#so there's still another opportunity to see him get maimed by someone

[yeyinde]

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. 

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin. 

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering. 

Incurable. 

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty. 

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock. 

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it. 

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish. 

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist. 

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer. 

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed. 

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you? 

Obediently following the wrong master. 

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth. 

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him. 

But of course, you don't. 

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands. 

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to. 

And so, he doesn't. 

No. He blames you. 

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity. 

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next." 

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners. 

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" 

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like— 

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them. 

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest. 

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen." 

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?” 

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem. 

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning. 

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you. 

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half. 

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.” 

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone. 

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?” 

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross. 

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging. 

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all. 

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle. 

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?” 

“Shut up—”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation. 

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?” 

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him. 

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching. 

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving. 

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease. 

Cathartic. 

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.” 

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady. 

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific. 

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again. 

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose. 

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony. 

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs. 

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs. 

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit. 

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming. 

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.” 

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips. 

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose. 

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he? 

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts. 

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth. 

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic. 

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades. 

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive. 

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow. 

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins. 

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him. 

It's new, this. This meekness. 

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it. 

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening. 

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched. 

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender. 

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one. 

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring. 

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs. 

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh. 

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?” 

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head. 

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No. 

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight. 

Bracing yourself. 

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over. 

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine. 

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx. 

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere. 

Something will break. Shatter. 

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock. 

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric. 

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl. 

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.  

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting. 

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth. 

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that. 

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers. 

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins. 

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand. 

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you? 

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.” 

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—” 

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel. 

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” 

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox. 

“E–eight.” 

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone. 

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare. 

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly. 

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body. 

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks. 

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze. 

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.” 

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking. 

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon. 

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand. 

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet. 

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap. 

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

[yandrness]

Yandere Jing Yuan - Very Dangerous!

Jing Yuan from HSR looks like such a soft, patient, playful, gentle, beautiful (!!!) man. All the green lights on the street. You want to know who the Xianzhou girls want to marry? It’s this guy. Guy is a senior and still single, there are no rumors of him playing around and have you seen his smile??

Then it turns out that when he falls in love, everything is off the table. He knows his feelings are abnormal and twisted, he knows he’s being too possessive and obsessive, but he’s self-aware enough (after some attempts) that he cannot stop himself from being… well… a very, very abnormal lover.

He wants to pat your hair everyday. He wants to kiss you in the mornings when he wakes up with you. He wants to hug you whenever he sees you and never let go.

(he wants to lock you up so no one can see you, he wants to maim those people who look at you so obscenely, he wants to chop off the hands of anyone who tries to touch you, he wants to love you love you love you until you understand you can’t evereverever leave him, he wants to devour you—)

The General of Xianzhou Luofu is, however, an extremely intelligent and cunning man. The board is his playground, and life is but a simulation of a game. He has an abnormal self-awareness normal yanderes won’t have, as well as an understanding of how to pick apart his enemies and how to gain the maximum amount of affection from his lover everyday <3. He understands social cues and anticipates actions from his enemies and those he deems dangerous for his darling. He would be able to cut people off from your life easily and you wouldn’t even be aware of it (he really wants to make you rely on him, but he won’t, he won’t either do anything drastic unless situation calls for it or you’re really surrounded by scum). If you were being harassed by someone then they’d disappear the next day, or idk, their reputation goes down the drain after a series of unfortunate incidents. He coaxed you into going to live in an area with the least appearances of Mara-struck citizens, even better if you agree to live with him, or perhaps he makes it seem like it’s your choice (maybe some promotion, deals too good to pass on, job opportunity, being moved to another branch of the company you work for, etc etc).

He’s self-aware of what to do and what NOT to do… at least, without anyone knowing. If a slight inking of his real intentions are caught by anyone (Fu Xuan is the most likely to catch on Jing Yuan’s yandereness, but she has no interest in the General’s love life so it’s unlikely she gets THAT intrusive unless he’s too obvious, and he won’t be, because he very much likes his current relationship with his darling and it’d be a shame to jeopardize that) he makes sure to blow it off in typical General-manner. Light-hearted, friendly, lazily, you name it — it’s unimaginable how he’s thinking of cutting off that hand that just touched you, right?

The General, even on the battlefield, isn’t a very violent person, so that prisoner screaming about him had clearly gone mad from Mara disease.

When it comes to being the lover of Jing Yuan, you are very happy. Your lover is thoughtful, gentle, faithful, playful, beautiful and very, very caring. So what if he’s sometimes a bit overbearing? Or his gaze is a little intense? Or that he likes kissing and hugging and all sorts of physical contact? How could you say no when those golden eyes stare at you so deeply? (yes the general is deliberately seducing you) One gaze and some teasing gets you flushing and melting into his arms.

Yandere Jing Yuan is a very mild yandere since he has an abnormal self-control, but push enough of his buttons (AKA you) and he can easily be triggered into one of the most terrifying yandere you or your enemies/friends can meet, but if you coax him right he can still be the sweetest gentleman ever. Your fate depends on your choices.

(AKA don’t be stupid lmao or you gonna find yourself in house arrest while ppl think you died from the mara disease or sth, oof)

[buckaroo627]

Observation: Kiss Buck to be included, that's my first take

Tommy: Nobody meant to exclude you, Evan. Eddie and I hanging out it wasn't about you. Buck: That's usually my problem. [chuckles] Uh, I can get pretty jealous.

Tommy: Yeah, you're not the only one. I was super jealous. Buck: You? Over what? Tommy: All of you. The 118. How it's become like a family over there. I mean, how you all were willing to put everything on the line for one another. I wanted to be a part of that. Buck: Hey, you-you were. A-And you did. Y-You even made fake mouth static at the fire chief.

[laughs]

Tommy: I'm renowned for my fake mouth static. Buck: It was not great. [laughs] Tommy: Come on. Hey! Buck: It was not convincing, but you did it anyway. Y-You threw in with us, no hesitation, and I thought, "Wow. That guy is cool. I like that guy." I mean, that's why I called an asked for the tour. You know, it wasn't about me maybe leaving the 118, Tommy. I... I just, wanted to get to know you.

(With perplexed reaction, Tommy-)

Tommy: Yeah? Buck: Yeah. And then you left with Eddie, which, listen, you don't have to tell me how great Eddie is. You know, I've known that since the first day I worked with him. Of course you want to hang out with Eddie. Plus, well, I-I don't know Muay Thai.

Tommy: I could teach you. Buck: Okay. I-Is that gonna be right after our flying lessons? Tommy: Probably not on the same day. Buck: Good. 'Cause trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting.

(With confused, doubtful expression, Tommy-)

Tommy: My attention? Buck: Yeah, I guess so. Uh... I mean, I... I did maim my best friend. [chuckles] My sister says there are, uh, better ways to get someone's atten-

(Tommy grabbed the rope)

---9-1-1---9-1-1---9-1-1---

When I first watched that scene... and I first heard the words, and then he kissed Buck... my thoughts were these: 1. Oh my, Buck finally on the path of realization for Eddie. 2. WTF, did he kiss Buck just to get in with the 118 dynamics? After leaving Buck outside the restaurant, my opinion was, he has no qualms leaving him, because he still has Eddie to hang out with and has the opportunity to still be somewhat part of 118 hang outs, like what happened during the basketball game, it's not only Eddie there, Chimney and Buck arrived, it's not full house, (just so you know, I didn't watch that part, I don't know just jump scenes, I don't really like seeing Buck frown, even the gym part at the station, skipped it)

So, Tommy's still gay, and there's no force or pressure to be with Buck, so Buck asking him to be his date to his sister's wedding is an opportunity for him to be part of 118 family. As a date, you know. Being a date is better than attending as a friend.

And has he made effort for Buck during the Bachelor Party? No effort at all. I mean he did attend, but if he's really interested in Buck, like genuinely, he'll take interest to Buck's plans. Even if we say he's not there as Buck's date, ugh, too many words, I'll just say, excuses, always there's a excuses not to do anything.

If you really want it there's always a way, if you don't there's excuses.

I made observations of this before, just part of it, but i did not delve deeper about it, just talked about Buck's path.

So now I'm confessing my piece on this about Tommy stepping in Buck's path.

Tommy said it, he's SUPER jealous of the 118 family. He wanted to be part of it.

And how could he if he's someone who used to work in 118? if he's someone who knew people there? if he's someone 118 knew from before? but if he's someone who is friends with someone in the 118, he may have a foot inside the line. but then, if he's someone who's dating one member of the 118, then, he's got both shoes inside the line.

[giantchasm]

"It turns out that sometimes the future actually belongs to someone else."

Happy Taransusie Tuesday, everyone! Here's...

Content that only ostensibly focuses on Taransusie and is more than anything character analysis of a third party?

How romantic! 🎉🥳

Okay, but no, seriously. Joshing aside, the other day I posted a meme about Sectonia and how she might feel about the idea of Taranza eventually moving on from her. And it was funny. We all laughed. But things can't always be goof-goof "If everyone started saying 'she sent her for you' I would start haunting literally everyone here because no I didn't." I'm a serious guy. I like exploring concepts that make me go "OUCHIE!" and so let's look at that sort of idea through a more somber lens for a moment.

...How would Sectonia feel if Taranza eventually moved on?

Now, I don't know if she's out there... somewhere in Hades or haunting his ass, but either way I think about her a lot. How she might feel in death, especially if she was returned to her right mind.

I think... Sectonia would have a lot of complicated feelings. Like, before we even get to the relationship nonsense. Let's toss all that aside for a second. I think Sectonia would be simultaneously be crushed by the state she left Taranza in and still... upset to eventually see him heal from it. She'd be glad, of course, to watch the scars she left on him fade, but all the same... seeing him make new friends— leave her behind...

That would have to hurt a little bit, wouldn't it? After all, it's not like she'd be afforded the same opportunity. She died young. Via circumstances that were hardly her fault. Of course she'd be a little bit jealous. Of course she'd be a little bit depressed. Maybe even a little bit angry. And she'd feel bad about it, but she would.

So when you factor in the idea of Taranza entering another relationship... oh my gosh, those complex feelings would only intensify. Taranza deserves to be happy. Taranza deserves to move on. She would know that rationally, but at the same time, the heart isn't always rational.

I do think ultimately she'd support him. In whatever he chose to do. Even if it hurt her a little. The least she can do is give him her blessing after everything that happened.

But that's something that applies to just about any Taranza ship. Let's talk about Susie for a moment.

I... think Susie and Sectonia are people who have some similar issues. At least in my interpretations, they're both people who have warped and maimed themselves in an endless search of perfection hoping it will grant them acceptance from others. But this hasn't granted them peace of mind, and in fact all it's done is pull them further from 'themselves.'

I don't know. I just think they'd have a lot to talk about, even in contexts that don't flagrantly disregard the Bechdel test like this one. They're both girlies who would, like, really vibe to both "Oh No!" by Marina and the Diamonds and "Body" by Mother Mother if that's a sentence that makes even a lick of sense. Their mental illnesses aren't the same, but they're like cousins. Their mental illnesses went to school together.

I think this sort of... self-recognition through the other would both make things easier and harder on Sectonia. Because on one hand, I think it would further be a reminder of all the things she'll never have no matter how badly she wants them, but I also think it would help her... have more empathy for this person she's initially inclined to see as her enemy, and maybe even help her eventually want good things for her.

It's kind of a complex scenario. More serpentine than I could possibly portray in a single comic or Tumblr post. Eventually, I'd like to write a fic from a deceased Sectonia's perspective exploring these sorts of ideas. But for now, I'll leave you with one last preposterous observation:

Perhaps this, too, is yuri. 🤖🐝

[halfagone]

So I’ve seen this idea written out before as a oneshot, but I think someone could make this a really cool story chock full of character development. This prompt is fairly simple, what if Dan is sent on ghost parole by Ghost King! Danny! in the DC universe where he’s forced to be a hero and forbidden to kill or maim anyone he fights? I think it would be a really neat way to slowly show Dan becoming more and more like his old self again throughout the story. I also just think it would funny for him to deal with the Bats trying to figure out his deal with him being pissed cuz he’s not a loud to hurt them or else Danny will soup his ass again, lol.

Ooh, yes! I've seen fics and concepts with this idea! I've gotta be honest with you, though, I really like Dan as a cold-hearted bastard. But I am still always one for character redemption/development, so you have certainly piqued my interest. Another really fun, but slightly crackish, idea would be Dan is kicked out and sent to this other world and told to play nice. And at first he tries to fight the orders and start wrecking things, but it turns out that the first thing he happened to destroy belonged to someone evil and it was potentially dangerous and now everyone is cheering for this new hero and Dan is just... flabbergasted at his bad luck. And it keeps on happening. He doesn't want to be a hero, he doesn't want to be a 'good guy', but now everyone is complementing him and thanking him, and Dan can't even do anything about it.

When the JL or the Bats try to question him about his motives and where he came from, he keeps trying to spout insults at them, but he's not allowed to. So he either physically can't say the words or they're changed without his permission into something nicer. So now Dan is stuck trying to get his way around this, while fighting all the ways the universe is telling him: "Hey, being a nice person isn't always horrible! People didn't hate you for your powers! You're not a monster! Those guys back in that other place didn't know what they were talking about!" And all that sort of thing.

And Dan just really, really hates it. lol

But you're definitely right that it's a good opportunity for Dan to get some character development and potentially a redemption. I'm not sure what his personality would look like, since he is technically a mixture of Danny and Vlad's ghost halves, and more than that, Danny had been a teenager when his halves had been forced apart. And Dan... didn't really grow up (assuming he did actually physically grow up into an adult, anyways) normally, or in a healthy way, after this point. So while I don't think he'd really go back to acting like the Danny we know and love, I do think we could definitely start to see some of that personality coming in as Dan slowly, begrudgingly grows as a person.

[moonstonedrawsrandomly]

Confrontation 9 🟢

Both Leshy, Noelle an Gaia all landed in the outskirts of the Old Faith, huffing and puffing. They were on a cliff side, where the can see all the untouched land that was either inhabited by monsters or other Cults and Clans. No one really knows what is what but that doesn’t matter. Noelle sits on a log with Gaia in her hands.

“Why did they want to kill me automatically? I don’t know what I did to make them mad, now I’m being chased by TWO groups of people…I didn’t even get to make a good impression on them”

Noelle said. Both women had no idea what was going on. Leshy was unusually quiet for nearly being killed. Something is off.

“Scuse me dear”

Gaia hopped off her lap onto his. Facing him, he looked away. He’s hiding something.

“Leshy? You know you’re my son. Tell me, why did Shamura had bloodlust in their eyes as they raised their axe at Noelle’s head? What is that thing on their head? What happened to your eye? Where are your other siblings? And why did you tell Noelle that something happened to her people?”

“…Mom…you wouldn’t believe me”

He said that so naturally. As if he’s called her mom his whole life. Gaia looked at him, a little more stern but still with kindness in her eye?

“Try me. We can’t go back…and I’m sure Noelle deserves the truth as much as I do…because knowing you…you didn’t tell her the whole thing…so now tell us, there is nowhere to run now.”

She said. But she knew she was right, there was no beating around the bush with this. Everything was going to come out in the open. Eventually, she was just giving him an opportunity to do it for himself. And he took it.

“Okay, I will just say this, this is from my perspective so some information isn’t accurate.”

He said. Noelle and Gaia listened closely

“That day. When you left, the clan was in pure disarray. Elder sibling did not know how to function when you were sealed away, everyone could tell that it was eating at them , but no one knew how to help. And even when there was help, they didn’t accept it.

So older sibling coped on their own, raising me and the other three siblings. Things were rough, but we made the best of it. We were all we got. However, we didn’t think it would get even worse, and the worst to one was Narinder.

Narinder started to want more power. He was no longer happy with the bit of land he had and the role he played in the family. He even came to consider taking your portion, since you were technically deceased. Eldest sibling was against it, saying that it didn’t make sense to give one sibling someone else’s share, even though it wouldn’t upset the balance again. Narinder just wouldn’t listen. I honestly think he was just sick of being the bishop of afterlife, and wanted something new, or something to expand territory in.

He began to protest, burning down Mom’s resting place plus some of her belongings, gathering other followers and telling them that the cult was weak and that he would lead them to prosperity. All of this, but Shamura just punished him. Nothing came of it. I just didn’t think he would go this far to get it.

Narinder even threatened to divide the cult and take half of them to make his own cult. Our clan was nearly split down the middle about who join the bishops new clan and the old existing clan. That’s how bad it got, he nearly fractured The Faithful Clan with his antics, and I’m still angry about what he did to your dwelling. But for eldest sibling, that wasn’t the last straw but the end was near for him.

The day that was the final straw, was when during a spat with Kallamar, he tried to kill him…and he was almost successful. Killing another god is nothing new…but that was the final straw for Shamura. We had to seal him away before anything happened further…and as you see…he maimed us pretty bad.

Big Sister nearly lost her voice due to the cut in her neck, big brother can barely hear certain words, unless you speak up loud enough, I am nearly blinded in two of my eyes, to the point where I need this blindfold to even see, an older sibling at the worst of it, they had their cranial cavity? Cracked open, and now it affects their memory.

The worst is when they try to remember how to unseal you, that’s when they’re headaches, migraines are the worst, and they make them bleed out their head and pass out. All of that, just to seal him away.

Now, the part that involves you, Noelle, is what happened after. Eldest sibling ended up meeting with an oracle, I forgot what his name was but that’s not important, that told him that a prophecy could be completed, if Narinder was able to find someone to free him. That person was of possible lamb descent.

After the damage that they’ve done to our clan, are people in our family, elder sibling did not want to take another chance. Any lame, regardless of ethnicity, or belief was to be slaughtered. I told eldest sibling that I didn’t agree with this, and this would just bring resentment to our cult, but they took a chance with Narinder ,so they weren’t taking a chance with this one. They had no choice when they began coming for the bishops, with the red crown on their heads…No one even knows where he got this surplus of lambs and rams but all I know is that…they’re gone…

But he kept using them, and he kept depleting their population. I wasn’t aware that eldest sibling was successful. I still don’t feel great about it but that’s what transpired after you left…I’m…I’m so sorry Noelle…Mom…”

Both women sat there in pure shock. But instead of sitting down processing it, Noelle gets up and punches a tree, bruising her hand in the process. She can feel the pain…but she can’t think straight.

“ so you’re telling me, that me and Moses are the last lambs left alive? And that your clan depleted our species due to some….rogue Bishop? Is that even a logical statement?!? This is YOUR fault?!?”

Gaia can hear the anger in her voice. Why wouldn’t she be angry? She just learned that there was nobody left beside her and her friend! Does her own goddess know? Does anyone outside the Clan know? Why does she have to be burdened with this knowledge? It’s not fair!

“Leshy, why did you lie to me then?”

“I… I didn’t know what you knew, and also, I didn’t feel like it was right for me to tell you what happened. I don’t know how that would change your view of me, or Gaia, but Gaia is innocent in all of this!”

He said, almost as if he’s making a plea to her to not give up on helping her.

“Why should I believe you?!? You already lied to me!”

“Noelle please-“

“NO! Your a filthy liar AND a murderer! I can’t believe I even considered you someone trustworthy”

Noelle faced the cliff away from them. Leshy pleaded for her to hear him out, but that option was off the table for now.

“…Noelle…

“Leshy…leave her be…you told her a lot, let her process this…”

She said. Leshy looked sad, remorseful even. This is a mess…an awful mess…death, destruction, betrayal, and now heresy? This was not the way she left this cult.

Noelle was now sitting on the log by herself, while Leshy faced away from her. Noelle really had to think about this now, why help them? They killed her people, what does she get out of this? The only thing that was keeping her going, with the idea that she would meet more lambs, maybe even start a family. What drive does she have now? What’s waiting for her at the end of this road? She was better off going back to her old cult and getting executed or whipped to death…

Gaia jumps back into her lap. She looked up at her, she could see the life drain from her face. She put her own head against her stomach, feeling the sorrow. Wishing she could take that pain away from her. That bright bubbly lamb.

“Noelle, if you choose to stop helping me, I will not hold it against you, But right now you’re in danger, and we need to get you to safety, okay?”

She looked at Noelle the way a mother looks at her child in peril. Trying to center them, and getting them to move. Noelle wipes the tears from her eyes beginning to form.

“…If I stop helping you, then what happens to you? You can’t leave or communicate with Leshy…”

“ Darling, what about me? I’m more worried about you. Forget them for a second. You are the one who got us here in the first place. So much progress…we found out that Narinder was sealed and the truth about what happened to your people. But this, this is not closure…if your willing to stay for a bit longer…can I tell you something?”

Noelle perks up.

“ What?”

“We all hold onto a little thing called Hope. Even in our darkest times, we can still believe in each other for a better future…Maybe, that will give you some strength in this time of need…I believe you have a very loving and tender soul to help me out…and I promise you…when I get my hands on their necks…they will be begging for your forgiveness. Okay, Dear?”

She said. Noelle began to cry.

“ I left my home without thinking about the consequences, and now I feel like half of my life is a lie. I feel like an idiot…”

Leshy attempted to comfort Noelle, not realizing the shadows behind them emerging from the distance.

“Well, look on the bright side. You still have a lot more life to live! And when I get out…hopefully soon, I will make sure you live it to the fullest. You can even bring your other lamb friends if you want, would you like that?”

“I’d like that very much”

Before she could continue, there was a rustle. Leshy yanked Noelle away from the log. Noelle was holding Gaia tightly as whomever was there came forward. It was the Bishops.

“Elder sibling, I have found the heretics. Shall we eliminate the lamb?”

Kallamar said. Shamura walks forward. Gaia just noticed them in the sunset.

“Shamura….”

They looked tired, more worn down than anything. Their cap already looked like it was bleeding for the last two hours. Gaia felt nostalgic for them. Shaking out of that thought, she had to think before they killed Noelle.

“Let me go”

“What for?”

“Just trust me”

She said. Noelle loosened her grip on the crown but she didn’t fully let go of her.

“Leshy of Bagworm! You have no idea how disappointed I am of you. Defending and covering a heretic. WITHIN OUR VERY WALLS!?! Leshy, is there anything you want to say?”

Leshy looked behind him. There was Noelle and Gaia’s crown. Gaia’s crown?

“Yes there is, what color was Gaia’s crown?”

All the siblings looked at him confused. What a weird question to ask. And why now?!? He should know that…or maybe it’s a reasonable question.

“What rubbish are you speaking?”

Heket said.

“Yes, what nonsense are you spouting, everyone knows that Gaia’s crown was an orange square. It complimented Elder Sibling’s Purple Crown perfectly!”

Leshy takes the opportunity to take Gaia from Noelle.

“If Gaia is a Orange crown, then who is this?”

Of course, he presents the crown and the other bishops nearly slice Leshy’s hand off. In the split second, they all looked at the crown and realized the truth

“Gaia?”

TBC

[auncyen]

So if you've been reading Overcast on ao3, I decided to start the next chapter with Castti's PoV on the events in Timberain both to get her PoV and to also look at "something weird is going on with Hikari".

I've been tempted to post that portion of the chapter (the chapter goes a good bit past that--this is a longass chapter so far lol) since finishing it, and I was holding off, but since something is going on with ao3 now, you know what?

Here's Castti's PoV for the Trousseau fight to the aftermath, for anyone interested.

*

After Hikari breaks Trousseau’s mask during the fight, Castti realizes two things that make her heart tighten in her chest, especially because she should have figured them out sooner.

First, she was never going to save Trousseau.  She should have known that as soon as she realized he was at Timberain Castle.  Even if he’d gotten in through the security, they were never going to let him back out.  People would clamor for his head.  The Trousseau she knew had willingly put his life on the line for patients, and this Trousseau had trapped himself on a rooftop, where the only outcomes could be another massacre or his own death, because it was the best place to spread his sick ‘salvation’.

Second, this fight has gone on too long, and some part of that is her fault.  She’s been aiming to injure Trousseau, maim if she must, but she genuinely did not want to kill him.  She should have rushed him the instant Hikari broke the mask, otherwise.  Some part of her has been hoping he’d back down, but the one part of Trousseau that has stayed true is that he would die for his ideals.  And her companions are suffering for her hesitation.

Temenos is still calling out to Aelfric for healing.  Relying heavily on magic, he’s been able to keep the most distance from the fire and its noxious smoke, which she’s glad for.  But he’s still getting pelted by the rain, and his voice sounds thinner with each prayer.  Partitio’s speartip wavers more by the minute, and she’s not sure what’s going on with Hikari.  The swordsman vacillates between seeming weakened himself and then darting in with renewed strength and reckless abandon before pulling himself back.  The violet of the rain seems to chase and cling to him in those violent moments–her eyes must be going bad from the poison, because for a second she catches his burning red in the iris, an effect she doesn’t remember–

This fight has to end now, and thankfully, one of Hikari’s wilder slashes gives her an opportunity.  When she sees Trousseau falter, she pulls back and swings her ax with all her remaining strength.  It sinks into his stomach.  He goes down, and so does she, too weak to keep proper balance.  In an instant, there’s blood all over her gloved hands.  It’s gushing out.  She’s killed him, and for a few seconds she freezes over his fallen form.  With his eyes closed, face screwed up and teeth gritted in pain, all she sees is one of the few friends she remembers from her past life suffering.  She wants to at least relieve his pain–but the growing chill in the air brings her back to the situation.  Temenos is extinguishing the fire with ice magic.  She needs to figure out a cure to save everyone from Trousseau’s poison.  In comparison, his own hurt is trivial.

She turns away from him, coughing heavily into her elbow as she tries to focus on what’s most important right now: the cure.  She needs to make a miracle cure. She strips off her bloodied gloves, stuffs all the snowdrop blossoms she has into her mortar, but then what?  The poison rain causes so many disparate ill effects, snowdrops alone won’t be sufficient to heal them.  She’s muttering to herself, distantly hearing a clang as if someone’s dropped–probably a weapon now that they no longer need it, the paralysis is gradually getting worse for herself and everyone else, she has to figure out the cure but her head is pounding fit to kill from both the poison and pressure–

“...tti…Castti…”

Castti looks up, already knowing whose voice that is but still surprised to see… “Malaya…?  How…?”  She’s known for weeks now that Malaya is dead.

But it still reassures her to see her old friend.  She still needs Malaya’s help.

“Remember, Castti,” Malaya says.

“Remember?  Remember what?”  The problem is she’s trying to create an entirely new concoction, one she’s never seen before.

“Your journey.  Every road you’ve walked has led to this moment.  To this cure.”

Castti will never be entirely sure what this ‘Malaya’ is.  She doesn’t know how this calm certainty could come from her own mind right now, even projected as a separate person, though that’s what ‘Malaya’s’ claimed before.  She wondered, once, if Dohter, who saw fit to pick a confused amnesiac, might also choose to give guidance in a reassuring form.  And she’s hoped that ‘Malaya’ could really be her friend, if only in spirit.

Whatever Malaya is, Castti realizes in that moment that she’s right.  “Purebalm, to cleanse befouled waters…  Scalebark leaf, to gift Rosa the time she needed.  Santanejo blossom to save Sally’s life, and skybalm… and finally, the snowdrop entrusted to me by you…”

Malaya smiles.  “Castti.  I know you can do it.”

Castti nods, reaching into her satchel for the remaining ingredients as Malaya disappears again.  She has to focus, steady her hands.  Her forearms are aching from being once more exposed to this poison, but she needs their strength to make this cure.  “Here goes nothing…!”

She adds the tough scalebark leaf into the mortar with the snowdrop first, as it needs the most grinding to be effective.  Once it’s sufficiently broken down, she adds the purebalm, skybalm, and santanejo blossom and starts on those.

“So…cold…”  Trousseau murmurs.  Not dead yet, but nearly there.  “I’ve seen so many die… so this is what death feels like…  Of course…Salvation…”

The murmur of ‘salvation’ registers with a pang in Castti’s chest.  He’s believing in this lie to the very end.  She has to keep grinding though, so she says nothing.  Not until she realizes he’s speaking to her directly:

“You’re really…gonna keep struggling, Chief.”

“I’m going to keep living,” Castti says, managing to grind down more firmly with the force of her conviction.  “And helping others live full lives.  I wish you could understand that.  Then none of this would have…”

She’s so angry with him.  Why couldn’t he see that helping was enough?  Rosa suffered, yes, but she still wanted to live to spend more time with the ones she loved, and Trousseau once helped her do that.  If only he could have appreciated that.  If only, if only.  But here and now, the ingredients are finely ground, and she quickly mixes them into a jar.

“Hah. You haven’t changed a whit, Chief.  Not since I first met you…  You…haven’t…changed at all… …but in this vast graveyard of decay… how long can you remain the same?”

Some part of her is glad he thinks she’s the same, which seems very wrong because Trousseau obviously cannot pass judgment on anyone’s character with every other abysmal call he’s made.  He could easily be wrong.  Maybe she’s not the same.  What difference does it make?  Because of Trousseau she has suffered and broken down and there is so much of her old life still missing and even if those pieces never come back she still wants to live because there is so much she can give to others, and so much they’ve given to her.

She drinks the concoction to test it on herself first, as she’s always done with new medicine, and she can instantly feel her airways starting to relax, allowing her to breathe more easily.  Maybe this world is full of decay.  But it’s also full of growth, and hope.

“Castti!”

Partitio’s hoarse shout instantly gets her eyes to snap to him, worried–and then she sees, slumped against him, Hikari.

Hikari, who barely lifts his head at the outburst.  Who barely focuses on Castti with glazed eyes as she rushes to him because even after being dropped from a bridge, she’s never seen him with this lifeless of an expression.  She lifts his head higher by the chin to help him drink the medicine, and then he shakes his head.  It’s a small gesture, but deliberate enough that she’s sure he meant to make it.

She doesn’t know what he means by it, though.  The first thought is that the paralysis has seized so much of his body that he can’t swallow, because she can already see he’s only drawing shallow breaths.  She tries to shove the terror of that possibility down.  “I made a cure, Hikari.  I’ve already tried it.”  She puts the jar to his mouth and his lips part slightly from the motion, but no further.  “Drink.  Please.”

His eyes are no longer burning red like before.  Now they’re just their normal dark brown, half-obscured by the long bangs plastered to his face by the rain.  Strands of his long black hair fan and fork out over skin that’s turned sallow in the course of their fight and make it hard to judge if the veins in his face have darkened more than Partitio’s have.  Castti tilts Hikari’s chin up further and lifts the jar as well to force the medicine into his mouth, watching for his reaction.  If he truly can’t swallow, it could very well choke him.  But if he can’t swallow, he’s already doomed.

His eyes are their usual color, but with none of the usual warmth.  They’re unfocused, resigned, and for a second she expects him to start choking.  Then he swallows.  His mouth opens to drink more.  The motions are small and mechanical yet such a huge relief.  He can drink and be cured.  So she makes sure he drinks slightly more than she did to account for the worsened symptoms, and when she moves onto Partitio she still keeps one eye on Hikari, as Partitio is more alert and doesn’t need assistance to drink.  Hikari’s head starts to droop again as he leans toward Partitio, but he’s taking deeper breaths and his airways sound clear.  He is recovering.  He won’t die.

Temenos is paler than she’s ever seen him when she gets to him, also watching Hikari, though he readily accepts his dose of medicine.  “I’m glad you were able to put out the fire,” she says, just in case he needs the reminder.  When neither holy light nor healing items were able to negate the poison rain’s effects, he made the right call in extinguishing the fire causing it first.  The abnormal color has faded from the rain.  Hopefully everyone who sheltered has suffered no ill effect at all.

“Castti!”

The voice is too gruff to belong to any of the three companions with her.  “Master Edmund!”  He stands at the stairs, quickly taking in the scene and then focusing on her.

“Am I glad to see you!”

“Enough about me,” Castti says.  Even with the rain back to normal, she’s anxious.  “The town?”

“We got pretty much everyone to safety in time.  There were some stragglers, though.  They’re all fighting for their lives against that poison.”  His body seizes up then, his coughs violent–his face has none of the black veins, but it’s still too pale, and he sinks down to one knee.  “Damn… Looks like I caught some of it myself.”

She strides over to him, cradling the precious jar in her hands before offering it to him.  “Take this, Master Edmund.”

“Sure.  Wait, don’t tell me this is…?”

“It is.  A cure.”

The instant he swallows the medicine, he looks relieved; after drinking, she lets him take the jar in his own hands.  His awed expression tells her he understands how valuable it is.  “Incredible!  We’ll be able to save everyone!”

“Indeed.  We may need more, though… Partitio!” she calls to the merchant, who looks up at her, still supporting Hikari on his shoulder.  “I’m going to give you a list of the ingredients and proportions.  Please obtain what you can from the apothecaries in town.”  She takes out her travel log and goes to one of the rare pages near the back both unused and mostly unblemished and quickly makes a list: snowdrop, purebalm, skybalm, scalebark, santanejo.  She already knows the last one, found in Healeaks, may prove the most difficult of all, but she also knows from experience apothecaries can be surprisingly resourceful.

Then she glances at Hikari.  Still worn from the fight, while in comparison, Partitio looks like he’s mostly sitting to let Hikari rest, and she’s on her feet.  Why is Hikari worse off than both of them?  She’s also wondering why he shook his head, now that she knows he could swallow.  She doesn’t really have time to wonder or question him, though, if he even looked like he was fit to be questioned, and instead dashes off one last instruction on the page:

‘Keep an eye on Hikari.’

She rips the page out of her travel log, hands it to Partitio, and hurries back down to the town with Master Edmund.  There’s not a moment to lose.

She soon loses track of time, though.  In the rush of hurrying through Timberain street by street, running to every collapsed body and letting Edmund bellow that there’s a cure so others know to call out if they have someone ill, hours start to melt like candles into the night.  Her hands move without much input from her mind, useful for treating others, though she stares at them while walking to the next district when she realizes, as if she’d genuinely forgotten, that they’re bare.  Where are her gloves?  …Right.  They were covered in Trousseau’s blood, so she took them off.  She wishes she could change out of the rest of her clothes too.  The rain’s eased, but she’s still chilled and her skin is crawling from the dampness of her dress.  Intellectually, she knows she’s fine.  But now that she’s paying the slightest bit of attention to the sensation, she hates it.

“Bonemender?”

Edmund must have noticed her fidgeting.   “Sorry.  I dislike rain.  …Past experience, if you understand.  I held it together to stop Trousseau, but…”

Edmund grunts through his beard.  “We could pause a minute.  Get you something else to wear.”

Her skin is itching beneath the wet fabric.  But the people she hasn’t reached yet are actually suffering and in danger, not merely uncomfortable.  “There’s no need.  It will dry soon enough.”

“All right.”

Master Edmund stays with her as the sky grows dark with night.  Her own supply has nearly run out when she runs into another apothecary carrying a mixed bottle himself who shares his supply of scalebark leaf and santanejo blossoms; he relays that Partitio has already compensated him and no more is needed, and also that the swordsman with him looked in good health: alert and without any of the tremors those poisoned have, if a touch melancholic.  Partitio must have told him she was worried about Hikari, and she thanks him for both the supplies and update, both of them buoying her spirits.  The ‘melancholic’ comment is concerning, but only briefly.  She thinks of Hikari’s reserved nature and the fact that the apothecary met him alongside Partitio, already gregarious by default and in the middle of doing what he loves best as a merchant: getting goods to the people who need them.  Hikari may have just made a poor first impression in comparison.

The first rays of dawn start to pierce the night, and they are still moving.  The future king of Timberain had promised a large celebration, after all, and many people came to take part in it, who were then assaulted by poisonous rain.  Thankfully, even the patients she gets to later aren’t much worse off; in some rooms, she thinks she can still feel the comforting warmth of Temenos’ healing light.  She may have been the only one who could make a cure, but there are so many willing to help: her friends, other apothecaries and healers, even ordinary people by relaying information or supplies or helping bring the sick to her.  It feels like the entire kingdom has come together to heal.

Eventually, they hear that every district and neighborhood has received the cure.  There should be no more victims.  Edmund helps her find her way back in the direction of the inn, and then waves her off.  She never quite makes it there, choosing to divert to the tavern for a mild drink to ease her thirst and falling asleep with half of it still in the glass.  Looking at the pale drink as her eyes close, she wonders… is Malaya proud of her?  Did she live up to the hope her friend placed in her?

“I’d say you did and then some.  Thank you, Chief.  ….But I’m so very tired.  Help me get some rest?”

…That’s right.  Even if Castti hopes that ‘Malaya’ could have truly been her in spirit, to be sure her friend doesn’t regret giving her life to save Castti, she has to let go now.  Malaya deserves to rest.  Malaya, Elma, Andy and Randy…they all deserve to rest in peace.

She still dreams of them as she sleeps.  But she doesn’t ask any more questions of Malaya, or any of the others.  It’s time to let them be the memories that they are.  Happy memories, if still fragmented.  Elma sneaking in kittens and their mother cat because she was so worried for the mother’s health, but wasn’t sure the others would approve.  Randy courting Elma, shyly and then earnestly.  Andy reminding Castti to take it easy, with kind gestures to help.  Malaya singing in the early morning, thinking no one could hear.

Trousseau shows up in some of these memories, quiet, on the periphery as he tended to keep himself, and Castti’s brow furrows in unease.  Is it wrong that he’s here, knowing what happens after?  But he’s part of these memories too, allowing the discovered kittens to practice climbing on his legs as he researches, helping Andy cook breakfast for the rest of Eir’s Apothecaries.  In these memories, the others aren’t bothered by him, even smiling and laughing with him, and Castti slowly relaxes again.  She needs to let everyone rest, and she thinks that means…just letting her memories be what they are.  It’s okay to remember Trousseau the way he once was.  He’s no longer hurting anyone.

She sleeps deeply, only stirring when her arm is touched.  She’s confused why she’s so stiff considering how well she slept, and that it’s Hikari waking her instead of Throné or Ochette, until he says “I believe you missed the inn.”

After a look around to confirm her surroundings, she has to laugh.  She most certainly did.  “After all the running around, my feet were eager for the first chance to rest.”  There’s an uneasy moment when the image of him slumped against Partitio comes back to her, but all she has to do is look up at him and she can see that he’s standing easily, with color in his face, a slight curve on his lips for a smile.  “I’m glad you’re better.  I could tell the cure had worked from your breathing, but…it’s good to actually see it.”  She looks at his eyes, dark brown as they should be.

They flick away from her.  “I am well, thanks to you.  There are quite a number of people in this town who could say that to you.”

Hm.  Maybe ‘melancholic’ was right after all.  “Yes, but…  There’s something I need to ask you, but this isn’t the best place.”  Even if the tavern is still mostly empty in this early hour, it doesn’t seem appropriate.

She finds it strange, though, that Hikari’s expression seems to close off even more.  It’s subtle, because Hikari isn’t the most expressive of their group, but what is he expecting her to ask?  “I see.  Let us make our way to the inn, at least.”  She nods and then starts to stand; he waits for her before leading the way out of the tavern.

“You’re tense,” she observes of his posture.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You should look after yourself first, Castti.  You’ve had a long night.”

“You nearly died.”

Hikari pauses in his step.  When he looks back to her it’s with the kind of soft smile he wears when listening to Temenos or Partitio tell stories, or watching Agnea dance, or speaking of a happier future for Ku.  “But I did not, thanks to you.”

The familiar smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.  Castti stops walking, and Hikari’s brow furrows in slight confusion as she gestures for him to follow her to a more discreet place to talk than the middle of the plaza, in between a building and the many crates stacked behind it.  “It’s been bothering me, both as an apothecary and as your friend.  The rain seemed to affect you much worse than the rest of us.  And then, when I offered you the cure… you shook your head.  Like you thought you couldn’t be treated, or…”

Or didn’t want to be treated, but that can’t be right.  He knew the poison was ultimately fatal.  Perhaps he’d felt pain in his throat and thought he couldn’t swallow.  She’d believe that, but she wants to hear his own answer and not lead him to one.

“I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Castti says.  “If anything, I should be apologizing to you.  That fight should have ended more quickly, but I hesitated to do what was necessary.”

Hikari’s expression softens.  “You’re a capable fighter, Castti.  But you have always been a healer before a fighter, and you knew him.  I cannot fault you.”  There’s utter sincerity in his voice when he says that, and she trusts he means it.  It makes one of them, at least.  The guilt is part of why she wants to understand what happened with him: if there’s any chance of future issues, she should be prepared to help.  “...My thoughts were clouded at the end of the fight.  I cannot explain them except as a moment of weakness.”

“You couldn’t think clearly,” Castti says, and he nods.  “If you aren’t getting enough air, confusion is only natural.”  It’s concerning that he was so confused at that time, but if that’s what happened, he likely doesn’t have any further answer about his thoughts then.  That little shake of ‘no’ had no meaning behind it at all.  She misinterpreted.  So she lets go of that and backtracks.  “The rain did seem to affect you differently.  At times, I thought I saw… Hikari?”

He’s stepping back from her with a frown.  Once more, he won’t look her in the eye.  “There is something I should tell you and the others.  However, I ask for your patience until Osvald and Agnea have rejoined us.”

“You’re not ill, are you?”  If that’s why he fared worse in the fight, why he looks so grave now, then she would like to examine him immediately so she can treat him.

“No.  You need not worry yourself over me.”

That’s easier said than done, which she nearly tells him…but she has his word he’ll explain soon, and they shouldn’t be fighting anyone or anything before then.  If he doesn’t think it’s an immediate danger, he’s probably correct.

[theshoesofatiredman]

#yeah #the way this sermon was taught at my church fell right in line with.... #the “main character syndrome” and casual dehumanization of others that's really prevalent in xtianity #which is when you personally are so important to god and god's plan#that god can & will harm maim or kill others for your personal development & relationship with him #i just rewatched inside lmfao so it's in my head rn but it's so parallel to the line:#“why do you rich fucking white people insist on seeing every sociopolitical conflict #“through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?”#it's like people focusing on the “most woke” way to say things #but not doing any of the work to actually make the world better for marginalized groups #in so many cases it really boils down to: you don't actually see marginalized people as people #but as an opportunity to further your personal growth and be Seen as a “good person” #other people aren't plot points in your personal story. they are PEOPLE #and it's really easy to fall down this like... “other people are vehicles for my personal growth” path in xtianity #and to start seeing people's suffering through the lens of “what lesson is this teaching ME?” #“how can *I* benefit from this?” #and i think this is another way that some sects of xtianity like... try to separate you from your empathy & compassion #by positioning *you personally* as god's favorite little meow meow #and everyone else as disposable npcs to further your character development #and im also not saying that people shouldn't be grateful for the privileges they have #but at my church at least it got reallllll close to #“thank you god for allowing other people to suffer so i remember that you're watching out for me personally” #which i think is ~super icky~ #and i ~question why you're worshipping a god that clearly views other people as disposable~

Completely agree @deservedgrace. Job was literally held up to me as this model for the suffering saint, the person who endured tremendous hardship but still held onto faith. I was supposed to read the book of Job as a guidebook for how to weather my own pain and discontent.

And I suppose a more generous reading of that prescription is that... in a way it's also posthumously providing Job the explanation that his suffering wasn't in vain, that what he went through had purpose beyond even his lifetime. Except.... that's not in the text. Job doesn't get that explanation, that comfort. God doesn't tell Job that he will use this painful chapter of Job's life to guide generations of people through their own problems. I would think if that was the master plan, it would be nice to share that with Job. In my experience, there's nothing quite like pain that drives people to look for the point.

And that brings us right back to what you said at the top. Job was so personally important to god's plan that everything and everyone else in his life was disposable. And when you think about them as actual real people who lived and breathed and walked the earth... it becomes fucking disgusting really quick.

Job's wife saw everything crumble and, as someone else pointed out in the notes, it wasn't even about her. Everything that was stripped away from her was not because of anything she said or did. She was just married to one of god's special little meow meow's so she became insignificant. The devastation in her life was just collateral damage.

Idk I think Job's wife really went off when she told him to curse God and die. It's interesting how there's no oxygen for her suffering in the narrative. She lost her children too. She lost her home too. Her health was taken from her too. Everything she had was stripped away by God. And yet there's no compassion for her. Not in the narrative nor in the commentaries or the sermons. She isn't even named.

[lover-of-skellies]

9, Nightberry? (uwu angst)

I've never written anything for this particular ship (since I'm assuming you're talking about Nightmare x Blueberry), so I hope it's at least halfway decent. This was supposed to be a horror prompt, I know, but I somehow made it really fckin sad instead, so rip anyone who reads it, I guess

A forewarning: this includes some major character death toward the end

-

"I'm here, Night! What did you wanna talk about?"

The guardian of negativity glanced up from his book, swiftly marking his page and closing it, tucking the item into his jacket. He sighed softly, trying his best to remain relaxed as he watched the smaller skeleton approach him, all too cheerful and at ease for comfort.

Oh god. He was really about to do this, wasn't he?

Nightmare slowly stood up, his single cyan iris focused entirely on the swap skeleton as he cleared his throat, trying to search for the right words, "My staff aren't... the brightest, when it comes to anything to do with feelings. And I'd much rather die than talk to Dream about any of this." Blueberry tilted his head, clasping his gloved hands behind his back and offering the other a wide smile, accompanied by his signature starry sockets, "And you chose to talk to me? Oh wowzers, that's... unexpected, honestly, but the Magnificent Sans would be happy to assist you in whatever ways you need!"

Nightmare stared at the shorter of the two in silence for a moment, those bright, large star shaped eye lights almost mesmerizing. He felt his soul thud against his ribs and he did his best to will away the faint blush that had threatened to find its way onto his cheekbones, "Yeah, well... You're the only reliable source I've got. Anyways. Because my strength lies only in the negative, I need you to clarify some things for me, concerning a neutral emotion."

Blueberry nodded, his sockets wide with curiosity, "Alright, that sounds easy enough. What's the emotion?" The goop covered guardian hesitated for a moment, embarrassment beginning to rear its ugly head again, "...Love."

Under his sharp and observant stare, Nightmare took notice of the soft sky blue blush that faintly dusted across the smaller male's face at the word 'love'. He didn't understand what reason Blue could possibly have for being flustered too, but he brushed off the thought, continuing, "I need you to tell me what it feels like." Blueberry nodded again, his brow bones knit tightly in concentration as he fumbled for an adequate explanation, "Well... I guess... it feels warm? Happy, even. And full, like your heart finally found whatever piece was missing. When you love someone, you'd do anything to make sure they were safe and happy, and you just want to be near them, all the time."

The guardian was frozen in place, his expression fixed into a pensive stare as he thought over his companion's words. When the realization finally dawned on him, his shoulders visibly became tense and his cyan iris constricted in fear.

He was in love.

And of all people, he was in love... with Blue.

No. This couldn't be happening. Not to him, not ever, not over his dead body. When love is pure enough, it becomes a positive emotion, which would undoubtedly cause him harm. Blueberry himself would also unintentionally cause him harm if he got too close, as well. Shit... this wasn't good.

He slowly lifted his gaze to look at the swap skeletons' face again, his soul skipping a beat at the soft blue and gentle, warm smile he wore. Feeling a blush spreading across his own cheekbones, Nightmare mentally cursed at himself. If only Blue wasn't so damn cute-

The shorter of the two looked up at Nightmare, almost appearing bashful as he asked, "Why'd you ask?... Love isn't something that normally would've caught your attention, is it?" Night took a deep breath; fuck. This... this little twerp was smarter than he looked, too. Damnit all-

He shifted awkwardly in place, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck vertebrae, "I uh..." And now he couldn't even think of what to say. If he hadn't hated himself, he definitely would've now.

As if connecting the dots, Blue seemed to perk up, his sockets widening in surprise as he looked up at the guardian in shock. Eye lights once again shifting into large stars as another broad smile stretched across his face, and he took a few steps closer to the other, playfully nudging him, "Oh my gosh! You're in love, aren't you, Night?!" The skeleton in question tried to ignore the uncomfortable tingling sensation the other's excitement and happiness had begun to stir within him, and his cyan blush became visibly brighter as he scoffed, shifting his eye lights elsewhere. As long as he wasn't looking at Blue, he'd be fine. He could do this. He'd toppled entire worlds and drew strength from their suffering. What was one tiny little confession going to hurt?

He hesitated, fidgeting anxiously as he mumbled something under his breath. Not quite able to make out what he'd said, Blueberry raised a brow bone and tilted his head, "What was that?... I don't think I heard you." Nightmare mentally screamed at himself, wanting nothing more than to open a portal and go literally anywhere else than to stick around here. He drew in a deep breath, deciding to try again. His voice came out barely audible, but despite that, the words he'd uttered left the other in shock: "I... you. It's you... I'm... I love you, Blue."

Blueberry was silent, his sockets still wide as he stated at the guardian in disbelief. Nightmare reluctantly looked the swap skeletons' face, suddenly feeling anxious. At the sight of a single blue tinted tear rolling down his cheek, the guardian cringed; that tear wasn't one of fear or sadness... that was one of... happiness? What the...?

And then, with a brighter blush than he'd ever seen before in his entire life, Blueberry moved even closer to him than before, his gloved hands delicately finding the others face. Nightmare felt his body momentarily tense, but as he felt Blue's teeth press against his own, he began to relax again, melting into their first kiss with relative ease.

The positivity that Blue was giving off grew stronger, and the uncomfortable tingling Nightmare had felt before escalated, now a searing hot pain that ripped through his very being the way a hot knife sliced through butter; as much as he wanted nothing more than to continue kissing the one he truly loved, this degree of pain scared him. Tentacles emerging from his back and spasming as he fought with himself, he broke away from the kiss and nearly doubled over in pain. Blueberry frowned, his voice soft as he began to reach out to touch the guardian, "Night?... Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?"

Remaining doubled over, the guardian focused his hazy eye light on the others face, cyan tinted tears pricking at the edge of his visible socket as he shook his head, "N-No, it's not you... it's... the positivity. The positivity is hurting me, and it won't stop." Blue delicately brushed away the guardian's tears with his thumb, his expression fixed into one of concern, "What can I do to help you? There has to be something, right?" The tainted part of Nightmare's mind growled, recognizing Blue as the source of the pain, and his visible socket went wide in genuine fear, "Get away from me. Get away, Blue. It's not safe, you could get hurt if you stay here." The shorter skeleton solemnly shook his head, his voice soft as he offered the other a small smile in reassurance, "Don't worry about me, I'll be ok. I'm not gonna leave you though... you shouldn't have to go through this alone. Not anymore."

Nightmare let out a strangled cry of pain, absentmindedly swatting Blue's hands away and covering his face as he took a shaky breath, "Blue, that's very sweet, but I'm serious. You need to leave, NOW. My body's programmed to destroy whatever hurts me. You're making me feel things. Positive things. If you stay, you'll die!" Blue gently tugged Night's hands away from his face, gently holding them and delivering a soft squeeze. Meeting the guardian's gaze, he smiled lovingly, and Nightmare couldn't sense any fear or sadness in him... none whatsoever. Blue's voice was a soft murmur as he leaned closer to Night, "I don't care. I'm staying here because I love you, Nightmare."

Unable to suppress his cry of pain, Nightmare ripped his hands out of Blue's grasp, and they flew up to his skull, his clawed fingers beginning to scrape at the top of his head. His single eye light was constricted, now no bigger than a pin prick, and feeling his tendrils begin to spasm wildly again, he tightly squeezed his socket shut, sobbing, "I'm... I'm so sorry. I can't... I don't want to-"

The last thing he felt was a gloved hand delicately touching his face, and the last thing he heard was Blue's voice, no more than a whisper, "It's ok... I forgive you."

And then immediately following suit was the loud sound of bones snapping. Nightmare kept his socket squeezed tightly shut, not wanting to see Blue's expression. The silence was deafening, and as he felt dust drift through the stagnant air and cling to his face, he sobbed loudly. He was alone now... again. He dropped his hands back down to his sides, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. The only person who'd ever grown to love him despite what he'd become was gone, and it was his fault. Maybe someday though, he'd be able to see him again.

[nrc-research-club]

oh, the horror!

↬ Summary: Watching a horror movie before sleeping is always, always a bad idea. Good thing you have someone else to suffer with you (or maybe not.)

↬ Tags: fluff

↬ Characters: Ace Trappola, Cater Diamond

↬ Note: i’ve recovered well enough to start writing again, but i’ll still rest a lot and not accept requests yet. and dear lord, cater’s part is longer than ace’s. i’m so sorry ace.

Ace Trappola

↬ Ace does not find horror movies scary. Seriously, you live with ghosts that could sneak up on you any moment, but movies about them are where you draw the line? He teases you before and after accepting your offer to watch a movie with him, asking if you need someone to hide behind when the ghost is on screen.

↬ However, the amount of effort put in the movie starts to pay off in the middle of the movie. Ace’s quips and laughs become shakier as the lighting gets darker and the music shifts into something more haunting. Then he slides closer to you, sharing the pillow with you before the ghost comes out of nowhere. The two of you scream, and one of your voices is suspiciously higher than the other.

↬ “Back off, Ace, this is my pillow! I thought you weren’t scared?” you say as you duck behind it to shield your eyes from another jumpscare. He hides at the last minute, his forehead bumping with yours as he seeks refuge from the movie. Someone in the movie screams and distracts you, and he takes it as an opportunity to steal the pillow from you.

↬ “Ha, this is mine now!” he teases before leaning on the opposite end of the couch. The music in the movie starts to get tense, and you’re left to fend for yourself without the pillow. Ace sticks his tongue out at you. “So are you going to hide—gaaah!”

↬ Just as the music reaches its peak, one of the Ramshackle ghosts sneaks up on Ace and passes right through him. A high-pitched scream escapes from him as he quite literally jumps onto you, clambering to your end of the couch with the pillow as a shield. The ghosts laugh as both of you cling to each other, trembling in fear. It takes a few moments before the two of you settle down again. The movie credits are rolling in when you calm down and realize that you don’t even mind the incriminating position you’re in.

↬ “So who’s the scaredy-cat now?” you squint, giggling when he takes a minute to shuffle away from you. Your giggling turns into full-blown laughter, and you wheeze your words out. “You—do you need to sleep with—hah—me tonight? Huh?”

↬ “Shut it!” Ace says before chucking a pillow at you. He’s red in the face, but it doesn’t hinder him from making up a retort. “How about you, huh? Do you need someone to comfort you after screaming like a little kid?”

↬ Right as he yells at you, the door creaks and both of you shriek in surprise. The two of you cling to each other in a tight grip, staring at the unmoving door before glancing towards each other.

↬ Neither of you slept alone that night.

Cater Diamond

↬ Cater doesn't believe in ghosts beyond the normal ones he sees, but he's always up to date with all the new horror movies he can't help but be interested in. He's gotta use all those streaming subscriptions for what they're worth, right? And so, your movie night dates include horror and thriller among other things, even when you watch at midnight.

↬ Now, you, on the other hand, are deathly afraid of ghosts. Never mind the fact that you live with them, but back where you came from, they weren't as tangible as the ones in Twisted Wonderland. You are a scaredy-cat through and through—but that makes watching horror movies with you even way more fun! At least, that's what your boyfriend thinks. You hate him for it, but it's more than worth it when he lets you hide in his arms for 90% of the time.

↬ He loves snapping pictures of you and your cute pout before reassuring you that you won't ever encounter a ghost as scary as the one on screen. The ghosts in Ramshackle may be kind of mean, but at least they won't maim you in the middle of the night. Afterwards, he posts the photos on Magicam with a teasing little remark. Don't worry, he makes sure you're cute in them! (Though he does find you cute in every photo.)

↬ Putting you to sleep isn't so hard, especially when Cater agrees to cuddle with you right after. He’ll tell you about the funny or interesting stuff he saw during that day, or even share some juicy gossip that would definitely distract you. On some days, you don’t even need any talking—just being spooned by him would cause you to fall asleep instantly.

↬ Tonight, though, he’s taking just a little while longer before coming to bed with you. While you’re already in your pajamas, your boyfriend is busy with something about the latest ‘skincare routine’ or something. He did promise he won’t be long, but you can’t help but wonder where he is. Just as you were going to tuck yourself in bed without him, the floorboards creak beneath you and a chill goes down your spine.

↬ “Cater?” you call out for him, your words wobbly as you try your best to not sound scared. There isn’t any response from outside, and the door slightly opens to reveal… nothing. Only pitch black darkness greets you back, and now you’re really, really scared. “Cater, this isn’t funny…”

↬ Silence. Your heart races as you sit up, keeping the blanket wrapped around you like some sort of protection. Seriously, where is Cater? The mirror on the wall is looking a bit too creepy now, and you swear you hear footsteps coming from somewhere you can’t pinpoint. Maybe if you focus on anywhere but the empty void in your doorway, you could just stop worrying…

↬ “Boo.”

↬ A voice whispers in your ear. Your mind doesn’t even decide between fight-or-flight anymore; you grab a pillow and repeatedly whack whoever gave you a heart attack. You only start to hear the small ‘ow!’s and ‘hey!’s when you calm down, yet you still give them one last smack to the face before giving up. As expected, it’s Cater—looking smug yet pained.

↬ “I didn’t know you were that strong!” he teases, but he’s patting his cheeks as though your pillows had done actual damage to him. “So? How did I do? Did Cay-kun’s acting skills amaze you?”

↬ “Go sleep on the couch,” you mutter and roll your eyes when he laughs. The fear that had your heart in a grip before ebbs away as he sidles up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist before he presses a kiss to your forehead. You push him away, albeit weakly, but he doesn’t budge.

↬ “Aww, did I scare you?” he says. You huff and whine, turning away from his affections and wriggling out of his grasp. The farthest side of the bed welcomes you as you settle away from him, bringing the blanket up to your cheek to hide from him. Of course, he follows suit, but you remain steadfast in your endeavor to ignore him.

↬ He makes it up to you with at least fifty kisses, free lunches, and a bunch of pampering afterward. Or maybe even more than that (because earning your forgiveness is never easy.)

[saphirered]

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

[truearchangel]

   He… has a problem with his scars? How odd, how unusual. Perhaps he can see part of the reason, that self-conscious aspect of it. Scars can tend to look ugly, when the skin is maimed or burned, rough and jagged. But Michael didn’t see it that way. He didn’t look at Alastor and judge him for the marks on his body, the scar across his chest, the other plethora of them that littered him, even what was on his back he hadn’t been able to see.

   Michael never believed in looking at someone and judging them for the way they looked, and that included the scars on Alastor’s body. To him, the other looked nice. Not to mention the hug had been very fluffy and warm thanks to all the fur on his body. He would certainly hug him again if Alastor was welcoming to that, but he knows not to push when something clearly made another person uncomfortable. And the hug, based on the way he observed Alastor’s body language and reaction, had seemed to. At least, that was how he interpreted it. 

   He won’t push that again, the last thing he wishes to do is make Alastor uncomfortable over something as simple as a hug. Pushing people out of their boundaries wasn’t something that sounded fair to do to the other. He deserved to feel comfortable around Michael after everything he had already pushed onto the other. In the same line of that thinking though, he’d also like Alastor to be comfortable in his own skin.

   Perhaps he can meet him halfway. Show him he’s not alone in ugly marred scars. 

   Michael only has one and it does involve being far more vulnerable than he’d care to be around someone like the Radio Demon, but he wanted to do this as well. He’s seen most of Alastor’s scars, far more than the sinner probably wanted him to. So if he could meet him halfway, show the only one he had, perhaps it’ll bridge some of that discomfort between him and Michael. One can hope and it was at least worth a try.

   He ignores the answer of truth and instead reaches his hands up to tug off his jacket from his shoulders. Draping it over the piano bench he then undid the buttons of his vest and removed it as well, tossing it onto the bench as well. Leaving him in just the button down he took a few steps back from the piano and allowed his wings to unfold from his back. Large, blue and white, a bit in the way with room. He keeps then folded closer to his body so he doesn’t just knock anything over and turns his gaze back over toward Alastor.   

   “Archangels don’t scar easily.” A fact that probably made sense. “You cut one of my limbs off and eventually it’ll regenerate. Cut me open and take a bit out of my organs and eventually they’ll regenerate too.” Morbid, perhaps, but he doesn’t find himself that concerned given who and what he was talking to. It’s just a fact. Give him enough time, as long as none of it is done with angelic steel, and eventually that part will regenerate. And that, right there, was the only thing that would ever leave any lasting damage. 

   Holy weapons. 

   Which brought him to the reason he had done this. 

   Taking a few steps back he sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned over his shoulder toward the large wings. “During the fight with Lucifer, I had turned my back to him. A few seconds, a moment of weakness. Even angels make mistakes.” Even angels let their emotions get to him and trust too easily. Even Michael can lose a piece of his heart for the devil. “In that moment, Lucifer took the opportunity to strike out. To attempt to knock me down and continue his plans.” Whatever they might have been. The truth of what he intended that day was still lost on Michael. Would he have gone all the way to God? Would he have brought this fight to the Father himself? 

   He doesn’t know. 

   “His sword struck across my back, hitting my wings in the process, the most damage being done to the left middle one.” Their wings were sensitive and that single hit had been enough to feel like he’d set every single nerve on Michael’s body on fire. The pain hadn’t gone away for almost an entire year, the healing slow and agonizing from the weapon that had done it. Maybe that was why in retaliation he had attacked Lucifer’s own wings. An eye for an eye, perhaps. Honestly, he isn’t certain and that wasn’t the point of this. 

   “It left a large scar and the feathers that were once there will never grow back. As you all learned during the exterminations, our own weapons made in Heaven are the only things that can actually strike us down or leave permanent marks. That’s true even for the highest of angels.” 

A fact that all of Heaven did know, it wasn't actually a deeply kept secret. He has no idea how it got that out of control. Some people just don't like learning they have a weakness. Michael gives a small shrug of his shoulders. "You showed me your scars, you can come look at mine if you want."

...He had expected something much easier to utilize to further embarrass the other, but when that did not manifest in Michael's answer, Alastor simply blinked at him, head tilting to one side as it often did when he was thinking things through. It did make more sense that angels just... did that. But with people they did not really know? That seemed less likely.

But... Well. It was not as if they didn't know each other now. He was here, with his shirt unbuttoned, following a near skin-to-skin healing session after they had just shared music down in the lounge and other such details about one another that one might do with an acquaintance. Or, dare he say, a friend. But he was not so foolish as to think that Michael would presume friendship between them. No one did, when it came to Alastor, except for Rosie who was bold enough and stubborn enough to parade him around as one of her best.

His reputation, his prickliness, his attitude, and his teeth (both figurative and literal) often kept others well beneath the ability to form such a thing with him.

That and, yes, Alastor was not overly fond of being touched or handled by people he did not know. Not because the act scared him or otherwise unsettled, but-

He did not bother answering Michael's question, instead making some attempt to explain.

"I am covered in scars, old and fresh," Alastor said plainly. At this point, Michael had seen at least the smaller ones and the wound inflicted by the holy axe. He imagined it was not difficult to presume that the rest of him was covered, as well. From throat down to his knees, there were hardly any areas where he was not scarred, the largest of which remained unseen. And Alastor would not encourage the other to look at it, disgusting as he thought it was.

"My joints ache. My skin is sensitive. My body is lanky and gaunt. And there are things that some would find unsettling or otherwise balk at." He spoke of the pentagram, but in not so many words.

"None of that exactly lends itself to being enthused by most touch."

Not all. But most. For the right individuals, the right time and place... He could find some solace in it. The hug had not been terrible in the moment, if only because he did not think Michael to be the sort to openly judge, reel back from, or outright chastise him on the state of his body. Or to pull and yank at him unnecessarily. On his fur, his ears, his hair. All were so sensitive now in ways they had never been when he had been alive, his skin unmarred and smooth.

Alastor shifted to lean back against the headboard again, resting his hands in a fold on his belly (or lack of one) as he did.

"Truth."

As if he had not just given more information than Michael had explicitly requested.

[magicalmarauder]

Broken Trust

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: I did not proof read this at all, so sorry in advance for any errors!

Word Count: 5k+

Summary: What happens when Jungkook betrays the trust of his girlfriend by sharing a highly personal detail about her life with his friends? How do you respond when the one person you trusted above anyone else does the very thing he vowed never to do – break your heart.

Being best friends with seven overgrown man-children was definitely an experience. An experience you hadn’t quite foreseen in your future when you first moved to Seoul, Korea. Nevertheless, it was an experience that you wouldn’t trade for the world. Most days, at least, you corrected yourself ruefully.

Over a year ago, you had made the biggest, most adult-like decision in your life thus far and decided to pack up all that you had, leaving behind everything and everyone that you knew in favor of starting a new journey in a completely different country. You were hesitant when you were first offered the job opportunity, but quickly realized that turning down such an opportunity would be a decision that you would always look back on with regret. And certainly, looking back now, you could definitely say that you had made the best decision of your life in moving to Seoul. Not only had it led you to the love of your life, but also to the aforementioned crazy best friends, of whom your boyfriend was actually one.

You could only describe the meeting as fate as it was truly a scene straight out of a romantic comedy. It had been your first week at your new job, you had frantically been checking the map on your phone, trying to navigate the winding hallways in order to find the room where your two o’clock meeting was being held. In your distracted state, you had failed to notice the man in front of you walk straight into the door that he had been too preoccupied to notice was closed before promptly falling to the ground, serving as the hazard that had caused your own frantic descent to the hard floor.  

The man had been so sweet and apologetic, ensuring over and over again that you were unhurt. You assured him that you were just fine and not to worry, but he had insisted on making it up to you, stating that he couldn’t rest until he offered you what he claimed was the most perfect hot chocolate in the world. Before you could protest, he pulled you through the door, this time successfully opening it before attempting to walk through, and into what looked like a large recording studio area.

He quickly dragged you over to the back corner of the room that seemed to serve as the designated snack area as it was occupied by a mini-fridge, coffee maker, microwave, and toaster oven. He wasted no time in getting to work, pulling out a mug and various different ingredients and before you knew it, he was proudly presenting you with his hot chocolate creation with a large, endearing smile on his face. You had been about to protest, worried about making your meeting on time, but there was no possible way that you could refuse that face. He looked so eager and so, with a rueful smile, you gratefully accepted the warm drink and took a nice long sip, relishing in the rich, chocolatey taste.

His eyes never left your face, eyebrows raising expectantly after you pulled back.

“You were right,” you assented. “Definitely the most perfect cup of hot chocolate I’ve ever had. You have a real gift, kind sir.”

“Why thank you, m’lady,” he responded, giving you an exaggerated bow that set you off in a fit of giggles. This guy was just too adorable for his own good.

Before you could inquire any further as to his name or any other details about him, a loud flurry of noises sounded behind you as a group of boys walked into the room, laughing and joking and shoving one another. However, once they caught sight of you standing in the middle of the room with the man by your sight, their conversations quickly shut off, eyes simultaneously bouncing back and forth between you and the mystery man by your side.

“Who’s this?” One of the men asked curiously, stepping forward and glancing between the two of you with eyebrows raised.

You and the man exchanged quick glances, realizing that you had yet to formally introduce yourselves to one another.

Realizing this, you took a small step forward. “Hi. My name is Y/N. I’m new to the company. I just moved here last week and I literally ran into your friend here in the hallway,” you explained, gesturing to the man beside you, who had a faint blush covering his cheeks.

“Yeah,” the man said, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. “I kind of ran into the door and took her down with me.”

The boys stared at the two of you for a moment before breaking into laughter, seemingly not even questioning the events of the story.

“Awww, such the charmer you are, Jungkookie-ah,” the man who had originally stepped forward to question your presence joked. “Only you could meet a pretty girl in such a way. This type of stuff only happens in movies.”

The man besides you, who you now supposed was named Jungkookie? blushed, ducking his head down to hide his reddening face. “Stop it, Jimin-ssi,” he pleaded, sending a rush through your heart. This man was just too cute.

Taking pity on their friend, the tallest member of the group took a step forward. “Welcome to Seoul and to BigHit, Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Namjoon,” he introduced, reaching forward to shake your hand before the others followed suit one-by-one.

Once finished with the group standing in front of you, you turned to meet the gaze of the man at your side, who was staring at you with a sheepish smile. “Hi.” He smiled. “I didn’t get a chance to formally introduce myself earlier. I’m Jungkook.”

You grinned. “Very nice to meet you, Jungkook. Thank you very much for the hot chocolate, it was excellent,” you complimented. “But I really do have to get going. I’m running a bit late for my meeting.”

“Oh, of course!” He flushed. “I’m sorry to keep you. I really should have asked before forcing you to follow me in here.”

“No worries at all,” you reassured gently. “It was well worth it. Now I know just where to come when I’m in the mood for some delicious hot chocolate.”

Jungkook blushed again and you were really starting to believe that that was just the permanent state of his face before the mischievous one who had spoken earlier, and who you now knew was named Jimin, spoke up. “Why don’t you come back here after your meeting, Y/N. We’ll still be here. Since you’re new to the city, I’m sure you don’t know very many people. Let us show you around a little bit!”

The other boys chorused along their agreement with that offer, insisting that you allow them to take you out.

“Let us make up for our little maknae almost maiming you on your first week,” the man who had introduced himself as World Wide Handsome a.k.a. Jin interjected.

You let out a laugh. “There’s really nothing to make up for, but I’d love it if you guys showed me around a little bit. I haven’t had a chance to go exploring yet. I’d love to see your country through your own eyes.”

“Then it’s settled!” Namjoon declared, a broad grin stretching across his face. “Come back here after your meeting is done and we’ll head out!”

“Ok, sounds like a plan,” you nodded. “I’ll see you guys soon then!”

***

And that had been that. At the time you hadn’t known that they were the most famous K-Pop group in the world, which they had teased you mercilessly about. Considering you worked for the company that employed them, they had found it unbelievable that you had had no idea who they were. But all the same, they found it refreshing to talk to someone who knew nothing of their background or their fame, someone they could have a normal conversation with and just be themselves around.

The eight of you had quickly bonded, meeting together often for meals, going out after work to explore the town, or even attending game nights at their shared apartment. Your relationship with each one of them had solidified so quickly, finding your own common ground that bonded you with each member. However, there was one that stood out from the rest. Jungkook. Ever since that first meeting, there was a spark between the two of you, something that the others were quick to pick up on. They were constantly teasing the two of you and scheming for opportunities to get the two of you alone together. So, with all of their plotting, it was no surprise that you quickly found yourself growing closer and closer to Jungkook each and every day. He quickly became your closest friend and greatest confidante. Therefore, when he had finally mustered up the courage to ask you out on a date, you hadn’t wasted a second before agreeing.

It was nothing but history after that. Your date had gone fantastic and you had been together ever since. There was no one you trusted and adored more than Jungkook and vice versa. Although you had never expected to fall in love with an idol, you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Jungkook was your other half, complementing you perfectly. Your relationship came with its fair share of heartaches and challenges, but the two of you were a great team, solving each new trial as it came your way.

The boys welcomed you into their family with wide open arms, agreeing that you were perfect for their little golden maknae. They teased the two of you relentlessly about your relationship, but always out of love and affection for you both.

Despite the fact that you were extremely close with all of the boys, there were certain things that you only confided in with Jungkook – one of which being your relationship experience, or rather lack of. Jungkook was actually your very first boyfriend, something that you tried not to advertise too much. You weren’t ashamed of your past and your decision to prioritize other things in your life up until this point, but you recognized that to the outside world, it was a very rare and weird occurrence that usually resulted in people asking what could possibly be wrong with you if you went twenty or so years without having a significant other.

You tried not to dwell on it too much, after all you had a boyfriend now and you were very happy together. All of the waiting had absolutely been worth it. However, with your lack of experience came a certain shyness. This was all so new to you and you wanted to take things slowly, something that Jungkook absolutely understood and never once made you feel guilty or insecure about. Sex was something that was completely off the table for the moment.  As you probably guessed, you were a virgin and had no plans of changing that status anytime soon. You loved Jungkook more than you could express and taking that step was definitely something you could imagine happening with him, even more frequently now as time continued to go on. However, that was still a huge decision and one you were not yet completely ready to make.

When you had finally opened up to Jungkook about that personal detail about yourself, you had been so nervous as to how he would react. You of course had had entirely nothing to worry about, though. Jungkook had been the absolute sweetest and most understanding person in the world, admiring you for sticking to your convictions and never compromising your values simply because others around you may or may not have been engaging in certain activities.

Although this was a part of your life that you accepted and something that you had had no regrets in sharing with Jungkook, it was also something that you found highly personal and didn’t want advertised, especially to your rowdy group of friends who you loved dearly, but who often did not know when a joke was being taken too far. You had asked Jungkook to keep that personal detail about yourself between the two of you and he had been quick to agree, pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth and promising that your secrets were always safe with him. You had had no reason to doubt him, believing wholeheartedly that he was 100% genuine and would never go back on his word to you. However, that unfortunately all changed one night as the eight of you were all hanging out together as was usual on a Friday evening.

While you and Jungkook were frequently in your own little couple’s world, you never forgot to make time for your best friends as well, not forgetting that if it hadn’t been for them and their incessant meddling, you and Jungkook might never have gotten together. That was why it had almost become ritual for the eight of you to gather together after a long week of work and relax, choosing to watch movies, play games, or simply just eat your weight in junk food.

And this night was no different. You were all gathered on the luxurious couches in their apartment, buried in blankets and snuggled in together. You were pressed firmly into Jungkook’s side, arms wrapped around one another, completely at peace in each other’s presence. Every so often, Jungkook would lean down and press a soft, sweet kiss to your face, alternating between your forehead, cheek, neck, and so on.

“Eh, Y/N?” A voice asked, pulling you out of your Jungkook-bubble.

“Huh?” You questioned, having missed the conversation that had been going on around you entirely. However, you felt like you couldn’t be blamed for your lack of attention. It was all Jungkook’s fault and his perfect, distracting kisses.

“Is that accurate?” Jimin asked, a teasing smirk on his face as he gestured to the movie playing on the screen, which you honestly hadn’t even paid a bit of attention to since it had started. You truthfully weren’t even sure what movie they had chosen. When taking a vote at the beginning of the night, you hadn’t cared too much. You usually spent your movie nights exactly as you were right now, wrapped in Jungkook’s arms and completely distracted and consumed by his presence.

“What?” You asked, looking around the room at the various teasing expressions of your friends, wondering what you had missed. You looked back up at Jungkook’s face to notice that his expression was just as mystified as your own, clearly having been just as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

“Is the movie portraying with accuracy the reality of being a twenty-something year old virgin?” Jin clarified.

Behind you, you felt Jungkook tense up while you merely furrowed your brows in confusion, not yet quite understanding why they were asking you this question; however, as you heard the sharp intake of breath from Jungkook behind you, your mind began to connect the dots, reality setting in as what you had believed to be impossible was actually coming true.

“What?” You whispered, still in a state of shock, your mind trying to catch up to what was going on around you.

“The movie,” Taehyung explained. “Is it accurate? We know Hollywood tends to dramatize these things. I’d never actually met a fully grown adult virgin before to confirm; however. Well, until we met you. I have to say, I was quite surprised though. I didn’t really believe Jungkookie at first when he told us,” Taehyung continued on, clearly not realizing the massive hole that he was currently digging for his friend as you mutely listened on.

“Jungkook told you?” You questioned, still not quite believing it. There was no one that you trusted more in this world than Jungkook. You had never had a reason to doubt his sincerity or trustworthiness, which was why your brain was now having trouble believing what was clearly being spelled out in front of you by your friends and their teasing grins as well as the suspicious silence from the man in question.

Reflexively, you moved away from Jungkook’s embrace, his hands following desperately after you only for you to move further away from him on the couch, silently communicating that being touched by him was the last thing you wanted in this moment.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hosoek exchanged glances, quickly realizing what was going on and that this was a piece of information that you had never intended to be shared with the whole group. Quickly, they tried to communicate this to the other members, but with no luck. They were finding too much entertainment in poking fun at you while you just sat there, at a loss for words.

“Hey, that’s enough,” Namjoon finally interceded, no longer able to ignore the look of distress on your face or the utter guilt consuming Jungkook’s own.

Numbly, you finally turned to face your boyfriend, accusation clear in your eyes. He gulped in response, knowing that he was in for it, and rightfully so. However, as you continued to gaze at him, the anger that initially consumed your features was replaced by something so much worse – hurt and betrayal.

“You told them?” You questioned in a broken tone. “After you promised me you understood how personal that was for me to share? That you wouldn’t talk about it with the others?”

The laughter quickly died off as the remaining BTS members realized what was happening, guilt rapidly beginning to form in the pits of their stomachs. They hadn’t realized that this was something you weren’t comfortable with sharing. They had figured that if you had shared that information with Jungkook and he had in turn told them, that it was something you were okay with discussing. They hadn’t meant to hurt your feelings at all. But clearly, the damage had already been done.

“Jagi,” Jungkook began, but then quickly broke off, not having an acceptable answer to your question. He had screwed up, a fact which was made quite clear by the pain in your eyes. Your happiness was one of the most important things in the world to him. He couldn’t stand to see you upset, much less when he knew that he was the cause of your hurt.

“No,” you cried, cutting off whatever useless defense he had been about to muster up. “I can’t believe you, Jungkook. I trusted you. This is exactly the situation I wanted to avoid and you knew that. You expressly told me that you wouldn’t say anything to the other boys, and then what? You go right around and do exactly what you had promised not to. I can’t believe you, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Y/N . . . I – I,” he broke off, completely at a loss, wanting to go over and comfort you, holding you in his arms and gently wiping away the tears that were rapidly forming in your eyes. But he couldn’t do that. Not this time. Not when he was the source of said tears. This was a position he hadn’t found himself in before. You and Jungkook were amazingly compatible. In the months that you two had been dating, you had had very few conflicts and those that you did have were always solved with discussion and an exchange of opinions and feelings. He had never made you cry before and it was a feeling he never wanted to experience again.

“No,” you declared, biting your lip and trying your best to hold in the cries that were trying desperately to leave your body. “I can’t be here anymore.”

Quickly, you stood up, making your way to the doorway and wasting no time in putting your shoes on and grabbing your bag before exiting the apartment, slamming the door with a resounding bang, that clearly communicated you did not want to be followed.

Jungkook was too in shock to even process this as he stared at the doorway you had practically just raced through. The other boys were in much the same predicament, not quite knowing how to respond, not only to your hasty departure, but also to the argument they had just witnessed. As previously mentioned, you and Jungkook never really fought, not in private, and definitely not in public. They were used to you and Jungkook being in perfect sync, the ideal couple, and the perfect counterpart for one another. You completed each other so perfectly that this was a scenario in which they never imagined witnessing, much less being a part of.

“Jungkook…?” Namjoon prompted gently, feeling sorry for the youngest member and the look of despair on his face, completely at a loss with how to process and handle this situation.

“What just happened?” Jimin interrupted. “I didn’t realize that it was a big secret?”

“I hadn’t either,” Hosoek chimed in. “Not until I saw the look on her face.”

“Why’d you tell us that, Jungkook?” Jin questioned, voicing the thoughts of everyone else in the room. “It sounded like she expressly told you not to share that bit of personal information, which I can honestly understand, especially considering that we did exactly what she had been trying to avoid.”

The boys looked down, ashamed at their actions. Yes, they had genuinely believed that this was something you were fine with openly sharing and therefore joking about, but they never should have poked fun at something so personal in the first place. They each resolved in their own minds to apologize to you the next time they saw you, hoping that you weren’t too upset with them.

Taehyung moved over to Jungkook, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a slight shake, attempting to rouse him from his bewildered stupor. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook jerked away, coming alive at once and finally tearing his gaze away from the door that you had left through.

After taking a quick glance around the room and the various expressions of concern and guilt on his friends’ faces, he jumped up, grabbing his phone and his keys before rushing out of the room after you, vowing to make this right with you.

***

After about an hour later and having gone to a number of different locations in order to find you, yet coming up empty, Jungkook walked through the entryway of your apartment, desperately praying that he would find you here. He would go insane if he didn’t find you soon and know that you were safe.

“Y/N-ah!” He called, receiving no reply in return.

His heart sank, ready to lose it completely as endless possibilities of what could have happened to you ran through his mind. However, he was able to sink fully into that mindset of despair, he heard a faint sniffle coming from the bedroom. Hurriedly, he stood to his feet, practically sprinting into your bedroom, only to find you curled up into a tiny ball at the center of the bed, surrounded and covered in pillows and blankets. His heart lurched at the sight of you crying and in pain, but at the moment, his relief that you were okay won out over anything else.

“Y/N!” He breathed, rushing to your side and enveloping you completely in his arms, moving the blankets out of the way so he could see your face.

However, he wasn’t expecting for you to push him away. He didn’t think you had ever turned down any sort of physical contact with him. You were usually the one to initiate it, in fact, always grabbing his hand, leaning your head against his chest, snuggling into his side, and so on. You shying away from him threw him off and gave him a feeling that he never again wanted to experience.

“No,” you whined, when he hesitantly reached towards you again. “Please leave,” you begged. “I don’t want you here right now, Jungkook.”

If Jungkook’s heart hadn’t broken before your previous actions, it absolutely shattered at your words to him now.

“Baby, please, I –“he struggled to express, trying and failing to come up with the words that would get you back in his arms, right where you belonged.

“I don’t want to talk, Jungkook,” you cried. “You really hurt me. Maybe you think I’m being dramatic, but this is a really big deal to me. You knew how hard it was for me to open up to you,” you accused, finally pulling the blanket away and revealing your broken form to Jungkook, his heart sinking at the sight of your red, tear-stained cheeks. “You knew exactly how personal that was and how much I wanted it to stay between you and I,” you continued. “You promised that you wouldn’t say anything and then you immediately went back on your word. How much time did it take for you to go running off to tell them? Did you all mock me together?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jungkook exclaimed, shocked at where your thoughts were taking you. “Just wait a minute!”

You sniffled, jaw set stubbornly, but making no move to interrupt him surprisingly.

“We did not mock you, I would never do that,” Jungkook began, ignoring your quiet scoff of disbelief at his words. “And I know you have absolutely every right to not believe me,” he noted. “But I truly didn’t mean to break your trust. I did and I do understand how hard it was for you to open up to me and I appreciate and value that trust more than you know. I understand that I betrayed that trust that you had in me, and for that I am deeply sorry. I wish I had a good explanation, but I truly don’t. We were just hanging out one night and it kind of slipped out. I didn’t mean to tell them your private business, but once it was out, I couldn’t take it back, but I knew if I tried to convince them not to say anything that that would make them want to bring it up in front of you all the more. I was hoping that if I played it off that they would assume it was no big deal and never mention it again. Clearly, that was a very stupid plan, and I see that now. I should have been up front and honest with them and with you as well. But Y/N, baby, never doubt that I love you and that I have your back – 100%. I may mess up from time to time, in fact, I know I will,” he corrected. “But that doesn’t mean that I love you any less,” he breathed out, voice and eyes pleading with you to understand, to forgive him.

“I love you so much,” he confessed. “Don’t let my idiocy and insensitivity ruin what we have,” he begged. “I promise I won’t ever betray your trust like that again. Let me show you how much I mean it. Let me make it up to you.”

You simply stared back at him, wide-eyed, not quite expecting such a passionate apology from him.

“Say something,” he pleaded, unable to handle your silence.

“I’m not quite sure what to say,” you admitted, still a little in awe from his words.

“Then say you forgive me,” he requested, hand hesitantly inching forward to grab onto your own, taking it as a positive sign that you hadn’t pulled away from him once again.

You looked down at your intertwined hands, your heart thumping in response to his thumb gently stroking the skin along the back of your hand.

“You really didn’t mean to tell them?” You questioned in a small voice, your anger slowly melting away at both the heartfelt words and the adorable doe-eyes that were begging you for your forgiveness.

“No, baby, I didn’t,” he promised, squeezing your hand. “I would never do that to you intentionally. It was just one of those moments where I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying and it slipped out. I knew right away that I had messed up, but I didn’t know what to do. I should have come to you right away though and confessed what had happened. We could have avoided this entire situation if I had just been honest with you.”

You nodded, unable to deny that before glancing down at your clasped hands once again. Although you were still upset with him, you couldn’t deny the sincerity in his eyes. You believed him and you believed that he understood the severity of what he had done. You knew that he loved you and would never do anything to intentionally harm you. Your relationship was something that was too precious to the both of you and although you were hurt, you knew that this would be something that you would be able to work through together. Seeing your smaller hand clutched in his larger one, you couldn’t deny that you and Jungkook just fit together. Everything was right when you were with one another.

Jungkook, having must have sensed your anger slowly melting away, prompted you softly. “Do you think you’ll be able to forgive me, jagiya?”

Without replying, you leaned forward to place your lips against his own in a gentle kiss, expressing all that you wanted to without words. And Jungkook, your other half, understood perfectly, returning the sentiment by pouring his own love and sincerity back into the kiss. The two of you continued on in your sweet embrace, allowing all of the hurt and anger to be swept away by each new kiss.

A few moments later, Jungkook gently pulled away, pressing soft kisses to your face, eliciting a sweet giggle from your lips.

Jungkook grinned in return, overjoyed and at perfect peace to be back in harmony with you – his love, his other half, his perfect partner in everything.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he expressed, eyes gleaming and heart full. You were the only one who could make him feel like this and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you too, Kookie,” you echoed, once again leaning into him and allowing yourself to be swept away in the sweetness of his embrace, exactly where you belonged.

[1randomperson15]

Fuck it, rivalsblr noble au

- Techno is a peasant who learned to fight, with or without a weapon, his specialties are swords and bows, not so bad with an axe or crossbow

- Many of the tournaments are survival of the fittest, most contestants leave with a fatal wound or they don’t leave at all, that’s what makes them illegal

- Some are regulated, those are the lesser known ones, he slowly learns how to not maim his enemies

- there are some big names, TapL being one of them, Fruitberries being another

- They know each other in passing ish, Techno lowkey admires him

- Sometimes he sees kids (Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo) In the regulated fights that don’t know what they're doing, they’re fighting with a desperation that he recognizes. He lowkey mentors them

- Phil is gone, he was the one who started Techno’s learning in fighting, and taught Techno how to read and write; but he’s been off on an adventure to who knows where for years now, Techno’s not sure if he’s still alive

- One day, he sees an opportunity, a chance to enter a noble’s tournament

- One spot, that will be chosen through a tournament of its own, is open; one person, any person 

- It was supposed to be someone to push around, to glorify the lesser skilled nobles

- Techno fights for this spot, and god dammit he gets it

- He participates and wins, the nobles are nothing, each of the bench trio could beat each one of them, and all three still have a lot to learn

- The nobles keep hosting tournaments, and as procedure the last winner is invited, and Techno keeps winning

-Eventually the earnings get to a point where the kids don’t have to fight anymore, they can live nice lives  (Maybe they continue their combat training, maybe they find other interests)

- Techno could be considered a noble himself at this point, but he remains an enigma to them, and he deliberately keeps himself separate from them

- The nobles begrudgingly accept him, even admiring him at times

- Occasionally he’ll still do underground tournaments, regulated and ruthless, to keep his skills sharp

- Dream is new here, he’s come from another kingdom, someone (Bad most likely) takes him under their wing and provides for him

- They learn that Dream can more than handle himself in politics and battles of wit

- He is quickly rising up the ranks in social circles

- From his background, he’s interested (and good) at fighting and tournaments

- He fought a few of the nobles and, noting their skill, or lack thereof, he never really bothered with their tournaments

- He wears a mask and a green cloak and finds places to fight; tournaments that may not look pretty, but at least provide a challenge

- He’s rising the ranks in these tournaments, most of or all of them are the regulated ones 

- He meets Techno a few times, sometimes he gives Techno a fight, depending on the type of weapons allowed 

- Dream learns that Techno doesn’t take the prize money in these tournaments, even providing it for certain events

- He asks why, and they tell him the story of Technoblade

- He participates in a noble tournament, it going exactly as he predicted (He’s not wearing his mask, nor cloak; he is in expensive noble clothing like everyone else there)

- No one stands a chance, until he gets to Techno, who dresses exactly the same as he did when he participates in the underground competitions

- Techno recognizes the fighting style of this new contestant, and eventually realizes his identity and confronts him outside of the tournament

- He helps sharpen Dream’s skills, they teach each other the tips and tricks with their special weapons (and in political gain from Dream)

- Dream often visits Techno and the kids

[lemonhemlock]

Fucking finally someone describes the cave scene as it is. I am so sick of the petulant victim-blaming peddled by black stans. I gotta say that I was pretty shocked at the extent of the violence when I saw them tackle Aemond to the ground 4-1 and start kicking at him mercilessly. It was just so needlessly cruel. Harwin previously complained to Criston that he was teaching the boys cruelty in the training yard, but what Jace/Luke/Baela/Rhaena did to Aemond was 10 times more brutish that the kicks and pushes Aegon managed to throw at Jace on Criston's goading. No amount of cocky posturing or shittalking invites that kind of violence. Pummeling a fallen opponent like that is in no way proportionate "punishment".

Imagine the overwhelming fear someone in that position would feel? You bet your arse that if I received a cowardly kicking like that, my mouth would be foaming with every curse I know and I'd be grabbing hold to all the rocks near me. Have you seen drivers in traffic? People hurl the vilest of insults over way less. I really don't accept this stupid view that just because Aemond was running his mouth he deserved to be beaten like that. Jace and Luke re-attack Aemond with every opportunity, while Aemond takes every opportunity to replace physical blows with verbal ones.

Like you said, he never once uses the rock, just holds it to scare the others away (to keep from freaking attacking yet again like rabid dogs) and even lowers it several times. Jace pulls out the knife NOT to defend himself, for crying out loud, he pulls it out because he is enraged at being called a bastard (the truth) and he pulls it out after Aemond has lowered the rock.

Both him and Luke could have easily taken this lull to put some distance between themselves and Aemond and they could have just kept hurling insults or whatever. Instead, Jace tries to gut Aemond with the knife and people still defend him as "protecting his brother". I actually think Jace gets off the hook too much for the shit that he pulled here. Of course, he gets overshadowed because Luke performs the actual eye-gouging. But he was literally the one who brought a knife to the fight. If this were such a normal object for noble boys to be carrying around, why, pray tell, doesn't Aemond have one stashed away in his pocket as well, since he and Jace are of similar ages? Aemond went out in search of Vhagar unarmed, even though he could have encountered god-knows-what or -whom in the fields. Maybe because little boys aren't supposed to be carrying knives around in the first place.

Anyway, I fear I've hijacked your post and turned it into yet another rant, so my apologies for that, but it really should be said more often. At several points in this altercation, the Strong boys were presented with the opportunity to literally run away or at least distance themselves from Aemond and they never take it. Meanwhile, Aemond couldn't exactly turn his back and run because he had no guarantee the 4 of them wouldn't attack him from behind.

As for the apology part? Luke could have done it the next morning, before the King left. He could have written a letter from Dragonstone. He could have sought Aemond out the day he came for the Driftmark petition and asked to have a word in private. He could have literally taken Aemond aside at some point at dinner and spoken about how he regrets what he did. A toast would have been a great opportunity, too. It would have taken balls, yes, because Aemond hates his guts at this point, but it's the very, very least you can do to someone you literally maimed.

This may be some fault of the writers or editors, in that perhaps some reactions might have been cut, but... Luke sees Aemond for the first time in 6 years and he doesn't feel any type of way about what he did? No "it sure looks like living without an eye fucking sucks oh-my-god-what-have-I-done this person is actually disabled for life because of me"? He even sniggers because he remembers he used to mock him? Man, fuck that. I'd have been mortified to share a meal with this boy had I been in Luke's shoes.

can u explain why u dislike lucerys so much?

because atleast from my pov he was a 7year old child who thought his brother was going to die and retaliated against someone older and stronger than him with a weapon he didn’t even bring

also the bullying he was following his older brother and only companion as well as his much older uncle, an authority figure.

yes he should have apologised, but when should he have? when he was being treated by the maesters for his broken nose? when aemonds mother said to have his eye cut out? when he returned half a decade later and his uncle’s hatred was already there AND his own dislike likely pushed by his family?

lucerys definitely should’ve made amends but there are a lot of factors in it so i don’t rlly see the dislike? idk i just wanna have it explained, no hate just curious (:

Just going to preemptively say that I understand this isn’t hate, so anon, please know that if I have any sort of aggravated tone in this answer it’s not against you. I’m just very passionate about this topic lol

Also this is a crazy long post. Sorry y’all.

“…he was a 7 year old child who thought his brother was going to die and retaliated against someone older and stronger than him with a weapon he didn’t even bring”

When it comes to the fight, I’m mad at all four children who ganged up on an innocent kid and started beating him mercilessly. People love to focus on the fact that Aemond might have done something with that rock, but they completely erase the context, which is that he was tackled to the ground and being punched by four people.

The real context is that Aemond was on defense in that fight. He didn’t seek anyone out. He didn’t start the argument. He didn’t throw the first blow. All Aemond did was fight back to protect himself and grabbed a makeshift weapon to ensure he doesn’t get beaten by four people at once. He was in survival mode and doing anything to keep himself protected.

When it comes down to Lucerys in that fight. He had no business running in and joining in the group beating of another child. It wasn’t his fight. I understand he’s a child, but most kids understand that beating up someone is a bad thing to do. Even at 7. I knew not to punch people at 7, and I can guarantee most others did too. Age can excuse a lot of things but mercilessly beating someone who is on the ground being beaten by three others? I don’t think so.

But let’s look at why Luc cuts his eye out. From your perspective it’s to “save his brother’s life”. But is that really the case? Let’s really take a look. During the fight, Aemond pushes all four kids off him while he is being beaten on the ground. Once gaining the upper hand, he grabs Luc and holds a rock over his head, and…talks. He threatens to kill them and calls them bastards, but he doesn’t actually do anything. In fact, when Luc says his “father” is alive and Aemond realizes Luc doesn’t know he’s a Strong, he lowers the rock. At that point Aemond is no longer a threat. His weapon is down, and he’s speaking relatively calmly. It’s only after Aemond calls Jace “Lord Strong” that the knife is drawn. The knife isn’t drawn for self-defense or to save Luc. It’s pulled for the fact that Aemond called the boys bastards.

From there Jace keeps attacking him with a knife. Aemond gets the better of him in the fight once again, and Jace is on the ground. Here’s where the “saving his life” comes in. Aemond stands over Jace with the rock in his hand raised high and….does nothing. Again. I counted, and Aemond stands there still for about 10 seconds doing absolutely nothing. He breathes deeply. He looks at Baela and Rhaena who look back in fear. But he does nothing. In those ten seconds Luc scrambles to grab the knife, exchanges a look with Jace, and then Jace throws sand in Aemond’s eyes and Luc leaps at him and slashes his eye out.

Now, personally, watching that scene I really didn’t get the feeling Aemond would do anything. Every time he gets the upper hand and will supposedly kill one of the kids with a rock, he stops. He lingers. He doesn’t deliver the blow. By the time Luc gets the knife Aemond has been still and not hit Jace at all for quite a bit of time. He waits long enough for Luc to get the knife and for both boys to silently agree on a tactic to hurt him.

This also begs the question. If Jace had enough time and space to grab sand in his fist and throw it at Aemond to temporarily blind him and get away, why the fuck didn’t he do that before?! We see that Aemond yells and is disoriented by the sand in his eyes. Jace could’ve easily thrown it and kicked aemond and gotten away and they could’ve ended the fight by running away. But instead he waited until his brother had a knife and they could stab him. These boys weren’t doing this in self-defense. It was a coordinated attack with the intention to stab Aemond with a knife. They wanted to stab him. We saw that with Jace pulling it out first.

That whole fight is not Jace and Luc fighting to survive. It’s Aemond fighting to survive. It’s not Luc jumping to save his brother. It’s Jace wanting to stab someone for calling him a bastard (he is), and both boys working together to hurt him. I genuinely believe that the long pauses Aemond took are proof enough that he had no intention of hurting actually killing them. I think it was more of an act of intimidation to show they should leave him alone. So I hold all four kids responsible for what happened to Aemond, but most especially Jace and Luc because while the girls stopped beating Aemond and left after he pushed them off. Jace and Luc kept going because they got angry at the title they were rightfully called, and teamed up to deal a blow that resulted in permanent damage and blinding one eye.

“also the bullying he was following his older brother and only companion as well as his much older uncle, an authority figure”

As I said earlier. I understand seven year olds are dumb as heck, and they don’t always know what is an is not ok. However. Just as I would think most seven year olds know beating someone is bad, most seven year olds know bullying is bad. Hurting people’s feelings isn’t ok. At seven, I knew bullying wasn’t ok. All the boys knew what they were doing was insulting and mean. That’s why they did it. They wanted to be hurtful to Aemond. Yes, Luc was following Aegon and Jace, but that doesn’t absolve the fact that he fully knew what they were doing was mean and found it funny like the others.

yes he should have apologised, but when should he have? when he was being treated by the maesters for his broken nose? when aemonds mother said to have his eye cut out? when he returned half a decade later and his uncle’s hatred was already there AND his own dislike likely pushed by his family?

We can agree he should have apologized, anon. But you seem to be under the impression of how Luc simply couldn’t apologize because of everyone else or the circumstances. You seem to be incorrectly putting the blame on Alicent and Aemond for why he didn’t apologize. Even thought Aemond is the victim.

But let’s see, when should Luc have apologized? “When he was being treated by the maesters for his broken nose”? Sure! Aemond had to answer interrogations by his father and calmed his mother down while having his eye socket sewed shut. I’m sure Luc could’ve apologized then. A broken nose is not nearly as awful and having an eye gouged out, and he seemed pretty ok at that point so yeah. He could’ve spoken up and said he was sorry.

“When Aemond’s mother said to have his eye cut out”? I’m sorry but this reeks of Alicent anti. There was plenty of time before and after Alicent had a literal mental breakdown for Luc to apologize. Why even blame or bring up Alicent? She has nothing to do with this. Luc’s responsibility to apologize is not dependent on anyone else. Least of all the woman in the room who is the only person who cares that Aemond is hurt.

“when he returned half a decade later and his uncle’s hatred was already there AND his own dislike likely pushed by his family”? Absolutely. I assume you’re talking about the dinner scene, and yes, Luc absolutely could have and should have apologized. Yes, Aemond’s anger was pretty much set because it had been a decade of no apology for literally being maimed. But a late apology is better than no apology. During that dinner, Alicent and Rhaenyra, two people who had two decades worth of resentment between them, were heartfelt and kind to one another. Luc could’ve easily toasted to Aemond. He could’ve lifted his glass and said “To my uncle. Long ago I did horrible things to him, and I’ve carried the burden of resentment and guilt all these years. I am truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused, and I hope that my heartfelt apology can be a new beginning for us” or something else sappy like that. Team black may or may not have solidified resentment in Luc against Aemond (about what I wouldn’t know because Aemond didn’t actually do anything wrong). But that doesn’t take away from the fact he should’ve apologized.

You seem to be pushing the idea that because Luc grew resentment because of his family against Aemond, he couldn’t apologize. But he very much could. He just didn’t want to. Because he didn’t care. He didn’t think he was wrong and didn’t feel he had to apologize.

The simple truth of the matter is that Luc didn’t apologize because he doesn’t feel remorse. It’s not because he was too injured to apologize at first. Or because Alicent was mean for five minutes. Or because his family solidified resentment. He didn’t apologize because he isn’t sorry. And that is best exemplified by the dinner scene. Like I said earlier he could’ve apologized. But instead, what did Luc do? He saw a pig and began to laugh at the cruel prank and bullying he did against Aemond. He still relished in the mean things he did as a child. There’s no remorse there, only smugness and sick enjoyment in his past cruelties. That is why I hate Lucerys so much. The burden of responsibility to apologize was on Luc, and there is no excuse for him not apologizing. He just wasn’t sorry, and that’s not on anyone but Luc for being…just not a good person.

TLDR: Luc has had a long pattern of being cruel and mean and never felt an ounce of guilt. You are right that there’s many factors, anon. But they don’t take away from the basic facts. Luc intentionally hurt Aemond’s feelings and found joy in it, Luc intentionally maimed Aemond with Jace (instead of opting for a less violent conclusion), and Luc never apologized and never felt remorse for his cruelty instead opting to continue to take pleasure in his negative acts.

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Miraculous Side Effects

For Maribat March day 6 theme miraculous side effects 

Master List

Despite popular belief, the miraculous did not give you powers or animalistic side effects outside of the miraculous. So no she did not eat aphids and could not create things out of thin air. 

The only side effect of the miraculous was you became a little more in tune with a certain part of yourself. For Tikki it was being more structured/organized, with Plagg you became a little more chaotic, Trixx you became a little more honest, and so on. 

Most days Marinette found herself wearing the ox miraculous, a nose ring. For some reason nose rings scared people off and most days she was so deep into her work she didn’t want to be talked to. Unfortunately, this came with the side effect of being more hot-headed. When especially pissed off she forgot all reason and would either tell a person off or beat a person up. Neither was pretty. 

And just her luck that today was one of those days. She had been up for 28 hours working on Jagged and Penny’s outfits for some rich man’s gala. 

With any luck she wouldn’t have to attend, not that she didn’t have a dress she always had one on hand, but she really didn’t want to socialize with a bunch of rich people. If they were anything like Chloe or Kagami, no offense to her best friends of course, then they would be a pain to talk to. 

Now here she was in this coffee shop, she didn’t bother remembering the name of, to get a cup of coffee so she could finish the stitching on Penny’s dress. 

Ignoring the guy’s horrified expression at how much caffeine she wanted and his muttering of ‘there’s now a female one’ she patiently waited for her cup. 

The second she got it she chugged most of it down, immediately feeling more awake. Screw sleep, she could take a nap once she was done. 

She had literally just finished drinking it all when a body slammed into hers. She ended up falling on the ground, cup still in hand, and glared at the person who bumped into her, mostly because he was still standing. 

Her first thought was ‘Fuck, he’s cute’. What was it with her and green eyed men? Faintly she could hear someone saying, “Good going Demon Spawn!” but she wasn’t paying attention. 

The lid had fallen off the cup and now the little bit that was still left had splattered onto her clothes. And she liked this shirt too. 

He offered her a hand but she was still pissed off, her mind no longer listening to reason, and it didn’t help that Stompp’s side effect was amping up her aggression. 

Completely ignoring his offer of help she got up and gave him her best glare, the one that had grown men shaking. Now this wasn’t her best moment, but in her defense she was sleep deprived and now needed to change her clothes which took up more of her precious time. 

“Dude watch where you’re going next time!” She shouted, the whole place went silent. 

It took the dude a moment to say something but she just ended up cutting him off, “Look I’m sorry, I-” 

“You’re sorry. Yeah, apology not accepted.” And with that she grabbed her lid off the ground, dramatically smashed her cup with one hand, and threw both things away in the trash can by the door as she walked out. 

It wasn’t until she had finished Penny’s dress and took a much needed nap that she realized the opportunity she just wasted. She could’ve accepted the apology and maybe got a date with a really cute guy! But no she just had to act all snappy and rude to him and she was glad she never had to see him again. Gotham was a big city and what were the chances she would see him again after all. 

Stompp just thought she did the right thing telling the guy off. Of course, the most aggressive of the kwami would be telling her that. She really should try wearing Daizzi’s miraculous one of these days. Not that it was going to help her racing heart whenever she thought of him.

-

Despite what everyone, including sometimes his own family thought, Damian did care for his family. That included his siblings. 

Which is why he was here, with Jason Todd of all people, trying to get Tim Drake to come home and take a nap. They had a mandatory gala to attend on the weekend and Bruce didn’t want Tim Drake acting like a zombie for it. 

Damian was trying to do his job and get Tim Drake home while Jason Todd thought it would be funny to tease the both of them. 

This may or may not have resulted in him saying some not appropriate things to Jason Todd resulting in Jason Todd shoving him resulting in him accidentally knocking down someone. He fully blames Jason Todd. 

He looked down at the girl he had knocked down and the first thought that came to him was ‘Fuck, she’s pretty’. Where the hell did that come from? This thought almost drowned out Jason Todd’s “Good going Demon Spawn!” Keyword, almost, he definitely was going to maim Jason Todd later. 

Looking back at the girl with gorgeous blue eyes, adorable freckles and was that a nose ring he offered her his hand to help her up, doing his best to ignore those that were whispering around them.

Much to his and he’s pretty sure his brother’s surprise, she gave him a glare that could rival the batglare and completely ignored his hand when getting herself off the ground. 

Then another shocker was when she shouted at him, “Dude watch where you’re going next time!” The whole place went quiet at that, she had just yelled at the Ice Prince. 

It took him a minute to compose himself as he tried to apologize only to be cut off, “Look I’m sorry, I-” 

“You’re sorry. Yeah, apology not accepted.” And with that final statement she grabbed the lid that had fallen off her cup, smashed said cup before throwing both things in a trash can as she walked out. Woah that was hot Shut Up Brain! 

“What just happened?” Tim Drake questioned. 

“Demon Spawn just pissed off a girl. Tried to apologize to her and she rejected his apology.” Jason Todd laughed. 

“Shut up Todd!” Damian snapped, “Let us just get Drake back to the manor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, on it Demon.” Jason Todd said before throwing Tim Drake over his shoulder and walking out the door. Damian kept his head down as he followed them. 

Later he would think about the girl with blue eyes, freckles, and a nose ring and would not be able to stop his racing heart. Or his siblings teasing after Jason Todd told them the story of the girl who rejected him after he had bumped into her. And it wasn’t like he was ever going to see her again.

-

Those that were in the coffee shop would have a story to tell their friends. The Ice Prince of Gotham bumped into a girl, tried to apologize to said girl and she didn’t accept his apology. Or try to flirt with him or sue him. And none of them had gotten it on video. 

Who knows? Maybe he’ll get a second chance at a first impression. *wink wink nudge nudge*

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Me not so subtly saying there will be a part 2. Again sorry for posting so late, procrastination is my best friend these days. 

@maribatmarch-2k21