#// ties are to be severed... not forgotten (ic)

[creaseevans]

Jujutsu Kaisen Headcanons - Suguru Geto

Suguru's the type of guy...

SFW: 

Suguru’s the soccer/hockey mom type of guy: he carries snacks, band aids, ibuprofen, tissues, gum, hair ties, and a spare set of socks in his bag at all times. That’s actually how you met him: you were at the coffee shop and asked several tables around you for a band aid (after the barista said they didn’t have any) until Suguru came over with one. He also offered a couple of alcohol swabs to clean things off before applying it.

Suguru’s the type of guy to forget to introduce himself. He gets so engrossed in the person in front of him and what they’re saying that he completely forgets how social interactions are supposed to go. You had to ask him at some point what you’re supposed to call him. He had to think about it for a moment as if he’d forgotten his own name.

(After chatting for almost an hour, he asked yours and you, very forwardly, also gave him your number.)

He’s the type of guy who drinks anything BUT plain coffee with milk and sugar, you conclude by the fourth date. The man will drink matcha, he will drink hot cocoa, he will drink iced or warm lattes with butt loads of cold foam or sweet syrups drizzled throughout, and he will drink LOTS of fruity teas. But a plain coffee with just milk and sugar may actually kill him?

Not only is Suguru the type of guy to paint his own nails, but he also insisted on teaching you after discovering how badly you do the edges (it’s hard!!!!). He likes for you both to have matching or complimentary manicures. It’s also a complete waste that he taught you how to paint because he never lets you do it and always wants to do your manicures and pedicures himself. Sunday nights are for the fingies and toes.

(Coincidentally, he HATES the smell of polish and remover. He has to wear a clip on his nose the entire time that makes his voice all high and nasally.)

Suguru is that guy with a seven-step skincare and five-step hair care routine. You can’t even describe the face he made upon discovering your simple shampoo-and-conditioner, face wash-and-moisturizer antics. But you do wish you’d taken a picture of it.

He totally forgets to eat sometimes. You wonder how it’s possible for him to be the size and height he is if this has always been the case. That is until you share your first real dinner together and he eats nearly five thousand calories in one sitting. He then proceeds to finish your leftovers as well. When you ask him about this deranged behaviour, he just shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I love food, but I don’t really think about it unless it’s in front of me.”

Suguru hasn’t worked out in a gym in almost two years, apparently. He just does runs and “generic labour” at the farm he works at. The solid abs and bouldered deltoids he hides underneath baggy clothes would beg to differ.

Suguru is a total plant princess. The first time you went to his place, you weren’t sure if it wasn’t a greenhouse. Potted wonders and vines and vases were all over the place. This came as even more earth-shattering when a little white cat tinkered her way through the hall and snuggled her butt right up against your ankles. “Oh, no, she knocks things over all the time. But I can’t exactly get mad at her, so I just re-pot everything. That’s why all of these are melamine or recycled plastic.”

That’s another thing about Suguru: he has tremendous amounts of patience. You’ve never met anyone as kind or forgiving as him. You’ve asked him to share his meditation routine with you but he keeps lying about not having one.

(The cat’s name is Dandelion; Dandy for short. She’s a white domestic short-hair with blue eyes and a pink button nose.)

Suguru’s a very formal type of guy. You didn’t expect it, but he took you out on a proper date and verbally said the words “Will you be my girlfriend?” and then proceeded to clarify with “Like, romantically. Not like a friend who’s also a girl—which is totally fine, if that’s what you prefer to be, I just—” and that’s when you cut him off with a kiss and he settled down.

He’s the type of guy to love openly and quickly. It’s less than two months in when he just casually drops an “I love you” on you one morning as you’re on the toilet and he dips his head in to grab a hair brush. Then he simply leaves you to marinate in it while you sit there in shock, unmoving except for the plop-plop-plop in the toilet.

In contrast to how casually he’s able to deliver the sentiment, he’s entirely floored when you return it in bed that same night. He’s so taken that he stops moving and has to wait a moment to get it back together. But after that one still moment, the rest of it feels like you’re being attacked by a tornado.

Suguru’s the type of guy to leave “I love you” sticky notes by your bedside or on your door. One time, you decided to keep the note and stuck it on something at his place before leaving. It was returned to you on your laptop the next day. It’s now become a sort of game between you; sometimes the notes get passed back and forth so long that the adhesive on the back completely dissipates. After writing a new one, you both toss a coin to decide who gets to keep the old one. Suguru’s won seven out of ten tosses, so far.

He’s not the type to gloat when he wins. Somehow, he finds a way to turn his wins into yours. Like how he ended up with most of the old “I love you” post-its but folded them into paper flowers and put them on artificial stems. He gave you the bouquet on your one-year anniversary. You bawled like a little bitch.

Suguru hates seeing you cry or hurt. It’s the only time you’ve seen him distressed. It makes him physically sick and you can tell by how pale and sweaty he gets. He banks his sick days at work since you started dating. Every month when you get your period, Suguru hibernates at your place with you for the first three days because he knows they’re the hardest. He cooks for you, keeps you showered and clean, massages you, naps with you, cleans for you, and he’s at your general beck and call otherwise. Your favourite part is always ordering in impulsive cravings and watching your favourite shows or movies. You also enjoy breaking into the piggy bank of sweets and candy he saves up for you all month.

He’s the type to slowly move you both in together without your ever realizing. Roughly a year in, you discovered just how much of your stuff was now filling in his otherwise spacious new place. The only things left at your apartment were a few pairs of clothes and your mattress (everything else was part of the owner’s furnishings). This little scheme dawned on you when your lease was up and instead of helping you look for another place, Suguru conveniently chimed, “Oh, why don’t you just stay with me? All your stuff’s here anyways.”

(As formal as he is, turns out he was too shy to ask you to move in. He thought giving you a key to his place as a Christmas present was a big enough hint and has no idea how you didn’t clock it. You tell him you would have said yes if he’d just asked. He just blushes and smiles.)

Suguru is a big tipper at restaurants and cafes. He often tips more than the actually meal or drink costs. You fear this may have detrimental effects on his finances, but he somehow manages to keep things running more than smoothly. Suspiciously smoothly.

Turns out, he doesn’t just work at the farm. He actually (very successfully, too) co-owns it with his best friend Satoru, which leads to the next point: Suguru’s just the type of guy to downplay exactly how well he’s doing or how much he has. (He has a lot.)

Since he wakes up ridiculously early most mornings to tend to farmwork, Suguru’s the type of guy to cook you an elaborate, three course breakfast each time and leave it covered in the oven with a note on the door for you to enjoy. Meanwhile, he shoots back a creamy, sugary beverage or two and just raw dogs the rest of the day on an empty stomach until the late lunch or dinner you share together. You’re trying to help him remember to eat more often, so you’ve started packing him just as elaborate lunches and snack packs at night once he’s gone to bed. You have to text or call him to remind him to actually eat out of them. He always enjoys them when he does.

NSFW:

Suguru takes his sweet time initiating sex for the first time. Upon reaching week four of the relationship with not a lick of intimacy, you had to break the ice on the subject. Suguru was surprised, then laughed it off. “No, I’m not asexual. I just didn’t want to weird you out or get right into sex without your deliberate consent.”

(You gave it to him instantly.)

Since his middle name is basically serenity, you were a bit worried as to how the sex would go. You don’t altogether mind the notion of “love making,” but you’re also not a purely vanilla person by nature.

Suguru’s generously girthy and lands in the seven-inch range. He’s uncut and always shaves everything clean off. You’ve never seen a crotch as hairless as his. There’s a thick vein that runs from below his belly button, down his beautifully carved pelvis and right up the length of his shaft. You like tracing it with your tongue and watching his reactions. He gets real breathy and sensitive about it.

Suguru can last a while, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take the time to service you in at least two to three other ways before finally giving you what you want. He’s quite the skilled tradesman with both his tongue and his hands, but you prefer his long, knuckly fingers over the former. Something about the veins and muscles in his arms when he endlessly plunges palm-deep inside of you drives you right over the edge. While he’s quite humble otherwise, getting you to orgasm is one thing he’s quite smug about. The way he smirks when you fall apart for him is absolutely sadistic.

Contrary to his soft, silky personality and demeanour, he’s quite the devil in arms behind closed doors. (Sometimes, those doors aren’t even closed.) 

He’s a biter (genuinely shocking). He likes to mark you in places where nobody would be able to see it and find out just how rough and territorial your sweet, doting boyfriend truly is. Such places include your back, your tits (specifically, right around your nipples), the plush of inner thigh right at the apex of your legs, the outer skinfolds right next to your “perfectly suckable lips” (no, NOT your mouth), and all over the meat of your ass.  

Suguru doesn’t eat pussy; he makes out with it. He French kisses and has an affair with it. Just let him do it and expect to be there for the better part of an hour, probably. Nothing you say or do can deter him from his “favourite meal in the whole world.”

He has no problem putting you in your place when it comes to sex. It’s genuinely some alter ego type shit. The change is a complete 180, to the point that you sometimes feel like you’re cheating on your amazing, loving boyfriend with some sex-crazed maniacal psychopath that leaves you shuddering and unable to stand on your feet for a good few hours afterwards without buckling knees or trembling thighs. The only part that reminds you they’re the same person is when he gently cleans you up afterwards and apologetically kisses all the places where he’d bit, clawed, smacked or choked only moments ago. The comedown is nearly as thrilling as the experience itself.

Suguru loves mocking and demeaning you with simultaneously praiseworthy titles. Phrases like “My precious little whore,” “Perfect fucking slut,” or “My stupidly pretty princess” roll off his tongue just as easily as “My little baby,” “Good fucking girl,” and your personal favourite: “My little pussy fairy.” It’s quite the whiplash.

Suguru fucks like his life depends on it. All the calm and peace behind his foxy monolids drains the moment he realizes what’s about to happen. The fire and hunger that replaces that calm is enough to make your heart plunge down and drop out through your ass every single time regardless of how often it happens. He is not a gentle lover, and you couldn’t be more thankful for how viciously he strokes or how diligently he chokes or how shamelessly he orders you to open your mouth so he can fill it with his fingers and spit into the back of your throat while the head of his cock breaks the rim of your cervix and your eyes roll like a slot machine into your skull.

He wasn’t as vocal at first because he was shy and anxious that you would get turned off by it. Turns out, when he moans and whimpers it’s so fucking delicate that your pussy flutters just at the sounds that come out of him. While you enjoy his gruff snarls and grunts and the tone of his poetic degradation, you take every chance you can get your hands on to have him undone and vulnerable, shivering and trembling and nearly sobbing from ecstasy at the worship you deliver.

Suguru never makes you beg or ask for it. He does like to hear you say what you want, but he often readily delivers your services on a golden platter. He’s just so generous like that.

While he gets to address you with all kinds of pet names and kinky titles, he only ever wants you to call him “Suguru” between the sheets. “Baby” is too vague, and nothing else quite establishes his dominance over you the same as hearing gasps of his name over and over again while you convulse and shatter against him, so soft and weak and vulnerable that it makes his heart stop.

He makes you keep your eyes open and on him at all times. “Keep your focus on me,” “Look at what I’m doing to you, keep watching,” “Look at me with those pretty eyes, I wanna see how big they get when you come for me,” “Don’t you dare look away,” all of that. Even when you’re kissing now you’re both always looking at one another. You don’t think you can go back to kissing with your eyes closed again.

He asked you in the beginning if you want him to use condoms just so you wouldn’t have to deal with contraceptive side effects. You used them a few times before realizing how badly you wanted to just fluid bond with him. He has never complained about this; he’s ready to face any consequences, should they happen. And while he loves going to pro-choice rallies with you, he does fantasize from time to time about a little version of you running around the farm, driving him crazy with worry.

Suguru’s favourite place to come is on your face, because your face is his favourite sight in the entire world. Yes, he loves your body. But it was your nervous smile and hopeful eyes that caught his eye the very first time and kept him looking back again and again. Seeing his cum streaked across your gorgeous lips and dripping down your cheeks and chin is a mental image he frequents regularly throughout the day.

(One day, you make him lick the cum off your face and feed it to you by kiss. This changes his brain chemistry forever. You’re definitely the one.)

[lovebugism]

can i request something with a reader who’s just really into steve’s scoops ahoy uniform?

hi, my love! thanks so much for your request!! what better way to celebrate july 4th (aka stranger things 3 day) than by commemorating steve harrington in his scoops ahoy uniform? tw for smut mdni!! (2.1k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

When Steve told you he got a job slinging ice cream at the mall downtown, you didn’t think much of it. 

In fact, you spent the better part of that conversation comforting him. It was an existential crisis of sorts, wherein he’d spun himself into a panic about not going to college, not being successful, and not providing for you in the way that partners are supposed to. 

You figured it was a bruise to the ego more than anything — especially with his asshole father constantly looming over his shoulder. A steady reminder of what he could’ve been in ways more daunting than just one.

But then he showed you the Scoops Ahoy mandated uniform, held it in his hands with all the boyish reluctance of a child. According to him, the bright blue sailor’s outfit was the most dehumanizing thing of it all. It even came with its own stupid hat. 

You were so turned on by the idea of him wearing it, you forgot you were supposed to be consoling him. You quickly forgot why the job was ever a bad idea in the first place. Steve, albeit a bit confused by your sudden giddiness, was more excited to go into work the following Monday when he knew you were visiting him the first chance you got.

You’re practically skipping when you walk into Scoops, skirt swishing around your thighs. It was later in the morning, which meant business was relatively slow. There’s an older couple sharing a sundae at one of the booths, but other than that, you’re the only customer in the store.

Steve stands at the register with a smile on his face he doesn’t know is there. He’s been a real grouch all morning, but he’s forgotten why at the sight of you.

You beam at him, propping your elbows on the counter and putting your chin in your hands. “Do the line,” you gush.

His chest inflates with a deep breath in, then deflates with a sharp exhale. You don’t even notice that it’s a sigh of annoyance at first, too focused on the scarlet tie around his shoulders and the tufts of chest hair peeking out from the top of it.

“Ahoy, sweetheart,” he greets, still grinning despite his lack of enthusiasm. He tilts his head to his shoulder and recites his line: “‘Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me today? I’ll be your captain’— How was that?” 

“Even better in uniform,” you marvel in a lilt. Then you squint at him. “I better be the only customer you’re using that sweetheart line on, though, Harrington.”

Steve scoffs like the thought of saying it to anyone else is appalling. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the world I’ve ever called sweetheart, sweetheart.”

“Good. I plan on it staying that way.”

The boy smiles to himself. 

He likes when you get all possessive. Maybe because he spent the majority of his past relationships having to be the jealous one — always worried about never being good enough, being left. He likes how confident he is in the fact that you only have eyes for him. Even if he is wearing a stupid sailor’s uniform. 

“What do you what, huh?” the boy asks as he pulls out his metal scoop from the apron tied around his hips. “Choco-mint with chocolate sprinkles?”

He’s already spooning the green ice cream onto a cone for you before you say a word. You like that you never have to tell him what you want, that he knows you like the back of his hand already. 

“Ooh. He looks good in a sailor’s outfit, and he’s attentive?” you singsong lowly. “I think you might be a keeper, Steve Harrington.”

The boy rolls his eyes as he turns away from you. He walks to the opposite wall, where several containers of variously colored sprinkles sit in a large tub. When he bends over to smother your cone in the chocolate kind, the white hem of his shorts climbs up his thighs. You almost forget to breathe.  

Steve turns around to catch you staring. You don’t even blink.

“Stop ogling at me,” he laughs with pink cheeks. “It’s getting weird, babe.”

Your brows pinch. “Why is it weird to look at my boyfriend?”

“Because your boyfriend looks like an idiot. Like, this should not be turning you on, sweetheart.”

“The heart wants what it wants, Stevie,” you shrug with a whimsical sigh.

He meets your smirk with a half-hearted scowl and passes you the ice cream cone. When your tongue darts out to taste it, his brain malfunctions for a moment. “Seriously, babe,” he scoffs when his senses return to him. “What about any of this is attractive to you?”

Your head tilts as you scan his muscular form, looking far more boyish than usual in his flamboyant uniform. “Well, for starters, those ankle socks are strangely sexy—”

Steve snorts at the offbeat start to your list.

“—And your thighs look delectable in those shorts. Your arms do, too. You’ve been working out so much, they barely fit in those sleeves,” you compliment. The corner of your mouth quirks into a half-smile as your eyes flit up to his hair. “Also, something about the hat and ascot combo is really doing it for me.”

Robin comes out of the break room then. The door swishes back and forth. “You could’ve just said everything and be done with it,” she grouses as she clumsily sits her white cap on her head.

She looks about as grumpy as Steve, like something about the linoleum tile and fluorescent lighting is sucking the lives out of the two of them.

“Don’t worry. You look hot too, Buckley,” you promise with a smirk.

Her head tilts sweetly to the side as she musters a grin of her own. “Thank you.”

You turn back to Steve with an expectant gaze. “When do you go on break again?”

He twists his wrist to check his watch as you take another lick of your ice cream cone. 

Robin answers for him. “Now, preferably.”

“What?” the boy asks with furrowed brows. “I still have, like, fifteen minutes left.”

“Just go fuck and get it over with,” she groans, ocean-blue eyes wide and pleading. “I can practically smell the sexual tension radiating off both of you.”

Steve wants to argue, but you only smile. You nod your head towards the exit. “C’mon, sailor.”

He has no choice but to follow behind you. He’s been doing it for years now, and you haven’t disappointed him once. You lead him by his hand through the bustling mall, chucking your half-eaten cone into the bin when you reach the entrance.

Steve isn’t surprised when you wind up at his car in the employee parking section. He swirls with a boyish excitement, anyway. 

Everything feels so new with you. 

Even the things he’s done a thousand times.

Including, but not limited to, fucking you in the backseat of his car.

You’re on him the second you shut the door behind you. Your skirt bunches at your hips as you straddle his thighs, kissing him with the intent to swallow him whole.

Steve’s hands are limp at his sides in shock. It leaves you doing most of the work yourself, pulling down his blue shorts and gray underwear in one fell swoop. You tuck the hem of them beneath his heavy balls and half-hard cock.

His head falls back against the seat when you start fisting him completely stiff.

You twist your wrist in the way you know he likes — squeezing him towards the top before falling to the stem of his cock again. Your thumb swipes over his bulbous head to collect the pearly pre-come beading there. 

If you had enough room in the backseat of his Beamer, you might’ve forgone the sex entirely and just taken him into your mouth right then.

Steve’s rosy mouth falls agape to billow pretty little moans for you. You tug on the red tie around his neck to get his attention again. His glazed-over, honey eyes flutter open to find your smirking face. 

“Can I take a ride on your ocean of flavor, Stevie?” you tease with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“It’s ‘set sail,’ but yeah— shit,” he swears when your thumb grazes his leaking tip again. “Of course, you can, sweetheart…”

With his consent, you grip the bottom of his cock, pushing your panties to the side to line him with your pulsating entrance. He might’ve asked if you wanted a little preparation first, but when his silky head grazes your satin walls, he knows you’re more than wet.

Your pussy’s already drooling all over him, and he isn’t even inside you yet. 

The both of you exhale low moans when you finally slip him within you. Your walls are warm and wet — the softest velvet imaginable, and perfectly snug around his achingly hard cock. You keep your fingers wrapped around the tie on his chest, using it for leverage as you grind your hips back and forth over his thighs. 

Steve goes pussy drunk almost instantly, babbling like crazy at the feeling of your cunt sucking him further and further inside of you.

“Oh, my fucking god, baby,” he moans, the words sounding stiff as they spill from his tightening throat. “You feel so good. So tight, too— Shit. Pussy’s drooling all over me, sweetheart.”

He can’t see you from this angle — can’t see the way your dripping cunt takes him so well or the way your ass glides perfectly over his heavy balls. But he can picture it, can feel your slick drenching his pubic hair and happy trail.

He so desperately wishes it were possible to fuck you with his cock and have you ride his face at the same time. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting you.

But this is good for now. 

This is perfect.

With the energy he’s got left from his drifting senses, he grips the plush of your ass. He spreads your flesh apart, and the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin makes you clench around him. He almost loses it, then — when the smacking of your thighs and the wet squelch of your drenched pussy fills the small car, going slowly cloudy with your entwining heavy breaths.

“You’re so hot, Stevie,” you manage through labored pants. Your heavy-lidded gaze threatens to close, but you don’t want to stop looking at the boy below you. You want to commit all his features to memory — his pink kiss-bitten mouth, reddened cheeks, and honeyed eyes. You want the image of his fucked-out features to stain your mind forever.

“God, babe,” he sighs breathlessly, a moan mixed with a soft laugh. “I still don’t— I really don’t get it, sweetheart.”

“Are you seriously complaining?” you smirk as you glide your hips over his thighs again. 

Your swollen clit catches the polyester of the bottom of his shirt. You swear your eyes cross as your mouth opens in a low keen.

When your pussy clenches at the ethereal feeling, his cock jerk within your tightening velvet. Both of you are nearing your orgasms full throttle now. You can almost taste the sweet vanilla of your climax.

“No. Fuck no, I’m not complaining,” he assures with a shake of his head. “You’re just really fucking confusing and really fucking hot... Fuck—”

His head falls back again, exposing the golden tendons of his neck. You’d bite at them if you could stop looking at him. You smile even though he’s not looking at you — even though your thighs are burning and your knee is digging into the seat belt latch. “I can’t wait to fuck you when you get off.”

“Yeah?” he hums, eyes still halfway closed.

“Yeah,” you repeat with a nod, still rocking against his lap while his cock rubs relentlessly at the deepest parts of you. Your clit catches his shirt with every pass of your hips, sending a white-hot feeling of nearly unbearable pleasure shooting up your spine. “So I can get a real good look at you while you fuck me in this uniform.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as his jaw clenches. He tries not to come at the sound of your voice and how the words spill like honey from your mouth. 

Despite the less-than-ideal location — at the edges of a mostly empty lot — he doesn’t want this to be over quite yet. He wants to feel you gush on his cock over and over and over again. He’s afraid he won’t be able to focus on work until you do.

If he knew that slinging ice cream for three dollars an hour in a stupid sailor’s outfit would drive you this crazy, he would’ve dropped out of school and put in an application forever ago. 

[run-its-moon]

A Song Once Forgotten - Chapter Two

Pairing: BTS (OT7) X Reader

Word Count: 4038

Genre/Themes: Dragon!AU, Shifter!AU, Pioneer themes, Powers, War, possible/Eventual smut

Warning's: 18+ for gore, minor swearing, possible smut, Character Death (not OT7), Animal death, Religion/history being rewritten, topics that relate to climate change, Eventual War, humanity is kind of Oppressed,

I didn't have anyone proof read or edit this so i apologize for this chapter.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

My hands Stiff and freezing from the cold, I let go of the reins, putting them under my thighs. A poor attempt to warm them, even my gloves struggled to retain the heat. Taking a moment to watch the snow fall from the sky, to pinpoint where the sun is now.  The clouds moved faster than they did yesterday, the wind probably felt like needles above the trees. “The seasons are playing with my head, I swear I've never seen anything this bad before Adonis.” But my parents always told me to never trust the weather, especially closer to the mountains.

Slotting the reins between my hands again I push Adonis back into a trot. Picking up more pace while we travel northward towards a pond I visited a few times in my youth. The forest was near deadly quiet while we paced through the snow. Only the crunch of horse hoofs in the snow and the odd bird call from the branches. We’d been at it most of the day now, the sun even with it being difficult to see was starting to go below the mountains. 

“One more Attempt couldn't hurt right?” Nodding to myself while I lead Adonis in the correct direction, taking a right beside the boulder I always passed, signalling only a little longer till we reach. The pond was just a little spot my father used to take me during the summer time for a short swimming trip. Mere moments later the trees parted and the pond in all its glory laid. Stretching out not very far, a single willow tree beside the pond. 

Riding Adonis close to the pond, leaving a few feet between us and the pond then dismounting. ‘I know he's ground tied.. As long as I leave his reins around his neck he should stay close to here.’ I take the bridle off him, making sure I'm gentle as I remove the bit from his mouth. 

Leaving the browband and crown of the bridle on the horn of the saddle. I give him a quick scratch under the chin, while I kick some snow away from the ground where we stood. “That's odd..” I duck down close to the ground. Taking a better look at the grass, it was still a light green, nothing like the brown it should be. 

Shrugging my shoulders while I stood up, removing the bow from my shoulder while I made my way towards the tree line. “Stay there for a moment Adonis, I'll be right back.” I shout over my shoulder. I make sure to stray clear of the branches from the bushes. Some of the trees had ice coating the branches. The weather was acting severely off, we weren't even that close to the mountain range yet. 

Further into the forest I went looking for a small opening around some bushes, once I found one with a look over a tiny valley to wait for some prey to hop through. 

—

It felt like everything but a deer went through the small clearing, from birds, rabbits, even a particularly large rabbit went through the clearing. No sign’s of a deer. 

Sighing while I stood to make my way back towards the pond, the snowy ground was a little easier to navigate through compared to the warm stretch. Taking almost no time at all to pad through the snow that was over my ankles. This morning when I left, the snow around the settlement wasn't this deep, only just covering the ground. 

Up ahead Adonis was pawing at the ground, kicking up a bit of snow with his left hoof. His head lowered, eating some of the grass from the spot he just uncovered. Stepping out into the clearing, he must've heard me. Adonis looked up at me for a split second then continued to eat.

My cloak burst forward around my body, the wind propelling me forward into a stumble. Cloak caught in the wind, flying around to my right side, choking me in the process. Stumbling more while I attempted to walk towards Adonis. Pulling down on the front of the cloak, ignoring how the hood fell backwards. The branches above creak and shake with the wind. Bursting forward towards Adonis when he rears upwards, I Immediately run to grab hold of the reins around his neck. Cursing to myself subtle while I hold onto the reins the best I can.

Wingbeats so loud they cover the beating of my heart in my ears when I see it. I could feel the pounding of my heart, but the wingbeats above us cause the wind to only become more aggressive while I hold onto Adonis for dear life. Watching a black dragon pass above us, gracefully missing the tips of the tree’s while it cruises through the air. The entire clearing falls dark while it passes over us, blocking out the sun like an eclipse.

If I could compare this dragon to the sun. I could almost say they were the same size.

I hold onto the reins the best I can. The wind whips my cloak around trying to unroot me from my spot, holding onto the reins to ground both me and my horse. I watch as the beast of a dragon flies over us, its black scales finally releasing the sun. Taking the wind with it, my cloak slows down to a stop. Passing the bridle over Adonis' face as quickly as I can, barely sparing time in my panic to get it on properly.

I Mount the Buckskin in a rush, barely pulling myself fully over the saddle before we rush off. Adonis hardly paces himself at a gallop, obviously spooked from what was above us moments before. The cold laps at my face, my hands and my legs. Barely feeling anything at all as we gallop through the forest, narrowly missing tree roots, and rocks as we run. 

‘We need to slow down, he's going to tire himself out. It's not safe out here.’ Leaning back in the saddle as I push my feet forward barely pulling on the reins. I shout out a quick woah, before we stop moving forward. I slam forward in the saddle leaning over his neck. ‘Fuck that was close.’ Sitting back properly in the saddle while he moves around under me, unsteady and scared. I lean forward slightly to pet his right shoulder. Keeping the reins firm in my left hand, gently reminding Adonis that we’re okay now.

We stand still for a few moments, allowing Adonis to steady his breath back to normal. I set him back off into a slow walk, the panic slowly ceasing to exist between us.

Barely able to see the sky through the trees yet I can tell the clouds are starting to dissipate. The snow slowed down as we walked, the near blizzard that was earlier, transforming into a light flurry.

‘The mountains can't be much farther from here, we’ve been going north this entire time.’ By the time the sun was starting to set behind one of the mountain’s, I spot a small cave entrance. ‘Perfect.’ Bear’s shouldn't be hibernating just yet because of how sudden the cold stretch came. But there was always a chance. 

Stopping well before the entrance, dismounting slowly while I keep quiet in case a bear decided the cave was a good home. The snow reaches just below my knees, leaving me to pull my feet up a little higher than normal. ‘Thank the world I tucked my pant legs into my shoes.’ 

I make my way to the entrance of the cave, the faint sunlight only doing so much to show me what was inside. Nothing. Only the faint sound of the wind howling, no snoring or breathing came from within. “With the sunlight so dim I have no choice but to sleep here for the night.” It's better to risk the cave instead of the cold. Trudging through the snow back to Adonis to lead him close to the cave entrance. He can decide for himself if he wants to come with.

I hold onto his reins until we were just at the entrance of the cave, dropping the reins while I move around to unbridled him. Allowing him to do as he pleased, taking a deep breath before going into the cave. The clunk of his hooves confirming he follows behind me into the cave. Once my eyes adjust I look around more. The cave was a good size, similar to that of my own room. With no sign of a bear or anything else within the cave. I start pulling the saddle bags down. Setting them aside. Adonis chooses to stand near the entrance blocking the wind and light with his body. 

I took the time to unsaddle him completely, setting the saddle on its back so it stood straight up without disrupting the build. The bags were left near the left side of the cave. After a while of shuffling through each of the bags I find a flint and steel petunia must have packed. Along with a blanket and bits of food. 

I spend a few minutes looking for larger rocks to make a small circle away from Adonis. Along the way picking up some dried leaves and smaller branches for kindling. Setting the branches in a tent-like shape with the dried leaves in the middle. Taking the flint and steel together to create a few sparks. Chipping off small pieces of the flint as I go. ‘Maybe i'm not really that good at this sort of thing.’ Sighing to myself while I struggle with the fire. 

Suddenly a small spark lights up the leaves. A smile graces my lips when I cover the right side of the pit with my cloak as the fire builds in strength. Staring down at the fire as I chew on the inside of my mouth. ‘I cant fucking believe Ty with that shit he pulled yesterday.’ Shooting a quick glance at Adonis then the bags of stuff near him. ‘He has no right to spew such nonsense at me. He's not my father.’ I bow my head back down behind the side of my cloak, I felt like eating up the warmth in front of me.

Maybe it was too cold to be doing this.

Shrugging my thoughts away, I crawl away from the fire to pull out some food and a blanket to sleep with. Sitting down beside the fire again once I gather what I want. I chew on some older deer jerky, peeling off the pieces that looked a little off. Pulling the blanket up to my chin while I ate, sleepy yawns lulled me to sleep along with the sound of the cracking from the fire.

Awaking with a jolt, gripping the ground under me, I sat up right. Alert and watch my surroundings of the cave. The fire was out, cold was sweeping into the cavern. Bursts of the wind steadily move Adonis' tail. I move around slowly to keep quiet, there's no telling what the darkness brings in the forest. Exposed and vulnerable to the elements.

Relaxing once I realize there was no immediate danger, stirring from my spot but then my ears barely pick up a noise. A tune so heavenly, barely audible over the blaring of the wind and snow. The melody felt like a tug at my soul, pressing my hand to the side of the cave as I teetered towards where I felt it was coming from. My hand glides across the rock as I move towards the back. A tunnel that wasn't there earlier loomed, the melody obviously coming from within. 

Moving closer to the source like a trance as I stumbled towards the back of the cave, the tune so faint barely audible until I step into the tunnel. The humming became louder as I venture forth, the slight slope of the tunnel causing me to slow my steps to ensure I won't slip. My ears strain to pick up the melody.

The humming was comparable to a lyre I heard my mother play once, a tune that called me back to my childhood. Unable to stop my feet from treading down into the tunnel, unable to pause as I follow the noise. 

Following the path downwards in what felt like an endless dark decline. The tune becomes louder the longer I continue. 

A subtle light emerged with what I could only assume was the end. The tune was so loud now it was like someone was signing directly into my ears. Pausing for a brief moment, breathing in deeply before stepping around the corner. 

A scream let loose from my throat. 

In Front of me suspended high into the air strung like a doll across the cavern, wings stretch so far they touch one end of the cavern to the other. A dragon so strikingly beautiful to look at, the colouring was that of sun bleached stone. The humming stopped, a high pitched yelp nearly bursts my ear drums. I fell backwards, looking up at a dragon.

Its body was suspended in the air by chains high above a murky pool of water, hooks piercing through the wings, chains rounded the body, bruises covered it. It moves its neck downwards curving similar to that of a snake while I moved backwards, twisting like a deer ready to bolt. It leaned forward the best it could watching me through its eyes? The dragon had no pupils, the eyes just a dim white colour. 

“A human? Why are you here.” Its jaw didn’t move while it spoke, the voice filled my head with the question. Somehow this beast was communicating with me. ‘Curse my elders for never telling me more.’ I felt frozen in my spot, my throat squeezing along with my head. “Little human, who are you?” The voice of the beast spoke with a tinge of aggression, although the overwhelming feeling of nerves made me truly unable to escape.

The fear released me from its hold when the beast moved its head backwards.  “I mean no harm! I swear to the world that I'm by myself, no ill intent.” Gasping out, while I move backwards a few feet. “I heard singing, and- I just recognized the tune from somewhere, I don't know where.” Nearly mumbling out the last part.

The dragon let out an airy laugh, wheezing during some parts. It lifted its head upward and chortled. “My singing led you here? Your human ears lie to you, human." The dragon cocked its head to the side. Its pure white eyes felt like they stared into my soul for moments. Neither of us spoke, fear gripped at me again. I took a longer look at it at that moment. Hooks pierced the membrane in its wings. The feathers on its neck had a wilted look to them.

Upon a closer look its claws looked nearly brittle. But its eyes were a near shining white colour that showed a barely illuminated area around its face. Two horns poked up above the feather’s, also white. Down its thin face on the tip of its nose was a small third horn.

This dragon was not like the ones they tell stories about, in a colour I've never known them to be. Infront of me fucking talk to me while laughing about something I don’t understand. But it was a being, in pain from the look of dried blood and old cuts on its under belly.

Unsure of how to truly proceed with the situation thrown at me. “How long have you been here?” 

The dragon snorted at me, a small puff of smoke coming up from its nose. “Longer than you have existed.” my limbs felt frozen again. ‘How long do dragons live?’ But there is no time for questions. 

“I won’t harm you human,” Pulling myself together, I make eye contact with the dragon. I have no weapons on me, I have no way to defend myself if this beast decides I am to be its prey.

“How can I trust you?” I gesture around the room, to the chains holding it up. “You could change your mind in an instant, decide to eat me.” the dragon chortles, its body shakes making the chains rattle. 

“Oh are you ever amusing? I cannot reach you from here. But you do have my word, I will not harm you, ever.” A shutter runs through the room after it finishes talking. Like the room was charged with something anew.

“Why are you here? Why chained up! And those chains are black!” the dragon huffed, loud and filling the room. 

“If you help me, I’ll answer your questions. But only after I am freed.” Turning slowly around the expanse of the cave, lever’s were periodically placed around the sides of the cave. Each lever was placed where it aligned with a chain that was holding up the dragon.

“The lever’s? I just pull them down.. and you'll be free?” I take a quick glance at the dragon behind me. ‘Maybe I shouldn't turn my back to it?’ 

“Yes, from what I remember.”

Nodding at the dragon before I turn on my heels, making my way towards the closest lever. Taking a deep breath while glancing back at the grey dragon hanging there.

Shuffling in my spot while I turned back around. I wipe non existent sweat off my hands before gripping onto the lever and pulling downwards. Nothing. ‘Okay.. that's weird.’ Again, nothing. This time I pulled the lever upwards a little, hearing a small click before pulling it down. Chains moved, spinning around quickly to see the chains around its right front arm release. 

“So.. Do you mind telling me why you're here?” My subtle attempt at small talk was met with a huff. 

“I was trapped here. I might tell you more after you get me out of these chains.” its voice had become lighter, less broken. Another small glance at it while I moved towards the next lever.

“Okay.. what about your name.” I ask just before pulling the next lever up then down. I watch as one of the hooks locked into its right wing releases his wing from the position it was in.

“I suppose..” The dragon turns its head, making direct eye contact with me. A small puff of smoke comes up from its nostrils, its eyes squint a little while it lowers its head. “My name is Seokjin. That's all you're getting.” so it, was a he. 

Just as I was about to pull down the next lever, I paused. “Nice to meet you Seokjin, my name’s y/n.” I said while making direct eye contact with him before pulling the lever downwards. Releasing his body. Two levers left.

After I pulled the last lever Seokjin had immediately dropped to the ground. No longer strong enough to hold himself upwards. He fell into the pond that was underneath him, his body creating a splash so large it soaks my clothes. I wait with a baited breath for him to crawl out. For the dragon to burst through the now calming water and eat me where I stand. Yet there is nothing. Nothing in those few moments while I wait. 

I shot forward, reaching the pond in seconds. I look down, barely visible in the water is not a dragon, but the barely visible figure of a man falling deeper into the water. My body works before my mind processes. Taking off a layer of my clothes, I dive into the water head first. Swimming until I reach the man and yank him upwards by his shoulders. 

Struggling to lift his heavy body, my lungs feel as though they are being crushed from the depth. I link my elbows under his shoulders, lifting him closer to me as I kick, and struggle. Nearly letting out a gasp, the lights from the top of the water feel so far away. 

Suddenly I’m pushing his body onto the side of the pond without thinking. Shaking the man awake as I gasp feeling the burn of air hitting my lungs. My ear’s subtly ring as I stare down at the man. Worry begins to strike me, before I know what's happening Seokjin is sitting up coughing water out of his nose and mouth. Slowly I remove my hands from his form and bring them down to my lap. 

“You can shape shift?” a small whisper escapes my lips, a quick glance at the white haired man beside me nearly has me gasping. I scoot away from him, feet still in the water cause a slight ripple. He was drop dead Gorgeous, Plush lips, a knife like jawline. Stark white hair glisten under the low light’s of the cave. ‘I wonder what he looks like under sunlight..’ My thoughts trail off. Not noticing him staring right back at me.

He hisses in pain, Shooting my gaze to where he's hovering a hand near his ribcage. He's bruised, large purple and blue peppling the surface of his skin. He moves to sit upwards. His eyebrows furrow when I touch his back lightly. “Yes some of us can shapeshift but it’s not very common any more.” I furrow my brows at his statement. More questions come to mind but I stay quiet. Moving out and away from the water to see his back. 

I gasp, his back has straight cuts going from the top of his shoulders to his lower back. “I need to bandage this.” He nods lightly, I hold onto his shoulder as he leans forward. Hand cupping his left side, bent over in pain. I can't see his face but I could almost feel his pain, from simply looking at him. “I'll bring you with me, It'll be best if we leave soon. You need to be bandaged, and preferably a healer.” Seokjin whips around quickly grabbing my wrist. Our eyes lock onto each other. His pupils shake slightly while we stare at each other.

“No, they'll go away soon. No healer.” He shakes his head again, breaking our eye contact. “I’ll come with you, I still need to answer your questions.” I nearly jump away when Seokjin pulls himself up, hisses of pain come from him until I help him fully stand.

Seokjin Leans some of his weight against me when he stands fully. Luckily he had a pair of slacks on, Glancing quickly towards my cloak. ‘I should give him that.’ Ducking down to grab the cloak Seokjin trailing his hand near my side. I gesture with the cloak to wear it. A simple nod is all I need before I’m wrapping his body with it. 

“We need to get going.” His voice seemed to drop an octave, I spared him a look to see a near dark shadow on his face. “What locked me up there will be back. Even sooner when they realize I'm gone.” shifting between my feet while I nod. My throat nursed a lump when I look towards the hanging chains above us. “I cannot defend us yet when they come looking.” my mouth clamped up. ‘What did I just get myself into..’ 

I move away from Seokjin for a moment to put on the clothes I was wearing prior to diving into the water. He teeters in his spot, balance unstable as he stands. “I was riding a horse, he should be able to carry us both. I don't know if he can go past a trot though.” He nods again before we meet eyes again. 

“I shall do my best to ensure we get there sooner then y/n.” He states almost like a promise with a smile on his face.

-------

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 62

It's the boy and he's making us a delicious meal story.

Throughout this chapter, we're given Mithrun's backstory as a Dungeon Lord. However, the story we're told is actually Kabru's retelling because when Mithrun said he'd tell Kabru everything, he meant he'd tell Kabru EVERYTHING.

The chapter alternates between Mithrun's time as a dungeon lord and his and Kabru's journey through the dungeon. Each time we go back to Mithrun as a dungeon lord, it's actually Kabru putting the story together in a comprehensible way.

Kabru's adoptive mother is in the group. Her name is Milsiril. There weren't any good shots of her uncovered arms this chapter so I can't say whether any of those scars were from before this incident.

I take it that elves are generally prone to using unnecessarily complex methods to achieve certain end goals. Mithrun told Kabru that he'll need a sleep spell or a potion to be put to sleep, and he said being bundled up cozy and given a foot massage would never work, right before falling asleep.

It's exactly the same vibe as the mandrake harvesting thing only with fewer dead dogs.

All of this happened before the shapeshifter encounter? The shpaeshifter Kabru and Mithrun encountered probably was the same one then.

Kabru and Mithrun are both serious characters and whenever the story focuses on them, it tries to take things seriously. But with this one single panel, it's clear this is going to be an exception.

There's a light inconsistency with timing. Kabru said it will take a week until they're rescued but the day ends saying "Four days left until rescue." I just can't tell if there's an error with what Kabru said or if that message is not supposed to be tied to the end of this specific day.

The next page opens with "Day three after the fall" and Laios's group had fought the ice golem that day. So if it's already been two days since Kabru and Mithrun fell, then that would mean chapters 39-42 were all in a single day and there was a roughly two day period of Laios's team either finding the way to floor 6 or travelling through the floor before encountering the shapeshifter.

On Kabru's end, the only known moment of time passing was when Kabru fell asleep for five hours last chapter. Meanwhile, team Laios would have had to take some time to make Marcille and Senshi's snow shoes.

I'm going to guess that it takes roughly two days travel to get to the cave system in the sixth floor. Kabru and Mithrun encountered the shapeshifter near the start of the path to the caves while Laios's team encountered it near the end of the path.

Mithrun is probably wearing Shuro's jacket. It at least matches the color of the jacket we saw Shuro wearing in chapter 32.

The inciting incident to Mithrun becoming a dungeon lord was seeing his brother with the girl he liked through a magic mirror. But then we cut to Kabru thinking about how that's a good plot hook.

I think he either super dumbed down what was in the mirror, or may have straight up lied about what really set Mithrun off. Like, his brother living this happy life with Mithrun's beloved is part of it, but that note where Mithrun joined the Canaries in his brother's place tells me that the mirror is actually showing him how wonderful his brother's life is and how this could have been Mithrun's life instead.

Makes sense that the barometz fruit doesn't have the same organ structure as a real sheep. It's just trying to mimic the sheep to attract predators. The bones are probably just stems to help keep the shape.

Kabru and Mithrun stole the hippogriff's eggs and accidentally turned it into a griffin. Maybe it attacked Laios's party because it thought they were the egg thieves.

Maybe Mithrun's poor directional skill is because he got so used to the layout of his own dungeon that he's forgotten how Euclidean geometry works. It might make sense to assume that a stairway up is actually the way down and to go forward, you need to go back.

Several of these characters were named in the start of the chapter. The two row are Nils and Sita. The middle one in the bottom row is Coyote. I can't tell who the other two are, but I want to say the one on the lower right is Yugin.

Sita is a guard while the rest are criminals.

Mithrun's "beloved" was definitely an illusion of some kind. The goat's power only extends to the dungeon so it couldn't have brought her into it.

She may have been a lamia from the start since we can see a snake body in the corner of the very next panel.

Her color pattern indicates she's a king snake lamia. I talked about them in chapter 10. She's harmless, or at least as harmless as a lamia can be.

The scene where the goat ate Mithrun's desires is unsettling. The goat holds him down and violates his body. And it gouged out Mithrun's eye in the process.

And when the goat was done with Mithrun, it left nothing behind of his wish. He's left lying in front of the magic mirror he destroyed.

This comes right after the Winged Lion showed Laios his ideal world where people and monsters live together in harmony. The magic mirror was probably placed to tempt anyone who explored the dungeon and Mithrun took the bait. And the vision Laios saw in chapter 60 is just the Winged Lion baiting him into becoming a dungeon lord so it can eventually eat him too. And it will probably eat all of Laios's companions first just like the goat ate Mithrun's.

So now we have to deal with the dramatic irony that Laios's party is relying on an even greater threat to stop Thistle.

The elf with Milsiril was also named in the opening part. Her name is Helki.

Did Kabru make a tart?

So the reason ancient magic is forbidden is because it opens the path for demons from another dimension to come in. Demons feed on human desires and grow stronger as they feed. Demons are trapped in dungeons to prevent them from reaching the surface and they lure people into the dungeons. People with particularly strong desires are made dungeon lords to cultivate those desires to be even stronger.

And the Utaya incident was the result of a demon getting strong enough to break out of its dungeon.

The last two-page spread was what the lion promised, and this one is what would actually happen.

The demon in the image has a few characteristics matching the Winged Lion such as a mane, wings, and similar horns to some statues of it.

The first two-page spread was the world the lion promised Laios and the second is what would really happen as it destroys the Golden Kingdom. I can't tell if the person it's about to eat is anyone specific but it would be appropriate if it were Laios.

Even if knowing the truth wouldn't stop people from trying to use ancient magic, being forward about the danger and reason would at least stop some of them and let them understand why anyone trying to use ancient magic should be stopped or deterred. Like, Marcille is studying ancient magic BECAUSE she doesn't know why it's outlawed with no reason given.

The diagram used when explaining the quality of desires is literally an upside-down diagram of Maslow's hierachy of needs.

Kabru has realized he made a grave mistake entrusting Laios to the dungeon.

So Kabru and Mithrun were the ones who made that campfire from chapter 50.

The changelings have decided that Mithrun is super buff by elf standards.

If Pattadol is the Marcille of the Canaries, then Lycion must be the Senshi.

Remember how there was a panel in chapter 50 of Shuro freaking out because Laios threw the bell? Way more stuff was happening at the time. Shuro's face and Cithis telling him to shut up still happened though. Mithrun also hit his head when it happened.

As it turns out, the Canaries have been in the lower levels of the dungeons for several days when the Winged Lion warned Laios about them. Since Mithrun knows where to find secret passages, he probably figured out a secret way to the next level after Laios had opened that giant door and they camped out on the next floor when Laios's team was riding the trolley down.

Kabru and Mithrun were always just ahead of Laios this chapter so I expect them to meet up just before they all reach the bottom of the dungeon.

back

[reyaint]

harry potter dr | intro

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date: february 17, 2025. if i ramble or repeat anything its bc i'm tired and not proof reading it.

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✧˖*°࿐background

Aeolian Medea Faulkner was born into the Faulkner (Solon) family, a lineage shrouded in secrecy and whispered about in ancient wizarding texts. the Solons were once among the most powerful pureblood families, but unlike the Malfoys or Blacks, they chose to operate from the shadows, influencing magic and history without taking credit. their name faded into obscurity after a great betrayal centuries ago—one that led to their near erasure from wizarding records.

Medea’s father, a former Hogwarts student, was the last known Solon heir, yet under the name of Mckeogh. when he fell in love with her mother, a brilliant and formidable witch from a different magical lineage, he vanished from the world’s eye, abandoning his surname and taking on the Faulkner name to sever all ties to his past. the two built a life of wealth, knowledge, and hidden power, training Medea from childhood in both magic and combat. she was not just any pureblood heir—she was something far more dangerous.

she's the youngest of her older brother and her older cousin who she's very close to. medea met selense at a formal party with the faulkner, castillos, and other families. selense's presence was like a haunting melody in the depths of Medea's soul, and their relationship became one of both deep respect and dangerous attraction. where Medea was tempered by duty and expectations, Selense was guided by her own lethal purpose and unyielding strength.

The Prophecy of the Forgotten Heir

At the moment of Medea’s birth, a prophecy was spoken—one that would set everything in motion.

“The Solon blood will rise once more, cloaked in shadows but burning bright. A child of lost magic, where ice and fire entwine, A siren’s song, an elf’s blade— The second chosen will stand against the dark, Or join it.”

A prophecy spoken in hushed tones named her as a second chosen one, a potential rival to Voldemort’s rise. her siren and elven blood made her magic unique, more fluid and unpredictable than most witches her age. The Dark Lord, obsessed with eliminating threats before they could bloom, sent his followers to wipe out the Solon bloodline once and for all. medea was 12 years old when the attack happened. her family, foreseeing the danger, had already put an escape plan into motion.

at the age of 12, Medea’s life was torn apart when the attack came. Foreseeing the danger, her parents had already prepared an escape plan. her father’s warnings were not enough to protect them, and Medea was left in the care of trusted family friends. however, Selense defied her parents' wishes, choosing to stay by Medea’s side, even at the risk of her own safety.

as other children lived without fear, Medea was forced to conceal her true nature, suppressing her elf ears, her siren’s call, and the volatile magic that burned within her. In a world where blood status often determined power, she learned to play a dangerous game. she walked the fine line between anonymity and control, pretending to be nothing more than a privileged but unremarkable pureblood. despite her outward calm, the trauma of nearly losing everything hardened her resolve, making her distrustful and fiercely independent.

during her time living with her family friend, Medea’s father sent a letter to Professor Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts. it was a letter filled with both cryptic warnings and a plea for help, urging Dumbledore to take Medea under his protection at Hogwarts. nero knew that her powers were too dangerous for her to live in hiding forever. though celestine was initially distrustful of Dumbledore and his motives, she reluctantly agreed to send her daughter to Hogwarts for the sake of her safety. Medea viewed Hogwarts as a prison disguised as a sanctuary, a place where she would be watched and studied. still, she accepted her fate when McGonagall arrived to bring her to school, already prepared to carve her own path.

upon entering Hogwarts, Medea was sorted into Slytherin. she was not a loud presence, but one that carried a quiet, commanding aura. the other students found her observant, confident, and impossible to read. she adapted quickly, but never fully let her guard down. her intelligence and cunning made her a natural leader, though she preferred working alone. she excelled in dark magic, runes, and wandless magic, her skills raising eyebrows even among the professors.

around her neck, she carried a shard of Ghostblade’s sword, a relic that pulsed with forgotten magic. no one knew how she obtained it—perhaps it was given, or perhaps she found it in the ruins of her past—but with it, any weapon she wielded became deadlier, her magic sharper. the shard was not just a keepsake; it was a symbol of her resilience, her past, and the silent promise she made to herself:

She would never be powerless again.

as Medea navigated Hogwarts, she constantly kept an eye on who knew what about her past. She played the role of the charming, quiet enigma, neither fully opening up nor pushing people away. She formed bonds carefully, always ensuring she had the upper hand in every interaction. but deep down, she longed for something real—a connection not built on strategy, but on trust.

her future at Hogwarts was uncertain. would she rise to power, carving out her own legacy? would the whispers of her past catch up to her, revealing her true identity? and, most importantly—

would she be ready when the darkness came for her again?

"People fear what they do not understand. I prefer to learn."

✧˖*°࿐basics

AEOLIAN (pronounced a-o-lee-an, meaning; of or arising/eroded from the wind) MEDEA (pronounced mu-de-ah meaning; to ponder or to be cunning) FAULKNER (pronounced fawk-ner, meaning; falcon trainer) her name drifts like a haunting melody carried by the wind, powerful yet ephemeral, born from forgotten realms.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ titles. (future and present) ⟡ 𓂃 › heir to faulkner fortune ⟡ 𓂃 › lady medea ⟡ 𓂃 › second chosen one ⟡ 𓂃 › jade of wind ⟡ 𓂃 › voldemort survivor ⟡ 𓂃 › faulkner descendent ⟡ 𓂃 › master of moon ⟡ 𓂃 › enchantress witch ⟡ 𓂃 › lunar voice ⟡ 𓂃 › villaines faulkner

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ date of birth. november 17, 1985 ✧ 𓂃 › zodiac. scorpio ✧ 𓂃 › birthstone. yellow topaz, citrine ✧ 𓂃 › birthflower. chrysanthemum, peony ✧ 𓂃 › birthsymbol. snake, pig, tree, ash tree, claret red, yellow, dark blue

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ nationality. british ✧ 𓂃 › ethnicity. scottish-irish-khaenri'an ✧ 𓂃 › race. siren-elf

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ height. 5'6 (future. 5'9) ✧ 𓂃 › weight. 95lbs (future, 120lbs) ✧ 𓂃 › blood type. o-

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ appearance.

medea stands like a figure carved from shadows and whispered legends—tall, slender, her frame adorned with the grace of a dancer, her posture as poised as a ballerina's delicate yet unwavering silhouette. the necklines of her attire curve with the elegance of a swan in motion, a testament to her quiet strength. Her gaze, though, is what draws the most attention. her left eye gleams with a haunting icy blue, flecked with wisps of purple and brown—an ever-changing storm that hints at the depth of her untold power. the right eye, by contrast, pulses with a wild, untamable green, streaked with flashes of yellow, blue, and brown, as if mirroring a restless soul caught between worlds. her elf ears hidden by magic.

her voice, deep and raspy, weaves a tale of distant lands, rolling from her lips with a lilt that is unmistakably Scottish, but with the faintest echo of a Khaenri'ah accent—a tongue not often heard in these parts, carrying the weight of her ancient heritage. when she speaks, her words drip with quiet command, each syllable a carefully measured weapon of allure and danger.

her hands, delicate yet powerful, seem almost fragile at first glance—thin, with slender fingers that move like liquid shadows. but beneath the soft skin, the strength of centuries-old blood pulses, each movement a dance of both elegance and lethal precision.

medea dresses in quiet elegance, as though every piece of fabric is chosen with intent. red, black, and purple—colors that speak of passion, mystery, and the unknown—are woven into her wardrobe, the hues clinging to her figure with both comfort and sophistication. even outside the rigid constraints of a Hogwarts uniform, she wears each garment with the same aura of quiet authority, blending ease with an understated elegance that marks her as something far beyond ordinary.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ hair color. white, almost iridescent, dyed brown sometimes ✧ 𓂃 › type. 2c-3a

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ eye color. her left eye gleams with a haunting icy blue, flecked with wisps of purple and brown—an ever-changing storm that hints at the depth of her untold power. the right eye, by contrast, pulses with a wild, untamable green, streaked with flashes of yellow, blue, and brown, as if mirroring a restless soul caught between worlds.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ skin. natural, honey-golden (when tanned/warm), blushed ✧ 𓂃 › birthmarks: two dots under right eye, birthmarks from hip and ride down the leg a little like cr

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ distinctive features. her pointed ears (often concealed with magic) and vibrant, unnatural eye color mark her as not entirely human. when emotional or using powerful magic, her eyes glow faintly, a sign of her Elven and Siren heritage colliding.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ fashion style.

medea’s fashion style is a seamless blend of elegance, mystery, and strength, adorned with accessories that serve as both symbols of her lineage and personal power. she favors a wardrobe of rich, deep hues—reds, blacks, and purples—that mirror the intense emotions and hidden depths she carries within. each outfit she wears speaks of quiet sophistication and purposeful restraint, effortlessly balancing comfort with elegance.

her jewelry is a striking element of her style, always silver, gleaming subtly against her skin. the silver is never ostentatious, but it carries weight—a refined, understated luxury that aligns with her aura of quiet dominance. around her finger, she always wears her family ring, a cherished heirloom that ties her to her lineage, its silver band etched with intricate designs and set with a deep purple gem that glows faintly in the dimmest light. the ring feels like an extension of her, a constant reminder of her heritage, both the power and the burden that come with it. the ring has the power to turn into a necklace, a luxury only the female members of the family have.

occasionally, when the occasion demands, she dons her silver brooch, also adorned with a purple gem. it’s a piece of her past, a relic of both protection and pride. the brooch, worn just beneath her collarbone or at the clasp of her cloak, serves as both a practical accessory and a sign of her unwavering connection to her family’s legacy.

her attire and accessories together form a carefully curated narrative: beneath the sleek and refined outer layers, there is always something more—an ancient strength, an unwavering resolve, and the mystery of a soul who walks the fine line between the shadows and the light.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ known languages. ✧ 𓂃 › english 𓂃 scottish-irish accent ❪ 100% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › irish 𓂃 gaelic ❪ 100% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › korean 𓂃 jeju dialect/accent ❪ 91% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › japanese 𓂃 kyoto dialect/accent ❪ 93% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › greek 𓂃 koiné dialect/accent ❪ 98% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › tagalog 𓂃 manila dialect/accent ❪ 97% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › spanish 𓂃 puerto rican dialect/accent ❪ 95% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › italian 𓂃 rome dialect/accent ❪ 85% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › french 𓂃 paris dialect/accent ❪ 79% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › ancient nirin𓂃 ❪ 100% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › parsel tongue𓂃 ❪ 100% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › latin𓂃 ❪ 78% ❫ ✧ 𓂃 › bsl: british sign language𓂃 ❪ 100% ❫

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ personality. she is a quiet storm, a presence that does not demand attention but commands it, unspoken yet undeniable. her aura hums with an eerie calm, a serenity that conceals the fire and ice within her. Medea's mind is a labyrinth of secrets, her thoughts sharp, calculated, and layered. her intellect is a gift, yet one forged in isolation, pushing her to be self-sufficient in ways that few can understand. her ability to read people— to peer into the hearts of others with just a glance, a word— makes her both a master strategist and a master of disguise. she is, above all, a person of contradictions, weaving between light and shadow like an enigma only she can decipher. ✦ ˚ — her intelligence is vast, sharp enough to slice through any illusion. every glance she casts, every word she speaks, is crafted with precision. Medea’s cunning is not born from malice but from the need to protect what she holds dear — to never let herself fall victim to the whims of fate again. beneath her composed exterior lies a storm of emotions, churning and unsettled. she trusts few, and fewer still are allowed to see the real her — the girl who once almost lost everything. her trust is a treasure, a gift given only to those who prove themselves worthy of it. ✧ 𓂃 › Medea is not easily understood, for to understand her is to delve into a labyrinth where the heart’s truth intertwines with the shadow of betrayal, and the echoes of past horrors shape her every decision. ✦ ˚ — there is a coldness to her, an unnerving calmness that borders on the unsettling. Medea has seen the darkest parts of the world, and it has shaped her into a figure who shows little emotion. her eyes, with one a pale blue and the other a vivid green, are windows into the depths of her mind — constantly calculating, constantly watching. yet despite her detached nature, there is something magnetic about her. a quiet power radiates from her, pulling people toward her, compelling them to follow her lead — or, at the very least, to understand her. ✧ 𓂃 › her relationships — particularly with Selense — show her softer side, but even then, there is an undercurrent of tension, of danger. she is drawn to the strength in Selense, to the passion, and it is in this attraction that she finds herself both conflicted and consumed. her bond with Selense is one of both devotion and peril, an intricate dance where trust and ambition collide in ways that only Medea can navigate with such grace. ✦ ˚ — a natural leader, but one who thrives in the shadows, out of sight and out of mind. she doesn’t seek the spotlight, but it is drawn to her regardless, as if the world recognizes the quiet authority she holds in her grasp. ✧ 𓂃 › medea’s calm is her armor, an unshakable stillness that cloaks a mind that never stops working. In moments of danger, when the air is thick with tension, she doesn’t flinch. she watches, waits, and calculates. a flicker of a smile might pass her lips, an illusion of warmth, but it's always a momentary thing—reserved for those who dare to push too far. ✦ ˚ — she is a woman walking the fine line between light and shadow, always unsure whether to step into the darkness or to remain in the delicate glow of the moon. her greatest fear is not the fall into darkness, but the possibility of losing herself completely in it, of becoming something unrecognizable, untouchable ✧ 𓂃 › she does not seek to lead through loud declarations. she leads through action, through quiet strength, and through the unspoken trust that she commands. her mind never rests, constantly analyzing the world around her, always planning her next move. in times of danger, she remains a pillar of calm, her thoughts never clouded by fear or doubt. She is the calm in the chaos, the strategist who sees every angle before anyone else has even begun to understand the game. even in the most perilous of moments, Medea does not flinch. she observes, she calculates, and she acts with unerring precision.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ skills. ✦ ˚ — medea sees the world in fragments—words unspoken, glances exchanged, microexpressions barely noticeable to others. she can decipher an entire situation from a single sentence, an entire person from the way their fingers twitch, the hesitation in their breath. ✧ 𓂃 › dancing is not just movement—it is language, it is power. she glides effortlessly, whether in the delicate grace of ballet, the sharp precision of contemporary, or the hypnotic sway of ballroom. Ice skating becomes an extension of this elegance, the blade carving poetry into the ice. roller skating offers a more rebellious freedom ✦ ˚ — her voice carries weight, whether in melody or speech. singing is her siren song, hypnotic, filled with raw emotion. she composes lyrics with the precision of a poet, her songwriting a map of her soul—cryptic, beautiful, and hauntingly real. ✧ 𓂃 › every brushstroke, every charcoal smear against parchment is deliberate. she does not just paint pictures; she paints emotions, dreams, and stories that words cannot contain. her artwork breathes, capturing the fleeting, the ephemeral. ✦ ˚ — magic flows through her veins as naturally as breath. whether with a wand or without, she bends reality to her will. she weaves spells with fluidity, her incantations laced with power. potions are her alchemy, her science, her subtle art. she understands ingredients as though they whisper secrets to her, each mixture an echo of ancient knowledge. ✧ 𓂃 › she dissects people without speaking to them, reading their secrets in the way they hold themselves, the way their eyes flicker. ✦ ˚ — with lying, her words are silk, smooth and convincing, woven so seamlessly that even she could believe them. ✧ 𓂃 › water bends to her, whether in the form of frozen elegance in ice skating or the effortless grace of swimming. the waves recognize her presence, the cold never bites, and the ice never cracks beneath her feet. ✦ ˚ — pulling the string back, her arrows never miss their mark, as if the wind itself bends to her will. ✧ 𓂃 › blades sing in her hands, swift and deadly. she fights with a controlled ferocity, every strike calculated. ✦ ˚ — from intricate makeup to breathtaking fashion designs, Medea understands aesthetics. her style is ever-changing, unpredictable yet always mesmerizing. she can transform with a brushstroke, a fabric cut, a single decision. ✧ 𓂃 › she reads at an impossible speed, absorbs knowledge like a sponge, and retains it as though her mind were an endless archive. her recall is near eidetic—names, places, emotions, all stored in the vault of her mind. ✦ ˚ — dark magic is not just a tool for Medea—it is an unspoken language, an untamed force, a secret woven into the marrow of her being. she does not wield it recklessly like those who thirst for power, nor does she fear it as the weak do. instead, she understands it. she respects it. and when necessary, she commands it.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋauracismdow. (name idea from someone on tiktok.) the Faulkner family’s most guarded magical legacy, Auracismdow is a spell so powerful that few in their bloodline have been able to master it. ✧ 𓂃 › when combined with any spell, Auracismdow exponentially increases its strength. ✧ 𓂃 › only those of pure Faulkner blood can use this spell. it is not something that can be taught or stolen—it is inherited magic, bonded to the bloodline itself. ✧ 𓂃 › it is a closely guarded secret, passed only to those deemed worthy. ✧ 𓂃 › very few outside the Faulkner family even know it exists. ✧ 𓂃 › there are rumors that Auracismdow can do more than enhance spells—though these are whispers in dark corners, secrets never fully spoken

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ powers. my powers come from my siren, elf, and khaenri'an heritage. a secret only my family and selense knows. and i vow to keep it this way. ✧ 𓂃 › enhanced health. her immune system is exceptionally strong, allowing her a resistance to venom and poison. ✦ ˚ — enhanced senses. her hearing allows her to detect whispers across large distances, pick up subtle voice inflections, and hear the emotions hidden beneath words. her sight is sharper than most magical beings, allowing her to see clearly in darkness, underwater, and even perceive the auras of others. her smell is stronger, able track people through scent, identify poisons, and distinguish magical presences based on their unique energy signature. ✧ 𓂃 › enhanced endurance. she can push her body beyond normal limits without tiring quickly. ✦ ˚ — . environmental adaptation. she can thrive in any terrain, whether it be dense forests, arid deserts, or icy mountains. her body adjusts to extreme conditions, making her capable of survival where others would perish. ✧ 𓂃 › hypnotic voice. those with exceptionally strong minds (such as skilled Occlumens or highly resistant magical beings) may be able to resist, though even they will feel its pull. ✦ ˚ — water control. she can control and manipulate water. as well as see clearly in aquatic environments, even in pitch darkness and glide through water faster than any human, moving with near supernatural grace. ✧ 𓂃 › ethereal beauty. as a Siren-Elf hybrid, her beauty is beyond human standards, often described as otherworldly. this isn’t mere physical attractiveness—it’s an enchantment woven into her very essence, making her naturally captivating and difficult to ignore. with magic she can hide this. ✦ ˚ — enhanced reflexes. her near instant reflexes making her lethal in combat. her speed allowing her to dodge attacks effortlessly. ✧ 𓂃 › enhanced agility. she is silent, fluid, and almost impossible to catch off guard.

"Power is not given. It is earned. It is wielded. It is mine."

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ hobbies. singing, dancing, songwriting, playing video games, archery, reading, writing, drawing, ice skating, roller skating, playing guitar, violin and piano, baking, trying new food, walking in hogwarts at night with friends, creating dances and designs, watching Netflix, eating ramen, volleyball, taking photos, exploring with friends, bowling, practicing spells/potions, horseback riding, training, necklace and bracelet making, painting

"The most dangerous magic is the kind no one realizes is there."

✧˖*°࿐relationships

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ selense castillos. Medea’s connection with Selense is something that could never be described as simple. their relationship began in the delicate, ceremonial atmosphere of the Faulkner family gatherings, but its intensity quickly morphed into something far more dangerous. selense’s presence in Medea’s life is magnetic, a force that tugs at the darker corners of her heart. they are both the embodiment of strength, but in entirely different ways. selense, with her open power and ferocity, is a stark contrast to Medea’s quiet yet unyielding presence. their shared history and mutual respect have blossomed into a bond that is both passionate and perilous. there’s an unspoken tension between them — a magnetic pull that brings them together, yet also forces them to constantly test the limits of trust. Medea finds herself drawn to Selense's intensity, and in return, Selense is captivated by Medea’s ability to navigate the shadows. Their relationship is one of equal parts admiration and competition, a delicate dance where love and ambition intertwine.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ harry potter. medea doesn’t openly challenge Harry, but she certainly makes her presence felt with a wry smile and cutting remarks. there's an underlying respect for his bravery, but a quiet, unspoken tension remains between them. she’s not afraid to call him out on his mistakes, but she often speaks in riddles, allowing him to interpret what she means. medea has a knack for sensing the internal struggles of others, and she recognizes Harry’s burden. however, she is more reserved with him, never quite fully aligning with the “Golden Boy” image, seeing through the facade of his heroism.

“Why do you always have to provoke people?” “Someone has to keep them on their toes.” “You don’t need to make enemies, you know.” “I don’t make enemies, Potter. I make people remember their place.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ heromine granger. Hermione’s intelligence and drive for justice aligns with Medea in some ways, and they have more discussions about academic work or magical theory. however, Hermione’s strong sense of right and wrong creates some friction, especially with Medea’s less conventional approach to rules.

“You know, if you applied your intelligence for good instead of sarcasm, you’d make a brilliant ally.” ‘Good’ is a relative term, Granger. I’m not a Gryffindor, I don’t need to be a hero.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ ron weasley. ron doesn’t quite know what to make of Medea. At times, she seems like an enigma—too calculating and sharp for his tastes. yet, there’s something about her that keeps him from dismissing her outright. he’s wary of her Slytherin nature but still feels a strange pull to try and break through her shell. his parents do like me though so "I swear, Snape is trying to get us all killed with that potion!" "If you weren’t so busy complaining, you might actually pass it."

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ draco malfoy. they share a similar slytherin heritage, and both value ambition and power. however, Draco's views on blood purity is something Medea finds repugnant, and they often clash over ideology. still, is an underlying respect, especially when it comes to clever maneuvers in the social sphere. Medea recognizes Draco's pride, while Draco appreciates her sharpness and power.

“You really think you can outsmart me at everything? Even in the arts of deception?” “Draco, you still think like a child. I don’t outsmart you, I outthink you.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ pansy parkinson. Pansy and Medea, being fellow Slytherins, get along relatively well, though Pansy’s obsession with maintaining her social position can occasionally clash with Medea’s more reserved nature. plus i don't exactly need to worry about social standing. i love her though. “Fashion is for people who care about opinions. I’m not one of them.” “You’d do better not to make enemies with everyone.” “Enemies are just people I haven’t bothered to take down yet.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ blaise zabini. medea and Blaise have a quieter, mutual understanding. Blaise doesn’t force conversation but respects Medea’s intellect. she, in turn, appreciates Blaise’s reserved nature and his ability to think before speaking. they rarely challenge each other, instead opting for quiet, strategic conversations when they do interact. blaise values Medea’s pragmatic approach to life, and Medea appreciates Blaise’s ability to stay out of drama

“You’re smarter than most people give you credit for. You know that, right?” “Flattery’s not going to get you anywhere.” “It’s not flattery if it’s the truth. You don’t play by the rules, and that’s more than most people can say.” “Good. Because the rules were never made for people like us.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ luna lovegood. luna is someone who doesn’t scare Medea, but she does find her eccentricity intriguing. while Luna often speaks in riddles, she can connect with Medea on a level that others can’t, understanding the quiet power within. medea sees Luna as a kindred spirit of sorts, someone who doesn’t fully fit into the typical mold of Hogwarts houses. luna’s dreamy, eccentric nature makes her hard to dislike, and Medea finds her refreshing in a way. my baby i love her omg

"I was thinking about Thestrals today. They’re such misunderstood creatures, don’t you think?" "I suppose. But people don’t like to see what’s right in front of them—especially if it makes them uncomfortable."

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ dumbledore. medea maintains a delicate balance with Dumbledore, acknowledging his wisdom but always wary of his overbearing presence. she doesn't actually like him that much... "Ah, Miss Medea, a quiet mind can sometimes be the most dangerous weapon.” “Then it’s a good thing I keep mine hidden.” “Indeed. But remember, Miss Medea, even the most hidden strengths must one day be revealed.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ remus lupin. remus serves as a mentor figure to Medea in a subtle way, offering quiet wisdom when needed. Medea isn’t always receptive to it, but she knows that Lupin genuinely cares about her well-being, something she doesn’t often allow others to see.

“I’m not hard on myself. I just get things done.” “Getting things done is fine, but you shouldn’t ignore when you need rest, either.” “I don’t rest. There’s too much to do.”

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ sirius black. Medea and Sirius, despite their age gap, share a strong sense of rebellion and disdain for authority, making their conversations surprisingly intense. sirius sees Medea as someone with potential, even if she doesn’t always use it in the most traditional way. “You’re dangerous when you don’t like someone, aren’t you?” “Maybe. I learned from the best.” “Just make sure you don’t get caught. It’ll be the last thing you do.” “I’m good at not getting caught.”

"The world is not black and white. And neither am I."

✧˖*°࿐hogwarts

my grades always excel, i stay at the top. no exceptions. my family name is like a whisper across the halls. an open secret that people don't truly understand.

she carries Slytherin ambition like a crown, but she does not chase power for its own sake. there is a sharpness to her intelligence, an edge to her charm—she moves like someone who always knows something you don’t.

she is a serpent among lions and a shadow among stars. a Slytherin who speaks in riddles with Luna, who bickers with Ron, who watches Harry with knowing eyes. she does not shun Draco’s company, nor does she blindly follow his ideals. she is both with and apart from them, a thread connecting worlds that were never meant to intertwine.

she is the girl you notice too late, the one whose name lingers on your tongue long after she’s gone.

her uniform is always worn with a slight rebellious touch—a loosened tie, silver jewelry glinting under candlelight, the sleeves of her robes pushed up just enough to hint at the ink that traces her skin.

her scent is a contradiction—sweet like honeyed vanilla, sharp like citrus and spice. Like something dangerous wrapped in silk.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ pureblood. a pure-blood in name, but not in ideology.

Medea carries the weight of generations on her shoulders—her family, steeped in old magic, ancient traditions, and whispered secrets, expects greatness from her. but unlike many pure-blooded witches, she does not wield her heritage as a weapon. she knows the power that comes with her lineage, the doors that open for her simply because of her name. she does not take it for granted, nor does she let it define her. she is not loyal to bloodlines, but to those who prove themselves worthy. her connection to the old ways of magic is undeniable—she knows spells that are long forgotten, rituals that only pure-blood families would pass down in secret. her magic is ancient, layered with knowledge that even Hogwarts does not teach.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ favorite place in hogwarts. the Astronomy Tower at night, when the stars feel close enough to touch.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ in the library. A quiet shadow among the bookshelves, fingers trailing over forgotten pages, memorizing spells she should not be reading.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ rivalries & friendships: she is both an ally and an enigma to the Golden Trio. hermione admires her intelligence but remains wary of her methods. ron doesn’t know whether to argue with her or trust her. harry sees something in her that he cannot name.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ my wand. a wand of great power and danger, one that chooses only the most remarkable of witches and wizards. yew wands are known for their connection to both death and rebirth, often belonging to those who are destined for greatness—or infamy. paired with a phoenix feather core, it is a wand of contradictions: destruction and resurrection, fire and shadow. it is not easily mastered, but in Medea’s hands, it responds with an almost eerie precision. her spells feel effortless, her control unnatural. unlike other phoenix feather wands, which tend to be independent, hers feels attuned to her—as if it has chosen her for reasons beyond simple compatibility. ✧ 𓂃 › wand traits. ✦ ˚ — length: 11¾ inches, elegant but sturdy ✦ ˚ — flexibility: unyielding (a wand that does not bend to others' wills) ✦ ˚ — power: exceptionally strong in Dark Arts, but equally powerful in protective spells and healing magic ✦ ˚ — dueling potential: a lethal duelist’s wand—Medea does not fight with brute force, but with precision, cunning, and speed

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ animagus. a lioness—an unexpected contrast to her house, but one that suits her. lions are not just brave; they are calculating, protective, relentless.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋpatronus. a white cross fox, something elusive yet powerful. foxes are cunning, survivors, creatures that adapt to every terrain.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ amortentia. the scent of something sweet yet sharp—candied citrus, warm spices, the faint trace of parchment and rain.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ boggart manifestation. she does not scream when faced with it. She merely stares, eyes cold, heart steady. losing the ones she loves—a horror she refuses to let become real.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ polyjuice potion. medea’s approach to Polyjuice Potion is unconventional, much like everything else about her. while most wizards use it for disguise, she sees it as something more—a tool, a test, a challenge.

✧ 𓂃 › who would she transform into?. not just anyone. she believes in understanding before becoming. to drink the potion is to become a shadow of someone else—a thought that intrigues her more than it unsettles her. ✧ 𓂃 › polyjuice potion’s effect on her. due to her strong magical core, the potion’s effects are slightly different on her. it lasts longer, the transformation is sharper, or there will be remnants left behind—a flicker of mismatched eye color, a whisper of another voice.

დ࿐ ‎˗ˋ dark arts prodigy. professors watch her with fascination and unease. she does not need incantations for spells that others struggle to master. her control is unnatural.

✧˖*°࿐extras

hogwarts starts at 13 and not 11.

i'll make a post on my family, the castillos, khaenri'ah, and maybe other things

can you tell i love medea solon? (your throne/ i just want to be you for a day webtoon)

me and Hermione are somehow besties. i love her

[myreia]

Halcyon’s End

—chapter 2: with hearts aligned

Rating: Teen Characters: Ryne & Gaia, Cyella, Pixies Pairing: Ryne x Gaia Chapter Words: 1,629 Summary: After making a deal with a pixie, Ryne anxiously waits for news about the Source and her friends and family. But when the news finally catches up with her, it brings far more than she expected. Notes: Exploring the question of "what if the Final Days came to the First?" Endwalker MSQ spoilers. Background Wolcred. Chapters: one • two • three • four Read on AO3

“I haven’t, no,” Cyella says, dropping her voice as she ushers them to an out-of-the-way corner of the bar. “Nor has Unukalhai nor Taynor.”

“You’re certain?” Ryne presses.

Behind her, Gaia stands with her weight on one foot and her hip popped out, balancing precariously in her heels. She holds her ice cream bowl in one hand, her spoon scraping against the bottom as she scoops up the remnants. To an outside viewer she seems, for all intents and purposes, completely detached from the conversation at hand.

“I believe I would recall if my mind was playing tricks on me,” Cyella replies, wiping her hands on her towel. “A vision of such magnitude would not be forgotten. Though it goes without saying that I have been feeling… strange of late. As if a great weight is pressing down on me. I fear we are standing on a precipice, blind through no fault of our own to our folly. I do not know what hand we will be dealt, but we must be prepared to play it, for no one else can.”

Ryne shivers. “What do you mean?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I mean I do not think we can rely on our friend from the Source to aid us. Our worlds are connected, but theirs holds more sway upon ours than ours does upon theirs. Thirteen worlds circling their progenitor. It can exist without us, but we cannot exist without it. If the mirror breaks, then so does the reflection.”

“If they survive and we fall, they survive. If they fall and we survive…”

“Then we still fall. Do you understand?”

In the silence, Gaia continues to scrape away at her bowl, as if she does not have a care in the world.

“I…” Ryne presses her fingers to her mouth, her eyes flicking to something behind and above Cyella. The light again! Dancing, just out of reach. She saw it this time. Like a little ball, whizzing to and fro, before it disappears into a shaft of light shining through the rafters. “I think I do. But surely Hydaelyn wouldn’t… Hydaelyn wouldn’t let us fall, would she?”

“You are the Oracle of Light. I am a memoriate of the Thirteenth, recruited by an Ascian. You have a deeper understanding of her than I.”

“I… don’t know. The connection is…” Severed. It was easy to tell Aureia and Gaia, but voicing it to someone else somehow makes it tangible in a way that feels far too real. What was lost is never coming back. She knows that now. Either Hydaelyn’s power has become so weak it has near extinguished itself, or circumstances have forced her to abandon the First to its fate. Or… “But she wouldn’t leave us, surely? Not now. Not after everything she did to ensure we survived. Not after everything Minfilia gave. It’s unfair.”

The words come out in a rush, mushed together by a quavering tongue and a tearful forcefulness, like a child refusing to accept a simple truth. She tightens her arms, an awkward blush flushing her cheeks. She feels clumsy and tongue-tied speaking to Cyella this way, showing a side of herself she thought she had grown past. It doesn’t take much to feel like she did when she was a child, yelling about unfairness to the back of a stoic man dressed in white.  

She presses a hand to her mouth, tears stinging the inner corners of her eyes. She will not let them fall. She will not.

“I cannot tell you the answer to that, Ryne,” Cyella says gravely. “My hope, of course, is that it will not come to pass. That our friends upon the Source stand strong, fighting for themselves and every shard.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We wait. And we prepare.” She smiles faintly. “After all, these are simply my fears and apprehensions born from a gut instinct. For all we know, we may never see a hint of the Final Days upon the First.”

Ryne blinks. The tears have stopped. “I am prepared,” she declares.

A pause. Gaia scrapes at her ice cream, the metal spoon screeching against the bowl.

Cyella raises an eyebrow. “Are you?” she asks. “To face the world’s end? Finite and absolute?”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say we have learned to survive the end. Myself included.”

“To survive and to fight may often be spoken in the same breath, but they are not always the same.”

“They are to me.” Ryne raises her chin, looking the towering elf in the eye. “How could they not be, after what we’ve been through? Besides, I promised Aureia. I told her not to worry about us. If the Final Days come for the First, we will not stop fighting until she can find a way to save all our worlds.”

Cyella meets her gaze. “And yet there is doubt in your heart. Isn’t there?”

Ryne stands firm. Her silence says more than words ever could.

Cyella smiles. “Well now,” she says, throwing her towel over her shoulder. “You truly are like your parents. Both of them.”

Metal scratches against porcelain as Gaia drags her spoon across the bottom of her bowl, scooping up one final bite. Ryne catches her eye, her mouth twisting as she tries to hold back a laugh, but she can’t contain it any longer. The giggle bursts out and she quickly slaps a hand over her mouth. “Gaia, please!” she says. “Could you…”

“Wut?” Gaia’s eyes widen, her voice muffled by the spoon in her mouth. “—ood eye wut?”

“Well. You know…”

Gaia shrugs and sets down the bowl and spoon on the counter. “Ryne’s the person I trust most in this world,” she announces decisively. “And I wouldn’t trust her if she didn’t have doubts. It’s how you face them and overcome them that matters, not that you have them in the first place. So, if she says she’s prepared, she’s prepared. And I am, too.”

Ryne stares at her, eyes wide, warmth burning bright in her chest like a beacon. “Gaia…”

“I mean it.” There’s no hesitance, no disbelief. She speaks with absolute certainty, her fingers brushing the ice crystal at her throat. “Besides, an Oracle of Light and an Oracle of Darkness? Whatever is coming won’t know what it’s coming for.”

With a cry, Ryne leaps into Gaia’s startled arms and throws her hands around her neck, kissing her. Gaia stiffens with surprise, still as a statue—then discards the ice cream bowl on the counter and kisses her back. She folds Ryne into an embrace, cradling her softly as Ryne buries her head in her shoulder. They stay there for a time, swaying from foot to foot as if they were at a dance, too caught up in the elation of the moment to care about anyone else.

Cyella chuckles, a soft smile brightening her eyes. “I hope I have provided some insight,” she says. “But for now I must return to work. If you wish to speak on this subject again, seek me out later.”

Ryne nods, her head leaning on Gaia’s shoulder, and raises a hand in farewell. She clings to Gaia, inhaling the familiar scent of berries and coffee and biscuits, her restless mind desperate for a respite from the whirling thoughts. No matter how many times someone has remarked upon her strength or her determination, she cannot shake the feeling that she is a fraud. That no matter how hard she tries, she will always make things worse in the end. That somehow if the First suffers, it has always been and will always be her fault.

And now—though she dares to hope—she cannot deny the growing dread in the pit of her stomach. The more she tries to shove it down, the more it twists and knots and tightens.

The First may look all right on the surface, but something is incredibly wrong deep down.

She can feel it.

“Are you all right?” Gaia murmurs, gently brushing her hair back from her face. “What’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Ryne sighs. ���I’m fine, I’m just worried. That’s all.”

“Maybe you need some ice cream. Or biscuits! We could do biscuits?”

“Maybe…” She chews her lower lip. “I’m not hungry right now…”

She trails off, her brows drawing together, and she raises her head. The light appears above a nearby potted tree, circling the vibrant green leaves in hasty, worried loops. To anyone else it would look like a trick of the light, a reflection of the tavern’s lamps or the sunlight filtering in from above. But to her, it’s something else.

She stares at it. The glowing ball pulses, fading in and out, then takes off, darting across the Quadrivium towards the Pendants.

It wants her to follow it.

“Gaia?” Ryne whispers.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry, I need to…” She pauses, chewing her lower lip. It’s a good thing Gaia can’t see her face right now or she’d be fending off a host of questions. “I need to go. I’ll see you at home?”

Gaia pulls back, a gentle smile on her face. “Go,” she says, kissing her cheek. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Ryne exhales a grateful sigh. Giving her one last hug, she steps away and hurries across the Wandering Stairs, down the steps and into the Quadrivium. Her heart hammers in her chest, pounding in rhythm to her steps as her shoes click against the paved pathways. Even so, there is a soothing peace that comes from having made a decision.

Enough waiting.

The only thing she can do now is follow the light.

next chapter ->

[theink-stainedfolk]

New WIP!!!

Burn Cold

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In the shadow of Division 9, a clandestine organization of powered operatives, two forces collide: Ascelin Mildenhall,the ice-cold sharpshooter of the elite Bastion Unit, and Aluvin Altham, the flame-wielding right hand of the Wraith Unit. Bound by duty but divided by distrust, their rivalry sparks in the heat of high-stakes missions—where every choice could save the world or shatter it.

Ascelin, forged in pain and loyalty, fights to prove his worth against whispers of favoritism. Aluvin, a self-made warrior who clawed his way up without privilege, sees Ascelin’s ice as reckless arrogance. But when their paths entwine in a web of covert operations, betrayals, and buried truths, the line between enemy and ally blurs.

With rogue paramorphs, hidden agendas, and a looming threat within Division 9, Ascelin and Aluvin must confront their demons—and each other—to survive. In a world where powers shape destinies, their greatest battle might be the one they fight within.

---

Character Introduction

ASCELIN MILDENHALL –

"The Phoenix Hound"

Age: 27

Birthday: November 12

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Mixed (unspecified heritage, raised in a nameless district)

Height: 6'1"

Build: Lean but muscular, built for endurance and agility, with faint scars on his arms and back from past trauma.

Eyes: Amber, sharp and intense, like embers glowing in the dark.

Hair: Dark auburn, slightly wavy, often tied back loosely or falling messily around his face.

Skin Tone: Warm olive, with a faint golden undertone that catches light.

Dominant Hand: Right

Style: Battle-worn but symbolic—Oblivion Unit’s black tactical gear with crimson blindfold accents, always wearing the red silk blindfold around his neck when not in use. Off-duty, he favors scuffed leather jackets, dark jeans, and boots, with a red cord tied around his wrist as a nod to his loyalty to Tizian.

Moodboard: Charred wood, flickering flames, cracked pavement, blood-streaked gauntlets, a red blindfold draped over a chair, stormy skies, a lone figure in rain, a crumpled rejection letter stained with ink.

Appearance:

Ascelin’s presence is magnetic yet intimidating, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones giving him a fierce, almost severe beauty. His amber eyes burn with focus, but a flicker of guarded vulnerability lingers if you look closely. Scars crisscross his knuckles and forearms, each a silent story of survival. He moves with deliberate precision, his posture slightly angled to protect his left side—an old habit from his past.

Past:

Born in a forgotten district where survival was a daily fight, Ascelin grew up orphaned, enduring exploitation and violence that left deep scars, both physical and emotional. He failed Division 9’s brutal entry tests six times, each rejection letter kept in his bedside drawer as a reminder of his resolve. Through relentless self-training, he mastered blind combat and his flame powers, catching Tizian Swales’ eye. Initially recruited into Bastion Unit, he later joined Oblivion Unit as Tizian’s right-hand man, proving his worth through unwavering loyalty. He visited Tizian during his coma, sharing stories and suspicions, and faced his past abuser in a bloody mission, emerging free but haunted by rumors of favoritism.

Personality & Traits:

✔ Fiercely loyal—would burn himself out for those he trusts.

✔ Resilient—rises from every failure stronger, like his regenerative flames.

✔ Protective—shields others instinctively, even at personal cost.

✔ Guarded—hides pain behind a curt, no-nonsense facade.

✔ Determined—never backs down, no matter the odds.

✔ Self-sacrificing—puts duty first, often to his detriment.

✔ Secretly kind—quiet acts of care reveal a heart few see.

Hobbies:

Blindfolded sparring—sharpens his senses and focus.

Journaling—writes in code to process emotions he won’t share.

Tinkering—repairs broken gear to stay grounded.

Stargazing—finds calm in the vastness of the night sky.

Quirks:

Adjusts his blindfold twice before missions, a ritual for focus.

Mutters half-curses under stress, blending strategy with frustration.

Stands slightly angled, guarding his left side from old instincts.

Carries a scorched pebble from his childhood district, a private talisman.

Likes & Dislikes:

✅ Likes:

The smell of rain on asphalt.

Spicy street food from his old district.

The click of a well-maintained weapon.

Quiet moments with trusted allies.

Proving doubters wrong through action.

Tizian’s rare trust—proof he’s earned his place.

❌ Dislikes:

Rumors and judgment without evidence.

Crowded, chaotic spaces—too unpredictable.

Betrayal or disloyalty—cuts deeper than any wound.

Being pitied or underestimated.

Aluin’s smug taunts (or so he insists).

Cold, clinical environments—echoes of his past.

Favorite Food:

Spicy noodle soup with chili oil.

Grilled flatbread with smoked meat.

Dark chocolate—bitter and unpretentious.

A Line That Defines Him:

“I don’t burn for glory. I burn for those who believed in me.”

ALUIN ALTHAM –

"The Ice Viper"

Age: 28

Birthday: February 3

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Ethnicity: Northern descent, with sharp features suggesting a colder homeland.

Height: 5'11"

Build: Athletic and wiry, built for precision and speed, with long limbs that make his movements deceptively graceful.

Eyes: Pale blue, glacial and piercing, like they see through to your core.

Hair: Platinum blond, straight, often slicked back or falling just above his shoulders.

Skin Tone: Fair, almost luminescent, with a cool undertone.

Dominant Hand: Left

Style: Sleek and deliberate—Wraith Unit’s shadow-black tactical gear with silver threading, always pristine. Off-duty, he wears tailored button-ups, slim-fit trousers, and a single silver ring on his left hand, exuding a mix of elegance and menace.

Moodboard: Frosted glass, shattered mirrors, silver daggers, moonlit snow, a single blood drop on ice, a sleek motorcycle, a tailored coat billowing in the wind, a chessboard with one piece toppled.

Appearance:

Aluin’s angular features and pale blue eyes give him an almost ethereal sharpness, but his rare smiles carry unexpected warmth. His platinum hair catches light like frost, and a faint scar along his left collarbone hints at a past he keeps private. He moves with calculated grace, every step a performance, but a coiled intensity beneath suggests he’s always ready to strike.

Past:

Raised in a competitive academy where nepo babies and sponsored recruits thrived, Aluin was a middle-tier talent who refused handouts, rejecting sponsorship offers to prove his worth. Through sheer grit, he earned a respected place in Wraith Unit, mastering cryokinesis for stealth and precision. Extroverted and charming, he befriended Karlis quickly but distrusted Ascelin, misled by rumors of favoritism and Ascelin’s distant demeanor. He’s starting to see Ascelin differently, but his pride keeps him from admitting it.

Personality & Traits:

✔ Charismatic—draws people in with effortless charm.

✔ Ambitious—driven to prove he’s more than “middle-tier.”

✔ Witty—his sharp tongue cuts as cleanly as his ice.

✔ Independent—prides himself on his self-made status.

✔ Observant—catches details others overlook, especially in combat.

✔ Guarded—hides insecurity behind humor and confidence.

✔ Secretly insecure—fears he’ll never outshine the elite.

Hobbies:

Knife-throwing—practices with ice-crafted blades for precision.

Chess—relishes outsmarting opponents strategically.

Motorcycling—rides to clear his mind on open roads.

Reading—devours tactical manuals and poetry alike.

Quirks:

Twirls an ice shard between his fingers when deep in thought.

Adjusts his cuffs when nervous, a habit from academy days.

Hums softly during tense moments, irritating Ascelin.

Carries a silver lighter, a memento from a forgotten friend.

Likes & Dislikes:

✅ Likes:

The crunch of fresh snow under boots.

Sharp, clean weapons—especially knives.

Late-night banter with friends.

Outwitting opponents in combat or conversation.

The adrenaline of a flawless mission.

Ascelin’s rare cracks of emotion (he’d rather die than admit it).

❌ Dislikes:

Privilege without effort.

Being dismissed or underestimated.

Ascelin’s curt demeanor (or so he claims).

Hot, humid weather—disrupts his ice control.

Hidden agendas or lies.

Bureaucratic red tape.

Favorite Food:

Iced mint tea with honey.

Smoked salmon with dill.

Lemon tarts—sharp and sweet.

A Line That Defines Him:

“I don’t need to be perfect. I just need to be better than your doubts.”

---

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi @oros-ash3s @pheonix358 @ominous-faechild @loveyouloatheyou @write-with-will

[captain-uncharted]

My Little Princess - A Duskwood Fanfiction

Hello there! This is my first ever fanfic. I actually wrote it around 2022, but have never had enough courage to post it. But I'll give it a try. Hope you guys like it. Please forgive any English mistakes, it's not my native language.

:)

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Prologue: Three years after getting married, Jake and MC have a daughter. While spending some time alone with his baby, Jake reflects on the change in direction that his life took.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I look at the little sleeping bundle, you, in my arms. The fruit of my love with MC. If someone had told me a few years ago what my life would be like in the future, I would say that this someone was delusional. I was alone and lost. An internationally wanted hacker, with no ties of blood or friendship in to support.

But then my half-sister was kidnapped, and then I met your mother. She was the one who saved me, who trusted me, even without knowing me. She showed me the love that I had long forgotten. Because of her, I had the strength to overcome obstacles that prevented us from being together. She made me feel alive again. I owe everything to her.

And now, daughter, you are here. Your mother and I waited several months to see your beautiful face. We spent a few sleepless nights, wondering together if you would have my eyes or hers (I won!), we made a long list of names for you. It took some time, but we found the right name: Emma.

You wake up suddenly with a grunt, move your fat little arms and open your eyes for me.

– Shhh...it's okay – I whisper while rocking you gently –, mommy went to sleep, but daddy is here with you. I'm looking out for you. I kiss your head, your smell is intoxicating. But you seem uncomfortable and nervous.

– Did you have a nightmare? I know how it is, I also have nightmares too, but about my past. I'm afraid I'm dreaming and realizing that nothing have changed when I wake up. One day I will tell you my story.

You blink and look at me intently, seeming interested in listening to me.

– I'll tell you a part. I was raised by my mother, but it was just the two of us. There was a missing piece, which my father should have filled in, but he didn't. And the pain that the lack of his presence caused me will never be extinguished.

– But I promise that I will be for you everything he wasn’t for me. You can count with me for anything. I want you not to forget that you are my precious one. I'm gonna take care of you and mommy forever, okay?

You yawn, but keep looking at me.

– I’ll take you fishing, eat ice cream with you and take pictures of you with your face smeared. I will be the best father in the world for you.

I keep rocking you as you yawn again, getting ready for a new sleep session. I feel a lump in my throat, a huge wave of joy spreads for my being. I quickly wipe my eyes and continually:

– It doesn’t matter how old you are. You will always, always be my little princess.

[sukunaslilgurl]

Blades of betrayal

Chapter one: The new stranger

The wind howled through the mountains, carrying shards of ice and snow that cut against bare skin like invisible blades. It was a day colder than death itself. The trees stood silent, their branches heavy with snow, bowing under the weight of winter’s cruel hand. The ground was blanketed in white, a sea of frost that seemed endless. And in the midst of the storm, a lone figure moved steadily through the swirling tempest.

She wore a white-and-black kimono, its long fabric flapping wildly in the wind, like a ghost drifting through the storm. A wide black hat sat low on her head, casting her face into deep shadow. Her hair, tied back in a tight braid, was hidden beneath the hat, and a thick black scarf wrapped around her mouth and nose, concealing her features entirely. Only her eyes were visible—sharp, cold, and glinting faintly beneath the brim of her hat, like frozen steel.

But it wasn’t just her presence that unnerved those who saw her. Strapped to her back were two gleaming katanas, their hilts intricately designed, hinting at their deadly craftsmanship. A massive naginata was strapped diagonally across her back alongside them, its curved blade peeking over her shoulder, a weapon that spoke of a warrior who mastered not just the art of close combat, but death itself.

Around her waist and slung across her body hung several heavy leather pouches, their contents unknown, but they jingled faintly as she walked. Some appeared weighted with coins, others with objects no one dared imagine. The sheer volume of what she carried, combined with the aura of danger that clung to her, made her presence impossible to ignore.

Her path led her to a small village on the outskirts of Kyoto. The place was called Tsuyama, a forgotten cluster of wooden houses and shops nestled against the mountainside. The storm had driven most people indoors, and the streets were eerily quiet, the sound of her sandals crunching against the snow the only noise breaking the silence.

She reached a small building with a faded sign hanging above its door: a noodle shop, its windows fogged from the warmth within. Without hesitation, she pushed the sliding door open and stepped inside.

The warmth of the room hit her immediately, a stark contrast to the bitter cold outside. The air was thick with the aroma of simmering broth and sizzling oil, but as soon as she entered, the chatter and laughter inside the shop came to an abrupt halt. Every head turned to look at her, and an uneasy silence settled over the room.

The patrons stared.

Her appearance was unlike anything they had ever seen. The snow clinging to her kimono, the wide-brimmed hat that shadowed her face, the scarf hiding her mouth—she looked like a phantom materialized from the storm itself. But what truly captured their attention, what truly sent a shiver through the room, were the weapons strapped to her back. Two katanas, a naginata, and a myriad of pouches that jingled faintly as she moved. She was not merely a traveler. She was something else entirely.

The way she walked—steady, deliberate, without hesitation—made her seem almost otherworldly. Her presence demanded attention, even if it filled the room with unease.

She said nothing as she walked through the shop, her sandals tapping softly against the wooden floor. The other patrons whispered among themselves, their voices low and filled with suspicion.

“Who is that?”

“ Seems like a warrior…”

“No ordinary warrior carries that many blades…”

“Could he be… a ronin? A killer?”

Their whispers fell silent as she reached a table near the back of the shop and sat down. Her movements were deliberate, calm, and yet carried a weight that made the air in the room feel heavier. She placed her hands on the table, her fingers resting gently on the wooden surface, and then, with a voice like a blade drawn from its sheath, she spoke.

“Sake and noodles. Now.”

Her tone was cold, commanding, and devoid of any warmth. The words cut through the room like ice, sending a shiver down the spines of those who heard them. Her voice carried an authority that demanded obedience, a presence that made the shopkeeper hesitate before bowing nervously and hurrying to fulfill her order.

The other patrons exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting between one another and the strange woman who now sat among them. No one dared to speak to her, to question her, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Who was that wanderer? A fugitive? A warrior from some far-off land? And why did that person carry so many weapons?

The snowstorm raged outside, its icy winds rattling the windows of the shop, but the true storm was the one that had entered the room with her.

The room remained deathly silent as the woman—an anomaly in every sense—sat at the corner table, her icy aura filling the warm noodle shop. The shopkeeper, shaken and nervous, approached with a tray, placing a bowl of steaming noodles and a small flask of sake before her. He quickly retreated without a word, his hands trembling slightly.

Irene reached for the sake flask first, her gloved fingers steady and deliberate. She removed the stopper, tilted her head back slightly, and poured the liquid into her mouth in one slow, measured gulp. The fiery warmth of the alcohol slid down her throat, chasing away the chill that had clung to her body since entering the shop. She set the flask down with a soft clink and picked up the chopsticks.

As she began to eat, her movements precise and unhurried, the whispers from the other patrons grew louder. They were trying to be discreet, but in the quiet room, every word carried.

“Who is that?”

“He got the presence of a warrior… but no man would look like that.”

The comments grew bolder, more brazen. The men exchanged sneering looks, emboldened by the strangers silence.

And then, Irene did something no one expected.

She reached up with both hands, her chopsticks momentarily forgotten, and removed the wide-brimmed hat from her head. The room collectively froze as a cascade of dark curls tumbled free, spilling over her shoulders and down her back, like a river of ink against the white and black of her kimono. The curls were thick, unruly, and unapologetically wild, an image that stood in stark defiance of every rule of the Edo era’s rigid beauty standards.

A gasp rippled through the room as the realization hit.

“She’s a woman,” someone muttered in disbelief.

“She’s traveling alone?” another whispered. “Carrying swords? Wearing no makeup? This… this is an outrage!”

“Who is she?”

“She’s got the presence of a warrior… but no woman would be like that.”

“Is she foreign? No proper Japanese woman would wear her hair like that, wild and untamed.”

“And those weapons… it’s disgraceful! Women shouldn’t carry swords.”

The shopkeeper, peering from behind the counter, nearly dropped the dish he was cleaning. Women of this era were meant to be delicate, submissive, their appearances carefully curated to exude grace and modesty. Irene, with her unbound curls, her weapons, and her cold, sharp gaze, was the antithesis of everything society expected.

Her face, still mostly hidden by the black scarf covering her mouth, revealed only her eyes—piercing and unusual, framed by thick lashes that seemed to hold a deep, endless darkness. Her gaze scanned the room, locking onto the men who had dared to speak about her.

They froze.

Her eyes were unlike anything they had ever seen. They were cold, unrelenting, like twin voids that seemed to pierce directly into their souls. They conveyed no fear, no warmth—only an icy authority that sent a chill down their spines.

The men faltered under her gaze, but one of them, emboldened by the drink in his hand, scoffed loudly and said, “What kind of woman parades around like this? You’re a disgrace! Do you think you’re a samurai?”

Irene didn’t respond. She slowly picked up her chopsticks again, continuing to eat as though his words were no more significant than the wind howling outside. But her silence wasn’t submission—it was a quiet, simmering power that filled the room with tension.

Another man chimed in, his voice thick with contempt. “Women with swords… and that hair. She looks like a barbarian! No wonder she hides her face. Who’d want to see a savage like her? She is probably ugly too.”

Irene’s hand paused mid-movement, her chopsticks hovering just above the bowl. The room went silent again, as though everyone was holding their breath. She placed the chopsticks down gently, deliberately, and turned her head toward the group of men.

Her gaze fell on them like a blade.

They flinched, their bravado cracking under the weight of her silent fury. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, but the coldness in her eyes was more terrifying than any shouted threat. It was the look of someone who had killed before, someone who knew the weight of life and death—and treated it with indifference.

The shopkeeper, sensing the rising tension, tried to intervene. “P-please, my lords,” he stammered, bowing deeply. “Let us not cause trouble here. The storm outside is bad enough, and—”

“Silence!” one of the men snapped, but his voice trembled. He looked at Irene again, trying to muster the courage to confront her. “If you think you can just come in here and—”

Irene finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, she stood from the table, the motion fluid and precise. Her kimono shifted slightly, revealing the hilts of her two katanas and the gleaming blade of the naginata strapped to her back. The sight was enough to make the man’s voice catch in his throat.

She took one step toward the group, her gaze never leaving them. And then, in a voice colder than the storm outside, she spoke for the first time since her order.

“Say another word,” she murmured, her tone low and dangerous, “and I’ll show you what these weapons are for.”

The room fell into absolute silence. The men paled, their courage evaporating as quickly as it had come. Irene’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before she turned away, returning to her seat. She picked up her chopsticks again, as though nothing had happened, and resumed eating.

The men didn’t speak again.

After a few minutes of suffocating silence, the tension in the room remained thick, but the stillness was shattered when one of the men, his face flushed with alcohol and fury, finally spoke up. His voice was trembling with bravado, but there was no mistaking the venom in his words.

“You little bitch,” he sneered, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Irene. “How dare you—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the room erupted in a blur of motion. Irene, still sitting at the table, had barely moved. Her hand shot out with the speed of a striking serpent, and in one fluid motion, she drove her chopstick—like a dagger—directly into his throat.

There was a sharp, sickening crack as the wood pierced through his skin, and then the sound of gasping breath as the man staggered back, his hands clutching at his throat in a futile attempt to stop the blood. His eyes bulged in shock, and for a moment, he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

The room was paralyzed with fear as the man collapsed to the ground, his life draining from him as quickly as the blood that pooled beneath him. The other patrons were frozen in place, their mouths agape, too stunned to even breathe. The shopkeeper, wide-eyed, stood behind the counter, unable to move or speak, his hands shaking as he stared at the scene unfolding before him.

Irene didn’t move an inch. She simply sat there, her expression unchanged, as though nothing had happened. Her gaze remained cold, her posture unbroken. She looked at the dying man for only a moment before glancing back down at her bowl of noodles, as though his life had never been worth the effort of a second glance.

The men around him had turned pale, their faces drained of all color, the arrogance and mockery they once wore now replaced with pure terror. None of them dared to say a word.

Irene took a slow, deliberate sip from her sake flask, her eyes never leaving the table. The message had been clear, and it had been brutal.

In the silence that followed, the shop seemed to hold its breath. No one dared to move, speak, or even look in her direction again. The only sound was the soft wind howling outside, as if even nature itself was holding back from disturbing the moment.

Irene finished her drink with a quiet exhale, her eyes glinting as she glanced around at the frightened faces. Her voice, when she spoke, was cold and final.

“If you are wise,” she said, her words sharp and unforgiving, “you will keep your mouths shut. Or I will cut your heads off.”

The remaining men, their fear palpable, nodded silently, too terrified to do anything but comply. Irene didn’t spare them another glance. She finished her meal in silence, as if the brief violence was just another part of her day.

The rest of the room remained silent, but the unease was unspoken. They had all witnessed something far beyond their comprehension—something far darker and more dangerous than any of them had ever expected to face.

The woman with the wild, untamed hair, the deadly weapons, and the ice-cold gaze had made one thing very clear: she was not to be crossed.

—————————-

Shortly after Irene finished her meal, she stood up from the table with the same calculated, fluid motion. She didn’t even glance back at the men who now stared at her with a mix of fear and resentment. Her presence in the room had already left an indelible mark on them, but she showed no sign of care.

Without a word, she walked to the counter, where the shopkeeper stood frozen, still pale from the scene. Irene reached into one of her leather pouches and placed an excessive amount of coin on the counter. It was more than enough to cover her meal—far more.

The shopkeeper hesitated, glancing at the money and then back at her, unsure of what to do or say.

“Take it,” Irene said in a low, controlled voice. “Keep it. You won’t need to remember me.”

She turned and walked to the door, the soft jingle of her pouches and the rustle of her kimono the only sounds as she exited into the snowstorm.

The door slid shut behind her, and the silence in the room returned, heavier than before. The men, still shaken by the display of violence, exchanged uncertain glances.

But then, one of them—his face still flushed with fury—gritted his teeth and muttered, “That damn whore. Who does she think she is?”

His eyes narrowed as he stood up, his hand reaching for his blade, but another man quickly caught his arm.

“You’re insane if you think we can take her on. That woman… she’s dangerous. She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Do you want to end up like that poor fool on the floor?”

The man sneered, but his eyes flicked nervously to the spot where Irene had been moments before. “No. I’m not going to let her just walk away after that. We have to follow her. We can’t let a bitch like that live, not after what she did.”

The others murmured in agreement, their fear still palpable but overtaken by a twisted need for vengeance. They glanced toward the door, knowing that if they didn’t act quickly, she would be gone—and they wouldn’t get another chance.

The man who had spoken earlier, now seething with anger, nodded sharply. “Get your weapons. We’ll follow her and kill her. We’ll make sure no one ever dares to do this again.”

Their plans were already forming in their minds—plans filled with blind fury and the foolish conviction that they could conquer someone like Irene.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, and the faint silhouette of Irene moved steadily through the snow. Little did she know, her actions had already set in motion the chain of events that would come to haunt her. She had walked into the shop as a stranger, but now she had become the target of a vendetta—a vendetta that would soon come to claim blood.

But for now, she walked on through the blizzard, undeterred, as if she were simply a part of the storm itself.

[winterchimez]

Redemption of Love - Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Choi Chanhee—better known as the Phantom of the Opera, has dominated the Paris Opera House with his lifelong partner, Christine Daae, for years. Until one fateful day, an incident forces them to be separated and never to be reunited again.

Decades later, you have begun your journey here at the famous opera house with the help of your fiancé, Lee Sangyeon. After several performances, it was then that you would come face-to-face with the renowned phantom himself, and he is determined to never let you go again, convinced that you were his long-lost partner whom he has not seen in many years.

It is now your choice to make. To give your heart to the once-forgotten phantom? Or to stand firm and marry the love of your life.

PAIRING: phantom of the opera Chanhee x singer f!reader x fiancé Sangyeon

GENRE & WARNINGS: phantom of the opera au, angst, supernatural, thriller, crime, fluff, time travel, reincarnation, major & minor character deaths, otome, pg-13

WORD COUNT: 2,242

A/N: and so the actual plot begins 🥳

July 1921

It was the summer of an exciting year ahead, and here you are—skipping your way enthusiastically as you make your way to the building of your dreams. 

You had just recently graduated from Conservatoire de Paris, which is one of the top universities for future artists like you to begin their journey in their very own choice of expertise in performing arts. 

It was also where you met the love of your life, Lee Sangyeon. 

It was a shocker to you that he was even in the performing arts department because, really, he seemed more like the type of person who would enroll in business or finance instead. With how he presented and styled himself, you thought it had to be a joke at first for him to even have a thing for music. 

That was until you both met a year prior, in one of your musicals—where the both of you were chosen to be the lead roles of the show. Things started awkward initially, for you were shy and always reserved. At the same time, he was the outgoing one—seemingly being the one who would always start a conversation with someone new in the theatre department daily.

You knew from the back of your mind that since you two were the show's lead stars, someone definitely had to break the ice for sure—of course, it was the man himself. 

In the beginning, you felt really awkward since you definitely felt bad that Sangyeon always had to be the one to initiate a conversation or even speak up for you in certain situations. But over time, you have come to grow more comfortable hanging out with the guy himself and got used to his lame dad jokes that he often made to get your reaction (because he apparently loved it a little bit too much). 

Eventually, you both begin to realise that you’ve had feelings for one another. You both begin spending more time together and eventually put up a great show for the season—arguably one of the best performances the university has ever had for the past decades. With that, you both were rewarded the title “outstanding actor and actress of the season”, and that was where you got the opportunity to pursue your career here at the Paris Opera House. 

Additionally, you have got to give some bonus points to your boyfriend because never in a million years would you’ve thought for him to come from a noble class family with actual ties to the infamous building itself.

Hence, here you were—holding a bag of your belongings, ready to begin your new journey ahead. 

Giving yourself a deep huff, you straighten your back and lift your head high as you enter the opera house.

Let’s do this.

In the blink of an eye, it has already been months since you’ve gotten a job here at the Paris Opera House. You came in with a positive mindset, thinking that you would be getting your grand debut at the well-known theatre and have a great kickstart of your upcoming career as a professional opera singer. 

It turns out that the real world is a lot cruel and harsher than you thought it was. 

As much as you had a great reputation back in your university—even having way more experience than most apprentices who first started at the theatre, you were eventually placed as a backup dancer in most of the shows you were in. Even when you were lucky enough to portray your singing abilities, the best you were given were some minor roles where you would step in to support any absentee among the minor casts. 

To make matters worse, you have yet to hear a word from Sangyeon since you both graduated from Conservatoire de Paris. He was away for some family business in Romania, and it could take him months or even a year to return.

It pains you how badly you both would be separated from one another for god knows how long as you sent him off back at the train station eight months prior. You both hugged one another as tightly as possible, not wanting to let go. 

Sangyeon promised to write a letter to you as much as he could—sure enough, he kept his promises as you would receive a letter each month. But his physical absence during your darkest times was horrendous, and you were left alone to deal with your misery. 

You tucked away the most recent letter that you received from your significant other into your little box of collection of love letters between you two and placed them right above your fireplace. Standing up from your wooden stool, you made your way to the tiny little mirror you kept by your bedside to do a final check to ensure your outfit and face full of makeup were ready. 

Mentally, you reassured yourself that today would be great and you were definitely on the right track of growing as a performer, which would eventually lead you to score yourself with more prominent roles in the future. 

Practice makes perfect. That was the motto you have always lived by, even today.

With that, you took in a deep breath and gave yourself a smile while filling your thoughts with positivity as you exited the comforts of your tiny home. 

As much as you thought it was an ordinary day today at the theatre, you were now met with a disastrous situation that has made everyone mad. The lead singer of the Paris Opera House, Madame Indivus, has just called in sick, and she will not be able to make it for the opening performance of Orlando tonight. 

Panicked, everyone desperately tried to talk against each other, trying to figure out who would step in to fulfill her role. It wasn’t an easy decision, as Madame Indivus has created quite a reputation for herself. She wasn’t known to be one of the most recognised sopranos of the decade of the theatre for no reason. 

As the chaos ensued, one of your costars joined you as you stood at one of the corners of the stage, witnessing how messy the entire situation unfolded before you. She nudged at your shoulder, trying to get your attention. 

“Hey, Y/N. Maybe it’s finally your turn to shine.”

“What are you talking about, Avaleigh?” 

“Oh, come on, you know what I exactly mean. It may finally be your turn to prove to everyone that you are as capable as Madame Indivus or even better than her!” She reassured. 

Sure, you were always grateful for Avaleigh being your number-one fan and supporter ever since you both started your journey here at the opera house. She has always been there at the beginning and has kept you company while your partner has been away. When she first heard you sing when she bypassed your fitting room, she was convinced that you had the voice of an angel and could potentially succeed Madame herself someday. 

As much as you were grateful for her support and encouragement, there was just no way you could convince the other costars and the higher-ups from the theatre. You were just a mere ordinary girl who danced with a group of backup dancers in all of the shows. There was no way the theatre owners, Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette, would allow a minor cast like you to take over the grand performance for tonight.

Before you could shut down Avaleigh’s crazy idea, you were shoved to the middle of the stage as she stomped the ground and cleared her throat as loudly as possible to get everyone’s attention. 

God no, Avaleigh.

“Everyone, may I have your attention, please? I believe my friend, Y/N, has the perfect solution to resolve this mess we are in now.” 

She then looks at you with glistening eyes as if she were a girl who had just gotten her favourite candy at the candy store, waiting for you to speak up. 

Hesitating for a moment, you decided just to give it a shot. It didn’t matter if everyone thought it ridiculous, but it was your only chance to prove that you were a very talented soprano. 

‘I… I volunteer! To step in and fulfill Madame’s role.” 

There was a moment of silence, where everyone had their eyes fully on you and stared at you in a very confused manner. Seconds later, a huge laughter would erupt in the hall—causing everyone to laugh at your ridiculous offer. 

“Don’t be silly, miss Y/N. You are just a backup dancer and nothing more.” Mr Arnaud chuckled as he was on the verge of having tears in his eyes while taking one of his napkins from his back pocket to wipe his eyes dry. 

However, Avaleigh was not going to back down from this. “I’m sure if you all hear her sing, you will most definitely change your mind and give her a chance.” 

That has intrigued both Mr Arnaud and Mr Arquette, and they decided to spare at least the next five minutes just for you to portray your so-called capable talent to the crew. 

Rubbing your hands nervously together, you decided to speak up. “I… umm… can sing this one song I wrote not too long ago if that is okay for you, Mr Arnaud and Arquette?” 

When both men nodded their heads and gave you permission to take over the stage, you straightened your back and cleared your throat. 

It was now or never.

Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try. When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.

Your voice first began a little more shaky than you expected, but as soon as you got the hang of it, you decided to press on and continue with the song. 

We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea but if you can still remember stop and think of me.

As you approach the second verse, you regain the confidence you once were proud of when you performed on stage. With that, you finally felt relief and eased your tension away as you fully immersed yourself in the song and truly enjoyed the moment. 

Think of all the things we've shared and seen don't think about the way things might have been.

Your voice filled the entire opera house and has definitely left all of your costars and owners' jaws wide open. Who would have expected a backup dancer like you, who always played minor roles in all of the performances, to possess such an angelic voice?

It was as if your voice would melt the hearts of those who listened, and now they finally get to witness how the “outstanding actress of the season” from Conservatoire de Paris truly shone her brightest when she was on stage. 

Just as you were about to reach the final verse, the door to the hall slammed open, and it would be the person you have been longing to see.

It’s Sangyeon. Here in the flesh, right in front of your eyes. He’s back.

Seeing this as an opportunity, you decided to sing the very last verse dedicated to him as he made his way towards the stage, you tried your best to fight back the tears that were now forming in your eyes.

Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do there will never be a day, when I won't think of you.

With that, he finally got himself up to the stage and gently embraced you, where your tears finally steamed down on your face. It was this scent that you missed, and so was his warm hugs that would always seem to take all of your problems away. 

In return, you received a huge applause from your costars as they cheered for you. One of the owners, Mr Arnaud, then approaches you. 

“Well, Y/N. You surely have outdone yourself. And I am pleased to pass on the role of Madame Indivus to you for tonight’s opening performance.” 

Having no time to waste, both Mr Arnaud and Arquette clapped their hands together to get everyone back to their positions, seemingly trying their best to get their feet back into the final rehearsal before the audience arrived and filled the place up. 

You then felt a set of fingers lift your chin and redirect you to look in the direction of the love of your life, and it was that smile of his that made your tears start to reform once again in your eyes. 

“You finally did it, Y/N. Your very first major role in the opera house. I am beyond proud of you, my love.” He then leans in to place a quick peck on your lips, knowing that as much as you both would like to rekindle and savour more of those kisses, there were more pressing matters. 

Before breaking off the embrace, you gave a little bop on his nose with your delicate fingers.

“You sure know how to make an entrance, young man, for that song was written and dedicated just for you.” 

series masterlist

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[atomicwinnerdreamland]

Do you have any silly hc’s and ansgty hc’s for NY?

**it’s fine if not lol**

Hii! Ooo thank you for the ask, and I may have a few of both kinds of hc's for him :D

New York's silly hc's:

-He has tried ice cream and soy sauce together because he read about it in a book and surprisingly, he doesn't hate the combination. (the book is King of Wrath by Ana Huang, which is set in New York)

-I like to think that he tries on the shoes of the bigger states in the statehouse because he finds fun in doing so. New York was wearing Texas's huge dress shoes and tripped on them, and Alaska so happened to be nearby and helped him up, which got Alaska to be the one to first notice this habit of his.

-He and Louisiana read picture books together on nights when they can't go to sleep. Sometimes they're picture books that New York himself wrote, other times they're picture books that New York finds in his local bookstore that he thinks Loui would like.

-Whenever he's angry at a certain state, he paints a portrait of them that portrays them in the ugliest way possible. It could be a painting of the state's face with the ugliest color combos and/or purposefully messed up proportions or he may paint a part of the state that the state considere to be ugly or unattractive (ie. if here were mad at Texas, he'd paint Austin bc TX thinks that Austin is ugly, California w/ Bakersfield, Michigan w/ the border shared between him and Ohio, etc)

-He sometimes likes to wear his coats on his head like a wig and walks around the statehouse as he's doing so. And he likes to style it too: sometimes the coat looks like a whole ass muffin on his head (think of how people with long hair wrap a towel around their hair after a shower). Everyone else thinks he looks insane, but he's happy doing it for some reason.

-He hides candy in his beanie and nobody knows.

New York's angsty hc's:

-He has a terrible relationship with sleep. He can't sleep because of flashbacks of his past, he can't sleep because of his workload, and sometimes he doesn't sleep on purpose just to punish himself.

-He likes to lock himself in his room when the statehouse gets too loud. It reminds him of his past again (with all the wars and stuff) and he prefers not to interact with anyone at all for a few days to deal with it.

-[TW: self-harm] Whenever he does something that doesn't reach his own standards, he hurts himself in many ways. He indulges in his never ending workload, he stays up all night, he doesn't eat, and he can't talk to anyone without screaming at them (which hurts NY bc he doesn't like hurting his loved ones).

-He likes to cook for others but rarely finds the will to cook for himself sometimes, much less eat. It's the same way with comforting others: he always is the first to try and uplift somebody yet he can never uplift himself when he needs to.

-He likes to disappear whenever he gets too overwhelmed. The fellas in the Northeast always try and look for him whenever he does so, but New York always finds a spot where he knows he can't be found (usually in Wyoming and Iowa since they're usually forgotten, and both states seem peaceful to me), so they just wait for him to return home hoping he's okay. There was an occasion where he came back with cuts and bruises all over his body to the point he was hospitalized, and though the northeast states thought it was bc of a fight, it turned out to be self-inflicted injuries. The northeast now keep an eye out for any sign that NY's stressed out/overwhelmed so they can go talk to him before he decides to disappear again.

-[TW: suicidal thoughts] He likes to think about not being immortal & what life would be like if only he were to be able to die like normal humans. Sometimes he doesn't have the will to live and finds it so hard to accept that he can't just die. This fic by @xechoecho88x is a great story that ties along with this specific headcanon if you're interested in reading something like this :D

-He has a severely damaged wall designed for when he needs to let out some anger. To go along the lines of this, he likes fire and burns random things to keep himself at ease. The only thing that he regrets burning is an old necklace given to him by a friendly old lady he met & befriended in upstate. Her death took a toll on him and he burned the only thing that reminded him of her so he wouldn't mourn as much, but all he feels now is regret.

That's all I have, I hope you like it :D Thank you sm again for your ask, I appreciate it so much <3

[samanthahirr]

Mystery May

I'm puzzling out the next round of clues in @mi6-cafe's mystery of the missing Aston Martin challenge! This 4x drabble tackles four clues in one go.

CLUES #3, #4, #5, #6

The quartermaster raised concerns about a case of champagne inexplicably delivered to his branch. An investigation quickly determined that a case had gone missing from the executive canteen, and soon pinpointed an unsigned delivery order sending it to Q Branch for reasons unknown. While the deliveryman has been cleared of wrongdoing, questions remain. Who is behind the fraudulent delivery order? And is it related to the missing Aston Martin?

DRABBLE x4

Q drops the security cable in frustration. Cleanly severed by a razor-sharp blade, not one of the tools common to the mechanics garage. No blade, no fingerprints, no footprints, the CCTV cameras conveniently down while the system reset…no evidence left behind but a cut cable that previously secured the Aston Martin in her bay, and a cheeky toy miniature of the car in its place. Far too tidy by half. His stomach sinks as he's unable to rule out his own staff playing some role in this theft. Troubled, he returns to the main lab and is greeted by the inapposite sound of a cork popping. What appears to be the entire day shift is gathered in the room, pouring bottles of bubbly into paper cups and toasting like it's bloody New Year's Eve. "What the hell's going on here?" Q demands. Some of the frivolity in the room abates, but not all. R steps forward, full cup in hand, and says with pink cheeks, "These just got dropped off, Sir," gesturing to a metal tub of champagne bottles on ice. "Where'd they come from? Who sent them?" She shrugs. "There wasn't a note. I assumed they were to celebrate meeting our productivity goals for the second quarter in a row." At Q's unimpressed stare, she adds, "You did say last week you planned to arrange a team celebration." Blast, he'd completely forgotten that promise. "So I did. In that case, as you were." He grabs an empty bottle on his way to his office, where he shuts the door for privacy. The uncorked bottle from his mini-fridge joins the empty on his desk, a certain double-0's 'gift' after the last Aston Martin disappeared. If James Bond weren't currently tied up in Shanghai, Q would have called him the likeliest suspect for both the theft and the unexplained champagne shipment. Suddenly paranoid, Q wakes his laptop to verify the real-time SmartBlood data on 007.  Minhang, thank god. But that still leaves one hell of a coincidence in front of him. Q glares at the matching labels on the bottles before putting the sealed bottle away and the empty in the bin. He moves to stand at the one-way glass looking onto the main floor and wonders who among his staff is the intended recipient of this latest 'thank you' gift. And why there's enough to share with the whole shift….

[literaticat]

Under what circumstances do you think it's wise for an author to hire an outside publicist?

I'm honestly 'of several minds' about this, and IDK really, but I'll just say this:

People often get confused about the difference between MARKETING and PUBLICITY. Marketing is paid for, publicity is "earned." Marketing = paid ads, displays in bookstores, the publisher offering premiums/discounts to bookstores for orders of a certain size, giveaway swag, ARCs, sending special fancy book packages to TikTok Influencers -- anything that the publisher (or you) PAY for falls under the heading of "marketing."

Publicity is media coverage that the publisher DOESN'T pay for. You on Colbert or Good Morning America? Publicity. The nightly news doing a segment about you? Publicity. An interview with you in PW or a piece about your book in the NYT? Publicity. So: One of the main things a publicist does is "Pitch to media" -- try to find different ways to get coverage for you/your work -- but the thing is, they could pitch your book to a thousand media outlets -- that doesn't mean any of those media outlets will pick up the story and run with it. There just aren't any guarantees in that regard, the media can pick and choose, they get a trillion pitches a day.

So: 1) outside publicists can be quite costly, 2) the results of the publicist's work are not always tangible, and 3) even if there are NO results, you still have to pay them.

With all that said, I think I'd only really advise hiring an outside publicist IF you have specific goals in mind, along with a story that the publisher for one book will be unlikely to pitch. Like, let's say you have a few new releases coming out this year from a few different publishers, but there's a hook about YOU and ALL those books that media might be interested in. (I don't know what the story is -- perhaps you wrote all of these books during pandemic lockdown alone in the Arctic with only a walrus to keep you company, and you didn't even know the lockdown was over until a husky with a note tied around its neck showed up on your doorstep, at which point you emerged like an ice-man, shaved off your beard, and made your way to NYC with three terrific manuscripts in tow, leaving your walrus and husky friends behind because really your apartment in NYC isn't big enough for them, but they are not forgotten!) So maybe you hire a publicist with the specific goal to pitch specific, intentionally chosen media outlets with stories about you alone in the arctic writing ALL these books. Because while all those individual publishers will of course be pitching for their particular book, it might be easier for an outside publicist to pitch the whole thing together as a hooky story about YOU and all the books together. And if you have strategized with the publicist about which media outlets would be most effective, where you really want their efforts to focus, you won't be paying for them to throw your arctic spaghetti at every single wall, yanno?

Also, I'd interview a few folks -- you want somebody who is quite conversant with books/publishing -- hopefully will be able to liaise with the publisher rather than reinventing the wheel or stepping on anyone's toes -- and somebody who is willing to have a free informational call or something first -- in other words, they will be willing to strategize with you to make sure that you are actually getting the most bang for your buck, and will keep it real with you if they DON'T think they will be able to be of much use.

[definitelyrwbyandtadcbrainrot]

rwby cupids booth pt 36

Oh my God it’s been a hot second life has just gotten in the way I have not forgotten about the series and trust and believe there are still so many ships to come. They’re all just sitting in my drafts you know for me to edit and add my thoughts and stuff onto before I inevitably post them, but I will be saying from here on out I won’t be posting as frequently just because life is pretty chaotic at the moment I didn’t actually does take a lot of time because I do sit and think about every single song and just the vibes and the energy and the lyrics and I take that into account when I think about the characters on top of that and I add them here obviously that’s what the series is but it’s very time consuming and I can’t afford to really be doing it as much as I’d like so it’s gonna be more sporadic, but anyway back into it 

Tiger tail ice cream (siennas pov)

Tiger tail ice cream (Neos pov)

They actually kinda have potential like in terms of Canon, absolutely not, they would have been butchered severely, the both of them, but when you sit and think about it, I think these two would be the pair that have major blowouts like they do have fights, but their communication styles actually blend very well together 

Winter Rose (Rubys pov)

Winter Rose (Winters pov)

I think this will be the type of love that you reminisce on, and only remember the good parts, even though the bad parts were glaring like they don’t seem like a long-term fit in my opinion, but I do see it being a very deep connection. Almost karmic if you will. 

Crimson Lotus (Rens pov)

Crimson Lotus (Rubys pov)

I could see this working very well I think they would be the couple that meditates together goes to morning yoga balances each other out, but at the end of the day ren and nora for life 

Aderald (Emeralds pov)

Aderald (Adam's pov)

On so many levels this is a train wreck, waiting to happen, but it’s a canon event, and we cannot interfere like they would tell you that they got together and you would just have to keep your mouth shut like you have to be happy even though you know it’s not gonna end well 

Alcoholics anonymous (Willows pov)

Alcoholics anonymous (Qrows pov)

Honestly, I’m really interested to see where they’re going to take this because this has real actual potential I think truthfully, I don’t care, about what it does to like the familial ties betwen branwen and Schnee line or whatever because I think both characters are actually right person right time if that makes sense like they have come together at the exact moment that they were supposed to come together, and they are shown to be pretty good for each other. They are unexpected for sure you look at it and be like huh but if you give it a second thought you could see that this could work. 

[skillxhunter]

@ragebled​

“Oh, it’s you.” A statement, no surprise in his voice--rather a fleeting curiosity. He stared at the other for a long while, aware that their last encounter met with his nen just completely sealed. Not an impossible task to cure but still a difficult one. A mild inconvenience at best for Chrollo. He had to wonder! Did this one have that ability here?

He was without Bandit’s Secret, however this wasn’t a surprise. The smile that didn’t reach his eyes pulled across his lips and he tapped just under his bottom lip as he considered this. A very irrational one, that’s what he observed from their last encounter. One who went through with what he threatened--a deadly promise. Cost the lives of at least two of his Troupe. So one who remained on his list.

He could settle that now.

[andorerso]

Hi! I'm taking an opportunity you presented and I'm asking for more of your story: let the cat out of the bag. I adore it and would like more of it!

A sequel to this AU with some more adventures of Mimi the Cat! Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like this <3

Summary: Five months after they started dating, Jyn gets cold feet and tries to run from her feelings. Naturally, Mimi is not happy about this.

OR, how Mimi saves this relationship for the second time.

Jyn has prepared a little box with all of Cassian’s things she could find: a pair of socks, two shirts, a toothbrush, a razor, shaving cream, his favorite shampoo, one of his cookbooks… She didn’t realize how much stuff he’d kept at her place, growing roots in her home the same way he’d sneaked into her life. Slowly, steadily, subtly. And so thoroughly, she doesn’t know how to cut him out.

She hesitates when it comes to the blue shirt she loved to sleep in, running her fingers across the soft material like it was his skin.

A clean break would be better, right? No need to torture herself with old memories. This would be hard as it is…

Jyn puts the shirt in the box and slams the lid shut. It sits on the living room table all day, taunting her, while Mimi squats under the couch, unwilling to even look in her direction.

Fair enough. She doesn’t really want to look at herself either right now.

Cassian is stopping by soon to collect his things, and then it’ll be over.

She shouldn’t complain. She’s the one who ended things after all. Still, the finality of it squeezes her lungs so tight that she has to stop and remember to breathe. They dated only for five months; it shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t be such an integral part of her that she can’t go on without him. It was meant to be just some harmless fun. But she’d underestimated how much this would hurt.

Seeing Cassian on her doorstep doesn’t help. The face that once put a smile on her lips now makes her want to curl up in a ball and cry while she eats ice cream out of a box like those women in romantic comedies during the second act fallout.

Except this is no movie. She doesn’t expect a grand reunion at the end of all this.

Jyn leads him to the living room, ignoring the memories of all the times she’s done that only to grab him by the collar and pull him down on the couch to fool around. It’s more or less how their first kiss went, right on that couch with half a dozen notebooks open in front of them and forgotten for the night as her legs wrapped around him and his hands slid under her shirt.

Then, a couple of months of unattached sex, or so they had said until Mimi had meddled in her own strange, brilliant way and made them admit their feelings for each other. And so they’d begun dating, five months of bliss Jyn had never experienced before. Not perfect, no, but imperfect in a way that was just right.

Oh, she remembers thinking one night as she played with Cassian’s hair while he slumbered peacefully next to her. So this is what people write all those poems about.

Looking back now, that realization might have been the beginning of the end. Because this is what she does, she runs. When things get too real, she cuts the cord and disappears. Leaves behind a string of broken hearts, but none of them her own.

Except this time, it feels more like she severed her own hand rather than whatever cord tied them together. Cassian left, but the cord stretched taut and continued to tug her towards him while she slowly bled out from her self-inflicted wound.

Now here they are. All those months, and they can barely stand to look at each other. Pathetic.

A scratching sound interrupts her train of thought as Mimi finally pulls herself out from under the couch. Of course she would, now that he’s here. Little traitor.

With a single, drawn-out meow, she runs to Cassian and greets him by rubbing her small body against his leg while she trots around him in circles. The twitch of his lips as he looks down at her is Jyn’s first glimpse behind the calm mask he donned.

Her heart squeezes. Damn it. He’s always loved her stupid cat to irrationality. Once, she joked that the real love story was not between her and Cassian, but between Mimi and Cassian. Cassian laughed and kissed her forehead while he continued to rub Mimi between her ears.

“It can be both,” he said.

Well, she’s effectively ended both as well.

Cassian leans down to stroke his hand against Mimi’s white fur a couple of times, a sight so familiar that Jyn has to dig her nails into her palm to keep her composure. The cord tugs harder but she digs her heels into the ground and refuses to budge. She can’t go back now.

Cassian doesn’t linger as long as he normally would. He straightens up, despite the displeased yowl Mimi lets out, and gives Jyn a look of apprehension.

She jerks her head towards the box on the table. “That’s all I could find.”

Her voice is strained with things she doesn’t want to admit. Like how much she’s missed him in just the week they’ve been separated, how she isn’t actually sure she’s making the right choice, how scared she is to never see him again…

What would he say if she told him all that?

Cassian picks up the box, ruffling through its contents. He has nothing to give back to her. They spent more time at her apartment because of Mimi, but the realization still gives her pause. Had she really been so closed off that she wouldn’t even bring over a toothbrush? Had she been holding him at arm’s length all this time without knowing it?

“Thanks.” He clears his throat as he closes the lid shut, gives her a fleeting glance. He’s unable to hold her gaze for too long. His face is smooth as marble, but the tension in his posture is obvious. “Well, I should just…” He trails off, gesturing towards the door.

“Right.”

Neither of them moves. They stand in awkward silence, waiting for the other to say something, fix things, be honest. But she can’t make her voice work. If that was so easy, she wouldn’t be here to begin with.

Cassian snaps out of it first. He turns away, heading for the door, and Jyn knows the window has closed. No takebacks now. She follows him with a heavy heart, watches silently as he pulls on his coat and prepares to walk out of her life. Will they go back to strangers now like they’d never known each other? Will he nod at her politely on the street or turn away with a frown? Will it still mean anything to him a year from now?

He pulls the door open, and Jyn loses her composure. “Cassian —”

Before she even finishes saying his name, he’s already stopped and turned to face her again. One hand on the doorknob, he waits, patiently, for her to speak. But with those dark eyes that miss nothing watching her, she loses her nerve again, and the words get stuck in her throat. Whatever those words even were.

Don’t go? I’m sorry? Can we talk about this?

As Jyn hesitates and Cassian waits, Mimi, who’s followed them to the foyer, slips between his legs and runs out the door.

“Shit!” Jyn takes off after her without a second thought, but the little devil is far too fast for her own good and is already sprinting down the stairs at the end of the hallway. “Mimi, stop!”

She can hear Cassian fumble with something in her apartment, but she doesn’t stop, taking stairs two at a time as she tries to catch up with Mimi.

It’s no use. By the time she reaches the ground floor, Mimi is nowhere to be seen, and the single mom from the second floor is blinking at her in surprise, holding the main door open.

“She just ran out, I didn’t see —”

Jyn doesn’t dignify that with a response, tearing out into the street and blinking helplessly at the busy neighborhood. It’s the typical picture: people rushing by on their phones, cars honking, drivers yelling, a baby crying in a stroller, a street musician on the other side playing his guitar… The noise feels oppressive.

Now what? She looks left, she looks right. Mimi could have gone in any direction. And with the amount of traffic they have in this area…

Her heart racing, Jyn takes deep breaths and tries not to panic. Too late. She’s not prepared to deal with this. Sure, she often jokes about Mimi being her heartless little devil cat, but it’s nothing but affectionate teasing. Mimi’s her baby and she can’t imagine her life without her. She’s never run away before; she isn’t an outdoor cat. If something happens… if they can’t find her…

Cassian arrives behind her, but Jyn’s still scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a flash of white fur.

“Is she gone?”

“I…” She can’t finish her words, a ball lodged in her throat.

Cassian grips her shoulders and turns her to face him, but she’s too distraught to even feel the burn of his touch.

“Hey, don’t panic. She must be nearby.” He sounds so sure, but Jyn knows he’s only trying to reassure her. Well, she’s gonna let him. Eyes locked on Cassian, she nods and tries to believe him.

Mimi couldn’t have gotten that far, right? She was just pissed at Jyn for sending Cassian away, a fact she’s already made clear in the past week. She was playing the part of an angry teenager running away from home to piss off her parents. Very dramatic. Very unnecessary. But she’d come back.

She has to.

“I locked your door,” Cassian continues, producing a key from his pocket that he hands to her. “Come on, I’ll help you look.”

“You don’t have to,” Jyn begins feebly, but nothing sounds worse than the thought of doing this on her own. Luckily, Cassian sees right through her bullshit. He sends her a look that says he isn’t willing to argue about this, and Jyn’s heart swells with appreciation.

“We’ll find her, I promise.”

xxx

The sun starts to set, casting the sky in pink and orange hues, and Mimi is still missing.

Jyn is beginning to lose hope of ever seeing her beloved cat again. More and more nefarious possibilities of what might have happened circle her like dark clouds before a storm, and she can’t push them down anymore. What if she was attacked by a dog, what if she was hit by a car, what if someone saw her, thought she was cute, and picked her up to take her home, what if what if what if

Cassian tries to keep her spirits high, but he’s fighting a losing battle.

“She’ll turn up,” he insists, always so determined, as they make their way back to her apartment building. “We can print some posters, post it on social media —” he goes on but Jyn doesn’t want to hear it.

It all begins to build in her chest; breaking up with Cassian, the shitty days at work, the sleepless nights, the endless cycle of repetition… Now this. She can’t lose Mimi too, she just can’t.

She doesn’t know how to survive without both of them.

“Stop!” Jyn bursts out just as they reach her apartment building, then buries her face in her hands. Cassian clams up, but she can feel his worried gaze boring into her. “Everything sucks!”

With that, she dramatically plops down on the front steps, removing her hands from her face to rub at her temples. Everything sucks is an understatement, but she doesn’t have the words to describe the heavy weight sitting on her chest. Tears prick at her eyes, and it takes all her energy to keep them at bay. Crying in public in front of your ex-boyfriend was not on the agenda today.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cassian hesitating for a second before he joins her.

“You wanna go upstairs? Rest a little?”

“No.”

“Okay. How about those posters then? I can make them if you want.”

“I can make them myself!” she snaps, angrier than she should be.

“Okay. Do you want me to go then?”

“No.”

“Right.” Cassian clears his throat and falls silent. For a while, neither of them speaks as they stare out at the street while the night grows darker around them. Clearly, she’s sending mixed signals here. She should say something. Tell him that he can go, that he’s already done enough. She can handle it from here. But she isn’t sure she can. Selfishly, she doesn’t want to let him go yet — because then, she’ll be truly alone.

No cat, no boyfriend. Just Jyn in her all too empty apartment with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company.

“Hey…” It’s Cassian’s gentle voice that pulls her back to the present and makes her realize those damn tears leaked from her eyes anyway. And now she can’t stop. She wipes at her face furiously, sniffing, but they keep falling, and when Cassian reaches for her hand and pulls her into his arms, she doesn’t fight it.

She buries her face in his shoulder and lets herself weep for a few seconds. Cassian’s arm circles around her waist, one hand rhythmically stroking her hair. He doesn’t say anything, but she’s glad, preferring his silent but solid presence over meaningless words of reassurance. It doesn’t erase the ache in her chest but calms her down long enough to stop sobbing and pull herself together.

“I’m sorry,” she says when she pulls away, wiping at her eyes. Despite their five-month-long relationship, it’s only the second time she let herself cry around him. She doesn’t think Cassian would judge her or make fun of it, but it’s hard to override two decades worth of self-preservation instincts. Don’t show weakness, don’t show vulnerability, don’t give them ammo to hurt you; it’s always been one of her most important rules.

But it’s also why she broke up with him, isn’t it? She’s never considered that you can’t build a relationship on mistrust because she’s never had any that mattered. Now she has to figure out if she could unlearn those habits and keep Cassian, or let him go for good.

“And not just for sniveling all over you,” Jyn continues, speaking slowly as she thinks about what she wants to tell him and how to say it. “I’m sorry for chasing you away. I was just… I was…”

“You got scared,” Cassian finishes for her, getting to the heart of the matter without preamble. Jyn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He lifts a shoulder, a quiet huff on his lips that almost sounds amused. “I know you. Better than you think. Better than you probably want me to.”

“I… That’s not true. I want you to know me.” She can understand how it might not seem that way, but it’s true. Deep in her heart, she wants nothing more than to be seen and understood by him. It’s just all that fear getting in the way, whispering cruel things in her ear and making her question herself. You’re not good enough for him. He doesn’t want you like you want him. He’s not going to stick around forever. It’s better to cut your losses now while you can. Leave him before he can leave you.

Her armor may have protected her for years, but it’s now become the number one enemy working against her.

“But if you knew,” Jyn begins, her mouth pulling into a frown, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Cassian’s gaze drops to his lap. “Jyn, I can’t force you to want to be with me. I can’t force you not to run. You have to figure that out for yourself. I thought… if you’re ready, you’ll come back.”

“And if I’m not?” she asks, a strange tremor in her voice.

“Then you’re not.” He looks up, and his dark brown eyes and long eyelashes mesmerize her for a second. He’s so close, so warm, so pretty; she has to ball her hands into fists to keep from reaching out. Touching him has become natural like breathing. She doesn’t know how to quit it, quit him.

Fuck, it’s not fair. How is she expected to think clearly when he’s watching her like that? Fantasizing about kissing him breathless is not a productive train of thought at the moment.

“I want to be with you, but it has to be your choice to come back.”

So maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s the way he looks at her, maybe it’s his smell, his warmth, his magnetism, maybe it’s that she doesn’t want to be stuck behind her castle walls anymore. Safe but alone.

Or maybe it’s the way she’s struggled to sleep at night, kept awake by the memory of their time together and how happy he’s made her, but she tells him, “I think I can try harder.”

“Jyn, is that Mimi?”

Jyn blinks, surprised by his response for a second. Then she remembers. She isn’t even sure Cassian heard what she said, but when she turns and finds Mimi strutting down the sidewalk towards them like nothing was amiss, all thoughts of their relationship issues escape her brain.

Gasping, Jyn shoots up and runs to snatch Mimi into her arms, hardly daring to believe it. She’s come back. She’s okay. A little dirty, and positively grumpy at being held like this, but otherwise unharmed.

Jyn’s almost lost all hope, and the relief that floods her chest now threatens to bring on another wave of tears. Biting down hard on her lip, she tightens her grip around Mimi and breathes in deeply. She’s cried enough today.

“Where have you been?” Jyn demands, but her voice is too high and shaky to sound scolding at all. “We’ve been looking all over for you, young lady!”

“Yeah.” Cassian comes to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to rub Mimi under her chin because, as Jyn knows from experience, he just can’t help it. “You scared us.”

Us, Jyn thinks, sending a small smile his way. A team.

Mimi lets out a belligerent meow and starts wiggling in Jyn’s arms. By the way she wags her tail, Jyn knows she’s getting annoyed at being held like this, but tough luck. She’s not letting go until they’re back safe and sound in her apartment. That’s what you get when you run away from home and scare your parents half to death.

Readjusting her grip on Mimi, she turns to Cassian and gives him a tiny, hopeful smile. “You wanna come up for dinner? We can talk some more.”

“That depends.” His eyes sparkle with playfulness. “Are you cooking?”

Jyn lets a bark of laughter. “I can be convinced to leave the task to you.”

“In that case, I’m right behind you.”

As he always has been.

Hiding her smile, Jyn turns and leads the way back to her apartment. She’s taken the leap, she’s chosen to fight, and she’s never been one to back down from a challenge. So screw the insidious voices whispering in her ear; she’s not going to let them win and cost her something important.

She has her cat, and she has her almost-boyfriend, and she’s ready to give this another shot.