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pa1nrema1ns · 10 days ago

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Two Intertwining Melodies || Sung Jin-woo (Part 2 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N: Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for all of your interest and feedback on part one of this series. Due to the sheer enormity of the second chapter, I've decided to expand the siren au into a trilogy rather than a two-parter. My dear friend and beta reader @forbidden-sunlight has been an absolutely incredible source of support in the creation of this story. She also wrote the imagine that inspired this au. Links to the prologue and first chapter are posted below. Do be sure to read them first before continuing. And as always, heed the content warnings that are listed.

╰┈➤ Previous Chapters

🦪 Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight 🧜‍♂️ Part 1: Master and Apprentice

Content warnings: 18+MDNI, canon divergent, graphic descriptions of gore, death, and violence, afab!reader, reader is a makeup artist and hair stylist in the entertainment industry, a/b/o dynamics, heavy mentions of heat cycles, knotting, and breeding, threats of assault/non-con made by Kang Taeshik towards the reader (Jinchul intervenes and protects her), suggestive themes, some sexual descriptors, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo.

Word count - 9.6k

Summary - You find yourself returning to your childhood home of Jindo Island after receiving the offer of a lifetime. However, you can't shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

[Skill: "Monarch’s Domain" Has Been Activated.]

“Come on out!”

A cacophony of deafening blasts, wails, and the clash of steel rings across the crimson-tinged horizon of the one hundredth floor of the Demon’s Castle; a perfect accompaniment to the Armageddon currently taking place. Infantrymen by the hundreds emerge from the shadows to skewer Baran’s forces while Iron, Igris, and Tank slaughter the larger and more formidable combatants with wanton brutality. Issuing a non-verbal command, Jin-woo orders Fang to incinerate his enemies with ‘Song of Inferno,’ and a calamitous ball of flames bursts forth, eradicating most of the battalion.

“Amazing… on all the top floors I’ve been with him, I’ve seen nothing quite like this,” Esil whispered in awe. Although she was a demon princess who grew up in this wasteland and had seen many spectacular sights, the power of commanding shadow soldiers was most certainly not one of them.

In contrast to his companion, Jin-woo calmly observes the cataclysmic destruction with a piercing gaze. Despite gaining the upper hand against his troops, Baran remained steadfast in his refusal to engage directly in the ensuing fight. This simply would not do. Jin-woo needed to secure his victory in this decisive battle, and fast.

Jinwoo’s opponent possessed the last ingredient required to craft the Holy Water of Life: The Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch. A fortnight of endless fighting had culminated to this moment, and he was on the precipice of triumph. But the Demon King was unlike any adversary he had ever faced before. Jin-woo could gauge just from the sheer murderous energy emanating from him that Baran was in a league of his own. And his power spoke for itself: endless demon hordes at his beck and call, a wyvern as a mount, and an insurmountable supply of mana that showed no signs of running out. Jin-woo would need to approach his foe strategically lest he lose this war of attrition.

At long last, as if he could sense the siren’s impatience, the Demon King makes his move. He bids his draconian steed to fly at a lower altitude. Once within range, Baran unhinges his jaw and unleashes a massive beam of white lightning. Within seconds, thunder runs rampant throughout the land, devastating everything in its path. However, Jin-woo and his shadow army stand strong regardless of the imminent danger. The siren even has the audacity to smirk.

So Baran thought he could defeat him with electricity? Excellent. He really could not have asked for a better opponent. As luck would have it, Jin-woo’s oceanic nature gave him the edge in this situation. The surface of water, acting as a conductor of electricity, causes high voltages and amps to spread rapidly. With this in mind, Jin-woo launches a counterattack.

“Wreak havoc on all who dare to stand in my way, Charybdis!”

Powerful torrents of black seawater manifest from the shadows just before Baran’s attack could hit him. The rushing stream then runs across the land and coalesces into a violent maelstrom in the sky. The raging vortex absorbs most of the lightning in its maw before redirecting its flow towards the Demon King. Baran wills his steed to evade by canting to the left, but Fang incapacitates him by striking the wyvern’s wing with a blast of fire magic. The Demon King leaps from his mount’s back before it’s forced into the whirlpool and electrocuted. He lands gracefully on his feet and shoots a sinister grin at Jin-woo.

“It was worth it to let Fang have the sphere,” the siren remarks nonchalantly, as if it was just any other day and not a fight to the death. “I’m glad you’re finally on the ground. Constantly looking up was making me tired.”

With the Demon King grounded, Jin-woo no longer required the aquatic effects of Charybdis. The dark water above evaporates as it returns to the abyssal depths of the ocean, its job now complete. With this hindrance finally gone, Baran doesn’t hesitate to release another beam of white thunder, this one even greater than the last. Fang attempts to lessen the impact with ‘Song of Protection’, but the force of taking a direct hit ends up obliterating him. Undeterred by his comrade’s demise, Iron bellows at Baran and slashes at his body with his axe. But he proves to be no match for the speed of the Demon King, who ruthlessly splits his head in half. Igris then valiantly joins the fray and swings his great sword at the demon. However, this too is a fruitless endeavor, as Baran swiftly catches his blade and wipes him out with a flick of his wrist.

Just as Igris’s body fades, Jin-woo emerges from the ashes in his true sirenic form, Knight Killer and Baruka’s dagger at the ready. “Scylla!” He snarls a second incantation that brings forth another wave of black water, this time in the shape of a six-headed beast. The aqueous leviathan slams into Baran, crushing his body under its weight and submerging the entire floor of the dungeon in water. The Demon King swiftly breaks free from the tides and springs onto the roof of one of the sole remaining towers. Soaking wet and surrounded by large bodies of water, Baran ends up on the defensive; if he were to use his lightning, he risked electrocuting himself. Jin-woo was also in an environment that favored him, and the Demon King could not pinpoint his whereabouts while he was swimming underwater.

Even with this advantage, the gap in power was still significant between the two. Knowing this, Jin-woo doesn’t allow him a moment of reprieve. He uses his tail to project his body from the currents and launches at the Demon King with his daggers. The demon responds in kind, countering his onslaught with a flurry of strikes from his own weapons. Jin-woo holds his own against the extraordinary speed of Baran’s slashes. But he was low on mana, and fatigue was rapidly building up. While oceanic magic was incredibly effective, it incurred a high cost of mana. This, coupled with an extended exposure to a dry, fiery atmosphere, was having a seriously detrimental effect on his endurance. It was time to end the battle after dragging it out for so long. Jin-woo just needed an opportunity to catch the demon off guard–

Klang!

A loud noise reverberates in the dungeon as a lance ricochets off Baran’s head. The demon redirects his focus to the sheepish face of Esil. Huh? I thought I told her to head for higher ground. When did she…? Jin-woo ponders briefly before banishing the thought. He requested a distraction, and someone kindly provided him with one. He wasn’t about to squander his only chance.

Using Baran’s hesitation to his advantage, Jin-woo discards his short swords and sinks his fangs into the Demon King’s neck, crushing down on his windpipe. As Baran struggles to throw him off, Jin-woo unsheathes his claws and gouges out chunks of flesh. The demon howls in agony, his pained cries music to the siren’s ears. “How stupid of me,” Jin-woo sneers, his voice deepening in pitch as his actions became more monstrous, “I was fighting you like a man this entire time, when this is who I really am. Heh, I guess being disguised as a human for so long made me forget.”

Summoning all his strength, Jin-woo uses his muscular arms to tear Baran’s torso from his body. The vicious mauling completely eviscerates the demon, with only his entrails being left over in its wake. His victory now secured, Jin-woo exhaustedly slumps to the ground and reverts to his human appearance. The throes of battle destroyed most of his clothes, much to his chagrin. The only apparel that remained intact were his tattered jeans, and those only just spared his modesty. He scoffed in annoyance; he’d need to purchase a new wardrobe soon to make himself more presentable for you …

“Jin-woo, sir!” Esil dashes towards him with a worried look on her cute face. The siren smirks, satisfied despite the many setbacks he faced during this confrontation.

“Esil, tell your father the Radis clan is now the number one family.”

“Jin-woo sir,” the demon girl responds exasperatedly, “Our family name is Radir.”

6:00 AM, on the outskirts of Jindo Island…

Jin-woo deeply inhales the crisp morning air as he soars through the endless skies. Much had transpired in the short time between the conclusion of his showdown with Baran and now. He had gained the Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch, along with the World Tree Fragment, and Spring Water from Echo Forest. With these three components, he was at last able to craft the Holy Water of Life. Once finished, he cradled the precious vial in his palm, as if trying to ascertain proof of its existence. Afterwards, Jin-woo deposited it into his magical inventory for safekeeping.

Of course, the elixir was just one of the many spoils of war he had claimed. Kaisel, the wyvern who now served as his mount, was his for the taking after Baran’s death. The gift of flight had expedited the journey home, much to his joy. A rune stone had also provided him with the skill, ‘Shadow Exchange,' a means of trading places with any of his soldiers scattered throughout land and sea. Thanks to this new ability, he was able to leave that hellish landscape. After being gone for what felt like eons, Jin-woo was desperate to return. To his family. To Ashborn. To you.

He’s relieved when the familiar cityscape of Jindo-gun comes into view. He estimates it would take roughly 15 more minutes for them to arrive over the briny waters. However, before they can make it past the coastline, the spellbinding fragrance of bergamot and vanilla overwhelms Jin-woo’s senses. This could mean only one thing: you were nearby. The headiness of your musk had also gotten more potent in his absence, signifying your fertility.

“Fuck!” Jin-woo’s hisses as desire courses hot and heavy through his veins. He tries to resist the temptation of your pheromones, but you smelt so damn good; so ready and willing for him and his knot –

Jin-woo grunts as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The pain causes him to regain some mental clarity, and he wills himself to calm down. But it’s of no use. His thoughts were currently being clouded by lust and the instinctual drive to breed. Those two weeks he endured in the Demon’s Castle had significantly intensified his longing for you, and the pent-up sexual frustration was coming to a head. Jin-woo really had to nip this in the bud. His stamina was at its limit, and he was in no condition to be seen by you. The siren also desperately needed to go home and check in on his mother and Jin-ah. He was the only alpha and protector of their family after the disappearance of his father. He couldn’t afford to waste another—

The wind carries your scent as it blows past Jin-woo’s face a second time. It was as if you were beckoning him like some sort of enchantress. Unable to ignore your maddening aroma, Jin-woo at last gives in. He knew the decision he was about to make was foolish, reckless even. But he must heed the call of his omega.

He silently apologizes to his mother and Jin-ah and asks them to wait just a little longer. “I’ll only introduce myself… maybe I can even get her name,” he tries to reason with himself while slowly succumbing to delirium. His mind made up, Jin-woo commands Kaisel to deliver him to the area where your scent is the strongest. The wyvern then returns to the void shortly thereafter, leaving the worn out siren to his own devices.

Grainy sand molds against his bare feet as stumbles across the beach in search of you. “Shit. If this keeps up, I might not make it back to Mom and Jin-ah.” Jin-woo mumbles softly. He really was in poor form. Maybe it had been a mistake to depart immediately for Jindo island without taking a break in between. Damn.

As black spots start to obscure his vision, Jin-woo’s gaze finally lands on you. His lips quirk into a tired smile. Even through blurry eyes, you looked absolutely stunning while standing in the sunlight. Like an earthly goddess.

With his consciousness ebbing further and further away, the siren musters up the last of his energy to stagger towards you. He makes it only two steps before his body gives out and he collapses. Rather than hitting the hard ground, a soft and warm embrace met Jin-woo. He blearily cracks open an eye, curious about what broke his fall. It was at that moment your lovely, albeit worried face greeted him. Pretty, he thinks, exhaustion finally taking its toll on him. The last thing Jin-woo remembers before the darkness overtakes him is the soothing smell of bergamot and vanilla.

Two weeks ago, someone or something had been watching you. It was during the first day of filming the mystery-thriller, ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’, a passion project by renowned producer, Go Gun-hee. The man had an incredible work ethic, with a career spanning over 40 years and numerous accolades to his name. He had recently come out of retirement, and the entertainment industry was buzzing with anticipation. Known as a cinematic miracle maker, every motion picture Go Gun-hee produced set box office records. Suffice to say, you had been over the moon after finding out you were amongst the few who made the cut for makeup artists hired to work on set. Although the instant you found out where the filming location was to take place, you immediately felt your enthusiasm dampen. Jindo-gun. At one point, this had been your home. Now, it was but a distant memory.

You had spent most of your childhood on the island of Jindo. Its scenic beaches, sprawling forests, and crystalline waters made it ideal for shooting a film based on a luxury yacht charter. There was one major caveat however: the sirens. Several pods of these unpredictable creatures resided off the coast of Jindo, and the alphas were infamous for their aggression, especially during the height of the mating season.

Growing up, your parents warned you time and time again not to walk alone along the shores at night. "Don’t ever go to the beach by yourself after dark," your mother had signed this to you almost every day. A constant reminder to stay safe and vigilant of your surroundings. Townsfolk also gossiped and shared sordid stories about the lost souls who fell victim to the sirens. But this wasn’t just word of mouth, a child’s fairytale, or mere superstition. These deadly apex predators were very much real, and a troublingly high number of homicides were committed by them each year. Unfortunately, this did little to dissuade foolhardy tourists and arrogant fishermen from pouring into the island during the hotter months of spring and summer.

Eager to escape the foreboding atmosphere, you had applied to and been accepted into a 2-year cosmetology program in Busan shortly after finishing high school. Makeup had always been a strong interest of yours and with the support of both your parents you flourished in your craft.

Although you had been nervous about the transition from quaint suburbia to the big city life, you found yourself quickly growing accustomed to the fast-paced environment. Your school had also been very accommodating, providing you with a sign language interpreter and captioning services for your classes. A kindhearted young woman by the name of Lee Joohee had been assigned as your interpreter during your time in Busan. You became fast friends and remained close even after graduation.

After receiving your license, you relocated to a small apartment in Seoul and began working as a hair and makeup artist in stage productions, commercials, and musicals. You greatly enjoyed the creativity and networking opportunities of your profession, often getting to bump shoulders with many well-known actors and actresses. Within a few years, your portfolio grew considerably. This enabled you to broaden your horizons by breaking into the film industry. ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ would be your first foray into this competitive market and you wanted to prove yourself as a newcomer to the scene. So, despite your reservations, you begrudgingly agreed to board the private jet headed for Jindo island.

If you recall correctly, the mating season for the sirens wouldn’t take place for another four months, so everything should proceed without a hitch… right?

You began to feel a little more at ease when you found out Cha Hae-In and Yoo Jinho were cast in major roles in the movie. You had first met them when they were both burgeoning stage actors. Cha was surprisingly camera shy and preferred to keep a more subdued profile whereas Jinho was outgoing and incredibly humble despite his privileged background. The bubbly brunet was the youngest son of the chairman of Yoojin Construction Company, a major industrial conglomerate in South Korea.

Although you came from different walks of life, the three of you had hit it off right away, finding common ground in your passions for campy horror films. You even taught them a few signs, and this inspired Jinho to devote himself fully to learning sign language. Cha also practiced her signs with you whenever she had the chance, but her busy schedule often made it difficult for her to find spare time. Nevertheless, you were deeply touched by the efforts made by both of your friends.

While taking a break on set, you felt a pair of eyes boring into you as you were relaxing with Cha and Jinho. At first, you chalked it up to paranoia. It had been years since you visited the island, and you’d nearly forgotten how oppressive the ocean seemed at night. But it was the middle of May. The mating season for the sirens would not take place until September at the earliest. Regardless, the sensation of being watched still lingered even after the mysterious presence had left.

There was also the enthralling scent of lavender and sandalwood thickly permeating the air. It had a distinctly masculine undertone to it that had piqued your interest. It was far too strong to be from a couple spritzes of cologne or perfume, yet more subtle than the pungent smell emanating from many of the alphas who composed the cast and crew onboard the yacht. Their musk was overbearing at best, but this fragrance was entirely different. It was sweet. Delicate. Intoxicating…

You had to find the source of it. Making up an excuse about wanting to get more fresh air, you stay behind on the deck of the ship while your friends return to their accommodations to retire for the evening. As you lean over the railing to scope out the scent, an intense wave of heat suddenly ignites in your lower belly causing you to gasp and buckle at the knees. It briefly lingers in your abdomen before shooting directly to your core. You bite back a moan as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure spreading throughout your body. Slowly but surely, you were entering into a primal state; one of pure unbridled arousal. You should be concerned. No, you should be horrified. You were so vulnerable, so out of sorts. And yet…

You had never felt so exhilarated. It was as if ecstasy became you. You were ascending higher and higher to parts unknown, all semblance of rationality long since abandoned. The coil in your gut was wound so tight, it was at its breaking point. If this continued, you would inevitably plummet over the edge and succumb to your baser instincts –

The metallic odor of copper violently infiltrates the air, abruptly bringing you back to your senses. Your eyes bolt open, and you release a shaky breath. You’re surprised to find yourself on your knees. They must’ve given out on you at some point. However, your shock shifts to horror when you catch sight of an unruly mop of purple hair from the corner of your eye.

It could only belong to one individual: Kang Taeshik.

Shit. You’d been acquainted with the man just yesterday, but he terrified you. Taeshik was an up-and-coming actor on the scene; one who excelled in any role he played. In spite of this, the first impression he left on you was enough to make you keep your distance. Although Taeshik’s demeanor was docile, there was a cold and calculating look in his eyes that made you shudder. It reminded you of a predator eyeing its prey. The most off-putting aspect of the man, however, was his stomach-churning scent. He positively reeked of blood.

You could feel panic setting in as he began to saunter towards you, a lascivious smirk spread across his face like a dark promise. You’re unable to rise to your feet, still weakened and lightheaded from the erotic sensations affecting you earlier. Worse yet, you feel a lump in your throat, making it difficult to shout or scream for help should the need arise. You were essentially cornered, defenseless, and alone with a menacing alpha. And if the pungency of his musk was anything to go by, he was on the verge of a rut. You sink back into yourself in fear and begin to tremble uncontrollably.

You can see Taeshik’s mouth moving as he closes in on you. You’d become adept at lip reading over the years, although it was difficult to decipher everything he was saying in the darkness. The only words that you can make out are "little omega" and "whore." Your blood curdles. Someone, anyone, please help me! You silently plead, knowing it was futile. For a moment, you foolishly imagine the owner of that enticing scent coming to your rescue.

Thankfully, just before Taeshik can grab you, a large hand envelops his wrist in a vice grip.

The purple haired nightmare cants his gaze to the side and narrows his eyes. He’s greeted by the furious expression of none other than the film’s director, Woo Jinchul. Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. Thank God, you think.

Taeshik rips his arm away and leaps back, creating some distance between himself and the taller man. Jinchul quickly assumes a protective stance in front of you. His broad back prevented you from seeing your would-be assailant, something you were extremely grateful for. For a few tense moments, you can only sit and stare at Jinchul’s imposing figure as he confronts the other man.

Despite how scared you are, you wish you could partake in the conversation if only to defend yourself. Taeshik may try to manipulate the situation by implicating you as an instigator or seductress, something many male actors in the industry unfortunately got away with due to their connections or wealth. It was despicable and made you seethe with anger at the salacious lies and rumors spread by the press and social media.

After several painstaking minutes, Taeshik departs with nary but a shrug of indifference. Apparently Jinchul’s status and power as director did nothing to intimidate him. He waits until Taeshik’s figure disappears before turning to face you. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth in his usually hard gaze, and you’re able to catch a whiff of his natural scent: cardamom and cedarwood, a calming combination.

Jinchul gently offers his hand and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. Your legs are still somewhat stiff but functional now. He permits you to steady yourself by grasping onto his shoulders and it doesn’t escape you how oddly intimate these actions are. As if to further prove this, Jinchul, in a strange display of affection, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches.

A beat passes before the realization of what he just did hits him. Jinchul’s eyes widen, and he quickly snatches his hand back as if he was scalded. And was it your imagination, or were his ears turning pink? He awkwardly clears his throat before opening his mouth. ‘Are you alright? Did Taeshik harm you in any way?’ You read his lips closely, appreciating the pauses and slow enunciation of his words. Jinchul was aware that you could lip read rather efficiently, and this made it easier to communicate with him since he would not have to always rely on an interpreter.

You shake your head and see him breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He won’t ever be allowed near you again; I will make sure of it.’ Jinchul is back to his usual no-nonsense demeanor it seems. But what had caused him to act so… tender towards you? And Taeshik? The man had always been creepy and taciturn, but he never went out of his way to torment you. If Jinchul hadn’t arrived at just the right time, you could have been assaulted. You feel bile rising to your throat at the thought. Why was this happening? You were always careful and made sure to take your heat suppressants every day. None of the alphas you worked with had ever tried to hurt you before, so why? Unless you were going into heat, but that shouldn’t be possible…

You suddenly break into a sob, overcome with emotion. Your distress causes Jinchul to spring into action. He promptly removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the night. Jinchul then produces an embellished handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. He hesitates before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his lips move again. ‘I’m here for you,’ he mouths. You wipe away the tears with the handkerchief and stifle your cries into its soft fabric. All the while, Jinchul remains by your side and grants you as much time as you need to collect yourself. When the tears finally run their course, you lower the ruined towelette from your face and chance a timid glance at him.

Jinchul regards you with a pensive expression on his sharp features. He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and reaches back into his pocket to pull out his phone. He then begins typing away and once finished with his message, he hands the device over to you, displaying the contents of his notebook app.

"As director of this film, I want you to know that I will always prioritize the wellbeing of our cast and crew. With that being said, the actions I witnessed Kang Taeshik commit tonight were morally reprehensible. I won’t disclose the full details of the discussion I had with him, as I do not wish to cause you any further emotional distress. I will say that I can personally attest to the fact that Kang Taeshik sought to menace and harm you while you were in a vulnerable state of heat."

You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as you skim over the last sentence. So Jinchul knew you had unexpectedly gone into heat? Of course he would; he was an alpha. How could you have been so stupid? The director was most certainly going to see you as a liability now… you may even end up losing your job.

You reluctantly force yourself to continue reading. If this to be the conclusion of your tenure, then at least you would see it through to the bitter end.

"Please do not blame yourself for what has happened. Your disposition as an omega has no bearing on your contract or employment, nor does it offer an excuse for an alpha, or anyone for that matter, to harass you. It is with impartial and sound judgment that I have made the executive decision to terminate Kang Taeshik and remove him from production effective immediately. This will cause some inevitable delays, but an impromptu casting call can be arranged in the meantime. I’m willing to run over schedule if it guarantees everyone’s safety."

You exhale and feel all the tension dissipate from your body. So, you weren’t the one being let go, Taeshik was. You hadn’t known much about Woo Jinchul beforehand, but you were thankful that he was a man of good character. This was becoming exceedingly rare in an industry composed of unscrupulous and morally bankrupt members of the upper echelons.

You type back a response before handing him his phone.

"I am so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I really don’t understand what happened. I’ve been taking suppressants for years, and an alpha has never tried to threaten me before. Thank you for stepping in to protect me. I really don’t know what he was planning to do."

You couldn’t help but apologize even though Jinchul had vindicated you. What leaves you reeling, however, is the reply he gives you when the mobile device is back in your hands.

"I should be the one to apologize, not you. My behavior towards you earlier was incredibly uncouth, and for that, I am deeply sorry. As director, I should be conducting myself in a manner that is more befitting. Instead, I allowed my instincts as an alpha to impair my judgement. I promise this shall not happen again."

Uncouth behavior? Did he mean when he was brushing your hair from your face? How could he be apologetic about something so innocuous? The implications don’t fully register until you replay that last sentence: My instincts as an alpha. Instincts…alpha…!?!

He was reacting to your pheromones.

That evening, Jinchul insisted on having you treated at the on-site infirmary. Alas, with few medical staff and even less equipment it was difficult to determine what was causing your symptoms. Was it possible your medication was no longer working? Omega suppressants were highly effective, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. A missed dose or interaction with another drug could negate the effects. But you weren’t taking any other medications, and you never missed a dose.

Needing a second opinion, you were transported to the emergency room at a nearby hospital for further evaluation. Jinchul had opted to let Cha and Jinho drive you there after explaining your circumstances to them (minus the issue with Kang Taeshik; he was keeping it under wraps for now). Unlike him, they were both betas which made them immune to your pheromones.

You ended up being kept overnight for observation. After running a series of tests, including labs to assess your hormones and an ultrasound, you were found to be undergoing a pseudo estrus or ‘false heat’ as it’s more commonly referred to.

Unlike a regular heat, a false heat occurs only when a highly compatible alpha is within close vicinity of an omega. This in turn triggers a massive release of pheromones leading to an increase in libido, fever-like symptoms, cramping, and fatigue. Whoever this alpha was, their presence was so virile that your heat suppressants were fully canceled out by them.

You were questioned extensively about your experience by the healthcare team. "Do you have any partners? Are you sexually active? Is there anyone you work with who is an alpha? When did you first start experiencing the signs of your heat?" The list was never-ending. With the help of an interpreter, you answered everything to the best of your ability. And by the end of it all, you were still at a loss.

No one on that yacht had been emitting that scent, you were sure of it. It had to have been someone wholly unrelated. Perhaps a fisherman or a swimmer? But it was late and everyone who was local to the island knew better than to risk the waters at night. Everyone except you and the entourage on board the yacht, that is.

Frustrated, you eventually gave up on trying to figure out the identity of your potential mate. Your physician, a compassionate fellow omega by the name of Min Byung-Gu, strongly recommended an entire week of bed rest for you. This was to serve as a means of letting the heat cycle run its course. You were also provided with prescription medications to alleviate your symptoms.

Resting was crucial. Any physical stress or strain could worsen your condition, and omegas were particularly susceptible to injury or illness while at their sexual peak. In addition to this, your doctor recommended ceasing all contact with alphas, effectively barring you from returning to work. You were crestfallen at this, but you acquiesced knowing it was for the sake of your recovery.

To avoid any mishaps, Jinchul arranged for you to stay in a penthouse for the time being. The lavish suite was situated on the very top floor of a deluxe condominium, affording you all the personal comforts and privacy you would need. You couldn’t help but snort when you opened the door to your new living quarters. It was like you were a goddamn princess trapped in a tower.

As if that wasn’t enough, your boss had also hired two very intimidating bodyguards. Both were betas who had been tasked with protecting you during your heat. The first to be introduced was a hulking beast of a man called Thomas Andre. He was huge, with a herculean frame that looked to be made of steel rather than flesh and blood. A wild mane of blonde hair and intricate patterns of black ink also adorned his chest and arms, making him even more imposing.

The disarming smile he gives you is anything but, however. He’s also surprisingly gentle with you when he shakes your hand.

Your other bodyguard had a physicality that was far less egregious, but his razor-edged gaze, unnervingly calm composure, and the bulging muscles of his arms revealed a powerful aura that was not to be underestimated. This man had gone by the name of Liu Zhigang, a master swordsman of the highest caliber and one of the strongest individuals in China.

He too, had been unexpectedly friendly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair and calling you a “good girl,” in his native language. Your interpreter had been particularly scandalized while signing this to you after you were insistent on finding out what he said. You, on the other hand, thought it was rather cute, especially when juxtaposed with his tough guy image. There had also been no ill intent or malice in his words; he was being genuinely amiable to you, just as Thomas Andre had been.

Perhaps you could make do with this situation. But you could only imagine how hefty of a price tag these two highly skilled warriors could warrant. Jinchul was sparing absolutely no expense on you. He must have felt terribly guilty about your traumatic experience that night…

You make a vow with yourself not to take his generosity for granted.

And so, the next week passes by rather uneventfully. You ended up becoming stir crazy right from the beginning. You had been so accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a makeup artist and hair stylist that the very concept of wasting the day away seemed foreign. Gone were the 12–14-hour shifts that had once encompassed your daily routine. It was maddening, this sudden lack of purpose.

Sleeping, reading, eating, and binge-watching dramas with closed captioning had been your main escape from the dullness of being confined to bed all day. No one, not even your parents, Jinho, or Cha had been permitted to visit you while on bedrest. Jinchul and Min Byung-Gu had advised you to limit all external stimulation while you were in heat. You understood the importance of this, but it did nothing to prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness that awaited you.

Sure, your bodyguards had been cordial to you, but they were preoccupied with keeping watch over the premises and warding off any intruders. Neither one had time to engage with you beyond a simple greeting or farewell. Even your interpreter kept her presence scarce, coming only twice per day to check in with you and to relay messages from your friends, family, and the director.

It was as if you were a bird in a gilded cage. Locked away, out of sight, and out of mind. You hated every second of it. You wanted to curse the cruel hand you were dealt, to resent the alpha who had caused you all this misery in the first place. But…

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it no matter how unbearable the isolation became.

Once those seven agonizingly slow days were over and done, you were given medical clearance to resume your job. You never thought you would be so happy to work again. Of course, you still had some restrictions in place. Jinchul wanted you to take it easy, so he requested that you work no more than 4-6 hours per day. At this point, you were willing to do anything if it kept you out of that forlorn penthouse.

In addition to this, you were prescribed a significantly higher dosage of oral heat suppressants. It was to be used as a prophylactic to ensure you would not enter a second heat. The side-effects had been merciful, with nothing more than the occasional bout of nausea and a loss of appetite to show for.

Jinho and Cha were ecstatic to see you again, although your other colleagues were far less enthusiastic. The attentiveness and apparent favoritism towards you by the director did not go unnoticed. You were predictably met with the cold shoulder by many of your peers upon your return. It didn’t help that Jinchul had kept the confrontation between him and Taeshik confidential. Only executive producer Go and your bodyguards were made aware. This was done to protect you and to prevent the besmirching of your character by the media. The rest of the cast and crew had simply been told that Taeshik had departed from the film due to ‘irreconcilable and creative differences.’ The purple haired man’s PR team, for their part, also appeared to be going with this story.

Frankly, you could care less about what your coworkers thought of you. You were just glad that you never had to be around a horrible psychopath like Taeshik ever again. Cha and Jinho, on the other hand, had taken it upon themselves to act as your newly appointed bodyguards in Thomas’s and Zhigang’s stead. Any nasty gossip or snide remarks were met with a frosty glare from the blonde woman and threats of litigation from the heir apparent of Yoojin Construction.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends or a more considerate boss, but you were starting to find the constant protection and coddling from them to be too much. You were a woman with her own autonomy after all. And yet you were being treated like a piece of glass, as if you would shatter with the slightest gust of wind. It was suffocating and your newly toxic work environment certainly wasn’t making matters any better.

To keep yourself grounded (and from going insane) you had taken to embarking on early morning walks along the beach. The peace and tranquility were a welcome solace from the tumultuous reality of your situation. You could spend hours getting lost in the beauty of the dawning sun.

You should have known this temporary serenity was not to last.

That Sunday had started out much like any other morning. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, changed into a pair of leggings with a matching sports bra, and slid on some comfortable running shoes. It was a little before dawn, and you were hoping to catch the breathtaking sight of the sunrise along the sandy marshes of the island. You weren’t scheduled to work, so you had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy nature. You planned to make the most of it.

You start off by walking to a well-known bakery to purchase some freshly made kkwabaegi. The crispiness of the fried dough complements your coffee perfectly. After eating your sweet treat, you continue your journey, heading southbound for a local beach. The area was usually a tourist trap in the summer, but it was much less populated at this time of day.

The moment your foot connects with the sand, you are instantly hit by the familiar smell of lavender and sandalwood. You begin to panic.

Shit! It was that alpha from a few weeks ago!

You know the right thing to do, the reasonable thing to do, would be to turn back and run. You were all alone in a secluded area with someone who was potentially dangerous. The last time you were near them, you had been rendered completely helpless just from their pheromones alone. If you got too close to them, you could end up going into another heat.

The other possibilities were more nightmarish. You’d heard horror stories about depraved alphas who would kidnap omegas and force them into becoming their mates against their will. Dominance amongst alphas these days was often synonymous with entitlement, something many of them would use to justify their disgusting actions. If this person nearby was of the same barbaric mindset…

Despite the storm of conflicting emotions raging within you, you remain rooted to the spot. It was just no use; you couldn’t convince yourself to retreat. Curiosity and the need for closure far outweighed your fear and anxiety. You had to find out the identity of this individual, regardless of the risk.

You steel yourself before nervously trudging in the direction of the scent. For whatever reason, the strength of the alpha’s pheromones was nowhere near the same extent as it was on that night. It was soothing this time, like a hot shower at the end of an exhausting day. Had the increased dose of your heat suppressants been responsible for this? Well, no use in questioning it now.

As the aroma grows stronger, you find yourself heading closer towards the sea. The sun was starting to peak over the tussling waves, and you briefly turned your head to avoid receiving an eyeful of blinding light. It’s in the periphery of your vision that you finally see him: the alpha that had been evading you for so long.

Even from a several yards away, you can tell he’s quite tall; standing at a height of around 185 cm. He’s also naked from the waist up, with only a pair of shredded jeans on his figure. But what captivates you most is the feverishness and intensity of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you like this before. It was almost reverent. Like you were some kind of deity.

The man staggers towards you slowly. Had he been hurt? There didn’t appear to be a scratch on him, although his remaining clothes were a mess. You reason that he must be experiencing heat exhaustion. This would explain why he had taken off his shirt. Your hackles lowered, you decide to throw caution to the wind and approach the man.

His body gives out just as you begin to close the distance between the two of you. You immediately pick up the pace, turning your walk into a jog. You’re able to catch him right before he falls face first into the sand. That was a close one, you think, releasing a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. You’re able to fully take in the man’s appearance now that he was close enough to hold.

He was unspeakably handsome. As a stylist in the entertainment industry, you’ve seen your fair share of gorgeous celebrities. But all of them paled in comparison to the robust beauty of the man before you. Unblemished olive skin that was smooth to the touch. Silken ebony tresses that you were tempted to run your fingers through. And a God-like physique that had your pulse quickening. What you’d give to caress the rippling muscles of his torso...

Just who in the world was this ethereal alpha? And how was he able to sleep so soundly in the arms of a virtual stranger? The man had even nuzzled his face in between the valley of your breasts as if it was the most natural thing on earth! Oddly enough, you weren’t put off by his actions. In fact, you found them to be endearing. Was this what it was like to form a predestined bond with someone?

You briefly consider texting your friends to get help for the man but decide against it once you start weighing your options. If he was transported to the hospital, there was a chance he would be forcibly separated from you. What’s more, if it was found out that he was the one who caused your false heat, there could be far reaching consequences. You were still being monitored on set, and Jinchul might deem this man to be a threat to you.

He didn’t look to be injured, at least not physically, so you rule out the hospital. You deliberate for a few more minutes before ultimately choosing to wait and bide your time until he regained consciousness.

The two of you remain entangled in this strange embrace as stunning shades of orange, red, and yellow paint the sky. The waves shine incandescently in the sunlight, and you find yourself facing the ocean, distracted by its splendor. After a few minutes, you feel something shifting in your arms.

You return your focus to the man. He’s finally started to stir, groggily raising his head from your chest. You both lock eyes, your wide-eyed gaze contrasting with his half lidded one. You see his chapped lips open and close, mouthing only one word: 'Omega.'

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Alpha, your inner omega silently preens, instinct taking over.

The man attempts to talk to you again, but you hush him with the gentle press of your index finger to his lips. He obeys right away and makes no further efforts to speak. You had many questions that you wanted to ask, but that could wait for just a little longer. Your alph – no, this alpha, was in desperate need of some water. He looked awfully parched.

You unzip the tote bag you brought with you and sift through its contents before producing a canteen filled with water. You open it and push the lid to his mouth, motioning for him to drink. He follows your orders without a second thought, taking several generous gulps. Rivulets of excess water drip from the corner of his mouth, down his Adam’s apple, and you find yourself getting distracted by his body again. You internally curse as you feel yourself growing wet. You discreetly press your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache building between them.

You fail to notice the flare of the man’s nostrils or his blown-out pupils as he watches your actions from the corner of his eye.

When he’s finally had his fill, you cap your canteen and place it to the side. You then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. The man shoots you an uneasy look when he sees it in your hand. Was he unfamiliar with mobile devices? You type a quick message in your notebook app and turn the screen towards him.

“I’m going to use my phone to communicate with you because I have a hearing impairment. Is that alright? I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

The boyish look of surprise that crosses his face while he reads doesn’t escape you. He must not have been expecting you to be deaf. You anxiously await his response, unsure of what his reaction will be.

His expression morphs into something akin to barely concealed wonder, and he nods his head. You breathe deep and type away on your phone again. Your next message elaborates on your concerns.

"First, can you tell me if you’re in any pain or if you’re injured? If you are, I can get an ambulance for you. My name is Y/N, by the way.”

His eyes quickly flit over your words. In response, he dips one of his fingers into the wet sand. You’re curious at first, until you start to recognize the shapes that he’s drawing as letters. Why was he writing in the sand? Was he not comfortable with using your phone?

Once finished, his message reads:

“I’m unharmed. I do not need help. Thank you for the water.”

Great, so he wasn’t hurt. Now you can finally focus on getting some damn answers!

You start typing furiously, pouring all your heart into unspoken anger. As soon as you’re finished you nearly slam the mobile device into the man’s face. He blinks owlishly, looking adorably confused by your actions. You don’t know whether you want to slap or kiss him.

“Now that I know you’re okay, can you please answer a few questions for me? Tell me, were you sailing near a large yacht a few weeks ago? There was this scent that day, an alpha’s scent. It smelt incredible. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find this person. And then I came across you! You have the exact same smell as them! And you’re obviously an alpha yourself since you recognized me as an omega right away. Please, just tell me who you are! I ended up going into heat because of that alpha, and I feel like I’ve been losing my mind over them!”

The man’s face flickers from shock to guilt as he reads your explosive words. You regret typing them almost immediately when you see the sadness in his steel gray eyes.

He tries to use your phone to write back, but he’s clumsy and ends up swiping his fingers over a bunch of random characters. He huffs and bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. Crap, now you were feeling even worse about unleashing your tirade on him. You’ve always had a temper on you, and it often led to you lashing out and hurting the people you cherished most. And now you had allowed your mounting frustration to get the better of you in front of this poor man. For all you knew, he could be an innocent bystander who was just trying to get some help after becoming overheated.

You had to set things right.

You gently take the phone from the man’s hands, place it in your lap, and cup his cheek. He nervously glances at you, afraid that you’ll still be mad at him. But he’s greeted by your warm smile instead. Reassured, his shoulders relax, and he leans into your touch. After a few moments, you withdraw your hand, eager to continue the conversation. You can’t help but mourn the loss of contact as you resume your typing, however. Your next message reads:

“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you, especially when you probably don’t have anything to do with this. Please, allow me to start all over again and explain everything to you. Just so I can confirm if you’re the same person I bumped into several days ago. And don’t worry about having to use my phone. I’ve got a pen and a notebook you can write on.”

His eyes take on a hopeful sheen, and you have to force yourself to part from him in order to get to your bag. He really was too charming for his own good, this strange alpha…

That reminds you, you still hadn’t gotten his name!

Once the writing utensils are given to him, he starts scribbling away. His chicken scratch is barely legible, but it was better than nothing. Your handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best either, if you were being honest. He wrote:

“Omega, you are not at fault for anything. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. My name is Sung Jin-woo, an alpha from Jindo-gun. I am the person who was exploring the area around that large boat several nights ago. I became worried when I smelt an omega’s scent. It was you; you were the omega I was seeking that day. I should have shown myself to you sooner. What happened to you after I left? Did any other alphas approach you?"

Sung Jin-woo, huh? It suited him. He had an oddly formal way of writing though, one that clashed with his youthful appearance. This time, you don’t miss the possessiveness in his eyes as he writes that last sentence.

‘Did any other alphas approach you?’

You gulp, reminiscing over the entire ordeal with Kang Taeshik. Should you even tell Jin-woo? By now the problem had been resolved and Taeshik was already fired. There was no reason for you to make Jin-woo feel even worse about causing your heat.

In the end, you choose not to mention Taeshik. He was out of the picture, and you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

You resume typing in your notebook app, your response stating:

“No, not really. My boss found me on the verge of passing out, though. He’s an alpha so he could tell why I wasn’t feeling well. I was taken to a hospital by my friends since they’re both betas. I had to stay in bed for a week, but as you can already tell I’m alright now. I’m just glad I was finally able to meet you, Jin-woo 😊 You see, I work on that big ship. I’m a makeup artist and hair stylist, and the yacht is the set for a movie that’s being filmed…”

The next few hours pass in companiable silence as you communicate through pen strokes and text messages. Both you and Jin-woo had shared a considerable amount about one another over this time span.

You learn that Jin-woo had grown up on the island, much like you. He lived with his mother and little sister on the outskirts of town and served as the sole provider of the family after his father passed away. When you question what he did for a living, he paused before writing he was a fisherman. This would explain why he was out so early in the morning. The most ideal times to fish were sunset and sunrise. But how had his clothes gotten torn up like that? When you asked, he merely answered that he fell off his boat and had almost gotten swept up in the propellor. Apparently, his shirt and pants had been destroyed by the turning of the blades. You were incredulous at first, given just how dangerous that sounded, but Jin-woo had a way of selling you with his words. You eventually found yourself believing him despite your previous skepticism. He must have also been fishing that night two weeks ago.

Jin-woo had asked you many questions as well. He seemed particularly concerned about your heat cycle. When you disclosed the cause of it was your compatibility with him, his entire body tensed. Jin-woo’s hands then started to shake and you took one of them in your own to calm him. He glances at you, and you’re taken aback by the fire in his eyes. For the briefest of moments, you fear that you might’ve revealed something you shouldn’t have. Before you can compose an apology, Jin-woo releases your hand, picks up his pen, and starts writing again. Once finished, he gives you the notebook with an expression of apprehension on his face.

“Is this something you’re comfortable with? Now that we’ve met, I’m really interested in getting to know you more. But how do you feel about me? Do you want to continue this conversation? I understand if you’d want me to leave after everything you were forced to endure.”

How did you feel about him?

You mull over all that’s occurred since returning to your hometown. You had never expected to encounter so many trials and tribulations. By all accounts, you had every right to cease any further contact with Jin-woo. But you were undeniably intrigued by him. He had been nothing but respectful of your boundaries, and you found yourself being drawn in by his earnest personality. If nothing else came from this meeting between the two of you, then at least you could become friends.

You type an honest response and wait on bated breath as he reads it:

“I’m not sure how I feel about us right now. Honestly, I don’t believe in things like destiny or fate when it comes to finding a soulmate. But I do want to continue seeing you. I also would like to learn more about you as a person. Maybe we can take things slow and figure it out from there. What do you say, Jin-woo😉?”

All the anxiety seems to melt away from Jin-woo’s face. A cute grin tugs at his lips, lighting his darkened visage.

His answer is succinct:

“I’d really like that, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat. That was the first time he used your name.

A small part of you starts to wonder if the two of you really are fated to be together. Cheesy as it sounds, you were more than willing to take a chance on this budding relationship with Jin-woo.

Little did you know this meeting would set in motion a series of tragic events that would shatter countless lives and forever leave a stain on the island’s reputation.

🔱 To be continued...

Tag list 1:

🪼 @the-dumber-scaramouche @ghostdoodlen @skylar896 @phisen @eliciana

Tag list 2:

🐬 @asylrd @mochinon-yah

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mingi-s-dimples · 2 months ago

Text

Vampire's Den

KINKTOBER DAY 1 - REQ. BY @mingleshine:

~ "vampire mingi x siren fem reader, enemies to lovers type shi. vampires and sirens hating each other’s species, etc etc, whatever you want 😭😭 also maybe some praising, degradation kinks?"

pairing: vampire!mingi x siren!fem reader

genre: 18+, filth (ish), enemies to lovers

summary: Meeting one of the vampires that once saved you at the bar you often frequent... ends up being one of the spiciest nights you've ever had with someone and.. with your mortal enemy.

wc: 3.2k

warnings: vampire x siren, enemies to lovers, reader is bratty & cockt af, Mingi is really strict, threats & death threats, mentions of death/murders but not happening in the present, only in the past, knife play, bickering, size kink, big dick!mingi (obvi), choking, degradation (slut), movement restriction (cuffs), face fucking, deepthroating, gagging, throat bulge (yes from Mingi's dick), some praising (good girl), creampie, anal, lots lots of cum, 2 rounds implied 3rd round, manhandling, completely consensual, unprotected (wrap up irl!), unedited, for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: Enioy, my love. I hope it's up to your expectations 😋. I enjoyed writing it so much! I'm so sorry I am so so behind with some of the other fics 😭 I'll finish them on time I promise 🫣. ENJOY MY LOVES !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

In the world of the immortal, where darkness and the supernatural intertwine with the shadows of the mundane, two ancient species have long harbored a deep-seated animosity toward one another. Vampires, with their predatory grace, and Sirens, ethereal creatures of the sea with voices that could enchant and destroy, were bound by a history stained with blood and treachery. Their animosity was woven into the very fabric of their beings, a loathing that stretched back to the time when the world was young, when both species ruled their respective domains with an iron fist. Yet, in this tale of enmity, there lies the seed of an unexpected bond, a story of two souls who defied the boundaries set by their kind.

The hatred between vampires and sirens was born in the primordial past, a time when their realms occasionally overlapped. Vampires, with their insatiable thirst for blood, often found themselves drawn to the shores, where the songs of the Sirens would lure them. But the Sirens, masters of deception, used their melodies not to enthrall but to lead the vampires to their doom. Many a vampire met their end, lured by the promise of sweet blood, only to be dashed upon the rocks or drowned in the treacherous waters. In retaliation, the vampires waged a silent war, hunting Sirens who dared venture too close to land, their fangs seeking to pierce the throats that sang such deadly songs. Over centuries, this cycle of violence and revenge became a grim tradition, each species teaching the next generation to despise the other with an intensity that only the immortal could sustain.

For vampires, Sirens were creatures of deceit, their beauty masking the malice in their hearts. To them, Sirens were nothing more than wicked seductresses, whose only joy lay in the suffering of others. Conversely, Sirens viewed vampires as predators devoid of honor, bloodthirsty beasts who knew only hunger and destruction. The disdain was mutual, and it ran deep, as both vampires and Sirens prided themselves on their power and immortality. Neither could bear the thought of being outwitted or bested by the other, and so the feud persisted, a war of attrition waged in the shadows and in the depths of the oceans.

Amidst this bitter rivalry, the mortal world continued to spin, blissfully unaware of the ancient conflict that simmered beneath the surface. Cities grew, technology advanced, and the supernatural beings who once ruled the night began to adapt to the new world, hiding their true nature behind human facades. Vampires, with their ability to blend into human society, thrived in the bustling metropolises, while Sirens, whose powers were tied to the sea, became more reclusive, retreating to the depths of the oceans where they could sing their songs undisturbed. Yet, even as the world changed around them, the hatred between the two species remained unyielding, a constant in an ever-shifting reality.

But as with all things, the tides of fate are ever-changing, and it was in this time of uneasy equilibrium that you, a Siren of exceptional beauty and power, found yourself unexpectedly drawn into the orbit of a vampire named Mingi. The circumstances of your first encounter were anything but ordinary, marked by suspicion and hostility, as was expected between your kinds. You were young by the standards of your people, but you had already earned a reputation for your deadly voice and your ability to lure even the most cautious of sailors to their watery graves. Mingi, on the other hand, was an ancient vampire, one who had walked the earth for centuries, his power and influence making him a figure of fear and respect among his kind.

Your paths crossed on a moonlit night, in a city by the sea where the line between the mortal and immortal was blurred by the neon lights and the pulse of music. The city, with its sprawling docks and crowded nightclubs, was a place where humans indulged in their vices, unaware that creatures of myth and legend walked among them. It was here that you had come to escape the suffocating silence of the deep, to taste the chaos of the human world, if only for a night. But even as you reveled in the music and the laughter, you felt the presence of another predator in your midst, a dark shadow that moved with the grace of a panther.

Mingi had been watching you from the moment you stepped into the club, his keen senses alerting him to the fact that you were no ordinary human. He recognized the aura of power that clung to you, the subtle grace with which you moved, and the way your eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. To him, you were a curiosity, a puzzle to be solved, and yet, beneath his curiosity lay the age-old enmity that had been drilled into him from the moment he had been turned. Sirens were not to be trusted, and you, with your beauty and your voice, were a danger that needed to be eliminated.

The tension between you was palpable from the moment your eyes met across the crowded room. There was no need for words; the enmity between your species spoke for itself. You knew what he was, just as he knew what you were, and in that moment, a silent challenge was issued. The air crackled with anticipation as you circled each other, like predators vying for dominance. But this was not the open sea, where your voice could carry him to his doom, nor was it the shadowed alleys where he could strike unseen. This was neutral ground, a place where neither of you held the advantage, and so you were forced into an uneasy truce, if only for the duration of the night.

It was a strange dance, the two of you weaving in and out of the crowd, each keeping the other in sight, yet never getting too close. You could sense the power that radiated from him, the strength that came from centuries of existence, and yet, there was something else, something that piqued your interest despite yourself. He was different from the other vampires you had encountered, those mindless beasts who thought of nothing but their next meal. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, a cunning that matched your own, and it was this that made you pause, that made you wonder if there was more to this ancient rivalry than you had been taught.

For his part, Mingi found himself equally intrigued by you. He had seen many Sirens in his long life, had heard their songs and watched as they lured men to their deaths, but you were different. There was a fierceness in you, a fire that burned just beneath the surface, and it drew him in despite the warnings that echoed in his mind. You were a challenge, a mystery wrapped in danger, and he had always been drawn to the thrill of the unknown. And so, instead of making his move, instead of ending the threat you posed, he found himself engaging in this strange game, this dance of predator and prey where neither was quite sure who held the upper hand.

"We meet once again, y/n." Mingi whispered, slowly approaching you.

"Hello, Mingi. Haven't seen you in a while" you said, with anticipation.

Truth is, there was a single moment were the two of you met in the past. It was when one of your siren friends was being chased down by some vampires, and Mingi stepped in to stop them. Why? It's been dozens of years and you still don't know the answer.

"How have you been... in the past few..50 years?" the vampire said.

"It doesn't concern you, sweetie. What are you doing here?" you said, confidently.

"Ah, I understand. Still feisty, huh? Well, I was just.. out, for a drink, nothing much."

He continues,"Y/n,I'll keep it short. This is basically my club. I've been coming here for the past 500 something years. If you come back here unnannounced, I'll kill you"

"I don't mind, Mingi. Try all you want. You better do it soon cause that's the only way you'll make me stop coming here." you said, smirking.

"Is that right? What if I kill you right now, hm?"

"You won't. You didn't back then, so what will make your words believable?" you scoffed.

"We'll see, sweetheart." Mingi said and pushed you to the wall, hands over your head, a knife to your throat.

"Now... what should I do with you? You've got quite a mouth, you're basically begging me to put you in your place."

"You fantasise about that image a lot? You seem quite...excited about it." you said looking down to your feet, something catching your sight. A slight bulge could be seen from his thight leather pants.

"Wha- god no, don't flatter yourself. Stop glaring." he said, a bit of harshness in his voice.

"Then what does this mean?" you said and moved your knee up to his crotch, getting a low grunt out of his chest.

"You know what..." he said and closed the distance between the two of you. "Kiss me."

"You have a fucking dagger to my throat, Mingi."

"So? You look angry. How about... you take all of that energy and put it to some good use? Like.. getting on your knees for me right in this instant?" the vampire said, smirking. His dagger still at your throat, but he soon retracted it for a moment.

You continued, smiling sheepishly, "And what's in it for me?"

"Awh, don't look at me like that, sweetheart. You're lucky you're hot, otherwise you'd be 6ft underground right now. After all, you're a siren."

"You think I'm hot?" you smirked, teasingly.

"No, that's not what I-"

You interrupted him, "Your cock says otherwise." and indeed, his cock was already straining against the thight fabric, screaming to be let out. He was big as fuck, too.

"Oh? You think you're hot stuff, huh?" he said as one of his hands went right for your throat. "I want to wrap both of my hands around your throat, and choke you until the life in your eyes dies down."

A smirk curled on your lips despite the pressure of his hand on your throat. Your voice came out in a husky whisper, laced with defiance and heat. "You think you're the first one to try and break me?" Your eyes locked with his, a challenge sparking in the depths. "Go ahead, Mingi. Try. But you'd better be ready to commit, because I don’t plan on going down easy."

You leaned into his touch, the tension thickening between you like a coiled spring about to snap, daring him, teasing him with a sharp, dark grin. "And don't forget," you added, your voice low, laced with seduction and venom, "I bite back."

"I bet" Mingi said and leaned in for a kiss, his tongue interlocking with yours. His hands were roaming freely on your body, from your back to your waist and to your ass, slightly squeezing it.

"You know.. I hate you so, so much, y/n" he whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"And why is that?"

"Back then when I didn't kill you and your little friend, I was so mesmerised by your beauty. I thought you'd be a good round, maybe more.." he giggled. "And I hate it so much... how good you taste" his hand went to the back of your neck.

He continued, "Look at me."

"No."

"Look. at. me"

"Why?"

"Do as I say"

"And why should I?" you said, smiling sheepishly at him, with an almost innocent look.

"You little slut-" the vampire said as he manhandled you in his grip, one hand under your ass and one on your back. He went in for another kiss while he was walking up the stairs, then dropped you somewhere, on a bed.

"See.. this room is mine, y/n. Mine to use freely."

"Ah, I see. Should I care?"

"I can see that you are fucking bratty. Aren't you afraid of what I could do to you if you go againt me, mm?" he scoffed, climbing on the bed and pinning you down.

"Not. at. all."

"We'll see"

As soon as he finished his words, he got off the bed and opened a drawer. He took out some cuffs and threw them on the bed, rapidly followed by him climbing on the bed again. He then pushed you to the headboard, tying your hands behind your back.

"Oh, so this is how we're playing, huh?" you scoffed. "Don't be fooled, I like this shit."

"Y/n. babe. You didn't even have a choice. but I'm glad you like it. Now..." he dragged you closer. "What should I do with you? I think I'll leave your clothes halfway on... you look so hot in this corset, god dammit." he whispered as his hands went to your skirt, forcefully taking it off. You were left in only your panties, soaked with your arousal. "Oh wow, all wet for me?" the vampire scoffed. He looked at you for a moment and decided to unbuckle his leather pants, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Damn.." you whispered among seeing his cock spring out of his briefs, it's huge length and girth taking you aback. You knew that was gonna hurt as hell.

"What? Like what you see?" he giggled. "Come here."

"Hm?"

"I told you to come here" and he didn't even finish talking that he grabbed you by your waist, bringing you closer. You were now sitting on your knees on the bed, eyes looking up at Mingi, him standing straight on the carpet, right near the bed frame. Your cunt was rubbing against the now-wet fabric under you, the linen soaked in your juices.

Mingi's right hand went for your chin, stroking your cheek softly, his left hand pumping his aching length lazily. "You see my cock?" he said and guided the tip to your lips. "You're gonna take it all up your throat" his pointing finger under your chin, poking you to open your mouth. You took his dick in your mouth, trying to adjust to the girth. It was really stretching your mouth out, the corners of your lips aching and tears swelling in your eyes.

"Mhm, just like this." One of his hands went to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. "Though.. it's not enough" and he thrusted himself in your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. You gagged on his dick, but he didn't move. He stayed like that for a moment, letting your throat get adjusted to his size. In the meantime, you wanted to touch yourself so bad, but your hands were tied at your back so you were left with grinding against the linen.

"You feel so good, sweetie. Let's see, how much can you take, hm?" the vampire whispered, pleased by your performance. He then started mouth-fucking you. He went on for a couple of thrusts, stopping for a moment, as deep as possible deep down your throat.

"Look at this..." Mingi said and touched your neck, feeling a small lump. "See how good you are to me, hm? I can even feel my cock deep down your throat from the outside. Such a good girl.." he leaned in and pulled your hair to make you look up at him in the eyes. His cock dropped heavily from your mouth, precum dripping continuously from the red throbbing tip. "Look at me" your head dizzy and spinning, your eyes went up to his.

"W-what?" you murmured.

"What do you want from me, sweetheart? Tell me. I can fulfill any of your desires" the vampire said, eyes glistening red with lust. "Tell me."

"I w-want you to fuck me" you said.

"Hm? Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me!" you scoffed angrily, catching a glimpse of his smirk as soon as you finished your words.

"Good girl. Turn around, ass up"

"I hate you so much, Mingi"

"I love you too, y/n. Turn the fuck around" the vampire said and manhandled you on your belly, untying the cuffs and throwing them on the floor. He took a moment to look at the exposing position you were in, your breasts slowly falling out of the corset, your ass red from all his fondling until now. He slapped your ass once, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest. He spread out your cheeks, one of his hands fondling with the rim. He prepped you for a moment then pulled you closer, his aching tip throbbing against your hole. Without warning he pushed himself in, bottoming down. You let out a loud moan, feeling your hole being stretched out. It hurt so bad, yet it was so pleasurable. Tears formed in your eyes once again, gripping the sheets around you.

"Once again, babe.. take it all up" he said and started fucking you rapidly, holding onto your ass and back for dear life.

"You feel-" he bottomed down completely once more. "So fucking good". He was becoming louder and louder, sometimes letting out soft curses and whines. He was getting closer, you thought. His thursts became sloppied and heavier, filling you up good.

"Ng-baby. I'm so close" he gripped your back tighter, deepening himself. One of his hands went for your neck, holding it from under your body, his plump lips leaving soft kisses on your spine and back. He thrusted a few more times before you felt heavy strings of silky cum filling you all up. He fucked you through his orgasm, sending you over the edge.

"Oh-my god" you shouted and gripped the sheets once again, feeling the knot in your belly getting thighter and thigther.

"What, y/n? say it. Use your words" he said, panting.

"I wann-na c-cum" you whispered.

"You want me to make you finish, sweetie?"

"Yes fuck please, Mingi!" your voice coarse and your breath hitching. He started rapidly pounding you, his hands all over your body. He picked you up, his chest close to your arched back, he was kneeling on the bed. His left hand on your belly, holding you close and his right hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing your lips. You took his finger in your mouth, sucking on it slowly, with every of his thrusts. He fucked you for a couple more times and you felt your high washing over you.

"I'm not done with you" he said and fucked you through your orgasm, himself being close again. He once again came in you, filling you up.

He stopped for a moment and stayed like that, hugging you from the back, you cockwarming him, your juices slowly seeping out of your hole right on his dick. He took his time to put you down slowly, to which he then laid next to you.

"I never thought I'd fuck my mortal enemy, y/n." he said, looking at you.

"Me neither. I hate you so much, man. I could kill you right now and no one would ever notice." you said, cocky.

"Still bratty? After I fucked you dumb? Want me to go for a 3rd round?" he said and pinned over you.

"Bet." you copied his words and taking that as a yes he leaned in for a kiss, letting you know he wasn't even close to being done with you for the night.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

#illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut fic #ateez #ateez smut #smut #mingi s dimples masterlist #mingi x you #ateez smut mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut

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matchavellichor · 1 year ago

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okay huge fan of your dark!seb but hear me out…… dark!ominis

A.N: I absolutely adore dark!ominis omfg—I have like five diff dark omi drabbles in my google docs that i've abandoned bc i feel like no matter how i write it, it seems too out of character for him, then i end up hating it LOL. This isn't as bad as my dark!seb but here's Ominis doing some.....uhhhh questionable things to MC under Imperius.

Just This Once

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.1k words - ao3

Tags: !!Non-Con!!, Pining, Obsession, Inappropriate Use of Imperius, Unconsensual Kissing/Touching, Masturbation, Omi Being a Lil Pervball

Summary: Ominis' infatuation leads him to break some of the principles he's held dear to him for the better part of his life.

Part 2, Part 3 (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The fireplace in the Slytherin common room has long gone out for the night, only a few crackling embers to fill the silence. Moonlight seeps in from the windows, through the murky waters of the Black Lake, casting the room in a palid, green hue.

Despite the hour, he knows he’ll find her there.

He wonders if it’s one of the rare nights where she’s asleep by the time he arrives, curled into herself on one of the armchairs with her book forgotten on her lap.

One of the rare evenings where he can afford himself a bit less self-control. Indulge in the silkiness of her skin, trace his fingers over her features until the point she inevitably stirs, and he’s forced to retract himself as if he’d never touched her.

It doesn’t matter if it is. Tonight, he’ll touch her the way he wants to, either way.

His skin prickles with warring emotions as he makes his way soundlessly down the steps of the dormitories. Shame, guilt, disgust—overwhelming anticipation.

The dizzying feeling of want overshadows them all.

An ugly, marred tug of obsession claws its way under his skin like a parasite. He can’t escape it, can’t make it stop—hasn't been able to for a while now.

He’s grown accustomed to it. Grown used to the way his nerves burn when he touches her, the way his lungs scream for oxygen when he catches her scent.

He always wants, yet he never gets, and he’s so, so tired of wanting.

Just this once.

The reminder eases through him like a breeze, quelling the incessant pounding of his heart in his ears, the thin sheen of sweat settling itself over his skin.

His hand trembles when it dips into the pocket of his robes as he approaches the familiar set of lounges in front of the fireplace. He feels for his wand and tightens his hand around it, the wood biting into his skin, a sensation almost comforting in nature.

Just this once.

“Was wondering when you’d show,” her voice is warm and sleep-rough, a hazy melody that proves just as useful in easing his nerves. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” he murmurs. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighted with attrition for something he has yet to do.

She waits for him to sit down beside her, but instead he stays in place, hovering over the side of the couch.

He clears his throat, nerves stiffening his voice. “Do you think we could read in the Undercroft tonight?”

She looks at him perplexed, until her lips curl into a smile.

“Since when did you become such a rule breaker? Sebastian finally rubbing off on you?” She humors, stretching her sore limbs.

“I’d just prefer it. Change of…scenery.”

She snorts. “Change of scenery, huh?”

He nods sheepishly, cheeks burning. Change of scenery? Really, Ominis?

He can feel her staring at him, contemplating. He’s half-convinced she can hear the way his heart is nearly beating out of his chest.

“Please,” he adds for good measure.

His fingers find his wand again, tucked surreptitiously behind layers of fabric. He supposes he could cast it here, even if that isn’t part of the plan. The thought makes anxiety trickle up his skin. He doesn’t want to stray from the plan.

When she rises from her seat with an acquiescent sigh, his entire body sinks with relief.

“Alright, fine, let’s go…but we’ll have to be quiet.”

The walk to the Undercroft is spent in the silence of disillusionment spells and muffling charms. Inside the darkened cellar, with only the soft sound of her humming as she settles onto one of the old chaises, a flurry of second-thoughts numb his brain in white static.

Disgust settles itself like a boulder in his gut, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat as he takes a seat beside her, as he considers over and over again what he’s about to do.

He can feel her thigh press against his when she shifts in her seat. It’s strangely grounding. He feels the taste rescind.

She’s so incredibly warm, so terribly close, that it buries any trepidations he holds deep into an untouchable part of himself, until he can think of nothing but the prospect of more of her skin on his, until desire overshadows any inkling of guilt he might possess.

The urge to touch, and taste, and caress, subjugates the contrite voice in his head that repeats a litany of you promised, you promised, you promised.

His nausea blends into something else as he quietly slips his wand from his pocket, and any vows he’s made to himself about never doing what he’s about to do, dissolves into inexistence as the spell passes through his lips in a whisper.

“Imperio.”

The incantation takes effect with such fluidity, with such little effort, that in that moment, despite all his years of fervent resistance, he has never felt more like a Gaunt.

He resists the urge to double over and be sick on the flagstone floor.

He can barely hear the sound of the book in her hands falling to the floor, nor his own wand slipping from his fingers with a dull clatter. The ringing in his ears is far too loud to allow it.

His core buzzes with the thrum of dark magic that washes over him, a mordant reminder of what exactly he’s done, one that he can feel impress itself on his very soul. He takes a fortifying breath.

Just this once.

“Turn to me.”

The command works over her immediately, and though he can’t see her, he can hear her shift in her seat to face him. He’s never been more grateful for his blindness than in that moment, that he can’t see the glazed-over appearance of her eyes, her vacant stare. He’s certain it would break him.

He shifts forward himself, and when he touches her for the first time with trembling hands, the incessant ringing in his ears ceases. The drove of self-reprehension comes to a halt, replaced by something starved, replaced by the instinct to take.

He drags his fingers unsteadily over the ridge of her cheekbone, traces the contours of her brows, down the bridge of her nose, the same way he’s done before only briefly in her sleep, though this time with more unabashed exploration.

The thrill of not having to be careful awakens something in him. He wants to commit every millimeter to memory.

His thumb brushes over the gentle arch of her cupid’s bow, then over the plush pillow that is her bottom lip.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs burn for oxygen. His hand takes hold of her jaw and he dips forward, so that his first inhale is made up of nothing but her, his nose pressed to the soft hair at her temple.

He tilts his head and lets his lips land on the smooth plane of her cheek. Her skin is warm and silky, just as he remembered from the brief bits of contact he’s allowed himself in the past. He lets out a contented sigh.

Slowly, patiently, he works himself up to his destination, planting tender kisses along her face, reveling in every little sensation, until he reaches the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth.

He’s almost convinced he’s dreaming.

He takes a shuddering breath and connects their lips the way he’s wanted to for an agonizingly long time.

If he’s ever known softness before, it’s incomparable to what he receives from her lips, from her face cupped in his hands.

He’s filled with the insatiable desire to know more, to drown in it, to suffocate on the feeling of her against him.

His tongue brushes over her bottom lip, tentative and a bit too cautious. He’s not exactly sure how to kiss her, but he notes rather morbidly that she won’t mind either way. It’s not like she’ll remember.

He tries again, experimenting, prodding at her lips softly at first, but she doesn’t part for him the way he expects her to, doesn’t grant him entrance. It’s… not right.

His brain blares with alarms in deafening repetition that it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

She’s stiff against his lips, frigid and unmoving. It’s not how it should be. It’s not how he wants it to be. It’s askew and breaks him out of his fantasy and it makes him angry.

Makes his fingers dig too harshly into her skin, makes him crowd her against the armrest of the lounge and press his mouth to her more forcefully, as if he can brutalize the compliance out of her.

A whimper escapes her, a brief breach in her trance-like state, and he’s snapped out of his overwhelming frustration. He breaks the kiss and pants against her skin, the reminder of the power he has over her surging back.

“Kiss me.”

Relief oozes into him like the trickle of a downpouring stream, cooling his blood and letting him melt into the feeling of her lips finally moving against his. His touch retreats back to tenderness.

There’s a clumsy sort of uncertainty in the way his mouth moves against hers, an unpracticed mess of tongue and teeth. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t let himself dwell on the chagrin that is his first kiss.

It’s all he’s ever wanted with her. She tastes sweet on his tongue, the culmination of all his desires being fulfilled, and yet still, somehow, it’s not enough.

Even as he kisses her deeply, tenderly, until his lips feel raw and kiss-bruised, and there’s a delicious soreness in his jaw — he can’t shake that little, driving pain in his chest of want.

No, not of want. Of need.

There’s a part of him that he doesn’t quite understand, a part of him that aches for more without being conscious of just what more is.

He’s aware of it, though. He feels it in the tension pulling just below his navel, the heat pooling in his blood. He recognizes it in the depraved instinct to slip his hands up her blouse, to hike up her skirt, and— and—

He contemplates straying from the plan for the second time that night.

All he wanted was to kiss her, just this once, just this once— but as he tips her back onto the cushions, as he hovers over her with his lips never leaving hers, he realizes that isn’t true.

He lets himself sink against her. Her body molds with his, presses against his own, plush and warm and indescribably perfect. He pins her down with his weight—even if he’s aware he doesn’t have to, he finds some sick sense of security in knowing she can’t escape.

He wants more.

He slots himself between her legs and tugs one of her thighs around his waist. It’s almost too much, his breathing scattered and uneven.

He wants more.

Even if he isn’t sure what more entails, he possesses some idea as his hips begin to rut against hers of their own accord. The whimper he lets out makes him burn with shame.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck to hide his mortification. He inhales, until the dizzying scent of her perfume numbs his brain.

He’s subtly aware of the fact he’s grinding right against her knickers, her skirt bunched up haphazardly at her hips to accommodate him between her legs. He tries not to think about it.

His thoughts feel hazy as he contemplates the fact that only a thin piece of cotton separates her cunt from rubbing right against the front of his trousers. It would be so easy to—

He can’t.

He forces himself to keep his hands above her waist, far from temptation. He doesn’t force them not to wander, though.

Just this once, he repeats, as his fingers hover over the front placket of her blouse. He muffles his breathing with his lips pressed to her throat.

He trails his hand up to her collar and unclasps the first button with trembling fingers. He tries not to think about it, either.

He concentrates on how she tastes when he dips his tongue out to lick a stripe just under her jaw, and for a moment he doesn’t care how lewd it is, doesn’t care how utterly debased he’s acting.

Her breath hitches, just the subtlest change in pitch, but it’s enough for him to pretend that she wants this. That she wants him.

Little, brass buttons clatter to the stone floor of the Undercroft in quiet clinks, byproduct of his impatience, of his self-restraint slipping from his fingers in the hasty manner he undresses her.

The same hasty manner he fumbles with his belt—before he can think too long about what he’s about to do—until he’s gripping his weeping cock and biting down on his lip to stop the shameful noises threatening to escape his throat.

He palms himself shakily, remorse adling his unsteady movements, while he tries to work the courage to actually touch her. It isn’t long before his hand is slick with his arousal, and the skin of her neck is damp with his heavy breathing.

His hand hovers over the bare skin of her midriff, fingers twitching with the desire to sink them into her soft flesh, to trace over her curves and memorize the contours he’s only felt in daydreams.

His voice is raw when he commands her, riddled with shame. “Ask—ask me to touch you.”

She obeys in a whisper. “Please, touch me.”

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it’s not—

“Ask me to touch you and say my name.”

“Touch me,” she breathes, and he can feel the vibration of her voice where his mouth is still latched onto the base of her throat. “Please, Ominis.”

There.

His name on her lips strikes his nerves on fire, lights the very blood in his veins alight. He caves.

Her skin is warm under his fingertips. He can feel her heartbeat where he presses his palm to her sternum, a frantic pounding— undoubtedly a reflection of her subconscious beneath the influence of the spell.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel guilty, he can’t. Not now.

Instead, he indulges. Pushes the sheer material of her chemise the rest of the way up, until it’s over her chest, and he can feel.

Her nipples pebble as they come in contact with the cool air of the Undercroft and he runs his hand over the stiffened bud, rolls it between his thumb and index.

She’s overwhelmingly soft. It disgusts him how badly he wants to defile her for it.

He notes wryly how revoltingly weak he is, if all it took was some poorly-placed obsession for him to do away with every last principle he’s spent the better part of his life cultivating. How easily an Unforgivable spilled from his lips at the prospect of feeling hers.

He’ll scrub his skin raw afterwards in the shower in a desperate attempt to forget all of this, he promises himself. He won’t do this again, he can’t—

Just this once.

His head sinks to her chest and he murmurs against her skin, “Again— Say, say it again.”

“Please, Ominis.”

He sighs in blissful relief. “Yes.”

He counts the rows of her sternum with a drag of his tongue. Her chest is already sticky with his saliva when he takes hold of his cock again, the dripping tip sullying her untouched skin.

His hips rut into his own hand and the Undercroft fills with the sounds of his quiet grunts. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines it’s her he’s thrusting into as he fucks his fist, his other hand groping blindly, fondling and squeezing her supple flesh until he’s sure he’s left marks in his carelessness.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, because he likes to pretend it’s real. “So–so good, angel.”

She lets out the softest whimper, and it’s enough to make his jaw fall slack, a pleasured groan escaping his parted lips.

He presses his forehead to hers. “I love you. I love you so much. Tell me— tell me you love me. Please say it.”

“I love you.”

She obeys too fast, her voice too vacant. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t care. Those three little words are enough to wrench a strangled sort of sound out of his chest.

“Again,” he begs, voice hoarse, and he’s only distantly aware of the wet tracks running down his cheeks. His thrusts are sloppy and frantic, so close to his undoing. “Say my name.”

“I love you, Ominis.”

“Fuck,” his voice cracks, his head dropping to her shoulder.

He’s pushed over the edge with a sob, painting her stomach and chest in ribbons of milky white. An endless litany of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry pours from his lips as he shudders through his climax.

Shame sears through him like fiendfyre and he moans his forgiveness on a cry against her lips, kisses her tenderly as if it’s an act of retribution.

His hand finds her stomach, his palm rubbing into the incriminating mess of his seed on her skin, and the satisfaction he feels with it only serves to amplify his self-disgust.

He kneads the sticky flesh beneath his fingertips, as if he can make it so that even after the scourgify, some part of him will be there, a memory only he’s aware of. He doesn’t want to let her go, he can’t— he—

He does so anyway. He forces himself off of her on unsteady legs and tucks himself into his trousers.

He cleans her with all the care in the world, as if his tenderness will somehow make up for how crudely he’s violated her trust tonight.

Everytime his hand brushes over her skin as he redresses her, he repeats to himself that it was just this once. Brands it into his brain, lets that contrite voice repeat it over and over again until he might go mad.

He takes her back to the common room and sets her down gently into that same armchair she was waiting for him in at the beginning of the night. Brushes a lingering kiss to her forehead that stretches for a moment too long.

He mutters a reluctant finite incantatem under his breath, pairs it with a heavy sleeping spell, and retreats to his own dorm before he can fall to temptation again.

Only then, behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster, skin still prickling with the memory of every way he’d touched her, is he made certain of something he’s been trying desperately to deny all evening.

This was the first time, but it certainly won’t be the last.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy smut #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt x mc #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #hogwarts legacy fan fiction

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dagaz-s-disastrous-descent · 7 months ago

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I had to make this post or I'd explode. Death Korps of Krieg and Vostroyan Firstborn are really similar, yet they show how your experiences shape you as a person.

Lets start with the Krieg boys and girls. They are a uniquely dour bunch that are willing to give their lives just to buy some time for their allies or to gain mere meters of ground in prolonged conflict. Contrary to what popular memes will make you believe they are not suicidal (hell during the Vraks conflict there is one recored instance of krieg soldiers executing their commissar because he ordered a suicide charge on enemy positions), they and their generals just see themselves as assets to be spent atoning for sins of their past. In one of the best books from 40k verse i've ever read "Dead men walking" it's portrayed briantly. Local populations inducted into DKoK regiments are stripped of their personalities and made to forget their names, their past lives and faces of their brothers and sisters to turn them into perfect meat shields ready to kill and die for smallest of advantages. Honestly, that book was brutal and it showed how dehumanising the training regime Kriegans go through really is, and to think that they are shipped off to active war zones at the age of (at most) 16 is really horrifying.

Now, about Vostroya: they too are spending their lives atoning for the sins of their forefathers; they too are a siege regiment focused on CQB and positional warfare; and they too have cool gas masks. Yet, despite all of those similarities, they could not be more different. While DKoK needs commissars just to talk with other members of the Empire because they are so devoid of common humanity, others simply feel uneasy around them. Vostroyans are one big family, ready to kill and die for each other. They are the firstborn sons and daughters of their world, being welcomed into the regiment by their aunts and uncles, who are taking care of them and keeping an eye on them on the battlefields of the dangerous galaxy of the 40k's universe. Their distant brothers and sisters prepare mastercrafted equipment, knowing fully well that the lasguns they create will be used by their kin. They are fanatical to the point of madness and their effectiveness is on par of that of the Dead Korps of krieg yet their attrition rate is much, much lower, and I think that it's not only owed to differences in equipment but also to the fact that they are loyal not only to the empire but also to each other. After all, blood is thicker than water.

Now a word about irl inspirations for both regiments: contrary to popular belief DKoK are based off FRENCH soldiers of WW1, not Germans and no, they do not use shovels more than any other regiments. A mace is a much better weapon in trench warfare because shovels have a nasty tendency to getting stuck in things that go squish. Vostroyans are a blend of cossacks, russian streltsi, Polish nobility, and professional soldiers of XVIIth century, as well as a healthy dose of Nikola Tesla-inspired dieselpunk. It's criminal how underrepresented slavs are in popular sci-fi IP's btw.

#warhammer 40000 #vostroyan firstborn #death korps of krieg #warhammer miniatures #my post #warhammerpainting #wh40k #wh40k art #warhammer #imperial guard

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andifthestarsweretodie · 10 months ago

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I just saw a blog try and pretend like Gazans aren't under threat of extinction at the moment and that Israelis are the only ones who are currently under genocidal conditions. Buddy. Buddy. Please. Israelis, from what I understand, are under threat of genocidal intent from Hamas and that's what 07/10 exemplified. Gaza is getting carpet-bombed and starved and routinely pushed to leave their land under threat of death. Refugee camps are getting attacked. Civilian casualties are through the roof. People waving white flags are still getting shot. People in Gaza don't have access to clean water, food, electricity and healthcare right now. We can go into the nebulous details about whose fault that is later: I'm just laying bare what's happening. Is it so hard for people to understand that two things can be true at the same time? Hamas is a threat and very dangerous. The people at the helm of Israel's military are using the kind of dehumanising language that illustrates genocidal intent to some degree, Netanyahu will not accept the idea of a Palestinian state period and the Israeli military is being supported by the US government. There are levels to danger. Danger is danger but only one side in this bloody, deadly conflict (on all sides) will win in a war of attrition and that's a *major* problem when the people at the helm of the side with the strong military power describe no one in the Gaza Strip as innocent. Both parties can be under threat from each other. Two things can be true at the same time.

#noodle speaks #i/p #if my wording sounds off please do let me know #civilians on both sides of this conflict are in danger and that's a major problem #i know hamas doesn't respect ceasefires #i don't expect to know what to do i'm a 19 year old. i'm getting my degree in biology and japanese not diplomacy #i just get so frustrated when people of any allegiance/persuasion try and describe what's happening as entirely one-sided or entirely black #or white

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mariacallous · 23 days ago

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CUT DEEP into the innards of the southern front, Ukraine’s first underground hospital feels like something out of a James Bond movie. State-of-the-art gadgetry begins with admissions. Wounded soldiers arrive directly from the battlefield: in cars, ambulances, quad bikes, or whatever else can carry them. They are assessed and colour-coded into modules by urgency: “red zone” cases for immediate operations, “yellow zone” for other treatment. Alongside an operating theatre, enclosed in steel barrels several metres below ground level, is an intensive care unit. There is a ventilator, and even a laboratory for blood tests. The centre is set up for sophisticated operations: bone repair, soft tissue reconstruction, and even arterial bypass surgery.

In military jargon, this is a “role 2” facility, the second of four treatment tiers from frontline triage to tertiary hospital care. Doctors move people on if they can. Those stable enough are whisked off to “role 3” facilities, approximately 30km away. The rest are treated and stabilised here, a little over 10km from the contact line. The hospital’s immaculately joined wooden beams—chosen over concrete to soften shrapnel in the event of a Russian strike—project a deceptive warmth, like being in a Scandinavian sauna. The drones and glide-bombs that terrorise the skies outside make clear that this is not a place to relax. Ukraine’s medics are here, underground, not by choice. Like the soldiers they treat, they are among the hunted.

Evhen, the underground hospital’s chief medical officer, grunts at any suggestion that Russia might follow the Geneva conventions, which forbid targeting medical units. “They don’t even know what it means,” he says. To the Russian military, doctors are “force multipliers”—they patch up soldiers and send them back to fight, take a long time to train and are hard to replace. Ukraine now tells its medics to remove any markings that might set them apart. “If you put a red cross on a car, you’ll be fired on within 15 minutes.” The goal is still to get wounded soldiers from the frontline to a role 2 treatment unit within an hour, but drones drag out the process, often for hours. The delays often mean life or death; limb or no limb. Leave a tourniquet on for more than a few hours, and tissue damage is irreversible.

Ukraine believes survival on the battlefield is the key to regaining the edge in a war that has become largely attritional. The underground hospitals are a key part of the puzzle, says Roman Kuziv, the 35-year-old doctor who helped design them. A technocratic planner with experience of working as a surgeon in Europe, Dr Kuziv has quickly risen through the Ukrainian ranks: from local hospital chief to medical commander of the entire eastern and southern front. He lets data guide him to new standards and protocols. War pulses through the monitors in front of him. He claims the medical data give him “80% of the picture” about what is happening on the battlefront. Where units are well organised and where they are not. Where morale is good and where it is not. He makes a call to commanders whenever he spots a problem.

Swiping through images on his smartphone—a surreal blend of family photos and flesh wounds—Dr Kuziv reveals the brutal injuries and hard choices his teams face daily. He pulls up a photo of a man with a gaping hole in his upper body, alongside a kidney sliced in two, and a 30cm slab of missile metal that had been lodged deep in his midriff. “Did the man make it?” Remarkably, yes, he did. Another soldier, this time with a deep gash across his back, part of his spine missing, internal organs spilling out. That soldier survived initial surgery in the underground hospital, but died two days later. A third clip shows a soldier in his 30s, convulsing violently as he tries to drink a cup of water. What was up here? “Hydrophobia,” the commander says. “An extreme aversion to water.” In short, the soldier had rabies, caused by a single bite from a cat, and it was too late to save him. The army saw a handful of such cases before culling wild animals in the area.

Almost three years of war have brought Ukraine’s army doctors a mountain of unexpected challenges. Drones have largely rewritten the rulebook on battlefield wounds: the numbers are rocketing, and the attacks are more persistent, more targeted. The “golden hour”—NATO doctrine for evacuating a soldier to proper care within 60 minutes—has become something closer to fiction. Chemical weapons have returned to the field, too, with the re-appearance of agents like chloropicrin, a poison gas first seen in the trenches of the first world war. The gas, used to flush out Ukrainians from their trenches and foxholes, attacks the soft tissues of the respiratory system. At higher doses, it kills.

The demands have seen Ukrainian military medicine develop in quick time. Today’s setup is unrecognisable from seven years ago, when Dr Kuziv first began working with the army. The commander regularly tracks Russian social media to gauge how well he is doing. He’s usually happy with the comparison with Russian front-line medicine. “It’s the second world war over there.” But the demands and need to stay ahead are relentless. The ministry of defence has just approved another 20 of his “role 2” underground hospitals, which are being co-financed by an industrial sponsor. The commander is also working on an overhaul of “role 1” facilities, front-line triage units. According to his futuristic vision, these will be accessible underground by a system of mechanical elevators.

There have been mistakes, thousands who could have been saved. But Russia’s war without limits would test the resources of any military medical service, Dr Kuziv insists. “All-out war gives you one or two months to study and adapt.” NATO countries should be thinking about how they would cope, he says. “Honestly, they are not prepared. They wouldn’t know what’s hit them.”

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whencyclopedia · 7 months ago

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The Iraq Museum & Three Wars: Three Steps from Hell

This article documents and elaborates on the many critical behind-the-scenes events, unknown to the public, before the history leaves us.

The author

The bulk of the “the land between the two rivers” lies in what we call today the Republic of Iraq. People have been living there, around and between the Euphrates-Tigris system for thousands of years. The earth of this land has been irrigated by these two rivers and throughout several millennia, a multitude of cultures, city-states, and empires flourished in Mesopotamia, resulting in a gradual development in each and every aspect of human life. However, the interaction between them was not always peaceful. Wars, military confrontations, and political coalitions, driven by the perspective of “the victors and the vanquished”, have made the land ever eager for blood instead of water. Throughout the history of the region, no one knows how many people have been killed in clashes between countless different rivals. The last actor in this continuous black comedy was the so-called Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant, which has been irrigating Mesopotamia with different types of blood, from all around the world.

Wars and blood, instead of peace, doves, and flowers, dominated and shaped Mesopotamian history. Iraq, the legitimate heir of this legacy (by the order of destiny), the core of the Cradle of Civilizations, still bleeds. The Iraq Museum in Baghdad was officially opened on June 14, 1926 CE. The current building in Al-Salihiyyah District was completed in 1963 CE. Located within the heart of the Republic of Iraq’s capital city, Baghdad, this great Museum of the human being and humanity’s history has sustained several “life-threatening and function-threatening” events. The Iraq Museum’s existence and persistence have been punctuated by three devastating wars within a relatively short period of time.

The Iraq-Iran War, 1980-1988 CE

A military conflict erupted in September 1980 CE between Iraq and its neighbor, Iran, resulting in the longest war in the 20th century. The war lasted for 8 years and ended on August 8, 1988 CE. These 8 years left their thumbprint on Mesopotamian history and resulted in a negative impact on the Iraq Museum. According to Iraqi laws, museums should close in wartime. At the beginning of the 1981 CE, the contents of the galleries of the Iraq Museum were packed and stored inside the museum itself. The large Assyrian stone slabs and several statues were left in situ, protected by foam and sandbags. This had rendered the museum virtually inactive; however, it was not closed officially. People simply ceased visiting the museum, as the galleries were somewhat empty. In 1983 CE, the construction of a new wing had increased the number of the museum’s halls and galleries from 13 to 23; the Babylonian-Chaldean, Hatra, Islamic, Manuscripts, and Coins halls received the bulk of this expansion. Some of the stored contents were re-displayed again and the new galleries were filled in with many artifacts. However, this short period was terminated rapidly with the escalation of the war. Once again, the relics were packed and stored and the museum’s halls were lifeless. Luckily, the Museum escaped damage incurred by the so-called “War of the Cities” between 1984-1988 CE (where both Iraq and Iran bombarded different cities haphazardly, resulting in the deaths of thousands of non-combat civilians and wide-spread civilian infrastructure attrition. When the war ended in August 1988, the museum’s day-to-day operations were mainly administrative; the public was not here.

#History #Archaeology #IraqMuseum #MesopotamianArtandArchitecture #WHE #[#]

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discordiansamba · 2 months ago

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good evening, please have a kyoshi twins au snippet as I try not to be nervous about the tropical storm warning we're under

Zuko watched as his sister took Sokka's hand, hurrying up the hill with him. The Water tribe boy briefly looked back in his direction, but if he was trying to communicate something with his eyes, then Zuko had no clue what it was. He knew what his sister had said, though. Around them, the rest of the Kyoshi Warriors were hurrying towards the dojo. There was a nervous energy in the air. It had been a long time since the Fire Nation had raided Kyoshi Island- the last one had happened three decades before he was born. They'd repelled the invaders then, turning it into a war of attrition. There hadn't been any benders on Kyoshi then either, but the people of the island knew the terrain better than anyone. They hit fast, hard, and then disappeared into the mountains. Eventually, the Fire Nation had decided that Kyoshi wasn't worth their while, and had retreated. The Fire Nation had never tried again. But if they were here for the Avatar, then they had a chance to get through this without fighting. As long as they didn't find him, they would leave. "I'm going to higher ground," Zuko said, "-I want to track the ship." Oyaji caught his wrist, leveling a warning look in his direction. "When they come," he said, "-be sure to keep your head down." Zuko nodded, and Oyaji let go. He headed up the hill, jumping onto the porch of the communal hall and propelling himself up onto the thatched roof. From there, he could see out into the bay- and see the Fire Nation ship drawing closer. It was an ominous thing, that sent a chill down his spine. He never wanted to step foot on one of those things. Unconsciously, his hand strayed to his wrist. He knew what Oyaji's warning meant. Even out here, they'd heard the rumor that the Fire Nation had a standing order to conscript all firebenders. He might not be Fire Nation, but he doubted that would stop them. He would have rather had those pirates burn out his eye than ever serve the Fire Nation.

#kyoshi twins au #KING of saying ironic shit without even knowing it

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jglaltacct · 2 months ago

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Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

II: The Edge of the Knife

@chaotic-orphan

TW: stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

A thin, pale light filtered through the grimy window of Kit’s apartment, casting long shadows across the room. Dust motes hung in the air, untouched by the frail dawn that did little to banish the clinging darkness. The night had been a war of attrition, and now, with the arrival of morning, Kit felt no more victorious than when it had started. His body was heavy, his limbs tingling with the remnants of whatever Ambrose had slipped into his drink, and his mind was a haze of confusion and anger.

In the corner of the small, cluttered apartment, Ambrose stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on Kit with an intensity that made Kit’s skin prickle with unease. There was something about Ambrose that always felt too much—like he took up too much space, like the very air around him warped under the weight of his presence. It had been that way since the moment they’d met, but now, standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood, it felt suffocating.

Kit pushed himself up from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence between them was thick, electric, like the air before a storm. He needed answers—needed to know what Ambrose truly wanted, why he was here, and what had driven him to this point. But most of all, Kit needed to understand the strange, twisted connection that seemed to keep pulling them together, no matter how many times he tried to walk away.

Ambrose’s face was shadowed, but his eyes glinted in the low light, dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the worn wooden floor, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Kit’s pulse quickened, his muscles tensing as Ambrose closed the distance between them, the air between them tight with tension.

"I’m not playing games," Ambrose said, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with meaning. "This is about survival."

Kit swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. "Survival?" he scoffed, his voice hoarse, barely masking the fear that coiled deep in his gut. "Is that what you call this?"

Ambrose’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humour behind it—only something dark, something primal. "You have no idea what’s coming," he said, his voice a quiet threat. "I’ve sacrificed everything for this. For you."

Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching as Ambrose’s words hung in the air between them. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating, the twisted bond between them thrumming like a live wire. He wanted to push Ambrose away, to demand answers, but his body felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of whatever had been in his drink. His mind raced, but his limbs were slow to follow, like moving through water.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and dangerous. He stepped closer, his presence looming, filling the small space with a suffocating intensity. "This isn’t about what you want."

Kit’s breath hitched as Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a force that was both possessive and commanding. Kit’s body tensed instinctively, his muscles locking as Ambrose shoved him backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it with a grunt, the suddenness of the action stealing the air from his lungs.

The mattress creaked beneath him, the springs groaning in protest as Ambrose followed, his movements fluid and predatory. He climbed onto the bed with a grace that belied the danger simmering just beneath the surface, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Kit’s hips.

Kit’s pulse spiked, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Ambrose’s hands found his wrists, pinning them to the bed with a strength that made Kit’s heart race. The heat of Ambrose’s body pressed down on him, their faces inches apart, and Kit could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding.

"You don’t understand how far I’m willing to go," Ambrose murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a dangerous edge. His eyes bore into Kit’s, filled with something raw and unrelenting—something that made Kit’s stomach twist with a mix of fear and something darker, something he was too afraid to name.

Kit’s mind screamed at him to fight back, to push Ambrose away, but his body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze and the suffocating tension that crackled between them. Panic curled in his gut, but he forced it down, glaring up at Ambrose with as much defiance as he could muster.

"Let me go," Kit hissed through gritted teeth, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "You can’t just—"

"I can," Ambrose interrupted, his grip tightening on Kit’s wrists. His tone was a quiet, dangerous promise. "And I will."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and the suffocating tension that hung between them. Kit’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation, of the weight behind Ambrose’s words, of the twisted bond that seemed to pull them together despite everything.

"I don’t want your sacrifices," Kit spat, his voice hoarse, barely holding onto the thread of his defiance. "I don’t need them."

Ambrose’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. His fingers flexed around Kit’s wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. "You don’t know what you need. Not yet."

With a sudden, violent motion, Ambrose leaned down, his breath hot against Kit’s ear. "But you will."

Kit’s heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. Ambrose’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker, something he was too afraid to admit. His mind screamed at him to fight, to break free, but his body felt sluggish, the weight of Ambrose’s presence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Ambrose pulled back just enough to meet Kit’s gaze again, his eyes burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. "Fight me all you want," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word a dark promise. "But I’m not letting you go."

Kit’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind spinning, the weight of Ambrose’s words settling over him like a leaden cloak. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to push Ambrose away—but something in Ambrose’s gaze held him captive, something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, no matter how much he tried.

And deep down, despite the fear that churned in his gut, a small part of him wondered if Ambrose was right.

Continued here

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pink-tk-a-latte · 1 month ago

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Tickletober Day 17: Underwater

[sfw tickle fic!! genshin impact — switch!sara, switch!kokomi (because they can never let the other win)]

prompt by @/lovelynim

me and my monster gf rival under the sea...

Sara floundered, as her garments and feathers floated around her, feeling ridiculous with her cheeks swollen with air and her eyes squeezed shut. She’d opened her eyes once underwater and did not wish to make the same mistake, even as Kokomi’s muffled voice came through the pressure, telling her, “You can relax now.”

Her hands rose first, and Sara found Kokomi’s through the wall of… whatever mystical airtight barrier Kokomi had crafted. Following, her knees gently hit the surface of the space. She opened her eyes last, and, through her mask, met Kokomi’s amused periwinkle.

“Uneasy?” Her slit pupils glimmered.

“No.” Sara retreated. “I’m… adapting.” This is nothing like meditation.

Kokomi smiled. Her round, rosy face hardened into horns and thick crusts of scales along her jaw. Sara glanced at their hands, her own red and taloned, Kokomi’s touched with a glowing blue of Hydro. “What do you say, Sara?” She swam forward and gestured to the dark blue vastness surrounding. Kokomi didn’t even need a bubble of her own — vishap gills or something. Unfair. Sara leaned against the surface to glare at her.

Floating forth, Kokomi tapped her nose to the tengu’s, then swam away coyly when Sara surged backward, her mask and herself red-faced. Kokomi flipped in a circle, disappearing and reappearing in the darkness.

Sara, still warm, rolled her eyes at this game. When she huffed, a bubble came out.

Her eyes followed it, then looked at Kokomi inquisitively. Her answer was a round of giggles, which echoed, bold, as though in a hollow cavern. “Oops.”

Sara flinched when she found Kokomi’s scaly arm had materialized by her side, having taken advantage of her surprise to quite literally invade Sara’s personal bubble. Kokomi advanced with the rest of her upper half after and caged Sara in with her arms. Stiff, she and her feathers withdrew as clawed fingers ghosted against her sides.

A childhood of training to cover her weaknesses, yet this priestess, whose eyes made her gold ones feel like a fire unprotected, unsheathed, saw every flinch and stutter. Her clutches closed around Sara, fishing a hitch of breath from her.

“A crack in the armor, crow?” Kokomi wormed inside that armor, and Sara folded into her core with a muffled snicker. She grabbed Kokomi’s wrists, and her nose gathered sweat under the mask.

She inhaled. “If you make an enemy of me…” Exhale. A bubble. “You will be struck down.”

Kokomi slid forward. “Au contraire,” she lilted, their thighs pressed together, “I’m only bringing us closer.”

Sara threw herself against the wall of the bubble at the fluttering along her hips, propelling it back through the water. She laughed through gritted teeth, fought and kicked until she had to open her mouth, and she sounded higher and more animated than she’d ever heard herself. “Hrhrhrgh–! YouhuhuHAha!” Each laugh released an army of bubbles that only made her feel silly.

Tittering, Kokomi squeezed her. “Your laughter is electrifying, crow. Almost celestial. It truly is like in the legends.”

“GRhraHA you IHihimp…” Sara yanked her head back when Kokomi curiously explored the feathers that grew from her ears. This new rain of attacks, the petting and preening, was softer but far more enfeebling, a war of attrition. Hoots and girlish yells burst from her throat, and heat suffused her cheeks.

Faced with defeat, Sara retaliated, seeking clawholds on Kokomi’s midriff. She found softness amidst the rough scales and dug in, pleased when Kokomi squealed and scrabbled to get away.

“Eekehehee! Naha– nohohot theheree!” Her giggles were high and mildly indignant, but Sara didn’t miss the sleepy and sweet quality, more like bubbles than anything that had come from Sara’s mouth.

And now that she could see, she realized, at some point, the bubble had popped, yet magically she could still breathe. Such explained why whenever she spoke, clusters of bubbles escaped to the surface.

“Surrender then, bathysmal vishap. I’ll uncover your fatal attraction soon,” Sara quipped, to buy time. It was obvious that Kokomi was more eased, than someone as serious as herself, with… plays like this, which also meant she was prepared to turn the field around. Sara must be ready.

Sure enough, as Sara kneaded up along Kokomi’s ribs, Kokomi had a counterplan at her disposal, and Sara reaped the consequences in a scratchy throat and achy lungs, but also an overflowing feeling in her chest.

Led underwater by this woman. Creature? Temptress. Sara should regret this more, yet…

If this meeting of monsters were meant to be, how could she resist the Shogun’s will?

𓂃 ོ𓂃 𓂃 ོ𓂃 𓂃 ོ𓂃

science fact: you can blow a bubble inside a bubble 🫧

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liesmyth · 2 years ago

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do you have any fic recs for the OG lyctor's ascension or dios apate!

Dios Apate

i will climb the palm tree; i will take hold of its fruit. by elpisflower; rated E

It’s just that—well! The last person who moved inside her is dead, her eyes stolen inside of Mercymorn’s reflection every single day, but besides that—John is too skittish, too reverent, his hands on her waist with an awed shyness that doesn’t suit him.

Kill God, Then We'll Talk by xaalenka; rated E

Dios Apate major from Augustine's POV

Sacrament by @naryrising; rated E

Augustine feels sure she chose this position partly for practicality, but partly so he couldn't avoid looking at her. He makes eye contact deliberately, like an attack, and is mildly gratified when Mercy looks away first. She disguises it as a careless toss of her head, her rose gold hair tumbling back, but Augustine recognizes a flinch when he sees it.

sweet as cherry wine by @darlingofdots; rated E

You had let the Saint of Patience bring the wine, which had been a mistake.

This War of Attrition by @seven-syntheseas; Augustine/John/Mercy longfic, rated E (30k, complete)

attrition (n.): 1. sorrow for one’s sins stemming from a motive other than that of the love of God; 2. friction.

Or, put simply: Dios Apate. Major.

That delightful subgenre of Dios Apate fic that is "Mercymorn and Augustine talk about threesomes and maybe fuck about it while fantasizing about John"

come rip up the flesh from my fears by @darlingofdots; rated E, planning Dios Apate major

The Emperor Undying's First and Second Saint discuss a hypothetical. Hypothetically.

desire followed the glance by @augustmourn; rated E, post Dios Apate minor

“I’ve always thought you’d be particularly good at putting someone over your knee.”

The Offering by @saint-of-joy; rated E, planning Dios Apate major

“Yes, I know,” he said, wearily. “It’s the pretending. It’s demeaning to playact at finding you tolerable.”

“Precisely!!” said Mercy with an emphatic gesture. “I cannot abide Teacher thinking that we’ve settled into domestic bickering after millennia at each other’s throats.”

Mercy and Augustine have a late-night conversation. It devolves from there.

two slow dancers, last ones out by opinionhaver; rated E, post Dios Apate minor

Mercymorn made a noise that was almost a laugh. “Not even two hours ago you were quite the exhibitionist.”

Augustine smiled thinly without opening his eyes. “Does that make you my voyeur?”

Lyctoral ascension

Approaching the Roche Limit by @cadmean; rated E, CNTW, post Lyctoral ascension, Augustine/John dubcon

Every time Augustine closes his eyes, he sees his brother. Every time he opens them and is unfortunate enough to look in a mirror, too. John would really rather he didn't.

Ascension by @rnanqo; rated M, major character death (suicide cw)

Mercymorn is on the brink of cracking the ultimate necromantic theorem. She has no time for parties--unless it would delight her cavalier to go. And Mercymorn would do anything for Cristabel.

Commandments by @catharsis-in-a-bottle; rated T, CNTW (implied suicide)

1. Thou shalt kneel

The point at which Cristabel's love becomes whet as a weapon is the point at which there is no return, especially if she should turn the weapon inward upon herself.

rip my ribcage open (devour what was hers) by @darlingofdots; rated E, grief sex, Mercy/Pyrrha

Sometimes you just ate your cavalier, the love of your life, and you just need to feel something, anything.

Thus Entwined by @catharsis-in-a-bottle; rated T, CNTW

Augustine stares out past the lichen-eaten railing and down into the water. At last, he becomes conscious of his wallowing, to which there is only one proper response: Fuck this. I am finding Alfred, and I am changing something, anything - God knows stagnancy kills.

Or: the Lyctorhood of the Quinque brothers.

you made it (you played it) by Marenke; rated M, CNTW

Mercymorn was the first to crack the theory of God’s immortality alongside Cassiopeia. Augustine, later - when it doesn’t matter anymore -, will say it was him and Cassiopeia, but Mercymorn kept the carefully dated paperwork with her. After all, it was, in all but name, Cristabel’s death certificate.

Wildcard rec!

Not strictly speaking about Lyctoral ascension but Mercy and Augustine's Cake Simulator! by @reconditarmonia is a brilliant work of interactive fiction about love and grief (and baking as a distraction!) and you should absolutely check it out

#Anonymous #tlt fic #fic recs #dios apate #mercymorn #augustine #tlt #ask

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gayf1hoe · 4 months ago

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Part 7

“How could you have been so stupid? I mean are you trying to ruin your career, I know you are angry but that's no reason to act like an out of control teenager. You are a grown man in the pinnacle of racing. You have just made out with the current World Champion for the entire world to see do you have any idea what you have done to yourself and more importantly the team”

I have never seen Alessandro lose his cool like this before he has always been level headed but it appears mine and Max's antics have brought a new side of him out. I have been sat in his office for the past 20 minutes and he has been non-stop shouting and lecturing me about how stupid and reckless I have been, but I still can't make myself seem like to care about this.

“With all due respect Alessandro it's my life I can do what I want” I quietly mutter.

“I don't care,” he snaps back.

“I can only imagine what Is going on in Horner's office, I tell you he isn't going to be as nice to Max as I have been to you”.

We both just look at each other before Alessandro dismisses me and everyone who had been listening at the door scatters away and acts like they have been working the entire time. I walk out of the office and see that most of the stuff has been packed up and is being prepared to be shipped off to Italy for Monza.

I see Max walking out the Red Bull office with a smirk on his face which turns to a full smile when he sees me approaching him.

“So what did Christian say?” I ask.

“Surprisingly he doesn't care” he replies.

“And your dad?” I add.

“I haven't spoken to him or answered any of his 43 voicemails or messages but he's going to be at Monza so I will have to face him then”

I can't help but feel sorry for Max, his dad has made every day of his life difficult, especially this season where Max hasn't been as dominant as he has been in the past. My family haven't seemed to care as much although most of them wished they had never saw the video of me making out with another person.

“Seeing as it's our day off, why don't we go to the beach?” I suggest to take his mind off everything.

Being in Miami it would be a crime not to go to one of their stunning beaches, me and Max go back to our hotel to get some towels and swimming shorts and walk along the promenade that leads to the beach which surprisingly isn't very overwhelmed with tourists.

We find a spot that is close to the sea but not in the direct heat of the blazing sun and set our towels and bags down. Max immediately takes off his shirt and I stare for a little longer than I should and he eventually notices.

“Do you like the look of something?” he asks.

I let out a light laugh and avert my gaze and cast it to look over the azure blue sea that quietly laps onto the sand.

Max throws me a bottle of sunscreen and asks me to put it on his back, at first for some reason I'm hesitant but I eventually open the bottle and squeeze some into my hands.

I start to slowly rub it into Max’s back in circles and I reach his shoulders and start to push a little firmer causing Max to let out a little groan out of satisfaction and I laugh at how much he's enjoying it.

Max returns the favour and puts sunscreen on my back and follows the same pattern as me but unlike him I don't let out any audible signs of satisfaction.

I lay on my towel with a book in my hand when Max suggests that we go in the sea, I'm not a fan of the salt water and its effects as Max found out when he threw me off a yacht, but the beach has showers so I don't mind and the second I step in Max creates a massive splash causing a an explosion of cool sea water to hit me in the face. The coolness of the water sends my body into a little shock but out of natural instinct I slash Max back more and it then turns into a war of attrition but I eventually surrender after being blinded by the salty water that is in my eyes.

As I'm trying to find out where I'm going with my eyes closed I feel a pair of hands on my face and I can feel Max’s nose lightly grazing against mine before he places his lips onto mine. I manage to open my eyes to be met with his piercing blue eyes.

We stay in the water for quite a while before getting out. Max suggests we go to the theme park that is located adjacent to the beach so we quickly go over to the showers and rinse off the drying sea water off our skin and shove our belongings into our bags and set off.

As it's a weekday the theme park is relatively empty with it being mainly tourists and a few locals.

We make a lap around the theme park engrossing ourselves into each thrilling ride we go on. We decide that our last ride should be the ferris wheel. As we get on the carriage rocks a little causing me to stumble back into the seat. As we ascend into the skyline we get higher and higher, I'm not afraid of heights but when you are rocking backwards and forwards and aren't secured down you are bound to have a little anxiety. Max notices this and paces his arm around me bringing me closer to his side.

All of sudden there is a jolt forwards and the ride stops moving as we are at the peak. I start to breathe heavier and Max comforts me as best he can.

We look over the side and see people scrambling to some control panel to get it working again so we don't panic as much and when I say we I mean myself as Max is totally unbothered by the entire situation somehow.

As we are stuck hundreds of feet up in the air Max decides now would be the best time to discuss us and the entire situation, but he says something that's so out of the blue that I didn't really expect

“Y/N will you be my boyfriend?” He asks.

Out of pure shock I freeze and Max's facial expression changes.

“Of course I would love to be your boyfriend,” I reply.

His face lights up with pure joy and he then places a kiss on my cheek and hugs me ecstatically.

The ride begins to move forward again and we reach the ground. I take a moment to sit down on it vowing never to go on another ferris wheel ever again.

I'm still in a slight state of shock after Max randomly popped the question but I feel slightly relieved to have some clarity surrounding our relationship. I have never had what you would call a “proper adult relationship”, sure I have had the odd short term relationship in my teens but as a racing driver who was extremely closed I had to choose carefully and think about how I acted, so I was never totally free to do what I wanted.

Me and Max spend the rest of the day wandering around the city and end up buying each other small gifts to commentate and remember this trip, he gets me a small silver ring that has our initials carved into the back.

We talk about how we are going to tell everyone about our newly formed relationship but instead decide to let everyone make their own conclusions based on our actions. With Monza In a weeks time we have plenty of time to make impressions on people and toy with their minds.

At the dinner table Daniel is asking me and Max loads of questions about our relationship when Max randomly blurts “we are boyfriends does that answer all of your questions.”

Danny has a massive smiled plastered on his face and he enthusiastically exclaims “fucking knew it” before pulling out his phone, making a phone call and saying to the other person on the other end:

“You owe me $10. I was correct”.

After he hangs up, Max and I are in a state of confusion, until he elaborates.

“The whole paddock has been betting on your relationship and I bet with lando you were a couple”

Over the course of the past few days me and Max would post a ton of photos on social media with suggestive captions and both of our teams hated it but they didn't hate it as much as Jos who has been non stop calling but we would be seeing in the morning.

“How are you feeling about seeing your dad?” I ask whilst failing to get comfortable in the leather plane seat.

“A bit nervous but if he doesn't accept you or us then it's his loss”

I can't lie I feel kind of guilty knowing I could be the reason Max loses his father's approval but it doesn't take much to lose Jos’ approval, but I guess in a few hours we would find out what really was going through the mind of Jos.

“Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to Italy -” as the plane comes to a stop there is a simultaneous cacophony of people unbuckling their seat belts and standing up from their chairs to which they have been confined to for hours.

I reach up and collect my hand luggage from the overhead locker and when I open it a bag comes flying out but thanks to the quick reflexes of Max he catches it before it hits me on the head. Walking off the plane is a relief as I can finally feel the blood returning to my legs.

Max is becoming increasingly nervous and his demeanour has changed a lot from confident to more timid. As we exit the airport the morning sun glares over us but the heat, unlike Miami, isn't that bad.

Max had arranged to meet his dad for breakfast at a local restaurant and he did ask me if I would like to come with him and although I felt bad saying no I can't help but think me being there wouldn't make Jos any less angry.

I instead go for a gym workout and conveniently there's a gym in the hotel we are staying at. When I first arrive it's empty but as more and more drivers arrive they all seem to have the same idea as me and occupy most of the machines.

I'm on the rowing machine because it's probably the most fun exercise machine there is and Charles comes and sits next to me.

The whole “Lestappen Ship” has always intrigued us as to how fans interpret relationships between different drivers, but to us drivers we don't see the ships personally. It's kind of like how I never saw how people believed me and Ollie were a couple or had something untowards going on.

Charles starts the conversation off with the normal conversational topics about how I am and the weather but he then turns the topic onto Max.

“So you and Max are an item, I always knew you two would get together”

I laugh at his statement and simply reply with:

“Don't worry I won't come in between you two, we can share him”

He too laughs at my statement and at that moment Max walks into the gym, his meeting with his dad ended a lot quicker than I had expected so I can only assume it didn't go that well.

He motions for me to come outside so I stand up and pick up a small towel and wipe the sweat from my face and rest the towel over my shoulder.

“How was it?” I ask closing the door to the gym behind me.

He pauses before speaking “not as bad as I thought, I mean he's not a fan of the idea but he said with time he could probably come to terms with it”

I immediately hug him and I feel all of his tension disappear in my arms. This has made the entire week a lot easier knowing that I won't have to tread carefully around Jos for the whole week.

With the new found comfort of Jos’ understanding, me and Max feel free to roam the streets of Italy and partake in all the fun activities we see.

Media days seem to come and go so fast but actually doing them never goes fast enough. Alessandro has learned that I won't give up on Max even if that means sacrificing my image at the team so he has sort of given up on correcting my behaviour. He of course gives me his disapproval of my behaviour every time he sees me but he's only doing it so the people higher up at Sauber think he is doing his job to the best of his ability.

I'm still in a desperate search for a team for next year so I guess I should be trying my hardest to make good impressions but I'm doing the exact opposite.

I have an interview with some news presenter and I try my hardest to hide my disinterest but sometimes it's difficult.

Reporter: Y/N it's the 6th race of the season, What are your thoughts going into this weekend?

Y/N: Well I'm looking to have a good pace. I think we can really maximise our performance and achieve good results.

Reporter: What is next year looking like for you in terms of contract?

Y/N: Well I'm still without a seat but I'm sure as the season develops I will know more.

Reporter: Finally, you and Max, what's going on there?

Y/N: Well I'm sure it's quite obvious to those who have seen our social media.

The rest of media day is filled with interviews. Grill the Grid where we had to see how well we knew all the drivers birthday's and the only ones I got right was myself, Max and George so not that well.

Drive to Survive has been around the paddock and they have cameras set up everywhere so I have to be cautious of what I say and do more so than ever, which for me is difficult.

At the end of the day most of the drivers go to an Italian restaurant and at first I'm apprehensive to go as I just want to go to the hotel and relax but Lando and Max manage to convince me to tag along.

The restaurant is located in a secluded back alley that's quite well hidden. We have a long table reserved just for us and all of the drivers are talking amongst themselves. On my right I have Max and on my left I have Pierre. I take this as an opportunity to get to know him better, he's been in F1 for a while now so any advice he gives me I trust as it has clearly worked for him.

With both the Alpine seats not filled for next year he's a little nervous but he is a credit to the team and fully deserves his seat. Him and Esteban have never had the best friendship but they are both really good drivers and Alpine would be insane to let them go all they need to do is make a car that can keep up.

As dinner comes to an end we all walk the streets of Italy back to the hotel and put our heads down slowly for free practice tomorrow.

Free practice has never been my most favourite thing to do especially when you have drivers thinking it's a race and all they end up doing is impending you.

During FP2 I am making my way around the track when the RB of Yuki comes into view in my mirror. He edges closer and closer to my rear wing so I move over to the left to allow him to pass but he doesn't. I get a good exit out of the turn and as we head down the straight Yuki gets a bit too ambitious and as he attempts to overtake he clips my rear wing as he misjudges the space, this causes me to spin out and bounce off the wall completely damaging my front wing and suspension.

“Y/N are you OK?” my engineer asks.

“yep all good, I'm out of the session though”.

I pull myself out of the car and I am helped over the barrier by the marshal's and I watch my car being lifted up by the tractor and moved off the track.

Almost immediately I have a camera shoved in my face and I am being asked questions.

Reporter: Y/N what is your take on the incident out there?

Y/N: It was clearly an accident, it was never intentional, I guess it was a little bit of a Concertina effect as I hit the brakes quite early for the corner, but Yuki didn't do it on purpose.

Reporter: Going into qualifying tomorrow what do you hope for?

Y/N: I just hope it's a different outcome.

“Y/N Q1 is starting in 1 minute”

I quickly check everything is OK with the car. After the FP2 incident I missed out on FP3 and my car was barely ready for Q1 so I have been a little stressed to say the least.

I manage to set good times in Q1 and Q2 but I'm fighting the car in Q3 for grip and make the decision to come in for new tyres.

This dramatically improves my pace and I manage to put myself in P2 before returning to the garage. I know I will probably have to go out again as almost all of the drivers are yet to set a time.

I just about make it to the timing line to start my last lap for Q3 and I do so much coasting through the corners just so I can carry that speed throughout the corner.

And as I cross the line I await the verdict:

“Y/N Pole Position”

I let out a massive cheer greater than the one I did when I won, this exemplifies to every other team our car isn't slow and it has great capabilities.

And for the first time in F1 I will start a Grand Prix from pole position.

And even as I sit in my car on pole I still can't quite believe it. I know Max who is in P2 poses a threat to me and I'm almost certain he will get ahead of me at the start.

“Y/N just a reminder the starting grid is as follows P2 Verstappen, P3 Sainz, P4 Perez, P5 Stroll”

I engage first gear and set my eyes on the 5 red lights.

“And its lights out and away we go”

I get a good start but not as good as Max and he leads out of turn one.

By lap 4 Max has created a gap of 1.3 seconds but he's no longer my concern as Sainz passes me. I now have Lance by my side and we are accelerating down the straight well beyond 360 km/h when as we approach the first turn Lance suddenly jolts over to me. I don't even have a chance to react or brake.

And at 364 km/h my car is jolted upwards and is sent barrel rolling across the track and off the track. Debris flies everywhere. At one point I'm sliding across the asphalt on my car's halo and then I feel a massive impact like I have hit a wall and that's when I lose consciousness.

Max's POV:

I see Y/N dropping back and although I love him I can't race against him any differently.

In my mirror I see Carlos overtake Y/N and Y/N fading into the distance.

As I come to the end of the straight and enter turn 1 all I see in my mirror is a fluorescent green Sauber being catapulted into the air. In that moment, time froze. Everything around me slows down.

“Max Red Flag, Red Flag” I can tell by GP's voice this was a serious crash because his normal calm tone isn't present. He is clearly anxious and shocked.

“Shit… is Y/N ok” I ask.

“Standby Max” is the response I get.

“No I won't standby, tell me what's happening or I will go over there myself”

“Sauber have tried to talk to him on his radio but he's not replying, the safety car is over with him now and they have surrounded his car with privacy shields”

I come into the pit lane and immediately get out of my car and go into my garage to look at the screens. They keep on replaying the crash which is horrific to watch, it's the worst crash I have seen since Grosjean's incident. What makes it worse is Y/N called his family back home before the race to make sure they were watching, so I can only imagine what this is doing to them having to rewatch it constantly.

On the live screen I can see pieces of carbon fibre and green painted debris spread over the track. I see the ambulance approaching them and then pulling out a stretcher.

I don't wait any longer I head straight over to the Medical room and wait for them to arrive. When they do I go straight over to them and hold Y/N’s hand, he's barely conscious and has blood around mouth from where he probably bit his lip or something.

The medical crew tell me that they are going to take him to a local hospital and I say I'm coming with them. But when I do Y/N removes the oxygen mask and says no.

I ask why he doesn't want me to come and his response is:

“go out there and beat their asses”

I don't agree but after a while Y/N makes me concede and I promise to win for him. He also asks me to call his family and tell them he's alright. I feel a little nervous as I put my phone to my ear and once I inform them he's alright his parents say “he's lucky to have you, we can't wait to meet you”.

I head back to the pit lane ahead of the race restart and I see Lance just strolling around like nothing happened and my anger gets the better of me.

I go up to him and shove him, “don't you feel any remorse” I shout.

Lance puts his hands up in defence and says “it wasn't my fault, he didn't brake”.

His comment almost sends me over the edge and it take everyone of control inside of me not to shout at him:

“I watched it, both of you weren't in the braking zone at that point and you decided you no longer wanted the outside line so decided to just push him away from the track so you could have the inside line”

I walk away before I end up hitting him or worse.

I do eventually end up winning but not having Y/N here to hug and congratulate me or be on the podium with me makes winning seem pointless.

I don't think I will ever forgive Lance for the way he acted after the crash but the team have made me apologise to him for the sake of PR. I will also never see why the TV companies airing the race felt the need to replay to the crash over and over.

#f1 x male reader #max verstappen #Max verstappen x male reader #Red Bull Racing #Sauber #Breakups #Relationships #Zhou Guanyu #Daniel Ricciardo #Kelly Piquet #Kimi Antonelli #Ollie Bearman #PREMA Racing #F2 #Jealousy #Revenge #Racing #LGBT #Male Reader

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skadren · 11 months ago

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sephesis week day 3. battlefield / camaraderie: "my friend, the fates are cruel."

The next time he meets Sephiroth, Genesis has been stationed at a captured Wutaian fort for months, scuffling daily against enemy forces in a pointless battle of attrition. War should never be described as boring, and yet Genesis can come up with no other descriptor—that is, until they realize the small squadrons Wutai has sent are only scouts in preparation for a full-frontal siege to retake their territory.

Blanketed by clouds, the dim glow of the moon sits high overhead when they send out the emergency signal, then prepare for battle.

By midday, both sides are exhausted; when a sudden lull in the fighting comes, Genesis doesn't question it. After all, no matter what rumors ShinRa likes to foster, the other side needs rest to function too. He simply takes the moment to duck behind a reasonably safe corner to throw back some ethers while he still has the chance.

The hurried scrape of boots draws his attention, and Genesis glances up with a raised eyebrow, taking in the trooper standing before him, faceless behind the glowing red lights of his helmet. A messenger, judging by the color of his scarf. "What is it?"

After his squad leader had been unceremoniously killed a few hours into the fighting, Genesis had found himself taking charge of his teammates, and somehow all the army reports had soon followed suit. Technically there's no chain of command between the infantry and SOLDIER, given they're entirely different divisions, but everyone is uncomfortably aware of the power imbalance between the two, and…

In the end, it's more efficient to coordinate against the enemy this way when the enemy themselves are intimidatingly coordinated as well. Genesis had grown used to it. He'd had to, after all.

The messenger relaxes from his salute. "The fighting's over. It's… It's Sephiroth. Sir."

"Sephiroth?" Exhaustion evaporating into thin air, Genesis leaps to his feet, and the trooper's next report on casualties and damages washes over him like water over a turtle's back. "Where is he?"

"Just outside the fortress's walls—sir? Sir—?"

Boots clattering against stone, Genesis makes the leap from the inner to the outer wall, hurdling over the fortifications and landing nimbly on his feet on the battlefield outside—outside, which is like another world entirely.

Scorched and blackened, this earth is not the same earth Genesis had walked merely yesterday, and the ashes crunch underneath his feet. Despite the stiff breeze, the scent of burnt flesh remains thick in the air, and the remnants of Wutai's banners flutter weakly as they glow with half-extinguished embers. The clouds hang dark and heavy overhead with smoke.

Before it all stands Sephiroth, tall and straight-backed. With him facing away, it's easy to notice that his hair is longer now than when Genesis had last saw him.

"The efforts of all the men guarding the fort played a vital role in ShinRa's victory today." As he speaks, Sephiroth turns just enough that Genesis can see the edge of his profile, sharp and handsome. "I've made a note of it in my report. Congratulations on your promotion, SOLDIER Second Class Genesis."

Somehow, standing here in the barren memory of a battlefield, it doesn't quite feel like a victory. But yet again, all Genesis can do is say dumbly, "You're not supposed to be here."

Sephiroth inclines his head, a flicker of something tugging briefly at his lips before it vanishes. "I'm not."

Indeed, Sephiroth is meant to be hours away even by helicopter, attending some fancy military function in Junon. Genesis may pay attention to anything related to Sephiroth, but even that is something far beyond his interests. He does the math in his head, and with the time difference—

"You must've—you must have flown here less than an hour after our emergency signal was received," he says, incredulous. "Have you slept? Why did they even send you to help?"

Sephiroth shrugs. "Because I'm the only one who can."

He says it simply. Matter-of-factly. Coming from Sephiroth, it isn't a boast; it's nothing but the truth, and for once, Genesis finds himself speechless.

There's a question he wants to ask—why do you fight? But it's not a topic he dares to broach. It's a question that has haunted him every day since he'd entered the frontlines and learned the reality of war, but he still wouldn't know the answer if he were asked himself.

Distantly, the smoldering fire crackles. A particularly brisk gust of wind sends a ripped flag tumbling across the ground, the bold lines of the emblem charred and unidentifiable.

"Does it bother you?" Genesis asks instead, barely a whisper. "Doing things like this."

A pause. For a moment, Genesis worries that he shouldn't have asked this, either. But then Sephiroth's chin dips even lower, expression unreadable, and he says—

"No," he says, just as quiet. "I know it should, but it doesn't. Maybe that really does make me a cyborg, after all."

The corners of Sephiroth's mouth lift, as if he's made some kind of joke. Genesis doesn't find it very funny at all, but he doesn't have an answer for it, either.

Around them, the air shivers as the clouds finally exceed their burden. The sky begins to weep—a fine drizzle at first, then fat, heavy drops that leave gray streaks of ash on their skin.

Sephiroth's hand is warm through the leather of their gloves. Genesis hopes his own feels the same: the warmth of two humans, shared through the storm.

Later, when the news hits the press, there is only ever any mention of Sephiroth. Sephiroth and no one else, despite Sephiroth's own report leading to Genesis's promised promotion, and Genesis remembers—

Why do you fight?

("I'm the only one who can.")

He remembers.

previous day | next day

#sephesis week 2024 #warning: vague descriptions of warfare and violence

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astarab1aze · 8 months ago

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Viostra Notes

a lot of this is very messy and mixed in refinement; please don't mind the disasterrific amalgamation of nonsense that doesn't seem related but is.

Viostra is an extremely old city that was once sister to Miraglas. A land now cursed by Hydre to forever remain suspended in rot, decay, unending cycles, suffering, illness, mindlessness, starvation, and more for the crime of Knight-Commander Azfodel's constant push for war - and the eventual destruction of Miraglas in the War of Souls - and the pollution of the Enum Glais, the river of life, cutting through Viostra's cliffs and forested arboretum. As a consequence of the curse set upon them, Azfodel fell deeply into insanity upon returning home from the war, death and trash polluting the river, and thusly waged the Viostran Civil War, which saw to a much more...violent culling of the people than was seen in Miraglas despite some castles, healing houses, schools, the like still standing. This madness was much more deep-seated than you might thing, and in some ways reasonable -

There are and were many who sought to harness Fate, Destiny, Life, and Death and such natural cycles. Azfodel returned from a long and arduous journey to find his home littered with the rot of hedonism and inequality, an oppressive ruling class crushing its servile classes beneath. He was righteous and just once. The enemies of Viostra (Miraglas, Hydre), too, sought to destroy them and take over, to covet the river's clarity and power (actually, Hydre was pissed about his water being polluted). Then starvation began, civil war broke out, and war with their enemies, too, was waged. Chaos.

Azfodel, too, was revived time and time again, steadily becoming more and more influenced by the "river's will" (the curse). He was only corrupted by his own anger, his own hatred, as is often the case in the real world. Noble causes becoming twisted and corrupted by the selfishness of their actors. The 'river' took advantage of his stalwart yet obviously broken will. To protect what still remains. Or did it? Does the river have a will, or is Azfodel batshit? Is Azfodel a good and noble man even in his unlife, or is he corrupted and enraged by the suffering he's been witness to? By the suffering he was forced to take part in? Is the River protecting what remains of itself by calling in the souls of stronger heroes from other worlds? Reviving them, subjecting them to untold suffering of their own so they yet become stronger, to put an end to evermore suffering?

Much of the wanton violence is a direct result of panic brought on by famine, widespread cannibalism. But why were they starving? The civil war, the aftermath of Miraglas' destruction, the curse. A battle of attrition, really. The once beautiful, clear river now runs red with the blood of those caught in it all. You might imagine there's also a shitload of bodies floating around in there. And since souls are real, tangible things in this world, it is their remaining life force that provides the Trespassers with revival. In the end, the river, despite its hideous appearance and all that's polluted it, is still life-giving after all.

Mage Class

Abyssus Prima are a methodical, meticulous, neurotic, scientific, and extremely powerful sect of sorcerers specializing in Void Sorcery. And also extremely hostile. They developed gravitational magic, shadow magic, abyssal magic, and were at one point favored by the Viostran Crown, with a number of its alumni enlisted as Royal Court Sorcerers. They primarily dress in silky, elaborate robes and their colors are black, silver, and white. All void sorceries are characterized by the same monochromatic shades, a glowing abyssal shimmer.

They have a not so friendly but not quite confrontational with the Natura Prima, who are sorcerers dedicated to the school of natural magic, spells involving bestial sorceries, earth magic, and some healing magic. The Natura Prima lasted far longer than the Abyssus Prima following the Viostran Civil War, but they ultimately succumbed to the consumptive, disastrous chaos themselves. They were favored by the nobility and often hired on as private tutors or on expeditions of varying natures to be healers/support - that is to say, they were more respected than the Abyssus Prima by the people, albeit the middle to upper classes mainly. They are associated with brown and green as well as vine and floral motifs, and their strange, breathy style of incantations.

The Flumen Prima are the 3rd sect of mainstream, acceptable sorcerer factions and focus solely on water-related sorceries. They are considerably more mysterious than the other two and it is thought that their sect is much smaller in population; Elusive and woefully, dramatically enigmatic. They developed all types of combat-related water sorceries; Manipulating water in all its forms is a hallmark of their combat style, though they aren't particularly well known for engaging in battle. They are hermits all, and loathe to be bothered for anything by anyone. Naturally, they are associated with dark and light blues as well as wave patterns and 'fluid' spellwork.

They were once a unified coalition of sorcerers, but if they had a collective name, it is no longer known. Nor is it known why they are divided, though it may have something to do with events leading up to the civil war.

The Sightless Eye

Sanctuary of Eyes, The Eyeless Sanctuary, something like that. This faction's magic is referred to as Cosán Dall, or the Blind Path. Initiation is done through the voluntary gouging of their eyes, which they are to offer to what they say 'sees all, knows all, and teaches all' - they call this entity the Sightless Leighis (Irish Gaelic for medic/healer/etc; sounds sort of like yay-giss. ish, close enough).

The Killgarden (the actual garden of eyes) is a sort of defense mechanism for the Sanctuary. A maze-like garden surrounding its cathedral, full of horrible things for would-be trespassers to get killed by. This is protection offered to initiates, what keeps them safe within their sanctuary, both pre- and post-eye gouging. The Sightless Leighis is considered to be benevolent and incredibly wise, and is associated with the air and storms here; the colors green, gold, and light blue; the sigil a vine-laden half-open eye with Storm Flowers blooming at the ends of the vines, a three-ring pattern where the pupil should be.

Now, the Sanctuary is in utter shambles. Broken down, crumbling stone, rotted wood, collapsed roof and broken Cathedral Anatomy Things. Shattered windows, blood splatter everywhere, bodies everywhere. Sections of the garden burned, Duskmorne soldiers among the bodies. And a single Grand Cleric of the Rún Bás* in just the right spot to make her seem entirely out of place, perhaps up to no good... And also very much dead. This particular Grand Cleric was Bláthóir (blaw-hayr), which means 'golden flower' (Irish Gaelic is a little tough to work out lol).

*The Rún Bás are the Sightless Leighis' assassins.

The Duskmorne

A faction within the Viostran city-state that touts strict adherence to values of a bygone era. Their true beliefs are ultimately rather unclear, as their behaviors suggest they are hostile as a whole and unwilling to divulge much information. They are characterized by a mysterious sigil involving an archaic moon above a sun with three lines vertically slicing through them, and the colors purple and silver. In addition, their symbols are often accompanied by Viostran star-runes (runes drawn from constellations, both in terms of power and appearance). The moon is a primary symbol and water is the element they are most commonly associated with. Before the war that would plunge Viostra into utter, unceasing decay, Duskmorne was considered a respectable institution that merely didn't put up with being slighted; They were perceived as just and capable, spiritual and righteous as they were calculating and sometimes cynical.

The god they followed - the Maiden of Evenfall (Mausza, technically) - commanded reverence and brooked no quarter, thereby considered to be an 'unflinchingly harsh mother' to her Duskmorne. Structure, piety, and propriety are notable principles among adherents, as unbending loyalty, duty, and selflessness (specifically in regards to the Maiden) are virtues. Whatever Her will, they exist to fulfill it. They believe her to be benevolent, to 'know what is best' and act accordingly, even if they do not understand why. To question or challenge their faith is widely considered heretical as well as pointless; She is the answer, and to deny Her is to deny truth, reality, love, loyalty, and so on. To deny Her is to deny guidance and faith.

There are few adherents who managed to maintain their sanity - and life - after the War of Souls, but nearly all remnants are mindless and hostile shamblers without purpose. They sided with Azfodel, who was himself a Duskmorne adherent.

They are alternatively referred to as the Twilight Order and Duskmorne Knights, though they have other names.

The Maiden of Evenfall is believed to appear as an ethereal, beautiful young woman clad in wine-colored, hooded robes dotted in starry patterns and an archaic full moon, with hair that shines of 'starlight and polished silver' and dimly-glowing eyes. The breadth of her power is unknown but believed to be rather wide, implying she is all-powerful or at least close to it.

Some Items

⸻Crystallized Blood Stones, Soul Stones - Curiously, a human soul seems to have condensed and crystalized into a glowing orb. While its use remains unknown, there is undoubtedly a feeling of strength emanating from it, and it appears to invigorate whosever holds it… ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

⸻Wings of the Valkyrie, Valkyrian Wings - What appear to be the wings of the mythical gryphon, hide torn from where they were plucked, now fashioned into a cloak that promises agility, altitude, and the potential to glide for the wearer. Its exquisite stitching and decoration, contrasted against obvious marks of rugged wear, suggest that it once belonged to a warrior of high rank and privilege. ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

⸻Unnamed Restorative* - A reddish-brown liquid, with crystalline powder settling at the bottom of the flask containing it. Like dirty water in appearance, that's been allowed to settle, more red in hue. Almost the same shade as the Enum Glais, but with the crystalline sediment making it almost, almost, almost prismatic in the right lights. Gives it an air of oh yes this might NOT be poison! A sort of shine that's dulled over unknown lengths of time. A little river water mixed with crushed quartz and Soul stones, and a select herb or two.

⸻Champions' Ripclaws - Formerly belonging to a champion of blood sport, who also served bloody justice to those condemned to death under the rule of barbaric law. These claws were designed to effortlessly rip through even the thickest animal hides, to say nothing of what it would do to the doomed villain's flesh and bone. It seems years of dedicated use has not left the steel any more dull than when first forged. The padded, leather lining makes these claws comfortable to wear. ( desc. courtesy of @melancholymirth )

*It's common practice to know how to make things like this, though I suppose there would be a group or two specializing in medicine at one time or another. With the cannibalism in Viostra, a sect of Plague Doctors would have become a thing since people eating other people inevitably results in madness and disease - and some of them would of course be avid liars, charlatans, thus turning their sect into a target during the civil war.

#☿ || Headcanons.#♞ // Verse: Of Endless Suffering.#/ any interactions in this whole place will have a tag #/ anyway enjoy my convoluted mess of notes #/ there *should* be more questions than answers btw

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