your slick coats his underside whilst his hand leisurely travels around your torso. Your supple skin hasn’t seen the severities of the battlefield, hasn’t fought and handled the brutality of men and blades like he has; the distinction between the two of you almost makes him seem like a monster.

A monster who wants to hide you from the darkness in which he lives in. 

“What are you grinning at?” You ask from under him.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, lowering his face to yours to press delicate kisses on your skin and you shift impatiently, eyelashes fluttering and hands clenching into fists. 

He notices the subtle action, takes it as sign of desperation that he wants to devour and dissolve into his veins, as if keeping a part of you with him forever. Aligning his cockhead with your entrance, your moan is unrestrained when he finally breaches your walls.

Slowly, Moze bottoms out, hands holding your hips to press you flush against him as you squirm. He doesn’t mind the way you wriggle around trying to adjust to his thickness and length, he’ll patiently hover above you, pressing soothing kisses along your face whilst staying as still as a shadow.

Even as your walls twitch and clench, he doesn’t budge, refusing to move until you are ready for him to. In a way, being connected with you like this makes him feel closer to you, and it brings a sense of peace that he cannot find elsewhere.

You are the source of it, the centrepiece of all his desires and he cannot swallow you down anymore. 

“I’m okay now,” you whimper.

He reels his hips back, almost pulling out before slamming right back into you and you cry loudly. “You sure?”

“More, Moze, please don’t be cruel to me.”

Cruel? He wouldn’t dream of it.

Setting a bearable pace, the room is filled with a cacophony of moans and continuous ‘plap, plap, plap’s of skin meeting skin. You are still the centre of his vision, eyes hardly straying away from your expression and body, keenly watching every microreaction of yours. He notices the way you shut your eyes tighter when he angles a particular way, cock breaching the most sensitive but pleasurable parts of you. 

It’s insatiable, his appetite for you. The only thing he wants to do is bring you to endless highs, over, and over, and over again.

Gradually, his pace speeds up over time, violating your insides with the neverending push-and-pull. Every time his hips snap back to meet yours, cock buried to the hilt, you feel the strands of your sanity slipping away. All you can do is babble his name and whimpers of how good he feels, hands reaching blindly for any part of him that you can hold.

He dives right into your open touch, torso leaning down to now hover directly over yours and the added heat of his body temperature makes you feel even more lucid. His shoulders are so broad, the planes of his chest defined, and stomach so toned that it drives you insane with desire; added with his precise strokes and thick cock, you don’t ever want him to leave. You don’t ever want him to stop. 

“Moze-” his lips are pressed against yours, swallowing the moan of his name and every other small noise you make as his member relentlessly spears you. 

He kisses you again and again, never straying too far, but parting often to let you catch your breath. 

“Moze, I’m-” you cry out in between kisses, “I’m gonna-!”

“Me too,” he gruffly responds, “relax for me, you’re clenching too hard.”

His words have the opposite effect because next thing you know, you’re cumming again, spasming around his cock as his strokes try to lure more out of you, draining you for all you’re worth. When you’re done, all of your nerves are fried, limbs weak and unable to hold themselves up for long without any support, but Moze hasn’t come yet, so all you can do is take his desperate and hurried strokes as he catches up to the last bit of pleasure.

Then, he comes to a halt whilst hot ropes gush into your cunt as he twitches inside you. Suddenly, his teeth latch on to the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

You catch your breath in unison, waiting for him to finish completely before moving again, and when the final load is emptied, he’s capturing your lips in a kiss again. It’s hot, and your muscles feel like jelly, but he’s still desperate for more of you despite being as humanly close as possible. 

So, only moments after both of you have descended from the peak, he begins moving again, gently shushing any of your protests with a light kiss that breaks down your already weak defences. 

The squelches and plaps this time are obscene as he slowly eases in and out of you, grinding weakly whenever your walls twitch around him, but none of it is enough to quell his desire.

And he won’t stop until he has his fill. 

© todoriin 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: fingerf♡cking, dom/sub undertone, no established relationship, dub-con, f!reader, shadow f♡cking, power imbalance, gagging, bondage, asphyxiation, brat!reader, ♡verstimulation, alastor being a lil shit, b♡ndage, alastor makes reader into his lil b!tch lykyk

EXTRA WARNING: This is not a drabble. It is 3.9K words long.

Leaning back in your chair, you mirrored the unsettling grin that stretched across Alastor’s face. His grin, a sharp crescent of teeth, seemed to carve deeper into his cheeks. His eyes squinted just slightly – enough to glint with a darker, more ominous edge.  

You felt a spark of excitement ignite in your chest as you watched the subtle shift in his expression. It was a game to you now, one you’d become quite fond of.  

“My, my, I do feel awful that no one listens to your broadcasts anymore, Alastor,” you purred, your voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. You stretched your arms above your head lazily, as though you had all the time in the world.  

Ever since you’d come to the hotel, Charlie’s redemption exercises had left you with more downtime than you cared for, and boredom was your worse enemy. But now, you found entertainment in a much more thrilling pursuit – pushing the buttons of the ever-grinning, one and only, Radio Demon.  

A wicked thrill slithered down your spine when you noticed the faintest twitch of his left eye. His head tilted to the side, a glimmer of amusement – and perhaps annoyance – flickering behind his red-tinted gaze. He scoffed, the sound like static breaking through a radio, and muttered something about the “younger generation not appreciating the finer aspects of real entertainment.” 

As Alastor turned his head away, a shadowy movement caught your eyes. His shadow, usually a perfect reflection of him, rippled as if caught in a breeze that wasn’t there.  

And then…it shifted.  

The once-stoic silhouette frowned, its mass shrinking, folding in on itself like a chastised child. It looked almost…sad.  

Oh? Now, this was interesting.  

You’d never teased Alastor about his powers before, but this might just be the perfect opportunity. The idea of seeing him drop that ever-present, smug grin sent a delightful jolt of pleasure through you. Leaning forward, your grin spread wider, more mischievous than before.  

“You know, Alastor, I’ve noticed something quite fascinating about you. Your powers…quite the spectacle, aren’t they? Shadow magic, if I’m not mistaken?” You tilted your head, watching him intently.  

To your amusement, Alastor perked up at your words, his chest puffing out slightly, and a proud look took over his expression. He casually inspected his nails, playing into the flattery. “Ah, yes, indeedy! My abilities are rather unique – far beyond the capabilities of any other demon’s magic, I dare say –“ 

“It’s a pretty lame power,” you interrupted, smirking as you blew a raspberry. “I mean, shadow magic? Really? I’ve seen cooler tricks at a children’s birthday party.” You glanced pointedly at his shadow, which now seemed to shrink even more, trying to hide behind Alastor’s body. “Honestly, the TV demon has way better power. You ever see the stuff he can do? Now that’s impressive.” 

Alastor froze, and in that instant, the surrounding air grew thick and heavy. The room itself seemed to fall under a strange, unnatural stillness. Before you could blink, something cold and slick snapped across your lips, silencing you of any further quips. Your eyes widened as you struggled to move, but your limbs were no longer yours to command. Invisible tendrils of force held you pinned to the chair, your body stiff and unyielding. 

Alastor’s grin widened, impossibly so, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a low, vibrating hum that echoed through your mind.  

“My dear,” he cooed, leaning in just enough for you to feel the pressure of his very presence, “there are some games you don’t want to play with me.” 

You squirmed from the invisible restraint that rendered you mute and powerless. 

“What was that, dear?” Alastor’s voice dripped with venomous amusement; his eyes gleamed with a malicious red glint. His grin, too wide, illuminated in a sickly yellow glow, casting eerie shadows across his sharp features. Slowly, methodically, he tilted his head to the side, the crack of his neck echoing through the room like the snap of a dry twig underfoot.  

Your heart leapt in your chest, but you tried to maintain your composure. Glancing down at your hand, you noticed it trembling ever so slightly, a faint dark aura curling around your fingers like mist. When you looked back up, Alastor’s eyes were already locked on you, his grin didn’t falter, but the malice radiating from him was palpable, chilling the surrounding air.

“You’ve been so incredibly chatty before, and now…you’ve grown ever so silent!” His laugh was low, a dark melody of mockery as he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed as if savouring the moment. “I’m surprised that you chose now to listen to your better!” His voice lifted into a higher, mocking pitch, echoing through the room like a twisted lullaby.  

A grunt of frustration left your throat as you tried to move, but your body refused to respond. The invisible force binding you to the chair seemed to tighten, and then you felt it – a whisper of a touch against the curve of your neck. It was impossibly soft, like the brush of a feather, but it sent a jolt of electricity racing down your spine, igniting every nerve it grazed.  

You clenched your teeth, eyes fluttering shut, fighting the small pitiful whimper building in your throat. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing your weakness – specifically, your erogenous zone, more like.

Tensing your muscles, your desperately tried to suppress your whimper as it clawed its way up your throat. But the second his voice crackled to life, sharp and sinister, that resolve began to crumble.  

“Interesting.” 

The single word dripped with dark amusement, and your eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief. You stared at him, searching for answers in his glowing red eyes. Alastor grinned wider, basking in the silent panic flickering across your face.  

Before you could even process a single thought, you felt it again – that feather like touch, teasing just behind your ear. The cool, silky sensation slithered down the curve of your neck, and this time, there was no holding back the involuntary shudder that coursed through you. 

Your body betrayed you completely.  

As if the invisible binding loosened just enough, your lips were freed, but not in time to stop the soft, devastating moan that slipped past them. The sound hung in the air between you like a damning confession.  

“My, look at you,” Alastor purred, his voice a deep, honeyed tenor that sent a shiver of anticipation and want down your spine and penetrated into your core. Another caress – so gentle, so deliberate – skated across your hot, flushed skin. “Had I known this was all it took to get some peace and silence from you, I would have done it much sooner.” 

His words coiled around you, thick with smug satisfaction, as his eyes drank in the sight of your face contorting, torn between restraint and giving in to the sensations he was pulling from you.  

Summoning what little strength you had left, you glared at him through your lustful haze, the words, “fuck you,” barely managing to escape your trembling lips. The weak insult only seemed to heighten his amusement. His grin stretched wider, sharp teeth catching the dim light as he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with twisted delight.  

“You claimed my power was useless,” he murmured, his voice suddenly cold, authoritative. “So, I suppose a demonstration is in order.” 

The way he loomed over you, despite sitting across from you with his gaze unyielding made you feel like a student caught misbehaving under the stern gaze of a teacher. His impassive expression only weighed in on your feelings of helplessness.  

“I’ll pass–ahhnn!” Your feeble attempt to reject him was cut off, morphing into desperate gasps as those silky tendrils glided lower. They traced a slow, torturous path down your chest, brushing against the sensitive tips of your nipples. Your breath hitched as you squirmed in the chair, thighs trembling in a vain attempt to close your legs as you were sure the evidence of your desire was staining the inner centre of your pants. 

“Now, now,” he crooned, his words laced with an almost affectionate mockery. “We’ve only just begun!” 

Alastor’s laughter was pure and unadulterated as he declared with a flourish, “Honestly, I want you to feel comfortable around me, my dear!” His voice rang out boisterously, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, that same invisible force pried your legs apart.  

You gasped, the air escaping you in ragged pants as the sensations assaulting your body intensified. The thick, musty air seemed to cling to your overheated skin, and every nerve felt as though it was ablaze, ignited by the unseen force caressing you. Your lips trembled as you bit down hard, trying – desperately – to stifle the moans bubbling up from deep within. Yet, your traitorous body, the slick heat pooling between your thighs, betrayed you in ways you could no longer control.  

The unforgiving hardness of the chair beneath you did nothing to ease the ache throbbing at your core. It only heightened your frustration. Somehow, despite the layers of fabric still clinging to your skin, this mysterious, phantom touch seemed to bypass everything – touching you as though you were stripped bare.  

Your nipples, painfully hardened, were being rubbed and pinched in ways that had your breath catching, your chest heaving as tears of desperation pricked at the corners of your eyes. You were perilously close to begging.  

“You see, my dear,” Alastor’s voice cut through the haze, mocking and sharp, “you must not fully grasp the extent of my power if you dare compare me to that lousy ‘picture box.’” He spat the words with a venomous disdain, his eyes narrowing. “Beg for my forgiveness, and perhaps I’ll show mercy.” His voice dipped into a low, dangerous whisper, dripping with dark intent.  

Your heart pounded in your ears, but something else caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it – Alastor’s shadow, the one that had lurked behind him, was now slithering across the floor, positioning itself directly behind you. Its tendrils writhed, holding you firmly in place, while its grotesque grin loomed close, mirroring its master’s. The shadow’s presence was suffocating, overwhelming as its clawed hands slowly traced a path of pleasure down the front of your chest.  

“I…” You hesitated, trembling as those same spectral hands pinched your already sensitive nipples, somehow phasing through your clothes. Blood rushed to the tender tips, heightening your torment with drawn out pleasure. “I think – ah – it’s still pretty lame,” you challenged, arching a brow, your tongue flicking out to slowly trail along your lower lip, drawing Alastor’s attention.  

Alastor’s eyes darkened, pupils shrinking into narrow slits as he followed the motion of your tongue. His mouth twisted into a manic grin, and let out a wild, unhinged cackle. “I’ll never understand your generation’s needless stubbornness!” He declared, shaking his head in mock disbelief. 

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. The kitchen, the dim light – it all vanished. You were swallowed by darkness, an endless void that stretched in every direction. Yet, you remained seated in the same chair, surrounded by nothing. Your sight had been stolen from you, leaving you blind and disoriented.  

“Fascinating, wouldn’t you say?” Alastor’s voice rang out through the void, calm and calculated. You could feel his eyes on you, drinking in your every movement, like a predator waiting for its prey to make one wrong misstep.  

“Ah!” You yelped, body jerking as something – a sensation like fingers – began rubbing against the slick folds between your legs. Despite the barrier provided by your clothes, the touch was undeniable, intimate, and invasive. Your legs were spread wide, leaving you completely vulnerable to the unseen force now exploring the wetness pooling there. The soft, wet sound of your own arousal filled the surrounding silence, intensifying the humiliation as your body responded without hesitation. 

Quick, shallow breaths escaped your lips as you squirmed, trying to find some way to relieve the relentless teasing. Yet, all you could feel was that luxurious, maddening touch, dipping and teasing, tracing the sensitive thick folds. The darkness amplified everything – the wet sounds, the shuddering moans you couldn’t hold back, and the ache that radiated from your core.  

You whimpered softly, the desperation clear in every breath, every twitch of your body. You wanted more – needed more – your throbbing clit practically screaming for attention, while your cunt begged for release.  

But all you had was Alastor’s voice, echoing through the endless dark, and the maddening, torturous touch that refused to give you the satisfaction you so desperately craved.  

The same shadowy appendages rubbed and rubbed, smooth and relentless, dipping into you right at the entrance, gathering your slick before gliding against your inner folds again. Your thighs trembled as you were forced into a shameful display, and you couldn’t bear to think about what expression you wore for Alastor now. Your hips instinctively jerking to grind against the shadowy fingers teasing your wet folds.  

“You know what to say, dear,” Alastor’s voice slithered into your ear, a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. In the darkness, with your body immobile, every whisper, every breath, every slick sound of Alastor’s shadow playing you amplified your vulnerable and aroused state. The contrast between the cool darkness and the peculiar warm touch of his shadow heightened your awareness, pushing you closer to the edge.  

Hot tears began to trickle down your cheeks, mixing with the heat of your embarrassment as the shadow’s caress shifted from teasingly light to an almost punishing pressure. It demanded more from your greedy, slick heat. Abandoning any pretense of pride, you let out a desperate whimper. “Please, I-I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice trembling in the oppressive silence. Only your head and neck were free from the shadow’s hold, leaving you breathless and exposed.  

“I’m sorry for saying your shadow power was lame,” you gasped, and your words were rewarded with a sudden fullness, the thick, unyielding digit pushing deep inside you, curling against your sensitive skin.  

“Oh, my, look at you,” Alastor said, his voice tinged with mockery. “Such a pretty mess you’ve made. Who would have thought this would be your undoing?” 

“Oh, God,” you moaned, your head thrown back in surrender, grateful to whatever fucking deity was listening for finally filling the emptiness that pulsed within you. “Ah, more, please, more,” you whimpered, emboldened by the darkness, free from the weight of his gaze – though you could almost feel it, a predatory presence looming over you, delighting in your plight.  

A sudden tearing sound made you gasp; your pants ripped at the seam, a cool breeze kissing your exposed skin, intensifying the slick warmth pooling between your legs.  

“Look at you, dear. You’re absolutely drenched, soaked your underwear right through! Hah!” Alastor chuckled, his voice a disembodied tease, echoing all around you. You couldn’t tell where he was anymore – behind you, beside you, or perhaps he hadn’t moved at all, still watching with that insufferably bored expression, like a spectator at a dull weather report.  

“S-sorry,” you moaned, the undeniable squelch of your arousal filling the air, shame mingling with pleasure as whatever was touching you coaxed out your need. You strained to see, but the darkness was absolute, leaving you only to imagine those shadowy appendages moving in and out of your wet, sopping cunt – a hypnotic rhythm that drove you wild.  

It felt incredible – so impossibly good – as the dexterous finger-like tendrils curled and pressed all the right spots, drawing you closer and closer to the precipice. You clenched your abdomen, desperate for release, but then the motion halted abruptly. The loss of sensation was cruel, leaving you painfully aching, yearning for that delicious stretch, for the pull and push of your inner walls.  

“Now, now, don’t be greedy,” Alastor purred, his tone dripping with mockery. “Patience is a virtue, or haven’t you learned that yet?” 

A snap echoed in the room, and your vision flooded with light. Across from you, just as you expect, sat Alastor, his ever-present grin splitting his face. Legs crossed, he watched with amusement flickering in his eyes. “Ah, sight isn’t the only thing I can take away, my dear,” he mused, voice dripping with sinister glee.  

Your mouth was stretched wide, forced open, as his shadow lingered beside you, its hand plunged into your mouth. Its slick fingers pressed down on your tongue, holding it captive. Humiliation gnawed at you as drool leaked from the corners of your lips, a slow trickle that dripped down your chin. The warm saliva cooled quickly against your skin, but the undeniable feeling of shame mingling with the hot, burning desire of pleasure consumed you.  

When your gaze flicked downward, you caught the sight of Alastor’s shadow. Its fingers danced over your swollen clit, moving in tight, calculated circles. The delicate touch was maddening as you felt it was just short of pushing you closer to the peak.  

A helpless moan slipped out, muffled by the fingers lodged in your mouth. The more Alastor’s shadow played with you, the more fluids spilled, your lips trembling as saliva and arousal dripped from your needy body.  

Unexpectedly, the shadow’s fingers plunged inside your slick heat, driving deep with unrelenting force. Your eyelids fluttered shut as another guttural moan vibrated around the intruding fingers in your mouth. Your throat strained with each breath, the effort of swallowing excess saliva adding to your torment. The lewd, wet sounds of your body being claimed filled the air – each thrust squelching with a vulgar intensity that only heightened your spiralling, intense desire.  

Alastor’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure and submission. “Beg for forgiveness, my dear,” he crooned, his tone mocking yet lilting, as though he were offering you something. “And perhaps, I may allow you to finish.” 

Your body craved release, teetering on the brink of orgasm, but the shadow's fingers stuffed in your mouth made coherent words impossible. You struggled to form even a basic plea, but all that escaped your lips were garbled moans and desperate, incoherent sounds. Your abdomen clenched, desperate – so fucking desperate – to reach your peak, but your hips remained pinned, unable to find the friction they needed.  

Your eyes darted to Alastor in panic, pleading silently. His grin split through his cheeks, as though relishing in your helplessness. “Oh dear, it seems you don’t really want it after all,” he sighed with a mock expression of disappointment, his voice laced with dark amusement.  

A fresh wave of frustration swirling with anger and desperation ripped though you as you continued to teeter at the edge, unable to tumble over. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and soon they streamed down your face, joining the cooling drool that stained your chin. You moaned incoherently around the shadow’s fingers, your voice trembling with need.  

Alastor’s eyebrows raised, his tone exaggerated with surprise. “Well, aren’t you a lucky one? It just so happens I’m in quite a generous mood!” His tone continued its uplifting beat, matching his exterior joviality.  

As if on cue, the fingers left your mouth, but before you could gather your breath, you felt a tight pressure coil around your neck. It squeezed, slow and purposeful, cutting off your airflow inch by damning inch. Panic shot through you as you gagged for air, your pulse hammering in your ears. Alastor’s shadow grinned, its face looming beside yours as it continued to relentlessly fuck you with its fingers. They moved with vicious intent, plunging deep into your walls, hitting every sensitive spot, each stroke sending your body reeling.  

Your vision began to blur, dark spots forming at the edges as your head swam with lightheadedness. The air refused to fill your lungs, the tightness around your throat unbearable, until suddenly – release. A flood of oxygen rushed in to your body at the same time the shadow’s fingers curled deliciously inside you, pressing against your g-spot with merciless precision.  

The orgasm hit you like a crashing wave. A raw scream tore from your throat, mixing with sobs as pleasure washed over you in undulating waves. Your body convulsed, trembling uncontrollably as the shadow’s fingers never relented, still thrusting, still curling, keeping you locked in the agonizing cycle of ecstasy. 

“Ahhhh…fu-ahhhh!” You sobbed, the pleasure too much, too intense. Your clit throbbed painfully, swollen and oversensitive, and the shadow’s fingers began to slap at it – hard, wet slaps that sent sharp bursts of pain rippling through the pleasure. It was endless. The overwhelming sensation of being pushed beyond your limit clouded your thoughts, a jumble of pain, of pleasure, and of torment.  

“Aren’t I generous?” Alastor asked, his voice heavy with mockery. He watched your body writhed and twitch beneath his control. “Let’s see how many times I can make you break, hm?” 

The moment Alastor uttered his final words, his shadow’s fingers drove back into you – three of them this time – curling deep inside your weeping cunt. They moved fast, a blur of relentless thrusts that tore another orgasm from your exhausted body. You gasped for breath, the feeling being stretched and filled too much, your mind going blank from the overload.  

“A-ah, to-too much,” you managed to cry out, though your body remained stiff and unmoving, helpless against the hold Alastor’s shadow had on you. Your cunt clenched tightly around the dexterous fingers, your core pulsing as the shadow showed no mercy, working your sensitive spots with precision.  

And then – hot and wet – his shadow’s tongue trailed up the back of your ear, the same spot that had started it all. It licked and sucked at your skin, the obscene sounds filling your ears, mingling with the squelching from your dripping cunt. You could feel the puddle forming beneath you, the wetness between your legs soaking the seat. Your body trembled, your mind teetering on the brink as you felt yourself nearing the edge again.  

Just as the pressure built, a sharp pinch at your raw nipple jolted you, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. This time, no sound escaped you – your scream was swallowed by the force of the release. Your body convulsed, jerking with each wave of pleasure that rolled through you, until you were nothing more than a quivering, wet, mess.  

As the shadow’s grip loosened, your body collapsed forward, slumping against the cool tiles. The cold surface was a sharp contrast to the burning heat of your overstimulated skin. Your entire body continued to tremble, twitching from the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you. Your tongue lolled out as it took everything you had to continue to breathe despite the shameful display of drooling like a dog by Alastor’s feet.  

“Now then,” Alastor’s voice chimed in brightly, his polished shoes the only thing in your line of sight as he stood before you. “I do hope you’ll clean up after yourself. This may be a hotel, but our complimentary brunch is self-service, after all.” He laughed, a sound filled with genuine mirth, before his body melted into the shadows.  

The ends of your lips twitched upwards, your body still shivering as you felt the cool slide of your arousal dripping out from the apex of your thighs. You could still feel the lingering touch of his shadow still imprinted on your body.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Soldat

A random drabble for @startcarvingdarling

Warnings for fear, kidnap, and spanking.

Character: Bucky Barnes, side of Peter Parker

“Peter? I’m waiting,” you say as he finally picks up. 

“Hmm? Waiting? What do you mean?” He asks as you hear something whirring in the background. 

“What? Don’t tell me you forgot.” You sneer, “you’re at the lab, aren’t you?” 

“Uh, yeah, of course. Where am I supposed to be?” He sputters. 

“Meeting me for our date!” You snip. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.” 

“Date? What—I didn’t-- I guess I forgot but I don’t remember--” 

“You never remember anything, do you? Not unless you’re getting some award or simping for Tony.” You huff. 

“What? I mean it. I have no recollection of this--” 

“You texted me last week. Said you want to spend some time together since you’ve been so busy and—Never mind. I’m not doing this. I’m not responsible for keeping your mind straight,” you shake your head, “bye.” 

You hang up as your eyes prick. You should have expected it. You can barely get a message back so why would he follow through on this? Besides, all he ever talks about are his gadgets. 

You drop your arm and turn to the restaurant. You look up and groan. He probably didn’t even make a reservation. You drag your feet away and head back down the street. 

The marquee lights reflect off the dark pavement and cast your shadow across the curb. As you walk, others pass by merrily in couples and groups. They’re raucous as they head out for a night of fun. For time with people who care about them. 

You turn down the next street. It’s emptier, and darker, away from the main strip. Your footsteps echo and you cross the street, undeterred as the traffic is sparse. As you get to the other side, you flinch. You turn. You thought you heard something. 

As you turn back, you jump. There was a shadow there. You spin and search the darkness. You’re imagining things. Even if that’s the case, it is New York. 

You speed ahead through the cones of light glowing from the tall street poles. You pump your arms as your breath hitches. Your heart is racing. You hear another scuff. You turn but see nothing. 

You jump as there’s a clatter down the alley and you squeak, stumbling back. You whirl around again and this time, your path is blocked. The silhouette of a man looms between the safe haven of the lights. His shoulders are broad and his feet wide. 

“Um, you—take it,” you throw your purse at him. He swipes it away. You flinch and step back. “Sir, I don’t--” 

He steps forward and your voice fizzles in the air. You know him. It’s Bucky. Yet, it doesn’t seem like him. His posture is different and he has a black mask over the lower half of his face. His eyes are almost black and he move mechanically as he comes closer. 

“Bucky? What are yo--” 

He grabs you by your throat and you cough. You latch onto his wrist as your phone bounces off the sidewalk. You whimper. The street light is swallowed up in his pupils as brings you near. He presses his nose to yours, the fabric of the mask rough. 

He tilts his head as he pulls back and launches you up. He takes a step and catches you easily over his shoulder. He veers and marches into the alleyway as you squeal. His hand cracks across your ass and your voice catches. He squeezes until your whine, digging into your flesh. 

“Wait- what--” 

He hushes you as he keeps going. You kick your legs and swipe at his back. He doesn’t stop. It’s as if he can’t hear you. As if your pleas are nothing, just like your weight on his shoulder. 

His laughter echoes against the brick walls as he carries you into the shadows. You don’t know where he’s taking you, or why, but you know you should be afraid. This isn’t Bucky, this is what he used to be. 

[blueberrymilkcookie]

kye's shmilk trailer Nooticing compilation

The Keys

if you've seen the leaks from a while back, we already know that one of the stage assets for shadow milk's update is a room with an extremely big key hole dead center of it. here in the trailer we can see more key imagery! in the first shot, we see the white pillars have a keyhole, and the gold ones have a key shape on the bottom of them. when we finally see the depiction of past-sm, his staff has a key shape on the bottom!!!!! also in the bottom right, you can also see a pillar that seems to be a key as well. (edit: ALSO THE KEYHOLE ON HIS CHEST idk why i forgot to mention that)

as for what this could mean, i mean my best guess is that they key symbolizes unlocking more knowledge, as we know from the 4th anni description that shadow milk was very curious and tried to learn everything there was to learn. the fact that it's a key also gives us a sense of mystery and secrecy although, and may tie into unlocking hidden/forbidden knowledge?

different soul jam design

so this is most definitely a different design from what we saw in both the beast-yeast trailer even past-sm's staff in the image above. i'm not entirely sure why this is, but i'm just gonna throw out another idea.

if the soul jam physically change upon the user's emotional state/will (dark cacao's soul jam turning white when he became apathetic in ep. 4) then it's possible that past-sm's soul jam changed into this very obviously darker and corrupted form once he began to embrace deceit. this could be wrong though and it's just a cool visual thing for the trailer *shrug*

Pondering His Orb

so this is very obviously pure vanilla (same skin tone and his chin is being covered with the same fabric) but why the hell is he pondering his orb rn. and why is he in a shady ass cloak and watching himself go to the spire of knowledge ?? is this like him in the future or... idk. WE'LL SEE I GUESS cuz idk what to make of this

interesting thing to add, past-sm is holding an orb. they're both orb ponderers

(this makes me think he might have had the ability to prophesize the future with a crystal ball or some shit. we already know he likes tarot cards so... Btw i already had this idea so devsis needs to pay me again.)

Let's play a homoerotic game of chess

board game time! not sure if it means anything, but shadow milk is initially holding a bishop, uses it to attack a pawn, and then picks up the king piece and uses it to attack pure vanilla cookie. the pawns on the white team are pv's friends... so he's calling them fodder basically

(also, side note: he changed the queen piece to what looks like a jester. is he calling himself a queen? LMAO)

WELCOME TO THE MINDFUCK!!!

multiple things to be talking about right here!! 1) when shadow milk seems to be gaining control over pure vanilla, pure vanilla's third eye/star marking melts

2) interestingly, as he does this, shadow milk doing his little cool animation also melts into pure vanilla. this could be a way to show him getting inside of pv's head i think. btw i drew this already like 11 months ago so. Devsis pay me.

"It's time to accept the truth you like so much! You, you are merely following in my footsteps. Oh, but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become me!"

3) extremely interesting of them to show past-sm, then show pv looking into the reflection of seemingly his own future corruption (btw it's the same silhouette as the pv costume from the livestream). we all already know what this means guys!! we're going to see the cycle that both shadow milk and dark enchantress went through happening to pure vanilla as well!!!! yippie!!!!!!!!

FUCKING BLUEBERRY YOGURT ACADEMY FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE

EVERYONEEE WOULD YA LOOK AT THAT. WHO IS THAT? THE FIRST HEADMASTER. NOW. this doesnt confirm that shadow milk is the first headmaster BUT now we know that there is canonically a very real connection between him and the first headmaster!!!!

oh yea theres also this weird fucking sun/moon thing

ok what we can currently piece together about shadow milk's lore

"You know, I've always dreamt of a beautiful world of perfect chaos, where lies and truths can't be told apart!"

this isn't gonna be a deep analysis bc we don't know anything yet, BUT, from what i can gather, shadow milk cookie was a very curious god who was always in the pursuit of more knowledge. we know now that CANONICALLY he has ties to the blueberry yogurt academy, and at some point (if not from the very start) began to use the forbidden dark moon magic.

based on the 4th anni description alone, we can see that the or one catalyst for his corruption was the fact that... people were just stupid, and listened to him no matter if he was telling the truth or not (i assume it's deeper than that, but this is all we know rn). after learning this, he began to spread lies, using his knowledge to sow chaos and confusion.

also WHY ARE ALL THREE OF HIS DESIGNS FUCKING DIFFERENT

DEVSISTERRRSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[suzukiblu]

Danny/Duke(DeadLights or GhostLights), "I'll be waiting... time after time."

Duke found something weird on patrol today. He’s day shift, obviously, but near the end of his shift . . . 

Well, something weird happened. 

Or he saw something weird, more like. 

He saw something weird that’d already happened, maybe. Or . . . was happening? Was about to happen? 

It was hard to tell, for some reason. Like the time didn’t . . . flow quite right. Like the light was reflecting wrong.

So now he’s crouched in the back of the darkest alley he could feel in reasonable range, and he’s holding a tiny, tiny wisp of a thing, a faint little gossamer-fragile globe. It’s . . . light, he thinks. It looks like light. Behaves like it, a little. 

But it behaves like light that he’s using his powers on, not light that just exists. 

So that’s . . . new, yeah. 

Huh. 

Duke doesn’t know why, but he’s worried about the little light. Like it’s about to go out, and like it’d be bad if it went out. 

He wonders . . .

He wraps the darkness around himself better, and thinks of it like a cradle, for some reason. Some reason he can’t quite pin down for himself. The little light flickers, thready and inconstant. It makes him think of a heartbeat, even in the silence, and he wraps more darkness around himself. 

Wraps more darkness around . . . them, some part of him thinks. 

Yeah. “Them”. 

Huh. 

Gotham is never silent unless things are going very wrong, of course. And this is a light, not a heartbeat. Not a . . . 

No. It’s not a heartbeat. 

It’s a heart. 

Duke puts the gentlest spark of illumination on the very tip of his finger and very, very lightly touches the heart’s gossamer-lit surface. It sparks. 

It gleams. 

He sees something like veins on its surface and electric illumination inside it, and something alive all the way through it. Or . . . close to alive. Almost the same as alive.

Well. Maybe not alive, but . . . close enough to count, he thinks. 

Yeah. Definitely close enough to count. 

“It’s okay. I got you,” Duke says, and he doesn’t mean to say it that way, really, but it comes out like he’s talking to a lost little kid. He’s used to that, given the job, but he’s not sure why he’s doing it now. 

But also it’s just–what he’s doing. He doesn’t know why, but it’s what he’s doing. 

Is this . . . this is a person, isn’t it. But is this a person and also a kid? 

He doesn’t know how he knows that, but–it is, isn’t it. This is a kid. A kid who’s gossamer-frail and weak and flickering. 

Okay, well . . . he has to do something about that, then. 

He doesn’t know what exactly he does need to do. It’s . . . there’s something that he needs to do, he knows. Something that he can do. 

He wraps more darkness around them both, twisting the shadows up around them. He makes something like a nest, or maybe an actual cradle after all, and he lets it all interweave into something safe and strong and secure. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he knows he has to do something, and the best he’s got is trying to follow his instincts. Listen to what the light is . . . not saying, exactly, but wants. 

It wants safe. It wants strong. It wants secure. It wants–

“Hey,” a voice says, and Duke looks up and sees a floating silhouette that burns like starlight outside his cradle of shadows, a spiked crown illuminating the air above its head and a burning ring engulfing its right hand. It looks like it’s about to burst into a supernova; like it could destroy worlds. 

It’s a really cute guy about his age with electric green eyes and milk-white hair in a black hazmat suit. 

. . . okay, sure. This might as well happen, Duke thinks. 

“You two need some help down there?” the guy asks, and the little gossamer light glows. 

. . . well, all things considered, Duke’s done crazier things than ask a really cute supernova for childcare tips.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Hi! Please excuse any misspellings, english is not my frist language...

Firstly I just wanted to tell you that I love your AU! Your Harlequin au was what intorduced me to lovely TADC au Tumblr community and I absolutley love it! I haven't seen alternate universes as creative as these since the Sansverse era!

Secondly, I hace a question about the Patriarch: He seems to have a very good idea of who Caine is, wouldn't he be this world's equivalent to Able? I ask because althugh his design is WAY different from most fan Able depictions, he still has that "The Puppetmaster's brother" vibe that all Ables tend to have, a peace of Caine's past that he can never get rid of!

If he is not Able then I am curious of who he is, if he is then the lore just got spicier and if you don't want to spoil anything I'll understand.

But honestly: Keep it up! Your au has filled 70% of all my daydreams, the only thing I have been able to think about for a while has only been game mechanics, combat and chase sequences!

Damn y'all are fucking sleuths istg

Though I am very proud of that because that means my design philosophy worked somehow, and for that, I'll throw you guys a bone. And also because I can't keep it a secret any longer I've been holding it in since the very beginning of this au

YES.

The Patriarch of Puppets is none other than Abel, Caine's biological brother.

When I was first designing him, I wanted every aspect of Abel's design to scream "opposite of Caine", and to hold some form of symbolism. From his megaphone head, down to the color palettes, there is meaning. Don't get me wrong, Mushy's Able is a very memorable and awesome design and I could've incorporated him the same way I did Souls-like, but I wanted something deeper for Harlequin.

While Caine is adorned in golds and maroons to symbolize his warmer nature, Abel has teals and silver, a very cold and intimidating stature. Their outfits and the colors are an opposition towards each other yet reflect one another somehow, the way Abel dresses tightly and formal when Caine is loose and open, his intense red pupil conveys his hostility, whilst Caine's eyes are softer blues and greens.

His king-size height dwarfing Caine tells just how much the Puppetmaster felt living on his shadow, HELL, someone noticed the weird "A" on the sides of his head and I had to shrug it off because I didn't want to reveal it as early as that time.

Even the megaphone head design holds SO MUCH UNTOLD STORY BETWEEN THE BROTHERS THAT I WILL CHOOSE TO KEEP A SECRET FOR NOW. I've put SO MUCH THOUGHT behind his design.

*sigh*... Which is also why I very much dislike the "siren head" jokes, because it's the one thing I didn't really foresaw when I was developing his design until I finished, and someone pointed out it might cause jokes like that to prop up. Something I thought I wouldn't mind initially, until everyone made the same joke over and over again and I just audibly groan irl.

But you know. internet's gonna internet, they see one thing that resembles a popular media, it's an immediate connection. I didn't even give a shit enough about Siren head to know how the design actually looked like, just a silhouette of the guy.

Therefore, I would really appreciate it if saying this out loud would help lessen the jokes, but ik not everyone is going to see this post so.

I do still wanna thank you for your kind words, because these kinds of asks are the fuel to my fire of inspiration and motivation for this AU, and I wish that I can keep this fire going till the very end of this AU's story :')

[rikosseen]

Taehoon Seong x Reader: Apologies

Anon request

The morning unfolds in a grim stillness, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Soft rain taps against the roof in a monotonous rhythm, each drop amplifying the suffocating atmosphere inside the apartment. Taehoon drags himself to the fridge, his movements sharp and mechanical, his jaw tightening and loosening as a swarm of thoughts churn restlessly in his mind. He refuses to meet your gaze, his irritation spilling over in the faint click of his tongue and the restless scratch of his head—a feeble attempt to dispel the unease suffocating the room.

You sit by the window, your silhouette framed by streaks of rain trickling down the glass. It’s a sad sight, one that deepens the crease in Taehoon’s brow. His lips press together in a thin, disapproving line, and his teeth gnaw at the inside of his cheek in agitation.

Damn it.

The memory of last night clings to him like a ghost. He knows he was wrong—terribly so. Unforgivably, even. But as the thought of you truly walking out gnaws at him, his pride digs in its heels. Taehoon Seong doesn’t apologise. He’s never done so, his confidence fortified by a lifetime of being utterly perfect. But this time, the stakes feel different. He values you—more than he cares to admit—and though his ego fights him every step of the way, his conscience refuses to be silenced.

With a stiff awkwardness that betrays his inner turmoil, he trudges toward you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. He hovers for a moment, unsure and uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Hey,” he starts.

You don’t respond. Did he really expect you to, though? The wounds his words left are still raw, and the mere thought of looking at him threatens to ignite a fury you can’t yet control.

“Hey,” he tries again, softer this time.

His gaze flits to you, and there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Tentatively, he reaches out to touch your shoulder, but you shift away from him, your rejection striking him with the force of a blow. His stomach churns, and he stares at the rain-streaked glass as if searching for the words that have always come so easily to him.

“I didn’t mean to be so insensitive- or push you away like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges. “You were just trying to help. And I lashed out. Like an asshole.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips, and you glance at him through the reflection in the window. Your eyes meet, his full of unease, yours shadowed by anger and disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words fragile but earnest.

For once, his pride seems to take a backseat. The sincerity lacing his voice makes you pause, though the ache of his cruelty from last night hasn’t yet faded.

“I’ll try to be better,” Taehoon adds, barely audible as he reaches for your hand.

Your resolve falters, and reluctantly, you let him take it. But your anger still simmers beneath the surface, ready to boil over. Just as you open your mouth to say something, the door crashes open, and Hansu furiously storms in.

Oh. Right. You told him.

Before Taehoon can react, his father is upon him, kicking him and twisting his ear. They wrestle and snarl as you watch from the sidelines, arms crossed, lips twitching with faint satisfaction.

Serves him right. A little humility might do Taehoon some good.

[mimicha-arts]

I have not written fandom theories for a long time, but LInkClick fuels my interest and search for meaning too much. Recently, I reviewed all the available series, and came across details that I had not connected before. For the most part, this post is speculations about Cheng Xiaoshi, as well as ... timeline.

Spoilers! Please be careful.

Considering so many details about Cheng Xiaoshi, it seems that there has always been something strange about his "symbolism". In fact, I'm really into the theory that the moment in episode 1 of season 2 (when Lu Guang gets stabbed) is the vision & flashback of the past about Cheng Xiaoshi's death. In fact, it amazes and delights me how many details in OverThink support these thoughts. At least because once a frame flashes, which somewhat resembles a scene from Lu Guang's flashbacks.

But there is more. We have 3 main points: clock, сlockwork and camera. 1. Clock - possible time of death Very specific time appear several times. The clock hands look very strange, still not 6, so probably the time is 5:20 (thus, given the symbolism of 520, I have even more questions). They show the same time in any frame.

But the most interesting thing is that at the very end, when we see Cheng Xiaoshi (with the design from the first season), for a few seconds, in addition to the patterns of gears, a very faded inverted dial of this clock appears on him, where inverted 4 is the most visible part. No need to say that 4 is a symbol of death.

This can only be seen in 1s1s ED. Because, in fact, there are 2 versions of the ED, and it's different (without these details) for the remaining 10 episodes.

Even the very first intro with characters contains very similar clock placed in the background of Cheng Xiaoshi. So, at this point, I'm guessing that this strange 5:20 was the key node and the death of Cheng Xiaoshi.

2. Clockwork - сhanging a key event Gears are shown both literally and in pattern. For a long time, I thought that Lu Guang's shadow was just a shadow, or an indistinct noise, but if you look closely, it becomes obvious that Lu Guang is covering a pattern of gears - probably as a sign of changes with clock mechanism and time. Details such as water drops and film strips are also interesting, as both OP (Dive Back in Time and Vortex) connect these elements to Cheng Xiaoshi.

One of the moments shows how the silhouette of hands (overlapping the trees, which may coincide with the background of the forest in the vision in s2s1) touches the inverted clock, after which the second hand of the clock begins to move back.

And the most beautiful thing .. The fact that the hands belong to Lu Guang, as well as the context of this action, confirms that the animation literally coincides with the scene from the end of 4th (and the beginning of 5th) episodes, when Lu Guang explains to Cheng Xiaoshi how key events (nodes) and changes in the past work. But inverted. What a coincidence, right?

Honestly, I think that all these details can further support the theories about Lu Guang, which already have enough speculation. Given all the hints, it is possible that due to Cheng Xiaoshi's death, he changed something in time, thus erasing the "future in that present" and created a new present as an alternate reality. Just a thought.

3. Camera - another timeline Let's go back to the very end again. Here Cheng Xiaoshi is holding a camera in his hands.

Remember this diamond-shaped mark. This camera is very specific, as it has appeared several times, but not in the main series (yet). There is an easter egg in the mini-series, Lu Guang has a rather similar model, only with a round (clock-like) mark.

It's importance becomes even more obvious, especially now that we have a poster for the second season.

So. What's wrong with this camera? Because there are actually two of them. The one on the table has a rounded clock mark. But the camera in reflection is the one that Cheng Xiaoshi holds in the ED, with a diamond mark.

For me... Seems like it is probably one of the main connecting elements or "anchor" between the timelines / alternate realities, at least conveys this idea. All this makes me feel excited and inspired, how it was possible to place all this so neatly. And which of these can really confirm conjectures and theories … Thanks to the scriptwriters and animators, it's nice to be a part of this game.

Or maybe I'm just overthinking… Anyway, thanks for reading to the end. Perhaps someone has their own thoughts, feel free to discuss ~

[wntrmelts]

Why I view/write Kaeya as living an inherently feminine experience

(reposting this essay from twitter)

This entire post will be a long string of observations and headcanons surrounding why I believe Kaeya’s story is an inherently feminine experience. It includes canon interactions but also explanations as to why I write him in a certain way in my works. Also, I would like to establish that with ‘feminine’ I am not explicitly talking about gender expression, but more so the societal expectations and gender roles that have been put on women. By this definition, a feminine experience is not exclusive to women only.

Starting in his childhood, Kaeya is described as being gentle and polite by Adelinde (1) whilst Diluc was described as more rambunctious. As they grew up, Kaeya, being the more reserved one, seemed to always stay in Diluc’s shadow (2).

The question is whether this was by choice or something that was imposed upon him. In a way, I think it’s both. To survive, he made sure not to cause trouble or speak out of turn, listening to and pleasing the authoritative figures in his life instead.

After Diluc was out of the picture and out of the KoF, Kaeya was given a completely different role. He was expected to lead now, his previous persona would not suffice in an environment like this. He had to be respected, and in order to gain the respect of his new subordinates, he had to change. He became louder and more visible, he had to learn how to stand his ground. This isn’t only reflected in his personality, but also his appearance. A big silhouette that exudes status with the gold accents and fur coat; it demands attention and communicates confidence to outsiders.

Kaeya as we know him has a very big personality. It’s hard to definitively say whether he enjoys the attention he gets from outsiders. Where does the act stop and his true self begin?

In his hangout, we can see him scurrying away with the traveler once he starts getting approached and praised for his on-stage performance in Port Ormos (3).

From the way he treats the interactions, it seems that he can humor these interactions when needed, but does not particularly enjoy them. There seems to be a dichotomy between the way he presents himself and how wishes other people to perceive him, and his true desires. I don’t think this means that he completely dislikes the way he presents himself. After having played this part for so long, it would make sense that at least part of it melds into his true self, but it does imply that his change post-fight isn’t 100% a case of ‘flourishing into his true self’ as his Vision story might suggest.

On that note, the attention Kaeya seems to get from bystanders seems to be something he does not seem /entirely/ comfortable with. Besides the fan interactions in Port Ormos, Kaeya also mentions in his hangout that he got approached by a group of mercenaries to dance (4).

The subtext suggests they were flirting with him, and whilst it is possible Kaeya genuinely did not realize this, I don’t believe someone like him would be oblivious to the implications of the interaction. He doesn’t name for what it was, plays it off lightly, and moves on. 

(To be fair, you can also take him at his word for this interaction. It really depends on how much you want to believe him. But also, my mans is not smiling in these?? At all??)

Now this goes into headcanon territory but I believe Kaeya is very aware of how people look at him. He’s been described to be eye-catching in his character story 5 (5), good-looking by multiple NPCs, even the traveler calls him handsome (6).

Point is: Kaeya looks good! He knows it, but as we’ve established before, he does not always like it. Despite his own discomfort, he still believes he can use this to his advantage. Because as we know, for him, the ends justify the means (7).

Perhaps he plays up his charm a little because he knows what it will get him, or because people will underestimate his true nature if he keeps it up. 

So for my personal interpretation: he’s ‘flirty’, not because he likes it, but because it helps him get things done. The reactions he gets out of it may or may not disgust him a little, but his sense of self-worth is not enough to stop him from using these tactics to get ahead.

Lastly, I would like to discuss how Kaeya, despite everything that has happened to him, does not outwardly express any of his anger frequently. At least, not in an obvious sense. To keep up appearances and to maintain his image, he never bursts out in anger, shouts, or yells. He is always hyperaware of how other people view him, and being angry is simply not appropriate. He remains composed in the presence of others even if he might want to shout or be angry. 

In short, the performative aspects of Kaeya’s character reflect a very specific part of the female experience to me. Always keeping in check with what other people’s expectations are, not wanting to take up too much space when he was younger but having to learn how to take up more space to gain other people’s respect when he got older, dealing with unwanted attention but not voicing complaints and dismissing them to not make a big deal out of it; these are all parts of it. 

All of this is super self-indulgent so don’t take it too seriously~ Just wanted to justify why I think he gets to sit with the girls :D

References (yes, I'm extra):

Kaeya Hangout: Taste of Home https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Taste_of_Home 

Kaeya’s Vision Story https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

Kaeya Hangout: All the World’s a Stage https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/All_the_World%27s_a_Stage#Must_It_Be_So? 

Kaeya Hangout: Poems Dedicated to the Wind https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Poems_Dedicated_to_the_Wind 

Kaeya Character Story 5 https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

Archon Quest: Prologue: When the Wind Dies Down https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/When_the_Wind_Dies_Down 

Kaeya Character Story 2 https://genshin-impact.fandom.com/wiki/Kaeya/Lore 

[ancient-and-gauntly]

Corridor Waltz

Sebastian x F! Reader Warnings: Just some post argument fluff and light discussion, nothing big, female reader clear Summary: After Sebastian is too stubborn to ask you to the Yule Ball and finds out who you went with instead and argue, the two of you find yourselves at a crossroad in the corridors.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.” You break the silence,smoothing out the skirt of your dress carefully. “You just didn’t ask me, and I didn’t want to go alone so-”

“So you ask Leander-Fucking-Prewitt? The top idiot himself?” Sebastian repeats himself harshly. “I wanted to ask you but with everything going on I-I forgot and,” He trails off, sighing in defeat. “I'm sorry, Y/N. Its all my fault. Yet another big thing ruined by my stupid pride. Sebastian paced anxiously in the dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts, the shadows flickering as the torches cast dancing silhouettes on the cold stone walls. The air was thick with tension, as your argument slowly dissipates and begins to make room for regrets

You stood a few feet away, back turned to him and posture tense. The echoes of your heated words still reverberated in the quiet corridor. He had been too proud to ask you to the Yule Ball, convinced that you would reject him, and you had been equally stubborn in not extending an invitation yourself. The weight of unspoken feelings hung heavily in the air, a palpable force that pushed you two apart even as your hearts pulled you together.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Sebastian took a deep breath and approached you slowly. He reached out, his fingers gently grazing your arm. You tensed slightly at his touch, but he persisted, turning you to face him. Your eyes were stormy, a mixture of hurt and confusion. Sebastian couldn't stand to see you like this.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice breaking the silence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I just... I didn't know how to ask you."

Your eyes searched his, looking for sincerity. Slowly, you nodded, acknowledging the apology. “I forgive you, Seb.” You respond, wiping another small tear from your cheek. “But we can’t keep doing this to each other. We-we have to finally draw that line in the sand as to what this- what we are.”

Sebastian took a step closer, cupping you face in his hands. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. There, in the flickering light of the torches, he saw vulnerability in your eyes, a reflection of his own thoughts and feelings swirling in them. Leaning in he pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to your lips. It was a gentle touch, a silent plea for understanding. The tension gives way to a bittersweet mixture of longing and forgiveness.

Sebastian pulled away, his eyes locked with yours. "Can I have this next dance right here?" he asked, his voice low and earnest. “Well, what I am assuming is another dance.” He adds, half chuckling.”’S’hard to tell, with the way this orchestra plays.”

You looked at him in shock and confusion. “Right here? In the corridor?”

“Of course.” he replied softly, tucking a strand of hand behind your ear. He sighs as you slowly return his smile and nods. Sebastian took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. With his other hand on your waist, he guided you into a simple dance. “Wait I-” you attempt to not trip. “I’m not a very good dancer.” You try to explain shyly, but he just chuckles.

“Then here,”Sebastian smiled and gently pulled you feet to stand on top of his.”Now you don’t have to worry about it, and I don’t have to bend so far down to do this.” He pecks your lips softly once again

The two of you swayed together in the corridor, the torchlight casting a warm glow on your faces. Sebastian held you close, foreheads pressed together. The world outside the corridor ceased to exist, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, caught in the quiet magic of the dance.

“Sebastian,” You whisper, breaking the uncertain silence. “Why did you wait so long to ask?” 

"I didn't want to ruin our friendship," Sebastian admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I was scared, Y/N. Scared that if I asked you to the ball or to even hogsmeade for a drink alone, it would change everything."

“But not asking me changed everything too," You replied, your voice a mixture of sadness and understanding. "We've been avoiding this for too long, Seb."

He nodded, his grip on your waist tightening softly. "I know. I just... I didn't want to risk losing you."

You sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. "You won't lose me, Sebastian. After everything we have been through, you think asking me to a dance would ruin it? I care about you too much for that."

Sebastian smiled, relief washing over him. "I care about you too, Y/N. More than I've been willing to admit."

As the two of you continued to dance, the tension between you slowly dissipated. Your hand found its way to Sebastian's shoulder, and you continued to softly sway together. "So, what happens next?" you finally asked, your voice a gentle curiosity.

Sebastian's eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked down at you. "Well," he began, his tone teasing, "first, we'll pack our bags, run away together, and have grand adventures across the world. Then, we'll get married in a magical ceremony under the stars, surrounded by unicorns and enchanted flowers."

You rolled your eyes playfully, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, really? Unicorns and enchanted flowers?"

Sebastian chuckled, pulling you even closer. "Absolutely. And we'll spend our days exploring hidden corners of the world, having thrilling escapades, and, of course, dancing in torchlit corridors."

“Oh really?,” You couldn't help but laugh at the whimsical picture he painted. "You have quite the imagination, Sebastian Sallow."

He grinned, his eyes filled with warmth. "Well, I figure if we're going to dream, we might as well dream big. But if that's too much, I guess we can start with the basics, like you being my girlfriend."

You smiled."Now that sounds more realistic."

"For now... Future Mrs. Sebastian Sallow." He teases, pecking your lips once more.

“What have I allowed to happen?” You giggle, pressing your forehead to his once again.

He laughed, the sound echoing in the corridor and causing your heart to skip a beat. "Just planting the seed for the future, darling. You know, for when you can't resist my charm any longer."

You shook your head, a playful glint in her eyes. "We'll see about that, Mr. Sallow."

“I can’t wait.”

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

I've been unable to work on my longer WIPs for some reason but take this. for lack of a better title:

idiots locked in the world's most romantically charged staring contest

Heist Mark x Y/N (reader) | 628 words

You wait just around the corner, quiet and out of sight, and lightly smack Mark's arm with the back of your hand when he tries to peer around you, lest someone see and you have both your covers blown.

Your partner rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and you level him with a stare.

You understand the anticipation, but patience is crucial for jobs like this. You wait for the signal. One wrong move could cost you a lot more than just your loot.

The little nook of the building you're waiting in is, rather conveniently for means of slinking around unnoticed, out of the way, and quite narrow. Even with Mark leaning back against the opposite wall, you are mere inches apart.

He checks his watch. 'Should be any minute now,' he utters in a hushed voice.

You nod. Several seconds pass. Distant chatter echoes down the halls, muffled into a steady background ambience of rich party attendees blissfully unaware of the thieves in their midst.

You look at your partner, simply because you have nothing else to do. He's craning his neck again in a futile attempt to peek around the corner more subtly.

His suit for the night is crisp, and gives his silhouette a sharper outline than the more typical cosy sweaters and soft flannel shirts. His hair looks especially dark cast in shadow, but there's enough light from outside the enclosed space that you see it reflected in his eyes. Softly glowing white and orange and magenta specs, floating on deep brown. Pretty.

It's as he turns his head back to face you, that he notices you staring, and meets your gaze without missing a beat.

Mark smiles, faintly roguish, but gentle and just for you.

He holds your stare, and something to the way he does so makes you wonder if he sees the same lights sparkling in your own eyes, and if he finds the sight as oddly captivating as you do.

A minute passes.

Mark loosens his tie.

It's a simple, small thing, but it stirs something inside of you, and you don't know why, but your breath hitches a little and your eyes widen slightly and he definitely notices. But he doesn't say anything and neither do you. All he does is keep looking intensely into your eyes until he doesn't because his gaze is flickering elsewhere — trailing across your features, settling on your mouth for longer than can be dismissed and when you bite your lip subconsciously it's as if he's mesmerised. You can hardly recall where you are or what you're doing here, none of it matters as much as his head tilting ever so slightly and then—

A voice through your earpiece jolts you out of your stupor. You suddenly take stock of the warmth from Mark's breath on your face. Your noses almost bumping. When did he get so close?

You press a button on your earpiece to answer the call, and by the look on your partner's face, he hears it too. It's Wubba and Bubba, giving the signal as agreed, and the moment is gone and your friend clears his throat and straightens up, as a confusing mixture of disappointment and frustration and lingering excitement flutter and twist in your gut.

When he moves out of your immediate space, the inches feel like miles.

You push the feelings down. You have work to do.

Mark mumbles something over the voice channel before turning back to you once again.

'You ready, buddy?'

The corner of your mouth quirks up, matching his own eager grin.

'You know I am.'

His grin widens.

'Good,' he says, adjusting his sleeve and finally getting a better look around the corner, now that the coast is decidedly clear. 'Alright, partner. Showtime.'

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Drugged Hero Whumpee used as Party Favor at Villain's Party part 8

Warnings: living weapon whumpee, drugged sedation, torture, blood, restraints, muzzle, forced betrayal, friend pitted against friend

Ava bared her teeth up at Shadow in a feral grin, twisting her wrist around in her grip so that her open palm was facing Shadow's head -- and Shadow remembered her superpower a millisecond too late.

"Wait--" Shadow's whole head exploded with excruciating pain, her vision flashing white, and she was distantly aware of screaming -- was it coming from her? She couldn't tell.

She must have been knocked out for a few solid seconds, but when she came back to herself, her ears were ringing loudly... she was laying on the floor face-up, but she didn't know how she got there. Chest heaving, she blinked rapidly, darkness faded in the corners of her sight. Her whole body was limp aside from the rapid rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath.

Voices. Someone was talking. But it all sounded like she was miles underwater, the words warped and too muffled to be coherent. A loud kind of silence filled her head, a buzzing static like thick fog wrapping her mind.

Thoughts were murky and dark as they drifted in her conscience, and she was only vaguely aware of her wrists being grabbed and cuffed together, her ankles following. But she was too dazed, too stunned to keep fighting. Everything hurt... why did it hurt so much...?

"You could have.... do that... asset..."

Shadow could already feel her healing powers working to restore her hearing, until she could faintly make out a few words here and there.

"I knew what I was... don't worry... be fine..."

"Nnnhhhh..." Shadow moaned weakly, eyes rolling in her skull as she tried to focus them on the blurry shape hovering over her.

"See? She's fine." Ava's face formed through the haze, grinning down at her. "Probably ruptured the eardrums, but with her unique gift, the damage won't last long."

Right. Shadow remembered now. Ava's powers were controlling soundwaves, harnessing blasts of sound powerful enough to kill at close range. It's why her Hero name had been 'Soundwave', a direct reflection of her power. Shadow was lucky she had healing powers, or else she'd be dead. She could definitely feel blood running from both ears, snaking down the sides of her head to the floor.

"Shadow? Are you with us?" Archenemy's voice.

Shadow tried to speak, but her voice slurred, and all she could manage was an agonized groan. The tang of blood coated her tongue, as coppery and wrong as everything else.

She heard Archenemy scoff. "This one's quite the enigma -- I mean, how can someone be so unkillable?! I look forward to finding out."

Another shadow crouched over her, Archenemy's face coming into focus. "...For that stunt you pulled, the muzzle is going back on along with the bit. Until we reach my lab."

Even through the fuzz, Shadow could register the threat, and she immediately clenched her jaw shut defiantly, using what little strength she had left. Her head was still throbbing and ringing, making her dizzy.

Archenemy heaved an irritated sigh, turning to his asset. "Ava?" His silhouette stood up, and Ava leaned over Shadow's prone form, right before Shadow felt a bruising grip on her jaw.

"Open." A command. One Shadow pointedly chose to ignore. Ava's grip tightened, and then suddenly Shadow couldn't breath anymore. She could feel her nose being pinched shut.

"You have to breathe eventually," Ava growled. "You can make it easier or harder for yourself."

Shadow squirmed weakly, knowing she couldn't escape. Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. But still, she waited until she was on the brink of passing out before she had to open her mouth to gasp for air.

And as soon as she did, something sharp and metal was crammed in, pressing down on her tongue and the corners of her mouth, a second before the leather of the muzzle touched her face and was strapped tight around her head, keeping the metal bit in place.

"Mfff..." A keening whine escaped her throat as Ava started dragging her out the door after Archenemy instead of carrying her like before. It made everything hurt so much worse.

Shadow's vision was still splotchy and dark, but she could see several henchmen stare at her in confusion and surprise as she was dragged away. No doubt she was a pathetic sight, covered in blood like this. Though it wasn't the first time... and certainly wouldn't be the last.

Her sight and hearing had almost fully cleared up by the time she found herself being heaved up and strapped down to a medical table. Fear crept up the back of her throat like bile, and she fought to tamp down the rising panic as she was immobilized, leather straps pulled tight around her wrists and ankles after they were uncuffed.

Then the muzzle was pulled off, the metal bit following it, coated in foamy blood and saliva.

Shadow tugged at the bindings tethering her down, testing her range of movement. It was far more restricted than she'd expected. Archenemy had been thorough in tying her down.

"You won't be able to get out," Archenemy said flatly, mildly amused at most by her efforts. "You should save your strength."

"Curse you," Shadow spat viciously.

Archenemy cracked a genuine smile at that, running the back of a hand down her bloody jawline, making her shudder with disgust. "I always did admire the fire of your spirit," he chuckled coldly. "It's going to be glorious watching your flame sputter and die like Ava's. I think you'll present an even greater challenge to break than she was... and I like challenges."

Shadow's narrowed eyes tracked his every movement as he put on some surgical gloves, before snapping his fingers impatiently in the air. Ava appeared next to him, bringing a rolling tray of medical instruments to the side of the table.

"Thank you. Stand by," Archenemy said, and Ava took a step back, standing at attention awaiting any further instruction.

Shadow eyed the tray, her stomach churning with dread and fear. Fear wasn't new to her, she'd been afraid on occasion in the past... but not like this. Here, she couldn't fight. Couldn't struggle. Couldn't escape. Her enemy held her life in his hands, and that was the most terrifying thought of all.

She watched as Archenemy picked up a needle and blood draw bag. "W-What's that for?" Shadow hissed, but it came out shaky, despite how she tried to act composed.

Archenemy raised an eyebrow at her. "When you were being used as Villain's party favor... do you remember what I asked you? What information I requested, in return for my assistance getting you out of Villain's mansion?" Shadow hated where this conversation was going.

"I asked you the one thing you've never disclosed to me before... where your power comes from. The ability to regenerate quickly from injury... It's not like other heros' powers. It's... different, somehow. More unique." Archenemy leaned over her, his head blotting out the bright medical light above Shadow.

"I asked about it, and you said that it's in your blood. It's a part of who you are. It can't be dampened like normal hero powers. It's in your literal DNA." Shadow winced as the needle slid into the vein in her wrist, the blood easily flowing out and into the collection bag.

"...I suspect it is a mutation of sorts," Archenemy continued, "that accelerates the natural healing process tenfold. It's not that you can't be hurt, just that you get over it faster than the rest of us." The bag filled, and he carefully removed the needle. The small pinprick was tiny enough it healed over almost instantly.

Archenemy held the bag of blood up to the light to look at it, smiling excitedly. "This is exactly the secret I needed from you. I can experiment with this blood, possibly develop a serum..."

"To what? Become immortal?" Shadow snorted sarcastically.

Archenemy's dark, greedy eyes flicked to meet hers. "No... to become unkillable."

Shadow burst out laughing before she could stop herself, and Archenemy's face scrunched up in confusion, puzzled.

"I'm not unkillable," Shadow said dryly once the laughing fit settled down. "It's just... harder to kill me."

Archenemy's expression turned thoughtful. "Hmm. I'll be sure to test that theory, at a later time."

Shadow's face instantly fell at the implication of those words. Did that mean he planned to torture her? See how much pain and physical trauma she could withstand? Test the limits of her powers? She wasn't sure how much she could truly handle... she'd always been careful not to let herself get too close to death during a fight. She always knew when it was time to retreat and heal. But Archenemy wouldn't give her that luxury... would he really kill her just to sate his curiosity?

Shadow shivered involuntarily as she watched Archenemy set the blood bag on the medical tray... before picking up a scalpel.

"What are you doing?" Shadow snapped. Fear leaked into her voice.

"Planting a tracker. Can't have my prized possession running off before my experiments are finished." Archenemy smiled wolfishly, a hunter with the trophy of a lifetime as he brought the blade to her arm. "Don't worry, it'll only hurt for a few minutes. And with your gift, you'll get over it... eventually."

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @lavenderhousesposts

[juststoriesintheend]

II. The Lesson

Pairing: Master Sol x gn!Reader

Chapter Content: some light Jedi philosophy, lightsaber sparring, mutual pining, first kiss

Word Count: 2.7k

《 [series masterlist] 》 《 I 》

In an attempt to remain as cool, calm, and casual as possible, you’ve left your cloak in your room. You’d only have to take it off in the training room anyway, so you’re saving yourself the extra time and effort. Not that you’re overthinking things. At all. You’ve only re-layered your tunics and tabard half a dozen times, adjusted your belt twice that, and very nearly stepped out with only one boot. Whatever spell you had been under in Sol’s presence yesterday has completely worn off.

You arrive an hour earlier than you normally do, which is about fifteen minutes before Sol comes in with Jecki. If you remember right, Sol is done teaching the younglings by now and is off doing whatever it is he does in his spare hour between duties. While you’re a little deflated not seeing him right away, it’s for the best because his absence allows you focus and control. You can concentrate better on the saber, on your hands, on the slicing of air and the humming of the Force without him distracting you.

After some quick stretches, you unclip your saber and ignite it. The floor and nearby pillars reflect the light back to you, as well as a distorted image of your silhouette. A lifetime’s worth of muscle memory kicks in and your body is alive, thrumming with energy as your wrist twists, then your elbow, then your torso tilts and the saber swings in front, in back, in front again. Your wrist flicks and the saber swirls above your head, down behind your back, and finishes with a flourish at your side.

It feels like coming home.

Switching the saber from one hand to the other, you warm up your other side, copying your previous moments as precisely as possible even though it’s definitely your weaker side. This is the freedom you’ve been missing. You’ve been so fixated on Sol that it’s kept you away from the calm that saber work has always brought you – the repetition of the familiar, the Force as it flows through you, the shadows and highlights cast upon the walls as your saber arcs. Nothing could ever compare to this.

The saber flies into the air after you toss it. This is one of the fancier tricks you’ve seen some of the younger Knights and Padawans practicing, and you can already tell you won’t be able to catch this one properly, not without hurting yourself, so you jump back and flick the blade off with the Force. You fully expect it to clatter on the stone floor, and you’re hoping the fall doesn’t damage the casing or the kyber, but instead it… hovers.

It takes a millisecond to search the room for the source, and another to turn your head. Sol stands near the doorway with his arm outstretched, both eyes open and his face lightly furrowed in concentration. His attention flickers to you before refocusing on your saber, and it unexpectedly flies across the room into his open palm in the second it takes for you to catch your breath.

There’s something remarkably intimate about him holding this piece of you, something so vital to your being as a Jedi that you feel empty without it at your side. Still, if there were anyone you trusted to hold your saber, your very life, in their hands, you think it would be Sol. It just so happens that you also like to watch him hold it, whatever that means to the secret, affectionate creature that lives inside you.

“I’ve never seen you try that before,” he finally says. He starts for the center of the room, his gaze still focused on your saber as he rubs his thumb over the hilt.

You’re strangely breathless and you can’t understand why. “I was feeling adventurous. Saw some of the Padawans trying it the other day and, very foolishly, thought I should try it too.”

The corner of Sol’s mouth dimples into a crooked smile.

Wait, did he just say he’d never seen you try that before? He’s aware of the type of saber work you usually do? Heat blazes across your face at the realization, but Sol is too occupied to take notice, thank the Force. He continues to turn your saber over in his hand, though you’re not sure why. It isn’t so remarkably different from any other saber.

“Why did you think you would disappoint me?”

Your saber is returned, and you clip it back to your belt just to have something to do. “Well, I’m not a Master, for one thing. If I’m going to be sparring with you, I’d like to at least look like I know what I’m doing.”

“It certainly appeared that you did.”

You duck your head the moment he makes eye contact with you. Now that he’s finally here, your confidence wavers, and you know that your concentration will do the same the moment he begins to fight.

“What is it that makes you so unsure of yourself?” he asks with all the gentleness of a man who senses discouragement and knows it like the back of his own hand. “You are an accomplished dueler.”

If only he knew the magnitude of his question, he might choose to ask you something else. Huffing a breath out the side of your mouth, you start with a lazy, “Well, I–”

The air around you seems to vibrate, then electrify as Sol summons his own weapon into his hand and ignites it. He bears down upon you, and you know deep in your heart that he would never hurt you, but this knowledge does not override instinct. Your saber is in your hand without conscious thought, brandished and burning as his blade lands near the hilt. The junction where they touch burns white-hot, so starkly bright that it hurts to even look.

What are you doing? you mean to ask, but the words never come. You’re too enraptured by the flame of blue-white light reflected in his pupils to speak. How long have you spent watching him from afar, marveling at his skill, and now you find yourself on the receiving end of it? It feels unreal. It feels jagged and raw in the same way a cold wind off the sea does, exhilarating in some forbidden sense.

He retreats and you stumble back a step as your lightsaber comes to hang by your leg, still ignited but out of the way. It’s not proper form, but you’re too dazed to care. Sol spots this and advances again, giving you only the slightest margin for error as your blade comes screaming back into position to block him once, twice, three times before he backs up again.

“You react with instinct.” He begins to circle you with his blade extended toward your face. “Good.”

You feel a flash of irritation in your chest at this. While you’re certain (at least, you hope) he means well, this feels more like a Master testing his Padawan than a fellow Jedi electing to spar with you. You are not Sol’s Padawan and you’ve already fought to make your mark as a Knight, you don’t like feeling like a child again and certainly not at his hands. That’s not the kind of feeling you want from him.

“I don’t need a lesson,” you say as politely as you can, which isn’t very much at all currently.

Sol’s head tilts slightly in the way it always does when he’s considering something. “Then why am I here?”

Electric blue flashes across your vision as he slashes his way forward and you parry away. He’s not even giving you time to answer, let alone think, and you know it’s on purpose. Your Master’s used this trick on you several times, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“Why am I here?” he repeats. He doesn’t even react when your blade swings past his shoulder and misses. “Why did you accept my offer?”

You swing again, agitated, and miss a second time, only to be pushed aside by an invisible hand so strong that it nearly knocks your breath from you.

“Because!”

Now that there’s some distance between you, you have a moment to think, to assess yourself, the questions he’s asking, and the answers you want to give. Sol, however, chooses not to give you that time. His arm extends, fingers splayed and palm open as that same invisible hand grasps you by the tabard and pulls. His wrist twists and you come flying into his hand like your saber had mere minutes ago. Instinct and fear kicks in again, and you find yourself forced to choose between freedom with no saber and close quarters defense in the amount of time it takes to decide to breathe.

Your saber drops to the floor, the blade disappearing into itself as you summon the Force to instead push yourself away from Sol and out of his grasp. The resulting blow is strong enough to knock you both off your feet, though you have just enough forewarning to brace yourself for impact. Cold, hard stone meets shins and knees, but you’re already up and recovering your saber. Sol isn’t far behind, but he’s clearly startled. Startled enough to have dropped his saber.

You are no Jar’Kai prodigy, and indeed, it’s been years since you’ve attempted to dual wield with any amount of seriousness, but you try now. It makes sense. It feels right. Sol’s saber is heavy in your hand, heavier and wider than yours, but it doesn’t fight you when you brandish it. His kyber sings a peculiar harmony with your own, as if they were exchanging greetings, embracing each other through the Force. It tickles in the back of your brain like a shot of spotchka.

Sol’s hand meets your wrist when you bring his blade down. The leather glove creaks under the weight of your blow, but his arm remains firm. Your other arm remains frozen mid-air as it quivers with the effort of resisting his Force. He’s got you pinned and while he can’t release you without putting himself back in danger, you can no longer land a blow on him without losing any ground. It’s a stalemate in its truest form.

You’re closer to him now than you ever have been before. His breath fans out across your face as it comes and goes in quick exhalations, and you find yourself wondering if you should’ve brushed your teeth again after lunch. If you’d known he’d be so close to you now, you would have.

“Why?” he grits through his bared teeth. “Why did you accept my offer?”

Something hotter than ice burns from your shoulder down to your wrist with the effort of fighting him. “Because I can’t focus,” you gasp. You won’t be able to hold on much longer. “Keep. Making mistakes.”

He presses his advantage until your arm shudders with enough strength to completely collapse. The saber is snagged from your hand as it drops and quickly redirected to spark somewhere near the column of your neck. There’s no real threat behind it. Sol is moments away from winning this round and your body is already tired.

“Let your instinct guide you,” he instructs, and though it burns to admit it, you know he’s right. “Don’t think. Feel.”

But that’s exactly what you don’t want to do, what you can’t do. Because to feel would mean to let the sin of your affection for him seep deeper and deeper into your bones until you can no longer draw it out like poison from a wound. To feel would be the most beautiful agony imaginable. To feel would be to dream of possibilities that can never be. You would rather not feel it at all, than to feel it and lose it in the end.

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

Sol frowns. He looks so beautiful bathed in the light of his kyber. “What are you afraid of?”

The blue saber deactivates, then your own, and the training room returns to normal, but your wrist remains trapped in the palm of Sol’s glove. He’s close enough now that the voluminous lower half of his robes fall around your knees, brushing your ankles as he adjusts his stance and leans further into you. Is this not everything you ever wanted?

“Tell me.”

And it’s the gentleness of this prompt that finally cleaves through your heart. You are, quite honestly, tired. Your heart and mind are exhausted from the burden of your guilt, from the knowledge that you are already so attached to a man you hardly know. You want to fight his inquisition, but more than that, you want to give in if only to find relief from the torment of not knowing.

With closed eyes and a trembling voice, you finally relinquish your secret. “Rejection. Abandonment.” Half-concocted visions of a future without the Jedi, without the Order or your Master or the life you’ve worked so hard to build, materialize behind your lids. All this because you tend to fall in love a little too fast? How is that fair? “Myself. I’m afraid of myself and what I could do to destroy my own life.”

Something knocks at the door to your mind. It is a familiar sensation, like the sound of boots on stone or a guiding command given between the sparking of saber blades, it burns golden-brown like the sun and the tunic on his chest, and it smells like incense from a far away planet, the incense you sometimes smell on his cloak when he passes you by. You let him in.

You think, at first, that sharing your mind with someone is a bit like a kiss. A gentle nudging of one mind against the other until both become one, pressing thoughts and feelings and vague ideas together like a mouth or tongue might go against your own. You think that it feels like the kind of intimacy you’ve always yearned for but feared you would never know. Then you realize that Sol is actually kissing you.

Shock ripples through you fast and hard enough to make your stomach simultaneously drop to the floor and catch in your throat. You can’t breathe, you can’t move, there’s only Sol and his lips and the blazing freedom of peace cutting through the noise that usually clouds your thoughts.

He withdraws far too soon, and it leaves your mouth tingling and bruised. Your eyes flutter open and are unsurprisingly met with the umber-blackened hue of his pupils. So close. So real. His chest heaves with the effort of… what, exactly? Does he suffer from the same strange side effect as you, the unimaginable urge to kiss him again and delve even deeper? Is he fighting to restrain himself as much as you are?

“I feel it, too,” he whispers, and his eyes drop to your tongue as it darts across the seam of your mouth.

“What?” You don’t even dare to dream, but what if…?

Sol swallows heavily. “The pull. You feel it like I do?”

The hand not grasping his lightsaber drops lazily against his sternum as you both shuffle awkwardly into more normal, non-battle stances. “I do,” you reply. “I have. For a long time.”

There is a soft rustling of fabric and breath as Sol takes a moment to clip your saber back to your belt – the feel of his fingers, even through his gloves, lingering on your belt will stick with you forever – and to gently pry his from your hand. Then he reaches for your shoulder and lays his hand there, his thumb rubbing a semi-circle into your collarbone.

“Is this what you were afraid of? That I would not return your feelings?”

The ease with which he sees through your carefully constructed walls before completely blowing them to pieces is startling. Not even your Master is quite this forward with you. It’s different, to be sure, yet oddly refreshing.

“Among other things,” is your bashful response, half murmured to the space above his shoulder.

“We must have the courage to say what we want, even if we are afraid.” His hand resettles upon your cheek and your breath rushes out of you in an instant. All you can think is Sol Sol Sol Sol Sol, the only prayer you’ll ever need. “Are you afraid now?”

“No.”

“Then… I would like to kiss you again.”

When he smiles, you feel it curling up around your heart, a string that ties you to him, first knotted when he summoned your saber into his hand and now finished with a kiss.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite

[straykids-97]

Masterlist!!

•Anons are welcome AND encouraged!•

💫Stray Kids🌌

Bang Chan

Vermillion - Chan likes when you make him feel powerful. And one thing he likes to do is hunt... You. Chokehold - Chan can't sleep, so he wakes you up. Undone - Chan appreciates art. Sometimes it's music and sometimes it's hearing you say his name. Eloquent - Chan's age doesn't mean he's practiced in all arts... Covet - You join Chan while he works in the studio, and you get yourself into trouble... Eros - You spend the day thinking about Chan, and the he comes home after receiving an interesting picture of you... Vexation - Chan doesn’t like when someone touches what his Call Me by Your Name - There are a lot of things in the world that Chris loves... But hearing you say his name, is probably his favorite... Soft? - You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself Chase - Man cannot possess anything as long as he fears death. But to him who does not fear it, everything belongs Candy Floss? - Never say no to cotton candy... Or is it candy floss?

Sinner - Chris can only take so much before he snaps. A typical tirade ends up being far more than what you bargained for…

Drabbles/hard thoughts/Soft thoughts

Hardthought

Chan Drabble 1

Chan Drabble 2

Chan Drabble 3

Bang Chan Drabble

Chan Drabble 4

Chan/ Minho Anon Drabble

Chan Rant/Drabble

Soft Thought 1

Chan Drabble 5

Hardthought 2

Lee Know

The Summoning - the best sins are committed by those who'd you least expect... Mirror, Mirror - You push Lee Know over the edge, and now you're faced with your reflections... Obedient - You can't help but listen to every word that Minho says, even if it's bad Vanity - Mirrors reflect our own vanity, and Minho can’t stop using his… Drip - A human being is only breath and shadow. 

Drabbles/hard thoughts

Lee Know Drabble

Chan/ Minho Anon Drabble

Changbin

Hands - Changin's love language happens to be touch, and his hands are your weakness... Dessert - After hanging out with your friends, Changbin stops to get you some ice cream... Then he gets his own dessert... Passion - Changbin asks to come see you after a long day at the studio, and things heat up... Cherry - After a chance encounter, you meet Changbin again under much less innocent circumstances… Letters to the Moon - Changbin likes to push you until you're flustered. Until you feel like you can't take it anymore... But then pull you back and keep you where he wants you... Heat - Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.

Drabbles/Hard thoughts

Hyunjin

Silhouette - Hyunjin enjoys painting... But he likes painting you more... (one and only smut to be flagged lol wtf) Love Potion - Three things cannot be long hidden; the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Drabbles/Hard thoughts

Felix

Blurry - Blur the lines of conformity.

Drabble/Hard thoughts

Lee Felix Drabble

BROWNIE BOY

Soft thoughts

Angel

Han

Blurry - Blur the lines of conformity.

Drabble/ Hard thoughts

Seungmin

Sweet - Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. 

Drabbles/ Hard thoughts

I.N

Fever - Passion is a sort of fever in the mind, which ever leaves us weaker than it found us.

Drabbles/ Hard thoughts

🫧Ateez🏴‍☠️

Seonghwa

Carmine - Seonghwa enjoys many things in life and overindulges occasionally. Sometimes it just happens to be you... Narcissist - Seonghwa likes to annoy you, but his favorite thing to do is make you cry…

Drabbles/ Hard thoughts

Seonghwa hard thought 1

Seonghwa hard thought 2

Yunho

Jaws - Yunho is prepared to do everything to help you forget. Even if that means doing something you've never done before. Scarlet - Yunho is a patient man, but sometimes you wear his patience thin… Take it Back - Once said, you can't take it back...

Drabbles/Hard thoughts

TMI??

Yunho Hard thought 1

Oh?

Control

San

The Offering - San can't help but taste the sweetest thing possible... and that's you. Ego - Wooyoung finally convinces you to try something new… and you quickly discover that it’s very taboo…

Drabbles/Hard thoughts

Choi San Brain Rot

Mingi

The Night Does Not Belong to God - Mingi's favorite pass time is watching your eyes roll... Ruby - Mingi is an educated man in all aspects...

Drabbles/Hard thoughts

Mingi Drabble

Mingi Drabble 💭✍🏻

Wooyoung

Ego - Wooyoung finally convinces you to try something new… and you quickly discover that it’s very taboo…

Rants

Grievance/ Rant

Chan Rant

[beauiestars]

OBI-WAN KENOBI - Scars of Age

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader {PART TWELVE}

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: SLOW BURN, pining, plenty of inaccuracies with timeline and facts, graphic-ish violence, a sprinkle of death and injury, a couple mentions of vomiting (non-explicit/totally casual) [LIST TBC].

Beau's Note: Upload schedule? We don't know her, I fear. Would anyone be interested in a taglist for this story?

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. But with the forces of the universe tearing them apart, can two childhood best friends rediscover their connection and find solace in each other once more?

The jungle wasn't entirely pitch black. Your path was dappled with faint, ghostly light from bioluminescent spores drifting lazily in the air and the rhythmic, deliberate blinking of creatures nestled within the dense overgrowth. The air, once thick and sweltering, now carried a slight chill. The trader cloaks—at some point during the chaos, had been tied securely to your belt—were now draped snugly over your shoulders, offering meagre warmth against the creeping cold.

Yet, no amount of light or comfort could dispel the unsettling sensation that coiled around you. A primal awareness prickled at the base of your neck, whispering that you were not alone. That you were being hunted. Stalked like vulnerable prey.

You slowed your pace, coming to a cautious halt, and Juna mirrored your movements without a word. Running now would only amplify the noise of your passage, drawing attention in a place where silence was survival. The stillness that followed was oppressive, broken only by the distant croaks of unseen creatures and the occasional guttural growl that reverberated through the jungle's living tapestry. The jungle itself seemed to breathe around you.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Juna murmured behind you, her voice barely rising above the ambient hum of the wilderness. Her words were heavy, tinged with regret. You furrowed your brow but didn't turn to face her. In the darkness, she wouldn't have been able to see your expression even if you did.

"I didn't mean to ruin your mission," she continued, her voice small. "I should've waited like you told me to."

"Juna, stop," you interjected gently but firmly. She fell silent at once. "I'm not gonna punish you for following your gut. I wasn't in trouble, but if I had been, I'd have appreciated you coming to my rescue a whole lot more. You didn't do anything wrong."

A sniffle came from behind you, quiet but audible. You paused, feeling the words flow out of you, unbidden yet sincere. "Yeah, it was reckless. But, hell, I can't fault you for being heroic."

You barely had time to process the sound of her soft sob before she wrapped her arms around you from behind. Her hold was tight, desperate, her tears soaking into the coarse fabric of your cloak. You leaned back slightly, offering quiet comfort as her quiet weeping trembled against your shoulders. The moment felt fragile, as though the jungle paused to allow it to pass.

Then a stick snapped behind you, shattering the quiet. The sound was sharp, immediate, and too close. Instinct took over. In one fluid motion, you spun on your heels, yanking Juna behind you with a protective sweep of your arm.

Your lightsaber hissed to life, the brilliant blue beam carving through the shadows. Its hum filled the silence, revealing a dark silhouette mere meters away. A figure, cloaked in shadow, loomed just where Juna had been standing seconds ago. Your stomach twisted at the realisation—if he hadn't been so clumsy, if you hadn't stopped to listen...

You clenched your jaw, forcing the thought from your mind. No time to dwell. The figure tensed, but so did you. Your grip tightened on the saber hilt, its glow reflecting in your sharp, focused eyes.

He raised his cybernetic arm, its polished surface glinting faintly in the bioluminescent glow, and fired a flare into the canopy. The jungle exploded with red light, the brightness throwing jagged shadows across every surface. Moments later, a chorus of mechanical whirs and clanking footsteps reverberated through the undergrowth, closing in like a hunting pack.

"Hear that?" the figure rasped, his voice a grating blend of metal on metal. It sent a shiver down your spine. He chuckled—a sound that was more a death rattle than laughter. He lunged forward, reaching for you, but Juna's lightsaber ignited with a fierce hum, its green light slicing through the crimson haze as she swung for his unmodified arm.

He dodged effortlessly, his cybernetic arm jerking toward her as his hand pressed a concealed button. A sharp click preceded a pulse of force that sent Juna hurtling backward. She collided with a tree and slid to the ground with a groan. Relief flickered through you when you saw her shifting to rise—she wasn't seriously hurt.

"Who are you?" you growled, gripping your lightsaber hilt so tightly your fingers ached.

"Who am I?" he spat back, disdain dripping from every syllable. "I am Tavros. Who the fuck are you?"

You scoffed inwardly. Bounty hunters and their oversized egos. "None of your business," you retorted, shifting your stance. Behind you, you heard Juna getting to her feet, but the mechanical army approaching was growing louder. Two Jedi against a horde of droids wasn't a fight you could win outright. You needed to take down Tavros now and find a way to escape before the tide overwhelmed you.

Without waiting, you surged forward and swung at Tavros. Your blade grazed his mechanical arm, and the air filled with the stench of scorched metal. The saber didn't penetrate, but the hit startled him, buying you a second. He swung his metal fist, the heavy appendage slamming into your jaw with brutal force. Pain shot through your face as you were thrown to the jungle floor, tasting blood as you spat onto the dirt.

Dizzy but determined, you forced yourself upright, ignoring the throbbing in your head. Your next strike was aimed at his legs, but the blade glanced off with a dull clang. Metal, of course. Charred fabric fluttered in the wake of your strike, but no real damage had been done. You ducked a retaliatory swing from him just as the pounding of droid feet reached the clearing.

Juna re-entered your line of sight, her lightsaber carving through the first wave of droids. Relief steadied your nerves as she held her ground.

You turned back to Tavros, assessing his movements. His strength and speed came from his enhancements, but no machine was invulnerable. You drove your elbow into his shoulder with all your weight. He stumbled, and you capitalised on the moment to strike. Your lightsaber drilled into the joint where metal met flesh, searing through the armour. He let out a guttural growl and retaliated with a swift kick to your stomach, sending you sprawling. Even as you hit the ground, you glimpsed the damage you'd caused—a gaping, smouldering wound on his shoulder.

Juna yelped in the distance, but a glance reassured you she was holding her own against the advancing droids. Turning back to Tavros, you adjusted your grip on your lightsaber, the heat of the blade radiating through your glove. Pivoting, you jabbed the hilt's pommel into his ribs, finding soft flesh beneath the layers of armour. Twisting the saber, you drove it into the vulnerable spot, but before you could finish the job, a stray blaster bolt streaked past your head, forcing you to roll aside.

Tavros collapsed to the ground, clutching his side and cursing as he writhed in pain. "Juna!" you shouted, your voice strained. She dispatched the last of the droids near her, the green blade flashing as she decapitated the final pair. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward you, her eyes wide with concern.

She reached for your arm, helping you to your feet. You linked arms and let her take the lead this time, the adrenaline in your veins barely masking the sharp pain radiating from your injuries. As you stumbled through the dense jungle, warm liquid trickled down your face. You told yourself it was sweat, but the coppery taste on your tongue said otherwise.

Behind you, the clearing fell silent for a moment. Then, the sounds of reinforcements began to echo faintly through the trees. The hunt wasn't over yet.

You ran until your legs burned and your breath came in ragged gasps. When you spotted a cave hidden behind a curtain of vines, you didn't hesitate. Grabbing Juna's wrist, you ducked inside, brushing aside the foliage as your lightsaber's faint glow illuminated the interior. The cave was small, its jagged walls close but comforting. Outside, the jungle was eerily silent, as though the pursuit had ended, though you weren't entirely convinced.

You limped to the back wall, your muscles aching with every step, and collapsed against the cool rock. For the first time since landing on this forsaken planet, you allowed yourself a moment to simply breathe. Juna mirrored your movements, leaning against the opposite wall, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. The silence between you wasn't awkward; it was a shared reprieve from the chaos.

When your eyes met across the cave, a laugh bubbled up unexpectedly from your blood-cracked lips. It was weak at first but grew stronger, filling the cavern. Juna snorted, and before you knew it, both of you were laughing uncontrollably, the sound echoing off the walls in wild, unrestrained relief.

"That could not have gone worse," you wheezed, a cough interrupting your laughter as blood spotted your palm. Your tone was light, but the pain radiating from every part of your body betrayed you. You pushed up your sleeve to inspect your arm. The skin around the wound was darkened with bruising, and blood streaked in dried rivulets, but at least it wasn't infected. Yet.

Juna, still catching her breath, nodded. "I'm glad you let me come with you," she said softly.

You watched her as she shuffled closer, her form dimly lit by the lightsaber's glow. She sat beside you, shivering slightly from the damp chill of the cave. Without a word, you shrugged out of your cloak, wrapping it around both of you. It wasn't much, but it trapped the heat between your bodies.

"I should be the one thanking you, kid," you murmured, leaning back against the wall. "You saved my ass back there with those droids."

She tilted her head up, offering a faint smile. "Only because you were too busy with the half-indestructible guy who threw me halfway across the jungle," she teased.

You chuckled, the sound low and genuine, and rested your head against hers. Her laughter faded, but a small, sleepy smile remained on her face. "I want to be just like you when I grow up," she whispered, her voice tinged with admiration.

The warmth of her words struck you hard, and your smile faltered for just a moment. You felt your chest swell with an emotion too complex to name—pride, affection, a bittersweet ache.

"No," you said quietly. She tensed against you, and you could feel her gaze searching for yours, though you didn't look down. "You're gonna be better."

She was quiet for a moment, but then you felt her relax against your shoulder. Her smile returned, brighter this time, and though you couldn't see it, you could feel its radiance fill the cave. That warmth sank deep into your heart, a flicker of light amidst the darkness. It was a moment you knew you'd carry with you, etched into your memory, a reminder of what you were fighting for.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

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