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phyrestartr · 3 months

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Their Burning Bodies Keep Us Warm (2/2) | Sukuna x M!Reader

W/C: 3.4k #NSFW, p0rn with plot, top!Sukuna, bottom!Reader, ABO dynamics, cannibalism, mentions of sex trafficking, mentions of cults, questionable relationship, suggested Stockholm syndrome, post-apocalypse, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, drama, gore, typical zombie shite, not rlly edited kekw SORRY tags: @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @tr4nniez @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @kindadolly @inflatabledinosaurs19 @memedealer-exe

“How's it look?” Sukuna groaned after you peeled back the bandages and gauze.

You stayed quiet while you thought, but ultimately had to ask, “How's it feel?”

Sukuna scoffed. “Aches like fuck.”

“You should take Tylenol or something.”

“Hah. Like I'd give up drinking.”

You sighed and washed his back with the usual tincture of salt and water, earning yourself a sharp, whiny snarl. Carefully, as though to apologize, you dabbed away scabbed blood and whatever else clung to the DIY sutures.

“Then it'll keep hurting.” The dark, black bruises around the wound promised it. “But…it doesn't look infected.” You pressed against the reddened, irritated skin with a light touch, and breathed a sigh of relief; there didn't seem to be any suspicious discharge or signs of serious infection. Hopefully it'd stay that way.

“Silver fucking lining, I guess.” The alpha hung his head and let you go about cleaning it thoroughly to prep for re-wrapping it. “You're not too squeamish around this shit, hey?”

“I guess,” you said lamely. You glanced at the back of his head in thought before focusing on your task again. “The whole world is shitty. So. Guess I got used to it.”

“You sure you don't have a history?” He asked, glancing back at you.

You shrugged. “I was a crook, but I only stole. Never really fought, never murdered either. But I saw shit, sure. Patched some people up before, too. Nothing like this, though.”

Sukuna nodded and looked ahead again, resting his chin on the back of the chair. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” You wondered.

"Explains why you're not boring me," he said, nonchalant.

You paused to cast the back of his head another wary, confused glance. It was a strange comment. You weren't sure what the implications meant for those who came before you.

"What would happen if I bored you?" You asked.

"I'd get rid of you," he answered, too truthful. "Kill you. Eat you. Kick you out. Somethin' like that."

Sukuna looked at you again, an amused glimmer of insanity igniting in his eyes. You did your best to look away, to not engage with the hellspawn repossessing his near-tolerable person.

"Oi, oi, quit looking so pathetic," he taunted, voice singing with playful sadism. "There's no room for that if you wanna survive out here, brat. Besides, our deal is pretty good, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, trying to ignore the fact that he just declared that he'd eat you if he got bored of you. How were you supposed to relax?

Yet you tried anyway. "Yeah. Right."

"Don't believe me?" He questioned.

"I do. Just--you just told me you woulda ate me if I was boring." You tried not to sound too flabbergasted and awestruck, but the warbly disbelief came through anyway.

And Sukuna laughed. Not in that heinous, chilling way, but low and warm. It almost made you think he could be somewhat fond of you.

"Well, you're still breathing, aren't ya?" He asked.

You shrugged before starting to re-bandage his back. "Well. Yeah. I guess."

"You sound anymore fuckin' unsure and I'll take your damn head off, omega." Sukuna sighed, still sounding content. "Dunno what shit you've been through, but you survived it. You're strong. Remember that."

For the first time in your life, you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You're strong. Remember that.

Those words festered in your mind, bringing a much-needed sense of calm to your exhausted body and soul. You didn't realize how little you recognized your own strength, your own vicious mettle that kept you going through the haze of pain and discontent embedded in your life. You almost pitied yourself for your weak mind; when had you fallen so low? Why didn't you realize you were trapped in Tartarus? Did the nightmares and bitter flavours numb it all out?

You rubbed your face. "Think about the now," you mumbled as you poked at the fire with an especially long stick you'd taken a liking to. "No point thinking about the past."

"Better not be mumblin' seance-y, satanic cult shit into the fire," Sukuna called from the kitchen. "I'll be pissed."

Your face flushed with more than the fire's heat. "No! I'm just--I'm talking to myself."

"In a creepy way?"

"No!"

"Coulda fooled me."

You turned to the kitchen with a sour look, but quickly averted your gaze again; normally, you'd help him prepare and ration food, but when he took to chopping up chunks of person, you couldn't stomach it.

Sukuna must've seen you look away, judging by his sudden, cheeky cackling. "What, still squeamish, omega? You don't got a problem when you're eatin' 'em."

You grimaced. "Yeah, I don't like thinking about it. Feels...wrong."

"Pussy."

"Hey."

"It's easy meat," Sukuna continued. "Better than eating grass 'n leaves 'n shit. Besides, makes you tougher."

You huffed. "Tougher. Right."

Your partner in crime snorted. "You know how vaccines work, omega?"

"Duh." You stabbed at the fire a few more times, stopping only when Calcifer spit a mouthful of sparks at you. "Introduce a weak strain of a virus into the body so it can make antibodies and fight against it."

Sukuna hummed in agreement. "So what do you think happens when we eat our doomsday virus, huh?"

You blinked owlishly at the flames. "Is...that can't be true," you asked, itching at your arm. "No way we’re becoming--"

"Immune."

Sukuna walked to your side and knelt beside you, showing off the small collection of scarred bitemarks dotting his arm.

Your touch ghosted against the marks in wonder. Maybe he was lying. Maybe these bites came from something else. Something more demented than even the undead.

"But how could the virus survive? When it's, uh, cooked, I mean," you asked as you held his forearm with both hands and examined further.

"Guess medium-rare doesn't take care of everything." He shrugged and watched you press against the raised skin incessantly. "But hey, maybe I'm just a freak of nature. Better than normal fucks. Godly."

You looked at him with yet another grimace, and he grinned.

"You've been eating people for too long," you decided. “It's made you delusional.”

"Probably." He moved to get up when you let go of him, but paused with a second thought.

Sukuna reached for you, brushing some of your hair from your neck. Your heart did more stupid backflips feeling that quiet touch drag along the sloping curve of your neck, down to the source of your alluring redolence.

His thumb rubbed slow circles against your skin, waking forgotten sparks of bergamot and birch, melding them with his musk of leather and pine. You thought they fit together nicely, in an odd way. Or maybe you were caught up in hopeful delusions his marking always brought you.

He stood, then, content with his work. "Was in prison when shit hit the fan. Had to get creative."

You rubbed your neck when he walked away. "I can imagine. Must've gotten pretty overrun."

"The cells were pretty safe. Most of the prisoners died starving after the outbreak," he said. "Sorry sons of bitches. Couldn't even lob a dead cellmate's head off to save themselves when those idiots turned."

"That what you did?" You scooted up onto the couch and watched Sukuna putter around the kitchen. You pretended he was cutting up some wild animal instead of human.

"I killed my cellmate before that," Sukuna said. "Got sent to solitary for it."

You pursed your lips. "What'd he do?"

“He bored me.”

–

Being in his arms felt safe. You rested easy, no longer fearing his appetite nor his wrath in the brief moments of consciousness before darkness overtook you. He held you before, too, pulled you to his chest to stay warm whenever the night grew too cold and the fire dwindled; now, however, it was different.

Now, you woke up facing him. You woke with newfound adoration for the gnarled bump fucking up the bridge of his nose (something that told of far too many fights) and you realized you quite liked the sound of his soft, rumbling snores. Even the way his body burned too hot eased your nerves when it once suffocated you with sweltering anguish.

You were careful not to say you felt anything for him, however; he was the beast who'd stolen you away from your short-lived freedom, and kept you here for his own selfish pleasure. A warning danced in the forefront of your mind, shaking its head every time you looked your captor's way. You knew better. You knew better.

But he wasn't so bad. Though that was what Belle said about her Beast, wasn't it? Before they fell in love. Before their happily ever after.

You shifted just the slightest bit closer to him, letting your nose barely nudge against his before freezing, waiting to see if he'd stir and wake from the mild disturbance. He'd slept through worse, you imagined. Most were light sleepers throughout the apocalypse, but he–

His eyes opened. The pounding of your heart must have been the cause.

Sukuna didn't have words, and neither did you; being here, being so close to him, face to face and finally taking in what he looked like, about to find out what he tasted like, said everything in a language he understood.

Because he closed the gap first. After a sharp glance down to your lips then back to your eyes, he nudged your nose aside and pressed his lips against yours. And you pushed into him, tugged yourself closer with your hands in his shirt and then in his hair while his own smoothed over your side to grab and grope at your ass and whatever softness from the old world still clung to your figure.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, and he got the message. He rolled on top of you and sat up on his knees, straddling your waist as he pulled off his shirt to let you see glimmers of scars arching against defined slopes of muscle, disappearing beneath cloth bandages. Your breath hitched; he was gorgeous in ways you couldn't describe.

He adjusted, settling between your legs before leaning down and kissing you again while those curious hands of yours felt for the secrets etched into his skin like hieroglyphics left only for the blind. Those marks told stories from start to finish. They hinted at his life up until this point. You wondered if any of them reminisced of smiles and laughter.

Sukuna's hands coasted up your shirt to explore you, too. His thumbs pressed between every rib, followed the arch of the cage protecting your heart, before he pinched and teased at the sensitive buds of your chest. You didn't think you'd like it, but the way he tortured you with talented fingers was too good–good enough to drag out the first of many quiet, breathy sounds from you.

Sukuna pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside. His broad palms smoothed across your skin before he dipped down, and tasted you, running the flat of his tongue against your neck, then back down to the bullied bundle of nerves he'd worked into a frenzy. He bit and nipped, swirled his tongue around the pert nub, and sucked hard enough to bruise and split your delicate skin.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, stifling the rattling hum reverberating in your chest; you'd never felt so good before. You'd never had someone focus on you like this before. Maybe it was a selfish thing on the alpha's part, or maybe he wanted you to indulge in primal pleasures, too. That errant hand of his groping at your hardened cock suggested as much.

Your fingers carded through his hair as he left brutal hickeys on your chest and bit at your nipples like he was threatening to take them clean off (thankfully, he seemed to quite like them and left them intact for future use), and then he traveled south, yanking your shorts off and spreading you wide before him.

Your heart throbbed in your head. It pounded harder still as he stroked you firmly and fully, squeezing at all the right spots while his other hand felt up the softness of your thighs, the slick pooling between your cheeks, the tightening of your sacks. He was so like a cartographer, trying to chart every inch of your body, trying to remember which spots made you jolt and jump.

And you couldn't help but squawk as he lifted your hips, hauling your legs over his shoulders with little effort, before spreading you wide and licking against your leaking hole.

Your hands clutched at the sheets desperately. The pants stuttering out of you upscaled when his tongue, the devilish thing, circled around your tight entrance a handful of times before sinking in with the help of his thumbs pulling you open.

This time, it was Sukuna who moaned, low and dripping with bliss. You couldn't know how it was for him. You didn't know how tasting your slick, drowning in your bergamont-pine perfume in its purest form drove him mad with hunger and want–with need, maybe. Your scent was divine. Your taste was even better.

So, he took his time. He indulged in lapping at you, coaxing more and more slick to pool from your insides and drip down his chin in sticky, syrupy dollops while you writhed and bucked against his grasp, seeking more but getting too much. Sukuna almost felt for you. Almost. If you didn't want him to eat you alive, you shouldn't have tasted so sweet.

Eventually, his cock demanded attention, too, and he finally let your hips down to look over your fucked-out expression and heaving chest. And when you stared back at him, eyes heavy and needy, you caught the alien glow of crimson burning in the swathe of shadows dodging the moonlight. It sent an electric thrill dancing up your spine; the monster you once feared was back, and now bewitched by your body's spell.

Sukuna's pants came off in a slow rush. He tossed them aside and half-heartedly wiped his mouth before looming over you once again, and catching your lips with his. His tongue pushed into your mouth, ripping the tiniest of ah-s from you, and he forced you to taste what was left of your essence against his tongue. Then, like the kiss was just a mere distraction, his head popped into your empty, lonely body, and stretched you with a singe of pain.

Your fingers dug into his scalp and his back as he forced himself into you inch by inch, pulling out just to push back inside deeper with the aid of your body's viscous desire to find a euphoria of his design. The hasty beginnings of a knot at his base stretched you wider, filled you fuller as he snapped in once more and bottomed out with a growling moan vibrating against your chest.

And, god, it felt good. You were stuffed beyond your limits, struggling to adapt and welcome him inside despite hugging and squeezing him with praise and devotion. It seemed he'd never bothered jamming his entirety into you. He'd been giving you that one, little mercy your entire tenure.

But now, you were willing to take it, and he was going to give it to you, like it or not.

His face buried into your neck when he moved. His hips pulled back just a bit before he sunk back inside of you, like he was trying to see just how far he could reach into your struggling, smaller body–and then, he was done testing your shared limits, and he devoured you.

You clung to his shoulders, clawed at his back, pulled at his hair while he fucked into you. The bed creaked and dragged against the floor with every near-hostile ram into your heat, but you could hardly hear it over the feral, primal noises slipping through his clenched teeth. Your omega fell mute with pleasure and relief, apparently finding peace at being railed into like you were in heat and your mate was in rut. You weren't. He wasn't. You could only imagine what that would be like.

Profanities hissed from him, as did demented, mumbled praise that you'd keep close to your heart come morning. His knot inflated bigger and bigger, bullying your ass open wider with each violent slam into your core. Normal alphas wouldn't have forced it into you mid-fuck, but he wasn't normal. He wanted to feel your tightness bite down around that sensitive, swollen plug. He needed to hear your sharp mewls and grunts the pain and pleasure forced out of you with every disgusting, wet pop of his cock ripping out of you. He had to keep pushing his limit, pushing your limit, until you got too fucking tight and too fucking hot that you'd force him to stay put and pump his cum into you by the gallon.

He had to.

So, when your breath fanned against his hear, when you whispered the most pathetic, “Cum in me,” he went mad.

He leaned back and folded you in half, ignoring your uncomfortable grimaces before he held you in that mating press and let loose, eyes screwed shut and brow furrowed in concentration while his fangs dug into his lip as he snarled and grunted.

Blood rushed to his cock with an electric current, pushing his hips to snap against yours harder and faster as his knot inflated fully and struggled to leave the warmth of your tight, clingy hole. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough–

Until he looked down at you, and bore witness to your muscles fluttering, your back arching, your mouth hung open with a soundless cry as you came undone, soaked with sweat and slick.

Sukuna’s hips jolted and stuttered, and he fought to force that thickness into you for the last time before he spilled inside, adding his own kindling to the fire eating you alive.

You gasped again, hand fisting tighter around your cock as you worked yourself through the unbearable ecstasy crashing down on you in torrential waves. You were a boat in the middle of an ocean, somehow staying afloat despite being in the middle of a world-ending storm–perhaps by the mercy of a beast lingering in the depths.

The aftershocks took too long to die down; Sukuna's shallow thrusts into you didn't help, nor did your own languid stroking, but you didn't want it to help. You wanted to see how much more cum you could force out of the man every time you clenched around him. You wanted to see how much longer the perverse pleasure would plague you if you tortured him just a little more. By the continuous emptying of the man's balls into your inflating core, you'd say you were doing a pretty good job.

You silently both doubted that stupid knot of his would go down with how worked up he got–normally, it'd take about 5 minutes, but there'd been data recorded suggesting it could take up to an hour if the alpha was determined to have his omega as his permanently. And judging by your solitary existence by his side, it seemed like the latter was possible.

So, he took great care in maneuvering you both onto your sides to rest more comfortably while you waited and dozed. The time passed with kisses and touches, and the constant drone of purring filling in the gaps where your bodies failed to touch.

In that moment and onward, you didn't much care that you were his victim. His butterfly caught in a trap, kept docile by the sweet taste of honey.

–

“Looks like the worst is over,” You mumbled, looking over the to-be scar on his back. “You sure you want me to take out the stitches?”

Sukuna scoffed and looked over his shoulder. “You want those things to fuse into my fucking skin, omega? Take ‘em out.”

You furrowed your brows, but complied nonetheless. “Doubt they’d fuse to your skin,” You mumbled.

Sukuna growled at you, and you grunted back, not impressed, no longer intimidated. Things had changed ever since that night. For the better, somehow. You found yourself less intimidated, less afraid, and he seemed to welcome it with open arms and a wolfish grin. You weren’t entirely sure, but you almost felt like it was the definition of mates.

A banging from the basement made you jump and huff, earning an amused snicker from your partner.

“Almost stabbed you with the scissors.”

“Don’t fucking stab me with scissors.”

“Not on purpose,” You sighed. “Should we knock them out again?” You wondered as you carefully cut every stitch and gently pulled them free.

A deathly rasp had you both snapping to attention. A handful of figures lumbered outside the house, shambling and bumping into this and that as they searched for whatever stimulus had caught their attention. You found yourself annoyed, knowing the cattle locked up down below were probably the lure.

“Well, if they’re gonna be attracting the fucking zombies like that, yeah.” Sukuna yawned and rolled his shoulders once you finished up with a reassuring pat to his back. “Might as well make ‘em fun-sized ‘n store ‘em in the freezer right away while we’re at it. They’ll get too scrawny otherwise.”

You hummed as you cleaned up. “Isn’t leaner meat better?”

“Yeah, but the fat’s useful,” Sukuna said with a smirk. He tugged his shirt on and stood, looping his strong arms around your middle while you puttered about and ensured the medical tools and counter stayed clean. “Use it for fires. Keep us warm ‘n shit. ‘Sides, might get shittier meat, but more of it.”

You smiled a little (not at the idea of using human fat as an incendiary component, but at the little, domestic touch, of course), and nodded to yourself. “Well, I’m not gonna argue. You’ve done this longer than me. It’s not like we can go scavenging with the streets like this either.”

Another handful of ghouls stumbled by the back door. Everything was barricaded, every window was blacked out, every possible way of entry was evaluated and reinforced, but the presence and proximity of the new rush of undead still unnerved you; you recognized most of them, too, which was an unwelcome touch. Something had gone awry at the mill, the two of you reasoned. Somehow, someone got bit, and the infection spread to the rest of the compound–the rest of the soldiers, at least.

Most of the undeads wandering about once held positions of power. They once boasted before the cells of omegas, brandishing their medals and ribbons and everything else in a pathetic attempt to earn favour and initiate courtship. Now, it seemed those outside of the cages had seen the cruel, flesh-eating face of karma. You could only hope the lack of familiar, friendly faces meant your kind stayed locked away and safe while the compound exploded. They were strong; they'd make it.

Of course, there were whimpering survivors from your terrorizers’ side, namely the two men downstairs that Sukuna welcomed in with promises of safety and kinship ringing sweet on his tongue. It must've tasted quite bitter when they realized the trap was sprung with no honey to be found.

Sukuna yawned and let go of you to tug his shirt back on. “Streets'll clear. Just a matter of waiting. Taking care of those two pigs downstairs'll keep shit quiet.” He picked up a hatchet and you shuddered. “We’ll take it from there.”

You watched him wander to the door leading down to the basement–and then a thought got caught in your mind and sunk its teeth in with desperate need.

“We should check the compound,” you said. Sukuna paused, and you swallowed down your brimming insecurity. “They have–I know they had medical supplies. And food. We should see what’s left.”

Sukuna’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit before he laughed. “‘N here I thought you were gonna beg for me to search for survivors.”

“What? No, are you kidding me? I just want more medical stuff in case you get yourself hurt again,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Your partner threw a doting gaze over his shoulder at you before smirking. “Sounds like a plan.”

#male reader insert #sukuna x you #sukuna x m!reader #jjk #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #reader insert #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jjk x male reader #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #itadori sukuna x reader

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cozage · 1 year

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Captured by Marines

Characters: Luffy, Law, Ace cw: f! reader, angst, gore, mentions of injury/surgery A/N: A bit of a 180 from my post this morning haha! Also, I know I put it in the cw but again, this is obviously going to have some angst and there are also varying mentions of gore. I'm going to tag each individual story with major content warnings, hope that helps.

Luffy

A/N: spoilers for Marineford ahead in this one.

“Listen Luffy,” Nami begins hesitantly. “I need you to sit down, and remain calm when I tell you this.”

“What’s up, Nami?” He jokes, laughing at her tone. “You’re always so serious!” He hasn’t realized you were missing yet, or noticed the tears in Nami’s eyes.

“Luffy…” Nami takes a ragged breath to steady herself. “It’s Y/N. She-” Nami breaks off unable to finish the sentence, tears finally pouring out of her eyes.

Her tears surprise him, and Luffy’s head snaps around, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. You’re not here. You’re not at the rendezvous point. He does a crew count, everyone is here except you. He does the count again. One short. And Nami crying…

He grabs Nami’s shoulders firmly. “Where is she, Nami?” He begins to shake her, trying to get the words out faster. “Where is Y/N?!”

Nami is sobbing now, inconsolable. Luffy knows she’s trying to speak, but the words simply won’t come. “Nami, TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS?” He can’t stop shaking her. He knows it’s not helping, but he needs her words to come out faster. He needs to know that you’re safe.

“Luffy, that’s enough.” Sanji takes a long drag off the cigarette between his lips, ready to step in at any moment. “Calm down. You shouldn’t be acting that way towards a lady.”

“THEN TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!” Luffy roars out to the room, but he releases his navigator. Nami backs away from him until her back hits a wall, and then sinks to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs into her hands again and again. “I’m so sorry, Luffy.”

“She got taken.” Sanji says in her place. He takes another inhale off the cigarette and removes it from his mouth. He makes brief eye contact with Zoro, both of them prepping for the worst reaction from their captain. “By the Marines.”

Luffy stands there, stunned for a moment. Surely he had misheard Sanji. There was a strange ringing in his ears, and his vision started to get dark around the edges. “By the…marines?”

Sanji sighs. “Yeah. She was protecting Nami, and they got her with the sea prism stone cuffs and made a quick escape. We tried to get her back, but they were quick. It almost felt like that was their mission the whole time.”

Sanji mouth kept moving, but Luffy couldn’t hear him. He could only hear your laugh, see your smile. And then he hears Ace, thanking him with his final breath. No, the outcome wouldn’t be the same. He was stronger now, and he would save you. He had to save you.

“We’re not letting them leave this island with her.” His voice is authoritative, even if his entire body is shaking with fear.

The entire crew responds in unison. “Obviously.”

Rescued

Law

A/N: Injury and surgery mentions

“CAPTAINNN!!!” The Heart Pirates race towards their captain, eager to see him again. It had been too long. He smiles at his crew, but his eyes are scanning the crowd. He can’t locate the two people who are always first to greet him. “Where’s Bepo and Y/N-ya?” You and Bepo had been sent for a reconnaissance mission a few days ago and should’ve arrived back before Law. His unease grew as he watched his crew’s eyes shift nervously between each other.

Penguin finally clears his throat and speaks up for the crew. “Bepo is back at camp. He got inju-” Law is already on the move, not waiting for Penguin to finish his sentence. He refuses to run, but he’s walking as fast as he can without doing so.

Penguin is following close behind, not missing a beat. “Captain-” he starts again, trying to find the right words, but he’s cut off again by the surgeon.

“How critical are they?” He asks, tone clipped. He had used a lot of energy on the mission, but he’d do whatever he needed to in order to keep his crew alive. Especially you and Bepo.

“Bepo has blunt force trauma to his torso that will probably need to be examined and a deep wound in his leg and paw that will need to be checked out. He’s unconscious but stable.” Penguin responded. He had gotten used to reporting injuries to the Captain. “But, Captain-”

“And Y/N-ya?” Law felt better knowing Bepo was okay, assuming you probably had the same injury status.

Penguin said nothing for a long moment, which caused Law to glance his way. His mouth felt like sandpaper suddenly, and he realized that Penguin hadn’t actually report about you at all yet. “Penguin,” he prompted again. “What about Y/N?”

“She hasn’t reported in yet.” Penguin’s voice was pained. “We found Bepo unconscious about a half a kilometer from camp.”

Law hissed in disapproval, resisting the urge to Shambles closer to camp. He needed to save what little energy he had left. Penguin kept moving silently beside him, but Law could feel there was something his crew member wasn’t saying. He waited a few moments before he couldn’t stand the tension. “What aren’t you telling me, Penguin?”

“It’s not confirmed.” Penguin starts out, trying to keep it positive. “But Shachi heard something on the radio.”

“What? Spit it out.” Laws tone was dangerously close to being hostile.

“The Marines said..” Penguin stopped moving, taking a breath, as if to prepare himself.

Law didn’t raise his voice at his crew often, but with a member of his crew injured and another missing, he snapped. He turned on his heels and glared daggers at his subordinate. “Stop keeping me on edge and tell me already, dammit!”

“The Marines said they had someone in custody!” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a squeak, leaving a heavy weight in the air.

The captain paused for a moment to take in Penguin’s words, and then turned away, heading towards Bepo again without another word.

“Ca-Captain?” Penguin was back on his heels again, but Law said nothing. He couldn’t be distracted by a simple rumor. You were probably safe, hiding in the woods, waiting for a moment to come back to camp. Bepo would confirm that when he woke up.

Penguin tried again. “Captain, it’s just that-”

“You said it wasn’t confirmed right? She’s fine, then. Let’s worry with Bepo, and then we’ll send out a search party for her when we get a better idea of her last location.” The Captain’s confidence in you left Penguin stopped in his tracks, but Law kept moving forward towards his injured crew member, leaving Penguin in the dust.

—

Law waited by Bepo’s side after the surgery, within close earshot of Shachi and the radio. He had split the crew into small groups and sent them out to search for you in rotations, but nobody had found any sign of you so far.

Law couldn’t sleep while you were missing, but he knew he needed rest. He compromised by sitting and staring at the radio, as if he were trying to will it to speak to them. After a few hours of silence, radio static signaled that the channel was active. “Do we have confirmation on the identity of the individual in custody yet?” A husky voice broke the air.

“Standby.” A younger voice responded, maybe even younger than Law.

Law stood up for the first time since he had finished tending to Bepo. “Switch to-”

Shachi was already flipping to the secure line they had tapped earlier.

The husky voice returned as Shachi hit the channel switch. “-me you have a name, Lieutenant. I’ve got HQ on my ass about this matter.”

“Yessir. We have confirmation that the individual in question is [F/N] [L/N] of the Heart Pirates led by Trafalgar Law.”

The husky-voice man let out an audible gasp. “You better not be shitting me, Lieutenant. You’re positive?”

Shachi looked nervously at his Captain, but Law was fixated on the radio. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening.

“Yes sir.” The younger man confirmed. “We have multiple sources from the battlefield confirming her skill and her identity. We’re departing for Impel Down as we speak”.

Law’s breath was shallow. He needed to get to you. To pull you back to safety. “Room.” If he can just make an area wide enough, he can shambles himself to you and free you.

But the effects from the mission and the operation weigh heavy on him, and he can feel his ability fading before he can find your presence. He falls to the ground, the weight of failure finally pushing him over the edge into total exhaustion. He can feel the world spinning, and know he’s far surpassed his limit.

“Ready the ship to set sail immediately and do so immediately.” He can feel his eyes closing against his will, no matter how determined he is to stay awake. “We’re going after her. Follow them at any cost.”

As he slips from consciousness, he only thinks about you. How he’s lost you, and how he’ll stop at nothing to get you back.

Rescued

Ace:

A/N: major gore/injuries

“To Whitebeard!” Mugs of various alcohols slammed together for a toast. Ace had Marco in a headlock, laughing and drinking his cup of ale while Marco struggled to get free.

“I’m just saying we should wait to celebrate!” Marco squirmed below him. “Jozu’s division still isn’t back-”

“Come on, Marco,” Ace jested. “You really have that little faith in division three? I’m telling Y/N. She’ll never forgive you, y’know.”

Marco finally freed himself from Ace’s grip and stood upright, looking out to sea. “It just…they should be back by now.”

As the hours passed and the party raged on, Ace found himself glancing at the horizon more and more frequently. By the time the sun was setting, his gaze was stuck on the path you should be returning back on. “They should be back by now,” he muttered to himself. “Where are you?” Ace pulls out your vivre card, relieved to find it intact and inching towards the way you should be returning.

He held your vivre card all evening, watching for any signs of distress. Marco sat with him on lookout, waiting for any kind of news as well. It wasn’t until the moon hung high in the sky that lights appeared on the horizon. “They’re back!” Relief washed over him as he shook Marco awake. He tucked your vivre card away and stood up for the first time in hours. “I’m going to go meet them and see what’s going on.”

“Wait, Ace,” Marco started, still groggy with sleep. “It could be-” but Ace was already jumping off the boat, aiming for his Striker. Flames appeared far below where Marco was sitting, and the Striker’s engine roared as it took off towards the approaching ship.

Ace was used to you all being apart for missions. You were in the third division with Jozu, so it didn’t always line up that you all worked together. But Jozu was a man who was always has his crew back by rendezvous time, and it had been over twelve hours since that time had passed.

The ship was flying a Whiteboard flag, and he could pick out a few crew members he recognized when he looked through the binoculars. He let out a sigh of relief, finally releasing a burden he didn’t realize he was carrying. The pit that had grown in his stomach over the past half day had been so slow, he didn’t even notice it until it started to ease away.

The feeling of relief didn’t last long. As he got closer, he realized the ship itself was in bad shape. It had clearly been through an unexpected battle, maybe even more than one. He threw more flames out from his feet and raced towards the ship, the pit in his stomach returning and multiplying by the second.

He jumped aboard the boat, looking for your face in the crowd, but all he could see were beaten and battered crew mates in various states of conditions. Some had cuts, others were more bandages than human. The smell was worse. The stench of death and distant smell of blood was mixed with a strange smell of meat cooking. Ace’s vision blurred for a second seeing such a sight, and he willed himself to stay focused.

A deep voice called his name from the other side of the ship. Jozu. He looked around, searching for his fellow commander, but couldn’t locate him. “Down here, man.”

Ace had a pretty iron stomach, but the sight of his friend made it do a few somersaults. Jozu had a horrible head gash that someone was applying constant pressure on, a bandage wrapped around one eye, and the entire left part of his body seemed to be blackened, as if it were burnt.

“Jozu…” Ace resisted the urge to ask about your status, suddenly afraid of the answer. “What happened?”

“Navy ambush.” Jozu took a ragged breath, and those around him exchanged worried looks. “We didn’t stand a chance.” Jozu was gasping for air at this point, but he was determined to get the information out. “They took prisoners. About 10-15.” It was clear he wanted to relay more information, but his body convulsed with a sudden coughing fit.

“Who was taken? Where is-” Ace stopped himself right before he says your name, shameful of the fact that he’s prioritizing your life over everyone else.

His cheeks must’ve turned a shade of red, because a kid passing by glares at him. “If you’re going to vomit, do it over the side of the ship. We have enough to clean up.”

Jozu’s cough finally subsides, and he looks at his brother with deep regret in his eyes. Ace’s heart plummets, and he knows what to expect before the words are out of his mouth. “They took her, Ace. They took Y/N. I’m sorry. I-” whatever Jozu was going to say is cut off by another round of coughing fits, but Ace doesn’t need an explanation. He just needs you back.

Ace gingerly puts his hand on Jozu’s right shoulder, one of the few places the third division commander doesn’t seem to be injured. “Don’t you worry, Jozu. I’ll get them back.” Without another word, he jumps off the ship and onto his Striker.

“Hang on, Ace.” Marco’s voice of reason calls out to him from the deck of the ship, and Ace silently curses himself for waking him in the first place. “You need a plan. Don’t go charging into this headfirst. It’ll just get you killed.”

“I have a plan!” Ace fibbed. “I’ll be back in the morning with the prisoners.”

“Ace,” Marco starts. It was clear to him that the freckled boy wouldn’t listen to anyone who stood in his way.

“If they get them to Impel Down it’s over and you know it!” Ace’s panic was starting to show. Marco could see his eyes from the deck, wild and desperate like a cornered animal.

“Tch, you’re always such a hothead.” Marco chided. “Good luck. I’ll relay what happened to Pops, but be prepared for any consequences when you get back.”

Ace grinned and tipped his hat towards Marco. “Good luck here, Marco. Thanks for everything.” The Striker’s engine roared to life once again, and he pulled out your vivre card, ready to follow your compass to hell and back.

Rescued

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy #luffy x y/n #luffy x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law x y/n #law x reader #portgas d ace #ace x y/n #ace x reader #cozage #✧˚ luffy✧˚#✧˚law✧˚#✧˚ace✧˚

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myownwholewildworld · 2 months

Text

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 4

chapter 3 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 5

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

a/n: hiya! i already mentioned all of this in my snippet post, but i'll do so again. in this chapter we are going down some dark path. probably not wise considering how shit has been going down as of late in the pedro pascal fandom. i have tried to write this chapter as sensibly as i could given the circumstances reader is in. i know this is a sensitive topic so please, PLEASE, read the warnings before you go ahead. i promise i'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter. other than that, i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! i love engaging with you guys. take care of yourselves <3

warnings: MDNI, 18+. please proceed with caution. if any of the following warnings trigger you, skip this chapter. DARK THEME. r4pe threats (it doesn’t happen, but still). death threats. mention of voyeurism. unsolicited dirty talk. slapping. reader is humiliated. derogatory terms (bitch, whore). swear words. masturbation (m to himself). body shaming (well deserved though). blood. violence. gore bc joel loses his shit. murder (but it’s okay because i say so). soft!caring!joel. pet name (dove). reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n. joel's and reader's pov.

w/c: ~2.3k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

Joel groaned, face down on the ground. His head hurt like hell, to the point where he could not even open his eyes. A drilling pain on the back of his skull pierced through the whole way to the space between his eyebrows. He squeezed his eyes, in an attempt to clear his sight, before opening them. The whole world spun around him like a merry-go-round ― he felt like throwing up.

He motioned his hand backwards to where the searing pain was coming from, only to find a new source of aching ― his right shoulder felt like it was dislocated, but the reality was that he had been shot.

I have been shot, he repeated in his mind.

Why though? He couldn’t remember what had happened nor where he was.

“Joel! What the fuck is going on?!”, Tommy’s voice forced him to close his eyes again. He kneeled beside Joel, putting pressure on his shoulder. “Where is she?”

Where is who? he wanted to reply.

And then it hit him. You both gave in to your passion, and he ruined it by labelling it “a mistake”. And then hell broke loose ― his last memory was your screams before you were dragged away.

Consciousness flooded back into him. Joel sat up quickly ― too quickly as his head pulsed in excruciating pain.

“Easy, Joel”, said the younger Miller, removing his hand to inspect the wound and tying a piece of clothing around the shoulder to contain the bleeding. “The bullet has gone through cleanly. You’re going to need to take care of that wound but should heal just fine”.

“They’ve taken her, Tommy”, Joel managed to mutter.

Doom washed over him. He felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what your destiny might be. He should have paid attention; he should have known you both were being watched. But at that moment in time he was thinking with his cock, not with his brain. He put you in harm’s way. He knew he shouldn’t have exposed you like that. He would not have done it had he known someone was spying on you both.

His last words to you basically meant that you were a mistake he regretted. His heart contracted so hard at the realisation of what he had said, his lungs evacuated all air within them. Where those going to really be his last words to you?

Joel gulped down the knot in his throat. He truly was a damned man. Everyone he touched, died. His deceased wife, Sarah, now potentially you too.

Death might be her best way out, that intrusive thought scared the shit out of him. He shook his head at the idea, in denial.

“Who have?”, Tommy asked. Joel could hear fear in his brother’s voice, mirroring his own.

Joel stood up with the help of Tommy and touched the back of his skull, finding the sore spot. It was wet ― blood covered the palm of his hand, which he cleaned on his jeans.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. If something happens to her, I swear to fucking God, Tommy, I will―”.

Tommy nodded in understanding and handed Joel the rifle and his jacket.

You were finding very hard to come back to consciousness. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, not being able to connect them in a way that made sense. You felt like you had been sleeping for ages, but it had only been five minutes. Your heart was beating slowly on your chest, your breaths shallow.

You heard two male voices nearby. For a second, you thought they were Joel and Tommy. But even in your semi-conscious state, you knew it wasn’t them. You managed to open one eye, looking around. Memories started to crawl back ― you and Joel fucking like the world was ending, him being a prick once again, then the gunshot, Joel falling to the ground, two men approaching and taking you away. Your heart began to race.

Was he alive? He had to be. He couldn’t have died. You would know, you would feel it in your guts. You felt like your chest was being crushed. No, he can’t be.

“God, I am gonna come”, you spotted the first man you saw, the one who shot Joel, jerking off besides you.

Had you been fully conscious, you would have retched when he cleaned the cum off his hand on your T-shirt.

“She was fucking that guy like a whore, she won’t mind if we use her for a bit”, said the second man. “I bet her cunt is still fucking wet. But we should wait for the others to get here first”.

You were slowly coming back to your senses, starting to understand the gravity of your situation. By the way they talked, it was pretty clear what their plans for you were. The prospect of being raped awakened your fight-or-flight instinct, your brain racing with thoughts, trying to come up with an escape plan. Either you fled, or you died trying.

You were sat up, your back against a tree, your hands loosely tied up in front of you. You rubbed one hand against the other, the right one slowly coming off the knot.

“I want to fuck her mouth so bad ― I don’t think that lucky bastard did”, you were not sure who said it, but you didn’t care.

“With such a small dick, I bet you I still would have plenty of room in my mouth to be able to talk unbothered”, you couldn’t stop the snarky remark.

The first man didn’t take your comment very graciously, probably ashamed of such a small dick. He slapped you with such force, the ring on his finger slashed the skin on your right cheek. You fell to the ground on your belly, your hands becoming free in the process, which you hid under your body so that monkey of a man wouldn’t notice.

“We’ll see how much you laugh after we’re finished with you and leave your broken body somewhere for your boyfriend to see”, he threatened with a laugh, touching himself again. "Open up, bitch".

He grabbed you by your hair, forcing you to face him, his ridiculously tiny dick too close to your mouth. You pulled away from him with all your might, releasing yourself from his grasp.

Although you put on a mask and pretended this was not affecting you, you were so fucking frightened. Your survival instinct kicked in again when the same ape tried to snatch you by the T-shirt as you slithered away, partially ripping it. You turned around quickly and scratched his face ― your nails sinking in his skin as deep as you could. You thought you hit his eye ― and you wished him blind. You growled like a cornered animal when the second man approached you, while the first one was on his knees wailing like a newborn baby.

“So you’re a fighter, huh?”, he chuckled.

When he got close, you knocked him off his feet by swinging one of your legs sideways under him. That was your chance ― and you took it. You got up and started running, the second man shouting blasphemies while going after you.

You had only run like five yards when a gunshot echoed in the middle of the night. You ducked and tripped, falling to the ground.

You looked back and saw that guy face down on the dirt, not moving. The back of his head was blown to pieces, half of it had disintegrated into thin air. Blood and brain bits had started to soak the leaves under him.

Then you saw Joel a few feet back, rifle on hand, Tommy just a few metres behind him.

You sighed with relief.

Joel had one look at the state of you and wished he hadn’t shot that man. He should have suffered a more terrible death. He felt anger ―no, fury― burning up his insides. Joel was seeing red, not being able to tame his feelings back under control. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins with solace ―you were alive― but also with rage.

“Man, we’re sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not what it looks like, I had nothing to do with this”, begged the man who had shot him ten minutes earlier.

Joel slowly turned around to face him. The asshole was on his knees, his left eye bleeding profusely, trousers pulled down and his micropenis dangling out of his underwear. With his eyes fixated on the poor excuse of a man praying on the ground, Joel handed the rifle to Tommy and unsheathed the folding hunting knife he kept in his boot.

“No, please, I promise you I didn’t touch her, I would never―”, his pleading fell on deaf ears.

“You fucking liar”, Joel said under his breath, positioning himself behind the kneeled man.

Joel grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head backwards to expose his neck. He could see tears on the edges of his eyes. He was young, probably around twenty, but Joel didn’t give a fuck. He deserved to die. Joel unfolded the hunting knife by removing the safeguard, placed it under his chin and slit his throat slowly but steadily. The man gagged, desperately trying to fill his lungs with oxygen ― his hands had flown to his neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but blood was pouring out like a fountain.

Joel looked at him dead in the eye until the man’s arms fell to his sides. When he was sure that motherfucker was dead, he let go of the head, the body making a thudding sound when it hit the floor.

Only then he dared to look in your direction. He wasn’t ready to see you down on your knees, dry tears on your cheeks. You looked like a baby deer in the middle of the road at night, blinded by the headlights. One side of your T-shirt was ripped from top to bottom, one of your breasts showing. You were not moving, your big eyes widened in shock.

Joel did not want to imagine what had happened to you, but he saw semen on your T-shirt and his brain started wandering off to the darkest of places. He was frozen in place for a few seconds before finally approaching you slowly, afraid you were going to step back away from him. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. He put away the knife before kneeling in front of you ― his hands, palms down, up in the air.

“Are you…?”, he didn’t finish the question because it was obvious you were not okay.

“It’s okay”, you answered immediately.

Joel gave you a puzzled look.

“No, it’s not fucking okay”, he whispered.

Then reality dawned on you. Your body had been on high alert this whole time, your instincts forcing you to put your feelings away so you could focus on the task at hand ― escaping as unscathed as possible. It wasn’t until those men were dead and Joel faced you, that you allowed emotions to take over you.

Your eyes welled up, your entire body shaking as the adrenaline abandoned your system.

“I… I don’t… It’s just…”, you couldn’t form coherent sentences.

Joel closed the distance between you two and hugged you. You buried your face in his chest and sobbed silently for minutes on end. His left hand stroked your hair as he held you and whispered calming words in your ear. When your eyes dried up, you looked up at him through damp eyelashes and he swept away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, the rest of his fingers gently placed on your jawline.

“Your cheek”, Joel’s lips wrinkled as he hovered his thumb over the wound.

You could tell he was trying to control himself, but as the seconds went on, he got calmer.

“Can I?”, he muttered, looking down to your teared T-shirt.

You nodded and he helped you take it off. Joel blocked Tommy’s vision with his broad body while he removed his jacket and helped you put it on, discarding your dirty T-shirt to one side.

“They didn’t…”, you tried to explain, your bottom lip trembling.

“We don’t need to talk about it now, only when you’re ready ― if you’re ever ready”, he spoke softly.

You greatly appreciated he didn’t push you for an explanation of what had happened. You were not sure you could talk about it without breaking down again. You breathed in deeply and nodded again. Then you noticed the blood on his shoulder. You raised one hand, softly touching the improvised dressing.

“You’re hurt, Joel”, you mumbled.

“It’s nothing, it’s not even painful. Let’s go back to the cave. You need to rest and I need to clean that wound on your cheek before it gets infected”, said Joel while helping you up.

You saw Tommy in the distance ― he had been kind enough to give you some privacy. Joel guided you through the trees, his left arm firmly wrapped around your waist to aid you in your walking.

You didn’t get too far though, not even with his help. Your legs were so wobbly you were afraid you couldn’t stand any longer. Joel saw you struggling and with no hesitation whatsoever, he picked you up in his arms to carry you to the cave.

"You're gonna hurt your shoulder even more, Joel", you complained.

"Nonsense", he whispered, softly kissing your forehead.

You did not protest after that again and hugged his neck, your face hiding in the curve of his neck.

In his arms, you felt safe. Your haven on this twisted, revolting earth.

“One of the men said they were waiting on more people to arrive”, you remembered suddenly.

Joel briefly looked down at you. You could tell he was controlling his face expression.

“Don’t worry about it, dove. I’ll take care of each one of them”.

That was a promise he kept religiously.

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loudclan-clangen · 7 months

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Hey there!

Checking out Loudclan? That's great! Thanks so much!

Loudclan was originally planned to be drawn as I played the game like most other clangen blogs... Then I got frustrated about how slow it was moving and played ahead. Just a little bit, nothing to worry about, only about 1000 moons. So this blog should be running for A WHILE. I also take pretty big liberties with the designs and events. I think it's more interesting that way! Also it's been several real life months since I started playing and some things I just... forgot. Or lost. Either way, it's fun to stretch my creative skills.

As for the mechanics of the blog:

General Content Warnings Include:

Death, Animal Death, (Cat Death specifically), Death in Childbirth, Violence, Murder, Illness, Gore, Grooming, Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cheating, Affairs, Drama, Cursing, Language, Dirty Jokes, ECT. (if i missed something please let me know)

Updates are not going to be on a consistent schedule... ever. I'm a college student. I just don't have the time or energy.

The style is going to vary wildly. It's been years since I've consistently drawn cats and I wasn't ever really happy with the way I did it back then anyway. Come along for the ride with me! I'm just as surprised by what my hands create as you guys!

Overview:

Loudclan is set in a fictional location that is based on South Central Alaska. A group of rogues fled up the mountains to get away from the deep snows of the valleys at the beginning of a particularly harsh winter. The clan follows three "Leaders" in the form of the Leader, the Lead Healer, and the Lead Mediator. These leaders will each pass their position on to their oldest heir, the closest related member of their direct family. Issues regarding what happens when two cats have similar claims have yet to be sorted out by the clan, and may never be fully decided... *insert mysterious foreshadowing sounds*

If you are interested in more of a deep dive into the lore check out this post: Lore, or anything tagged #loudclanlore .

Want to see a list of all of the Loudclan cats? Go here: Allegiances.

Asks are welcome! I will do my best to answer them quickly and efficiently! I am happy to talk about characters, art, process, gameplay, pretty much anything. (I probably won't be showing sprites though, just because I've played ahead so far and a not insignificant amount of them are just... gone. Lost to the ether. Sacrificed so that my laptop could keep running the game.) All asks are tagged #loudclanasks .

Also fanart/writing/edits are more than welcome! You guys are so cool and talented and I am honored that you would want to make something based on my dumb little pixel cats. Referencing or imitating my style/designs/layout is absolutely allowed, just make sure to mention me so I don't miss them! All fan contributions are tagged #loudclanfan .

I will never complain about anyone "blowing up my notifications" or spam liking. I think it's so neat to see people go through the blog liking as they go. Don't worry about it. I enjoy seeing you enjoy my work!

A little bit about me, you can call me "D"! I use any pronouns, I'm pretty ambivalent about them but the majority of people use she/her for me and I'm fine with that. I'm 20, I live most of the time in Alaska and part time on a ranch in Texas and I'm working on my BA in Elementary Education. I started reading Warriors in 2nd Grade and stopped in 6th Grade but the brain worms never die. If you know me in real life no you don't: It took me all of high school to kill the furry allegations I'm not going through that again. Oh, and my main blog is @restinginpiecesofpizza but warning, there's spoilers for Owlstar's family tree for like 8 generations posted on there.

If you think Loudclan's cool and want to help me out consider checking out my RedBubble!

Anyway, thanks for checking out my blog! I hope you enjoy!

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intplayboy · 6 months

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WITCH'S REFUGE - ROYAL SOLDIERS! BTS OT7 X FEM WITCH! READER [ PROLOGUE ]

if you wish to be part of the tag list, complete the form.

summary: in an era where the royal family denounces all magic, as one of the few remaining witches, you hide your powers. though you try to lead a normal life, only the seven accepting men make you feel truly understood. yet, what destiny awaits when you must reveal your true identity?

pairing: royal soldiers bts ot7 x female witch reader (high royal commander!kim namjoon, high royal soldier!kim seokjin, high royal soldier!min yoongi, royal assassin!jung hoseok, royal assassin!park jimin, elite warrior!kim taehyung, elite warrior!jeon jungkook)

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, death, slight mentions of SA, disgusting misogyny, witchcraft, slight gore, and swearing.

permanent tag list: @taolucha, @exfolitae, @namjoonswaifu, @rinkud, @queenlouie18, @btsgangleader @m0v3m3ntsblog, @nicholedobre-blog, @bjoriis, @princess-sunshyn, @han-aaaaa, @ejspencer14, @skyys-universe, @thvslvt, @dustyinkpages, @savagemickey03, @aynbookworm, @loveforred, @jwonz, @ghostlyworld, @wagtte, @louisaqueen, @meepsters-world, @carolina-thiell, @svnbangtansworld, @deepestfacedevil

(the tags that are strikethrough could not be tagged)

word count: 8,942

*note: the fictional language that will be spoken a lot throughout this story is called "Astrithian". it's mainly used among witches to converse without being understood to outsiders and to vocalize their magic. there will also be a lot of terminology used, which will be explained*

********

15 enchantas ago... (Derived from "Enchant" and "Era," Enchanta marks a single year. It reflects the enchantment and wonder that pervade the world, making each year unique.)

In the midst of the forest that bordered your humble abode, a thrilling spectacle unfolded. Giggles erupted from your seven-year-old self as you dash through the trees, your small feet carrying you swiftly across the woodland floor. Behind you, seven older companions pursued with a mixture of determination and amusement, transforming the surroundings into an endless playground.

Ten-year-old Jimin, one of your companions, couldn't help but grumble in his pursuit. "How is she so tiny, yet moves with such speed?"

A mischievous giggle escaped nine-year-old Jungkook. "Perhaps it's because you're too tiny yourself."

Jimin narrow his eyes at Jungkook. "Your humor lacks refinement."

"I beg to differ. It sounded rather amusing to me," thirteen-year-old Jin chimed in, joining the teasing banter.

"Fine. I wager two draconian ingots that none of you can catch her," Jimin challenged, ego slightly bruised.

(draconian ingots, crafted from rare golden mystical alloys associated with legendary dragons, symbolized wealth and power, reflecting the dragons' historical influence on the world.)

"Two draconian ingots?! Game on!" Jungkook shouts with enthusiasm. "Prepare to be caught, Y/N!"

The onlookers, including Jimin and the rest, watched in astonishment as little Jungkook accelerated on his nimble feet. "Wait—hey!"

"I don't know if you're generous or foolish for making such a bet with Jungkook," eleven-year-old Namjoon remarked, shaking his head with a chuckle.

A groan escapes Jimin as he laments his decision. "Don't remind me..."

Undeterred by the unforeseen turn of events, Taehyung seizes the opportunity, surging ahead in the pursuit of both victory and draconian ingots. "I'm with Jungkook! I want those draconian ingots! Here I come, Y/N!"

The forest echoes with the playful banter and the rustle of leaves as the pursuit continues, transforming a simple chase into a spirited competition fueled by the allure of mythical riches.

Twelve-year-old Yoongi, however, couldn't hide his weariness. "Must we turn a playful chase into a pursuit of bets and riches? I'm growing tired."

"What do you mean? It's always fun! I'm having a blast!" cheered Hoseok.

Jin, always the peacemaker, interjects with playful sarcasm. "You're perpetually tired, Yoongi. Don't use that excuse now."

"But do we really need to take it this far…" Yoongi grumbles.

"Hey, Y/N initially wanted to share something exciting with us. It somehow evolved into a spirited chase," observed Namjoon, thinking of you as a little rascal.

After a short span of a brisk run, you and your seven friends find yourselves at the unexpected marvel you had eagerly anticipated. Pausing to catch your breath, you turn around swiftly, ready to unveil the surprise to your companions.

As they gather around, you theatrically gesture towards it. "Behold! Is it not wondrous?!!"

As their eyes take in the scene before them, their expressions transform into sheer astonishment. "A concealed waterfall?!"

Grinning broadly at their reactions, you declare, "It is not merely a waterfall, my lords."

Confused gazes meet yours, urging you to elaborate. Your excitement bubbles over as you squeal, "It is a magical waterfall!"

"Mother and father informed me that by tossing in a single lunaris shilling, one's deepest desire can be granted," you share with delight. "And should you swim in its waters, every injury and ailment will be miraculously healed!"

(lunaris shillings are silver coins that embody the magic and mystery associated with the moon. they are prized for their magical properties and are often used in mystical transactions.)

A silence lingers as they absorb the revelation, still processing the words that spill from your lips regarding the hidden waterfall discovered in collaboration with your parents.

The more they remain silent, the more a sense of gloom starts to settle within you. Doubt begins to creep in, wondering if they share your enthusiasm or if they question the authenticity of your claims. Yet, you know it to be true – you've witnessed the magical properties of the water firsthand. Your mother's wish for an early harvest season, whispered as she tossed in a shilling, came to fruition three auroas sooner, a testament to the enchanted nature of the waterfall.

(auroa: unique term representing months, inspired by the word "aurora." it symbolizes the cycles of magic, similar to the changing colors of the northern lights.)

You recall the time your father succumbed to a severe respiratory illness, the burden fell upon you and your mother to transport his weakened body to the mystical waters. As you immersed him, a miraculous transformation unfolded before your eyes—the pallor of sickness dissipated, the shadows under his eyes vanished, and vitality surged back into his frail form.

"Well, I have a pair of lunaris shillings right now. Shall we have a go at it, then?" Hoseok approaches, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the silver coins.

The others, initially hesitant, soon follow Hoseok's lead, drawn by the allure of the magical cascade. "Yeah, let's all try it," they chorused, surrendering to the enchantment that lingered in the air.

"Besides, if witches live among us, who's to say magic is not to be real?" Hoseok grins at you, his warmth radiating in the face of uncertainty. Hoseok, with his innate sense of empathy, stood out among your companions, always ready to defend you and find positivity in every situation. He was the angel of your group, and you couldn't help but hope that this facet of his character transcended across all universes.

As you stood in line with Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, Seokjin, and Yoongi, the sparkling waterline glistened under the moonlight, drawing your attention to the tranquil body of water that connected to the majestic waterfall.

"What are you guys wishing for?" you ask with genuine curiosity, the anticipation of fulfilling desires shimmering in the air.

Hoseok gazes ahead pensively before releasing a soft sigh. "To become the finest royal guard in all the kingdom, and to bring honor to each of you," he declared, casting his single shilling into the waters with a determined flick of his wrist.

"You already bring us great pride, Hobi," you reassure him with a tender smile, warmth radiating from your words.

His lips curved into a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Well, I wish to live long and healthy." Jimin says, throwing his own lunaris shillings.

Jungkook, ever the playful one, puffs up his chest with pride, drawing laughter from the group. "I wish to be the strongest in the kingdom so that I can save you anytime, my lady," he declares, a cheesy smile accompanying his theatrical gesture.

You chuckle at his charming display, reciprocating with a smile as he playfully toss his shillings into the water.

A mischievous glint dances in Taehyung's eyes as he steps forward, his wish spoken with a lighthearted jest. "My wish is to remain the most handsome boy in our kingdom!" His shilling follows suit, accompanied by a playful nudge from Jimin.

"You're already a vision, Taehyungie. Such a frivolous wish," Jimin jests, teasing his friend with a good-natured grin.

Taehyung feigns offense, his lips twisting into a mock pout. "Must one's desires be subject to scrutiny? Besides, Y/N herself claimed the water grants any desire. Who am I to resist such potential?"

Seokjin, a noble soul, spoke with a regal air, "I desire to amass wealth, second only to the royal family, to shower you all with opulence whenever the whim takes me." With a flourish, he tosses his lunaris shillings into the mystical depths.

"Ever the provider, Seokjin," Namjoon remarks with a warm smile directed at his older companion.

"Only for you guys," Seokjin replies with a twinkle in his eye.

Yoongi yawns. "Well, for me, I wish to have the best sleeps for all the years to come."

Hoseok rolls his eyes. "Ugh, come on Yoons, this is your one wish, and you're going with that?"

"Mhmm, deal with it," Yoongi concedes. "I wish for the highest standing in the royal court."

Hoseok, in mock surprise, teased, "Hmm, a throne for the sleepyhead. I wonder how that'll unfold."

Yoongi, unfazed, tosses his lunaris shillings into the water alongside the others.

"Now it's my turn... I wish to make a profound impact on our world, something that will resonate with the hearts of the people," Namjoon says, casting his lunaris shillings into the water.

A chorus of awed reactions follows, as Namjoon's words consistently embody honor and admiration from each of you.

"That's truly admirable, Joon," you express, admiration sparkling in your eyes as you smile at him.

Namjoon chuckles, encircling his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into a side hug. "And now, little one, what is your heart's desire?"

"Yeah, you're the last one, Y/N," Taehyung grins widely, the anticipation evident in the group, mirroring their eagerness to hear your wish.

You pause, caught in a moment of contemplation. A recollection surfaces in your mind, a distant echo of your mother's words cautioning you against casting a wish with a lunaris shillings. The water, a benevolent deity of desires, grants wishes to those who offer a solitary shilling, but for reasons never fully explained by your mother, you have always been denied this privilege. However, surrounded by the fervor of your companions' wishes, a yearning to make your own desire known begins to swell within you.

"I... I'm not sure. My mother always cautioned against it," you admit reluctantly.

A collective disbelief and confusion painted the faces of your friends. Namjoon's expression shifted, a slight frown forming on his features. "Why so, my lady?"

"Indeed, you've spoken of it yourself, and your mother too, that the waters grant any wish to those who offer a single lunaris shilling," Taehyung chimed in.

"That seems unjust, does it not? Why should everyone else revel in the joy of making a wish while you are barred?" Jimin pouts, hands resting on his hips.

You can only offer a helpless shrug, your own confusion matching theirs. Yet, before the moment can stretch further, Jungkook strides forward with determination. "Regardless, I believe you should still cast your wish."

"Wait, Jungkook, perhaps there exists a concealed rationale behind Y/N's mother's reluctance. Must we really question her discernment?" Seokjin, reasoned with an air of gentleness.

Jungkook, however, was not swayed. "Indeed, Seokjin, but if such were the case, why did she she impart knowledge of its enchanting powers of the waters to Y/N? It's utterly nonsensical and, dare I say, unjust."

With a firm resolve, Jungkook declared, "She merits the opportunity to express her desires, just as we have."

Seokjin, though still uncertain, mused, "Mhmm, I remain unconvinced, Jungkook. Namjoon, what say you?"

Namjoon pondered, his fingers thoughtfully scratching his chin. "You both make good points."

An expectant hush enveloped the room until Yoongi, the voice of nonchalance, broke the silence. "Well, we find ourselves here now, do we not? What's hindering you?" All eyes turned toward him, waiting for his next utterance.

"Her parents are absent, and only the eight of us bear witness to this clandestine affair. Should none of us breathe a word of tonight, her wish can remain a concealed mystery," Yoongi suggested with tone of indifference.

"So, at this juncture, what hindrance do you perceive?" he nonchalantly reiterated.

Hoseok, ever the optimist, chimed in, "He's not wrong, you know."

As Namjoon turned his gaze back to you. "Well, the decision is ultimately upon you, Y/N," he uttered, his eyes studying you intently.

You purse your lips, your mind racing with possibilities. This choice holds the power to shape your destiny, to alter the course of your life in ways both profound and unforeseen. Beside you, Yoongi's words echo faintly, a reminder of the absence that looms over you like a shadow. Your mother's influence, once a guiding force, now exists only in memory. Here, among friends who value your autonomy, you find the freedom to chart your own course.

With a determined grip, you nodded, the lunaris shilling clutched in your hand. "Very well, I shall make my wish."

The younger members of your group erupt in cheers, their excitement palpable in the air. Hoseok beams at you with infectious enthusiasm.

"And what shall be your wish, my dear lady?" He asks eagerly, his eyes alight with curiosity.

A smile graced your lips. "My wish is for all of us to remain together in happiness, perhaps for an eternity!"

Their smiles mirrored your own, appreciative of the simplicity yet profound sentiment behind your wish.

"What a splendid wish, my lady," Namjoon praised, his admiration evident. With that, you cast your lunaris shillings into the water—and in this moment, a sense of peace washes over you, filling the air with a quiet serenity, surrounded by those who cherish you, you feel truly alive.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the path, you and your seven companions strolled toward the cozy cottage that served as your haven. Laughter echoed in the night air as the camaraderie among you all painted a picture of joy and carefree revelry. However, the joyful ambiance quickly shifted when you glimpsed your mother anxiously waiting in the doorway, a deep furrow of concern etched upon her brow.

Oblivious to the impending unease, you hastened towards her, your heart brimming with excitement for the shared supper with your parents and friends. Yet, your mother's countenance betrayed a different sentiment.

"Y/N, where on Earth have you all been?" she exclaimed, her voice edged with worry.

Perplexity clouded your once radiant expression. "What do you mean, Mother? We were merely frolicking in the woods, as is our wont."

"Something has occurred; we must make ready to depart," she urged, grasping your shoulders with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine. Her gaze then shifted to the perplexed and apprehensive faces of your friends, who formed a line behind you.

"Is everything alright, Amahra?" Namjoon inquired with a hint of trepidation.

(Amahra is an endearing term used to address a woman who holds a nurturing and motherly role in someone's life. It is often used with great respect and affection, to acknowledge a maternal figure in the Astrithian language. The overall pronunciation would be similar to "ah-MAH-rah," with a slight rolling of the "r" if you're comfortable doing so.)

A rueful chuckle escaped her lips. "My dear Zarëln, I regret to inform you that you must return to your homes and families."

(In Astrithian, an endearing term used by elders or those in a nurturing role to affectionately address a younger person can be "Zarël," pronounced as "Zah-rehl." This term signifies a sense of protection and guidance, expressing a bond likened to that of a parent and child. To refer to more than one child, you would pluralize it as "Zarëln," pronounced as "Zah-reln.")

"It is urgent for all of us, and for all of you. My farewells must be swift, I'm afraid," she added.

"Mother, what troubles you?" you asked, a somber worry shading your features.

Kneeling down, she gently replied, "I shall explain later, my daughter." Turning to your seven friends, who remained rooted in confusion, she implored, "You all must go now!"

"Return home, my Zarëln, promptly!" she softly commanded, tears glistening in her eyes unbeknownst to you and your friends.

"We shall take our leave then," Namjoon declared, cutting through the bewildering silence. The decision was made for the group, yet the youngest, Jungkook, hesitated.

"But, Namjoon..." His gaze shifted between Namjoon, you and your mother, his reluctance evident as he grappled between concern for you and an unspoken fear lingering in the atmosphere.

"She has requested our departure twice already. Let us not compel her to utter it a third time. We leave now," Namjoon asserted, directing his gaze to Jungkook and the rest of the boys, his eyes emanating a commanding authority beyond his years.

Turning to face you and your mother, Namjoon offers a reassuring smile. "We'll see each other again, Y/N—remember," he says, his words carrying a promise that stirs something deep within you, reminiscent of the wish you made not long ago at the magical waters.

With a final nod, Namjoon led the boys away from your home. Each of them bid their farewells, waving at you with a mixture of solemnity and promise.

As the seven companions gradually disappeared from view, your mother ushered you inside the quaint cottage. She pulled you along by your wrist, and inside, you found your father in a state of hurried activity, stuffing various items into a sizable cloth pouch.

"Father... Why are you packing? What's happening? Mother won't tell me anything," you inquire, your innocence tinged with concern.

Your father halted his frenzied movements and fixed his gaze on you, his eyes holding a gentleness that momentarily softened the gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry, my little enchantress. But the times have changed now. You and your mother may be in danger, and we must flee from here to keep all of us safe."

"What...? Why, Father?" Your voice trembles with emotion, betraying the sadness that grips your heart at the news.

"Children!" The mothers of the seven boys exclaimed, their figures silhouetted against the dim lamplight of the late evening, their faces etched with concern as they awaited their sons coming from their Quadravicar.

(Quadravicar: its name, derived from the fusion of "Quadra" for four and "Vicar," symbolizes both its capacity and its role as a symbol of prestige and status in the kingdom.)

"Mother, what's the matter? It's unusual to find you all gathered like this upon our return from Y/N's," Jin remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension as he and his friends approached their mothers.

"Where are our fathers? Is there some sort of gathering?" Jin inquired without pausing for an answer to his initial query. The mothers exchanged furtive glances, a silent exchange laden with unspoken tension, while Jin's keen eyes caught sight of the Quandrivaeon.

(Quandrivaeon: The term combines elements of "Quadr-" for four passengers and wheels, and "Vaeon," a unique, exotic-sounding word evoking elegance and regality. The Quandrivaeon would be the epitome of luxury and sophistication, exclusively reserved for the royal family)

"The royal family in attendance?" Jin's brows furrowed in confusion. "Mother, please, enlighten us."

"We've came from a state of perplexity, as well. Y/N's mother hurried our farewells, urging an immediate return home," Jin continued to gaze intently at his mother, silently demanding an explanation.

Finally relenting with a soft, resigned sigh, his mother confessed, "I regret to inform you, but the royal family has orchestrated an emergency meeting with your fathers."

"An emergency meeting for what purpose?" Namjoon interjected, stepping forward with equal concern.

"A new Arcantia is to be established," Namjoon's mother interjected, noticing the other six mothers hesitated to respond, their glances fraught with reluctance.

(Arcantia: A fusion of "Arcane" and "Centuries," representing magical eras lasting a hundred years. Arcantia symbolizes the ever-changing weave of magic throughout the ages.)

"What do you mean by 'a new Arcantia'?" Hoseok's eyes widened in trepidation, sensing the gravity of the impending revelation.

"Yes, my dear children, a new Arcantia is set to commence—an Arcantia where all magic, and all who wield it, shall be expunged from the Kingdom of Pentaraegis," Namjoon's mother finally clarified.

"Banished? Magic, banned?" Jin's disbelief rang out, echoing the incredulity shared by his companions.

"That is correct, my son." Jin's mother nodded in solemn. But to them, the boys, it seemed so feigned.

The rest of the boys stood in shock and disbelief, grappling with the revelation. The abrupt prohibition of magic, so deeply intertwined with their kingdom, appeared surreal.

"For what reason?" Hoseok questioned, skepticism evident in his voice.

Their mothers exchanged glances, silently communicating with one another through their eyes, further intensifying the boys' frustration.

"Mother!" The simultaneous exclamation from the seven boys reverberated, causing their mothers to flinch involuntarily.

"We don't wish to alarm you, but unsettling whispers have circulated regarding a formidable group of witches. They seek to annex territories within our kingdom and forge alliances with covens and solitary witches alike. Your fathers, in alliance with the royal family, are marshaling forces to safeguard Pentaraegis and secure our collective future," explained Jin's mother, her eyes conveying a mix of sorrow and determination.

The weight of this revelation sent shockwaves through the faces of all seven boys. "But— but that's treason... Surely those witches comprehend the gravity of their actions," stuttered Jimin, his words hanging in the air like a lingering mist.

The countenances of their mothers mirrored the weight of the truth they had just disclosed. They understood the turbulent emotions surging within their sons upon learning of the imminent conflict. The witches' desire to claim Pentaraegis lands hinted at an impending war between two factions: the mundane humans and the witches.

In the midst of the heavy silence, Yoongi broke through with a voice that, despite his quiet nature, cut through the tension like a blade. "Is there more you wish to disclose?" His eyes remained fixed on the ground, an uncharacteristic intensity in his gaze.

"These rebellious witches have already seized control of several lands and are poised to claim another as we speak," Yoongi's mother revealed, her words landing like a solemn decree.

"W-where? Is it close by?" Jungkook's fear-laden voice trembled, his wide eyes glistening like twin constellations.

"No, thank the Gods. It's at the border of Auraventia," replied Yoongi's mother, a slight glimmer of relief accompanying her words.

"No..." Jungkook's voice trailed off, a tremor evident in his whisper, the horror mirrored in the collective visages of his companions.

"Why the distress, children?" Jin's mother inquired, her concern palpable.

"We've just returned there, or thereabouts," Jin interjected. "B-But Y/N! Her and her family is still there!"

Jin's concern resonated in his voice, mirrored by the anxious expressions of the rest of six young boys. The looming threat was not a mere abstraction; it was approaching the very doorstep of your home.

"We must extend our aid!" Hoseok exclaimed, a fervent determination in his eyes.

"No. You shall not!" Hoseok and Yoongi's mother asserted.

"And why should we not! They're in danger!" Jin exclaimed, his determination etched in the lines of his face.

"You'd be putting yourselves and all of us in jeopardy. Only a select few of us are privy to the full extent of the situation. Furthermore, we have already dispatched some of our men to aid them," Hoseok's mother reasoned with a firm resolve.

"Wait—That explains Y/N's mother hastening our farewells..." Namjoon mused aloud, prompting all the young men to turn their attention to him, eager for his insight.

Jimin silently nodded, affirming Namjoon's observation. "And did you catch that she urged Y/N to hasten her preparations..."

Taehyung furrowed his brow in contemplation, raising his gaze. "Hold on, were you all aware of this impending danger?"

Their collective silence was an admission, a realization that dawned upon them in this very moment. "And yet, you chose to withhold such crucial information from the outset!"

Jin and Namjoon turned back to their mothers, awaiting some form of explanation. "You are all truly incredulous."

Without a moment's hesitation, the seven determined young boys strode into the opulent cottage, boldly disrupting the pivotal meeting between their fathers and the royal family. The entry door was left agape in a brazen act, while their anxious mothers trailed closely behind.

"How long?" Namjoon demanded, the first to speak.

"Boys! How rude of you to barge in like this," scolded Namjoon's father with a stern tone, swiftly silenced by Namjoon's insistence. "How long were you all aware of this?!"

Gathered around a grand oval wooden table, the men, in collaboration with the King and Queen, surrounded a detailed map of the kingdom. Marked statues adorned specific locations, seemingly representing annexed territories claimed by rebellious witches. Other cryptic markers littered the tableau, leaving the boys uneasy about the ominous implications.

The seven boys darted their eyes between the unsettling symbols on the table and the elders, awaiting an explanation.

"Namjoon, boys, you can't simply demand answers like that," attempted Namjoon's mother to pacify them.

"No, the safety of our people is at stake, and none of you have uttered a word. My questions are justified," asserted Namjoon. Despite his youth, his intellect surpassed his peers, comprehending matters typically reserved for adults.

"You informed them?" Jin's father scrutinized the mothers, who wore guilt on their faces, confirming his suspicion.

"They are your children; their curiosity is unavoidable," the King interjected, diffusing the tension.

Jin, with a quizzical expression, stared at the King. "Answer the question: how long were you all aware of this dire situation?"

"Seokjin! Mind your tone with His Majesty," reprimanded Jin's father, but Jin, fixated on the King, ignored the warning, fearing the worst for you.

"I apologize for my son's tone, your Majesty," Jin's father pleaded.

The King, however, smiled and shook his head in understanding. "It's alright; fear is inevitable. To answer your query, young one, these rumors began circulating three auroas ago, and we only confirmed them just an auroa ago. Hence, your parents couldn't inform you earlier."

Hobi, perceiving an ominous aura from the red markers on the map, inquired, "What do the other markers signify?"

“Hoseok!” Hobi’s mother scolded.

The King's smile returned, though this time it bore a hint of feigned warmth, perhaps even a touch of sinister undertones. The boys couldn't quite grasp it, but they remained attentive to the King's response. "Oh, those represent the areas in our kingdom where we've dispatched our most esteemed military men for what we might term loyalty investigations."

"Loyalty investigations? Such a concept eludes my ears," Namjoon declared, narrowing his eyes. "And what transpires during these so-called 'loyalty investigations'?"

"Well, it's akin to a specialized inquiry led by the King's elite soldiers to ensure no one undermines the kingdom's stability. They visit households, pose questions, and guarantee the safety of our cherished realm. It's a kind of elaborate game of hide-and-seek, where they seek out those who may not fully grasp the importance of loyalty. Remember, unwavering support for the royal family is paramount. It's akin to a stern lesson; their language may be forceful, but it serves to underscore the imperative of unity," Yoongi's mother interjected, choosing her words carefully.

Namjoon, however, with his keen intellect, saw through the carefully crafted explanation. "So, you've instituted a military inquisition?"

"Namjoon—! Pardon my son's audacity, your Majesty," Namjoon's father hissed, bowing slightly to the King.

"What about those innocent in the matter?" Jimin asked with genuine concern in his tone.

"They, too, shall be implicated," Jimin's father promptly replied. "Now, all of you boys, leave this room at once, no more questions."

"Take them away," he ordered, motioning toward their mothers.

As they were unceremoniously dragged away in protest by their mothers, Hoseok's perceptive eyes caught something that seized his immediate interest – a red marker, situated on a land he intimately knew, sending shivers down his spine.

The border of Auraventia.

His eyes widened. "Wait!"

"We recognize that place! Why is Y/N's residence marked?" Hoseok questioned in a panic, breaking free from his mother's grip.

Upon hearing Hoseok's revelation, the remaining boys also swiftly broke free, their concern escalating for you, now aware that the red markers signified an inquisition for her household. The gravity of the situation deepened, understanding that you and your family residing at the border of Auraventia, was the sole target.

"What?!! Why?!!" the seven of them chorused.

"I can assure you, Your Majesty, Y/N and her family are innocent!" Jin pleaded, unwittingly shedding a watery sting, echoed by the other six boys, revealing the profound concern they held for you.

"I thought you were seeking and reprimanding witches, not targeting humans too?" Hoseok exclaimed in worry.

"Oh, you all must be mistaken—" The King began to reply, but his wife, the Queen, interrupted, glancing at him and shaking her head discreetly, directing his attention to the seven mothers with pleading faces, silently conveying, "These boys don't know the whole truth."

This prompted the King to reconsider. "Well, young ones, you'd be surprised how often humans align themselves with those not of their kind. As the ruler and protector of my kingdom, I must take all necessary safety measures. Do you all understand?"

Though the King framed his words with an air of nobility and concern, it failed to resonate with the boys. Their thoughts were consumed by you and your safety.

"If that's to be the case, then we request to witness the inquisition. To ensure a fair process for both your soldiers and Y/N and her family," Namjoon suggested.

"Absolutely not," Namjoon's father affirmed.

"Father!" Namjoon exclaimed in defiance.

"Enough, Namjoon; it needs to be done!" his father replied assertively.

Jimin, with a fervent gleam in his eyes, threw his stance into the fray. "And what of her mother and father? Are you all forgetting Y/N's parents are your dear friends just like Y/N is to us! Do you have no faith in them?" he argued, his words laced with a blend of concern and exasperation.

"Jimin, my child, this is what is necessary for all of us, don't you all understand that?" Jimin's mother interjected, her tone a mixture of sympathy and determination, attempting to calm the rising storm.

"But at the expense of our dear friends?! We will not accept this!" Jin's voice rang out, his frustration mirroring Jimin's.

"We're going. Whether you all like it or not," Namjoon declared, his gaze unwavering, his resolve like iron.

"And we've told you, you shall not!" Namjoon's father objected, his voice laced with authority, yet tinged with a hint of desperation.

In response, Namjoon lifted his chin defiantly, a silent proclamation of his unwavering resolve. He and his friends had made up their minds on how to proceed with the situation. You held a significance that transcended familial ties. You are not just a friend; you are a vital part of their lives. The circumstance puzzled them – how their parents, despite being friends with your parents, harbored an air of inequity towards them.

"Everyone, run to the Quadravicar!" Namjoon urgently commanded his six companions, swiftly pivoting and taking off with them. The urgency in his voice spurred the group into action, a sense of rebellion fueling their movements.

"Namjoon! Boys, get back here!" The adults, voices raised in futile protest, attempted to chase after the departing group. The room erupted into a chaotic scene as the seven friends made a daring escape. The Quadravicar, their trusty steed, stood ready, its sleek form ready for the impending departure. With a swift motion, they mounted the vehicle, narrowly evading the grasp of pursuing fathers, as the Quadravicar surged forward with the speed of galloping horses, leaving the dissenting voices behind in the dust.

Merely moments ago, your family had readied themselves to abandon the safety of your cottage, fleeing the encroaching menace that had suddenly besieged your peaceful abode. It seemed as though fate had cruelly delivered a curse upon your doorstep, a curse that your family futilely tried to escape. As the door swung shut behind you, a dozen hooded women materialized, an ominous presence blocking your path.

"Ahvë, sē thōz klam, sēstrï," uttered a woman assumed to be the leader among the hooded ensemble, her voice echoing hauntingly across the somber scene. (translation: Hello, it's been so long, sister.)

"Why are you here?" your mother demanded, shielding you behind her while you clutched at her clothes, your fists tightening with anxiety.

"You are well aware of my purpose," replied the woman cryptically. "I come bearing a proposition."

"How ironic, after Lumiras of silence, now you come with a 'proposition'?" scoffed your mother, her tone laced with disdain. "I have no need of your offerings, sēstrï."

(A fusion of "Luminous" and "Era," Lumira represents ten years. It signifies periods of enlightenment and advancements in both magic and technology.)

A sly chuckle escaped the woman's lips. "Oh, but you may find it worth your while to listen."

With a deliberate motion, the woman cast aside her hood, revealing a countenance of unearthly allure—fair skin, with chiseled features, slim crimson heart-shaped lips curved in a beguiling smile, and eyes like shining emeralds. Yet beneath her beauty lurked a palpable menace, instilling fear in your heart despite her captivating facade.

"As you are aware, the royal family dispatched their most formidable military unit to apprehend you all—perhaps excluding the seemingly inconsequential human male by your side," she began, advancing purposefully toward your mother and you, each step resonating with ominous intent.

"And what do you think they'll do to you and that child of yours, given your bloodline?" she posed, her voice laden with sinister implications.

"Their declaration of a new Arcantia is nothing but an excuse to exterminate all living witches, our bloodline, simply because we've proven to be stronger and more powerful than them," the woman explained, a mocking laughter escaped her lips. "We've wounded their ego, it appears..."

Your mother narrowed her eyes, a clear defiance in her gaze. "No, it's because you're committing treason. You're seizing their land and unjustly punishing innocents who possess no magic. Your actions have invited their wrath."

Feigning weariness, the woman sighed, "You are naive and blindly loyal to those who would betray you. You've forgotten how closely you've approached an enemy patiently biding their time."

Now orbiting you and your parents, she condescendingly mused, "Normalcy is a luxury denied to us, given our bloodline. Yours is a life destined for anything but the ordinary."

"And your talk of treason is but a veil," she continued. "I seek only to reveal our true nature as witches, among the most formidable entities in existence, to those who would subjugate us. The time has come for them to bow to our supremacy."

"These lands was once ours—do you not remember?"

Indignant, your mother argued, "Yes, those lands was once ours, but history has unfolded, and we must adapt. Your actions only validate their fears, pushing them to extremes."

To this, the woman responded, "Adaptation is a luxury you cannot afford, ensconced in your delusions. Our roots run deep, and reclaiming what is rightfully ours necessitates drastic measures."

Your mother furrowed her brows in disagreement, "This is not the way. We can't stoop to their level. It's not who we are."

She furrowed her brow in frustration. "You know, you speak of treason, yet it is you who have betrayed our kind, aligning with our adversaries," she accused.

She then sighs with an air of indifference, beginning to walk away from you and your parents. "Well, it's too late now..."

Your mother's head shook in a plea. "No, it's not too late—please, Veranōthi."

(A female name in Astrithian meaning "beauty of night". The overall pronunciation would be: "Vay-rahn-aw-thee.")

At the mention of her name, Veranōthi halted, her posture stiffening. She emitted a mocking chuckle. "You remain unchanged, Sorëi," she muttered with a derisive tone.

(A female name in Astrithian meaning "heaven's light". "Sorëi" is pronounced as "saw-ray.")

With a thoughtful lift of her head, she contemplated for a brief moment. Veranōthi then pivoted back towards your family, before morphing into a narrowed gaze with a sinister gleam. "As I was saying, you've been branded as traitors..."

"And so now, you have two choices, as my proposition: align with us or face dire consequences at the hands of your 'allies'—or I could rid you or your abomination child myself," she proposed, a cruel smile curling on her lips.

"She is but a child, devoid of fault. Have you no mercy?" implored your mother.

"She defies the natural order, a product of forbidden magic." Veranōthi retorted. "You meddled with forces best to be left alone, bringing forth one who should have remained in the realm of shadows—An anomaly that challenges the very fabric of existence."

"She is my daughter, and I am a mother—a mother who would defy the heavens for her child," your mother asserted resolutely. "A sentiment you, devoid of such maternal bonds, cannot comprehend."

The tension thickened as the confrontation reached its climax, the air heavy with the weight of impending choices and irreparable consequences.

"I trust you haven't forgotten I am not one to entertain indecision. Sentiment holds no sway here. Choose wisely," Veranōthi warned, her voice tinged with impatience. "It's quite simple, you see..."

"You claim motherhood... wouldn't you desire to witness your child flourish into a powerful witch among us? Joining forces with me and our kind is the logical path forward," she urged, attempting to persuade your mother.

"And consider the vast potential we could unlock with our combined magic, alongside your child," she added with a smirk.

Your mother seemed momentarily swayed, her brows furrowing in contemplation. Sensing her hesitation, your father intervened. "Sorëi, do not heed her words. They are but lies meant to deceive."

Veranōthi's expression soured at your father's rebuttal, and with a swift gesture, her hand illuminated with magic. "Silence, mortal," she hissed, casting an enchantment that caused your father's lips to seal as if stitched together.

His eyes widened in realization, and your mother, cognizant of the sorcery at play, lifted her gaze, alarmed by the silent coercion. "Don't you dare use your magic on my husband!"

"Fëstöl." Your mother says with enchantment, gracefully waving her hand in the air illuminating her hand with her own magic, undoing the magically coercion done by her fellow witch.

(translation: unbind. "Fëstöl" is pronounced as "fay-stohl". pronounce "stohl," where "st" is pronounced as in English, and "öl" is pronounced like "aw" in "saw.")

Your mother then shifts her eyes to Veranōthi with seriousness. "You can try push your limits with your magic on the royal family and other humans Veranōthi, but I will not allow it on my family."

"There is a line you do not cross, and I am warning you."

Veranōthi begins to giggle then morphs into a laughing then a manic laugh. "You must be joking. Are you threatening me, Sorëi?"

"You—out of all people. An Ëzaraulthi?" She continues to laugh.

(Ëzaraulthi are witches who dedicate themselves to the benevolent use of magic, focusing on healing, medicine, and protection)

"I could never humor you. I guess you must forgetting that Ëzaraulthi are ones who will protect by any means neccesary, even if it means duelling with her own kind. Something we're all familiar, don't you think?"

"Do not kid yourself Sorëi, you're outnumbered." The emerald eyes hardening towards your mother.

Your mother smirks with a tilt of her head. "You're also forgetting, I'm a part of the Thallörin, as an Aroshëra."

(Thallörin is a governing body that unites the most adept witches from each coven, suggesting a group that possesses profound knowledge and influence within the mystical realms of Astrithian culture, it is pronounced as "Thahl-aw-reen."

Aroshëra term for the most expert healer within the governing body of adept witches, known for their ability to mend both physical and magical wounds, and expertise in protection magic and defense with light magic.)

Veranōthi loses her smile, into a frown. "Fine, have it your way. Your doom is now here."

Suddenly, the tranquil ambiance shattered as a rain of pure iron arrows descended upon your group. Gasps echoed through the air as the witches, including your family, recoiled at the unexpected assault. Iron, a notorious weakness for witches, posed an imminent threat, casting an unsettling shadow over the battlefield.

However, the unexpected twist wasn't limited to the iron arrows. The royal military elite wielded a peculiar device—a compact contraption emitting a high-frequency sound. The resonating waves temporarily immobilized the witches, leaving them vulnerable to the approaching soldiers.

Chaos erupted as the clash unfolded. Your father, despite being human, demonstrated remarkable combat skills, engaging in a dance of blades with the royal military elite. Magic surged through the air as your mother and the remaining witches retaliated, a symphony of spells colliding against the iron-clad attackers.

Veranōthi's commanding voice pierced through the chaos. "They're using iron! Cowards, kill these humans, sisters! Kill them all!"

Amidst the chaos, Veranōthi's eyes bore into your mother's, the weight of years of animosity palpable. "Don't you see, they're finding our weakness and trying to kill us. It's either them or us."

Your mother, undeterred, raised her hands, creating a shimmering barrier that deflected a barrage of magical attacks. "There is strength in mercy, and wisdom in finding common ground. We are all bound by the threads of magic; there must be a way to end this without plunging into the abyss."

Veranōthi scoffed, her expression hardening. "You're naive, Sorëi. Our survival depends on our ability to eradicate those who seek to subjugate us. To show mercy now is to court destruction."

As the battle raged on, you watched your mother, determined to protect both sides from unnecessary casualties, her gaze swept across the battlefield, assessing the toll of the conflict. The witches—albeit wounded, writhed in pain, fueled by desperation and the fear of annihilation, unleashed a torrent of magical prowess, while the air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic.

In the distance, your father continued his valiant struggle against the military elite, his combat skills proving formidable, while your mother attempted to reason with Veranōthi.

Unable to ignore the urgency of the situation, your mother's voice rose above the chaos. "Cease this madness! Our powers are formidable, but so is the cost of this unrestrained violence. We can end this conflict without further bloodshed."

Veranōthi, unyielding, countered, "Bloodshed is the language of war, Sorëi. Do not delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

"Even in war, there's room for mercy. We can find a compromise that spares both our kind and theirs."

As the two sides clashed, a surge of magical energy enveloped Veranōthi. She channeled her power, creating dark ethereal tendrils that snaked through the air, seeking to ensnare the military elite. The soldiers, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, struggled against the mystical bonds.

Your mother seized the opportunity, her eyes ablaze with determination. "This is not the path we should tread. There is a choice beyond this carnage."

Veranōthi's response was a defiant laugh, echoing across the battlefield. "Choices are but illusions, Sorëi. We are bound by destiny, and our destiny is to triumph over those who would oppress us."

Just then, a realization dawned upon your mother. The witches, driven by a relentless desire for vengeance, were no longer open to reason. She grappled with the realization that sometimes, the pursuit of peace required confronting the harsh realities of war. The battle had escalated beyond control, and she knew that a more decisive action was necessary to prevent further devastation.

With a focused gaze, your mother directed her magic towards the magical bonds Veranōthi had woven. The dark ethereal tendrils began to unravel, releasing the military elite from their magical restraints. As the soldiers regained their freedom, Veranōthi's expression twisted into a mixture of fury and disbelief.

"You would betray your own kind for these oppressors?" Veranōthi accused, her voice laced with bitterness.

Your mother met Veranōthi's gaze unwaveringly. "I seek not betrayal but understanding. We can coexist without perpetuating this cycle of hatred and violence."

The military elite, now liberated, regrouped with renewed determination. Your father, displaying an astonishing level of prowess, fighting against them. The battleground shifted, no longer a standoff between witches and your family but a united front against the oppressive forces of the royal family.

Veranōthi, unwilling to concede defeat, unleashed a wave of destructive magic. The earth trembled beneath the onslaught, and a torrent of energy surged towards your mother and the allied forces.

With a swift motion, your mother conjured a protective barrier, shielding the group from the impending onslaught. "This ends now, Veranōthi. We can create a world where magic is not a weapon but a force for unity."

The battle raged on, the clash of magic and steel echoing through the night. The air crackled with energy as both sides pushed their limits, each moment carrying the weight of a decision that would shape the future.

As Veranōthi's eyes suddenly glowed with an ominous light, a shiver ran down your spine, and the air seemed to grow heavy with an unsettling energy. Your mother, catching sight of this eerie transformation, couldn't hide the fear that widened her eyes. "Veranōthi, what are you doing!?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with concern.

"Since you don't want to make the tough decision, I will make it for you. Ëzal vruunithi, kethir shalnith vroha, uzin gathithi," she intones in the archaic Astrithian tongue, her voice distorting with each syllable.

(translation: "I call upon this mother energy, giving me strength")

Your mother's eyes widen in horror as Veranōthi's sinister powers surge, setting her fingertips ablaze with an otherworldly energy. The dark magic courses through her, and with an abrupt turn, her gaze locks onto you. A small figure, cowering behind wooden wagons that offer meager protection from the escalating chaos, suddenly becomes the focal point of Veranōthi's malevolent intent.

Veranōthi's arms weave intricate patterns in the air, casting spells that propel her magic toward you without warning. Time seems to slow as the ethereal bullets of energy hurtle towards your defenseless form.

Unbeknownst to both you and Veranōthi, your mother, fueled by an unyielding maternal love, charges forth in a desperate attempt to shield you from the imminent threat hurtling your way. Recognizing the potent enchantment the moment it escaped Veranōthi's lips, she comprehends the perilous nature of her chosen course.

Blocking may prove futile, and deflecting the dark magic poses its own challenges, so she makes the heart-wrenching decision to absorb the brunt of the attack. As a light magic user, such absorption could prove detrimental, but as your mother, she's willing to make that sacrifice for your survival.

As the seconds dwindled, your mother, defying the constraints of time, positioned herself just in the nick of it. She gestured swiftly, intending to deflect and absorb the magic, but miscalculations led her to absorb the full force of Veranōthi's dark energies. The impact propels her backward, slamming against the wooden wagon before landing roughly in front of you.

In your distress, you find yourself scrambling towards your mother, who lay sprawled before you, battered by the force of the dark incantation.

"Mother!" you wail, your eyes welling up with tears as you approach, desperate to render aid, though the gravity of the situation seems beyond your young capabilities. Making you torn between a desperate desire to help and the harsh reality that there may be little you can do.

Veranōthi's satisfaction lingered in the air, her dark powers momentarily appeased by the release of the potent spell. A triumphant sneer adorned her face as she surveyed the scene. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you beheld your mother's frail form, fading under the weight of her injuries.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream shatters the air. With a sickening twist of your neck, you behold a ghastly scene: your father, battered and bloodied, kneels before two of the royal family's elite soldiers.

One plunges his sword deep into your father's abdomen, the steel emerging slick with crimson. The other, with a cruel gleam in his eye, raises his blade for a decapitating strike. As the blade arcs downward, it meets flesh with a sickening thud, separating your father's head from his body. Blood gushes forth in a grotesque fountain, drenching the ground in a pool of crimson horror.

Your heart raced as despair gripped you, but resolve surged within. Your parents' lives hung in the balance, and you would not allow them to perish without a fight.

In a surge of unknowable power, you bellowed, "Stop!" Dark blue magical energy radiated from within you, slicing through the air like a spectral blade. The arcane force engulfed all in its path—witches and soldiers alike. Those touched by the magic found themselves ensnared by an otherworldly fire, immune to any attempt at extinguishing it, save for the one who had summoned it—none other than you.

Yet, the remaining witches, including the cunning Veranōthi, exhibited a combination of skill and luck. They swiftly conjured a magical barrier, shielding themselves from the lethal flames that devoured their comrades. The unlucky few screamed in agony as they succumbed to the relentless blaze, their demise haunting the air with the stench of burning flesh.

The gruesome spectacle dawned upon Veranōthi with a sudden realization. You, the summoner of this inferno, were the Zalvokraël of their time. A choice loomed before her: to slay you in your vulnerable state as you attempted to tend to your mother or to spare you, recognizing the potential you held—the makings of the most powerful witch. Persuading you to join their cause could prove invaluable, and after a contemplative moment, she chose the latter.

"Sisters, our task here is complete. I sense a group approaching. Let us depart immediately," she commands, and with traces of glowing magic subtly left behind, they vanish into the air.

However, you pay no heed to the burning bodies, your focus solely on your mother. "Mother..." Your voice quivers, tears finally falling from your cheeks.

Her weary but loving eyes met yours, and she managed a gentle lip-smile. "Fear not, my child. I chose this fate to ensure your survival. You must carry on from this point forward."

The air hung heavy with sorrow as you cradled your mother, her life slipping away like grains of sand through your desperate fingers. "I don't know if I can go on without you," you whispered, the weight of the impending loss settling upon your shoulders.

With a weakening hand, she touched your cheek. "You are strong, my love. The power within you, it will guide you. Embrace it, and remember, I will always be a part of you." Her voice wavered but held an underlying strength.

The battlefield lay strewn with the aftermath of the clash, the acrid scent of burning magic permeating the air. As the last embers of the magical fire dwindled, leaving behind scorched remnants, you clung to the fading warmth of your mother's presence.

In the distance, a Quadravicar approached. Your mother's breaths grew shallower, her life force slipping away. "Mother, please, don't leave me," you pleaded, desperation and grief intertwining in your voice.

She drew you closer, her breaths becoming faint whispers. "Listen closely, my child. Your path ahead is uncertain, but within you lies a power that can shape destinies. Find allies, trust in yourself, and remember, love is a force that transcends even the darkest of times."

A solemn silence enveloped the battlefield as your mother's eyes dimmed, her final words echoing in your heart. Then, a distant yet hurried echo of light footsteps resonated through the desolate air, piercing the eerie silence that hung heavy over the charred remnants of a once serene landscape.

"Y/N!" The call reached your ears, a familiar voice cutting through the haunting aftermath of destruction. You recognized it instantly.

"Y/N, where are you?" The urgent cries continued, pulling your attention away from the heart-wrenching scene that surrounded you. Your tear-blurred eyes strained to focus, but you knew those voices belonged to your dearest seven friends. Against all odds, they had returned for you.

"Y/N!" Their collective voices rose, echoing through the night as they desperately scanned the tragic tableau for your presence.

As one of them spotted you, his eyes lit up with joy. "Guys! I found her, she's right there! Y/N!"

Tears of relief mingled with the sorrow streaming down your cheeks as all seven of them sprinted toward you. "Y/N!"

They reached you, their frantic expressions shifting from worry to joy. However, as their eyes fell upon the devastation around you, their elation turned to disbelief. Your mother lay lifeless amidst the charred ruins.

Jungkook and Jimin sank to their knees beside her, shock and despair etched across their faces. They had been the closest to your mother, and the weight of grief bore down on them. "Amahra…"

"I'm sorry," you whispered. It wasn't your fault, yet guilt clung to you like a shadow, a child ensnared in the tragedy and horrors of war.

Namjoon took a deep breath, his eyes welling with tears as he approached you. "It's not your fault, Y/N."

"She tried to save me," you muttered, your lip quivering as you met Namjoon's gaze with tearful eyes. The dam finally broke, and you sobbed, collapsing into Namjoon's comforting embrace.

The rest of them, too, shared in your silent grief. Quiet sobs and sniffles intermingled with the palpable sorrow among you all. They may have considered your parents as their own, and your parents may have embraced them as their own children, but the depth of your grief was incomprehensible to them.

In the midst of the mourning, an air of somber determination settled over Namjoon's features. "We need to leave this place. It's not safe here."

The others nodded in agreement, their expressions grim. Jungkook and Jimin reluctantly tore themselves away from your mother's lifeless form, their eyes swollen with tears. The group huddled together, forming a protective circle around you.

As you clung to Namjoon, the reality of the situation began to sink in. Your home, once a sanctuary, now lay in ruins. The stars overhead bore witness to the tragedy, their distant gleam offering no solace.

Your group moves forward, navigating the desolate landscape with a heavy heart. Moonlight filtered through the sparse clouds, casting an ethereal glow on the devastated world around you.

A/N: thank you for reading! <3333 the main reason i wrote this intro was to give some insight into the kind of character Y/N (you, the reader) will be later in the story, based on the past Y/N suffers from. it also helps to lay the groundwork for future scenes and establish the kind of friendship you have with the boys from the beginning.

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goo-berz · 9 months

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Talking about Vivziepops' weird art of minors

I've never been the biggest fan of Vivziepop, I've always knew about their weird behavior (since like 2018 ~ 2019) before they were as popular as they are now.

She has done a lot of weird stuff but the thing I mainly wanna focus on in this post is their character Addison. Addison is a 17 year old gay effeminate fox humanoid from Zoophobia, he's in a relationship with a 19 year old Teacher's assistant named Gustav. Many people get confused by this but Addison has been CONFIRMED to be 17 years old by Vivziepop. Someone had changed Addison's Fandom Wiki page back in 2019 to say they're 18, when this is not true, Vivzie has confirmed they're 17. I did go back and change the age to 17 on the Wiki with the correct age in hopes that people stop believing incorrect information.

Vivzie confirming their age: https://twitter.com/vivziepop/status/1128064633166712832

The tags in this post brings up the fact that Addison is nearly 18 - not 18 yet - They're still 17.

Edit: Oh yeah, I want to add on context to this tag: "I should mention the characters canon ages are higher then when I first made them because as I wrote the story any big age gaps were uncomfy"

I've heard multiple older fans of Vivziepop say that Addison was originally meant to be 14-15 years old, and I've heard that Gustav was originally meant to be in his 30s.

Addison was created 2010, She began shipping Gustav with Addison in 2011, and Zoophobia began in 2012. So the fact she shipped a 14-15 year old character with a 30 year old one to begin with, and encouraged her friend to draw intense NSFW art of them together is so.. weird.

Anyways, Vivzie also hints at Addison being a minor, using wording indicating how young they are in age in their Blogpost introducing the character

"I finally created a few concepts, but the one I have been toying with the most is a young character much like Gale. An albino boy, with an identical albino sister"

If you need more proof, Addison is also preyed on by Mirage, a character that SPECIFICALLY goes after minors... that's basically her main personality trait, that she's a p3d0. She goes after Addison because he's a young submissive boy and easy to manipulate.

Anyways, back on topic. I personally I don't see anything wrong with the age gap of 17 & 19, however I do think it's weird to have this relationship between Addison and Gustav.. he's not exactly a teacher, but he still holds power over Addison due to the fact he's the voluntary teacher's assistant. Back when Zoophobia was popular there were people who found this dynamic weird & creepy considering the fact that Addison is basically a student under Gustav. Also, I just wanna bring this up because I find this weird, Gustav was originally under the impression that Addison was a year one student and much younger than he actually is, yet he still tried to flirt with him.. erm..? Yeah..

Anyways, that isn't the main point. The point is that Vivzie DREW NSFW OF HER 17 YEAR OLD CHARACTER AND HIS 19 YEAR OLD TEACHER... erm.. holy cracker balls? Literally how can anyone excuse these?

Vivzie also drew Gore of Addison too, but I won't post it here cus it's very graphic and weird and idk why she drew it!!

And .. possibly the worst drawing of them all.. Holy titties what is this... If you're wondering, the stuff under the censors is ACTUAL NSFW. It's not suggestive, or implied s3x, It's their ACTUAL WEE WEEs.

These accounts are poorly archived, so it's hard to find the original post and what it originally said. However after some digging I was able to find out the original text said

“ dollcreep: “ i can only see ‘dark-Günter’ exposing him and addi to a public area like so…so. yeah. Günter says; merry Christmas. god this question is super old. vivz reminded me about it"

So, I'm assuming that Dollcreep drew this, not Vivzie. However I was also able to find out from the limited resources there is that Vivzie reposted this to her accounts Vivzie-zp (unarchived) and ZPanswers, which are also now deleted, but if you view the accounts tumblr archives over the Wayback machine you can see that she did indeed repost this. http://web.archive.org/web/20120801182958/http://zpanswers.tumblr.com/archive

If you don't know, Dollcreep and Vivzie used to be best friends, however aren't anymore. Dollcreep originally designed Gustav, originally named Gunter, and Vivzie bought the design from them. Vivzie designed Addison back around 2010, and taking into account the old caption, this means that Vivzie.. allowed Dollcreep to draw NSFW art of their underaged character ;-; oh my gawd!!! Whatthe heck guys... like I said at this time Addison was still 14 - 15 and Gustav (Gunter) was in his 30s.

Also I want to mention that this drawing was from 2011, so that means Vivzie had this pedophilic ship with Dollcreeps OC for years, & after she bought the rights to the character she decided to.. keep the pedophilic ship and write it into Zoophobia by making him Addisons teacher. That's crazy..?

Anyways, because I brought up Mirage. Mirage is written pretty bad. She was a character meant to be in.. or scrapped from Zoophobia, she was meant to be a villain who preyed on the kids, mainly Addison. Her main trait is that she likes kids

Vivzie's made a bunch of drawings of Mirage preying on kids which I think is pretty weird, especially considering how poorly some of them represent it and make it seem like a joke instead.

and yeah, we all know about this infamous drawing she made of Mirage preying on Kestrel, a 14 year old. Pretty weird

Also when I looked at the web archive of Vivzie's ZPanswers blog (a Zoophobia ask blog) she accepted many weird asks about Kestrel, 14, and Addison, 17, like an ask asking if Kestrel had ever been fucked by a horse & how Kestrel, Addison & others would act when they were drunk. Which is also pretty weird to me I won't lie

Anyways that's all for now. Sorry if this is all over the place its 4am and I just wanted to get my thoughts out that vivziepop is kinda a weirdo

#vivziepop #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #vivzie #zoophobia

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littlejuicebox · 6 months

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A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In

Click here to read on AO3.

Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?

Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.

Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.

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Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekend’s edition of the Baldur’s Herald. He’s running late — he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie.

But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldur’s Herald ahead of the Baldur’s Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. It’s certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue.

The paper had gotten a decent boost when he’d been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man – a half-drow, nonetheless – to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity.

In the Herald’s case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it.

A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb.

“There’s been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, I’m on my way to meet him,” she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekend’s issue.

“Excellent — I’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife won’t forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,” Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day.

Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket she’d been holding in her hand. “Tell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.”

“Will do— oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? It’s the final layout for the weekend edition,” the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isn’t too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.

Astarion had been Gustav’s secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.

He couldn’t have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses – which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tav’s attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals.

It wasn’t until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed – all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. They’d randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.

It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its t’s before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his “wife” and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. He’d never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment.

From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.

As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwinde’s front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; he’d planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustav’s is the most recent model; Eddie’s is last year’s model. Not that he’s comparing, of course.

He glances at his wristwatch; it’s twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.

A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, “Astarion, I’m home!”

“You’re late,” a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. “I’ve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. “But, perhaps this will make it up to you.”

The scowl that had been painted across Astarion’s face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside – a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Gorgeous,” Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. “I think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.”

“Of course it will, darling,” Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husband’s cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. “It’s beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dear– and we’d better hurry.”

Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays – in the beginning of their marriage, he’d burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, he’d managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wife’s creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf.

They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film – a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wife’s happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film – an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen – and gripped dangerously high on Gustav’s thigh.

Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other man’s lips. So he did.

They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.

“You’re insatiable,” Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.

“Can you blame me?” Gustav asks as his lips trail to his lover’s chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarion’s collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. “You’re delicious… and I’d very much like to have a taste.”

Gustav’s thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarion’s pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.

“S-surely you don’t mean here, Tav,” Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, he’s hoping his husband actually does mean here – the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments.

“Mmh, and why not?” Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isn’t much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarion’s legs. He brings his hands to his wife’s knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile.

“I…” Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarion’s skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesn’t respond, he begins to lower Astarion’s skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.

“Keep going,” Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. They’re in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one another’s mouths to pay any mind to the two men.

Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarion’s skirt and drops his head underneath; he’s greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers.

“Now be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,” Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarion’s garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesn’t waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarion’s dress and quickly tear the underwear in two – he’ll buy a replacement pair later. Astarion’s cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.

Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarion’s cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. He’s certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.

A whimper escapes Astarion’s lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustav’s warm, wet throat contracts around Astarion’s cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his lover’s mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command.

The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarion’s thighs.

“Aah, Tav–” Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, “Tav, please–”

But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarion’s skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his lover’s hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils.

“Already, baby? Really?” Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarion’s scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his lover’s desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarion’s shaft. “I don’t think I’ve worshiped my wife quite long enough.”

Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. He’d been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustav’s hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movie’s end credits are starting to roll.

“Please, Gustav… I can’t– I can’t any longer, please–” Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other man’s fists.

“Very well,” Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tav’s cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wife’s cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.

Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers – but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway.

Tav swallows Astarion’s length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tav’s throat. Astarion’s cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his lover’s spend.

When he feels the other man’s fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarion’s slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarion’s thigh.

“Darling,” Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. “Take me home and make love to me.”

Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driver’s seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. “Anything for my beautiful wife.”

They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tav’s thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind.

Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wife’s dress and strips it from his body. He’s entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings – the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husband’s belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.

“Not here on the tile, baby. It’s much too hard,” he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as they’re in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tav’s trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa.

“Now, darling, let me repay you for earlier,” Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his lover’s purple thighs. He’s just about to take Gustav’s cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; it’s a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.

Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. It’s well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.

He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wife’s chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Now, where were we?” Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; it’s already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.

“I think we were just getting to the good part, my love,” Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.

The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night.

#astarion fanfic #1950s au #baldurs gate au #astarion au #astarion 1950s #wifestarion #house wife astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x male oc #astarion x male tav #astarion angst #astarion fanfiction #astarion modern au #astarion smut #bg3 smut #smut #male/male

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nerdieforpedro · 4 months

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Fire and Fury Masterlist

Summary: A mercenary and a dragon come to an uneasy agreement for survival and revenge. Such a relationship should not last past their shared goals but may defy all earthy conventions.

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

DDDNE - for violence (graphic depictions and implied non-con)

Possible warnings (full warnings will be in each chapter): mentions of death and character death, blood, gore, violence, some time period misogyny (11th century people), implied non-con

Chapter One (Posted 06/09/2024)

Chapter Two (Posted 06/29/2024)

Chapter Three (Posted 08/20/2024)

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

AO3 Link (chapters will upload here a few days ahead of Tumblr posts)

Pero Tovar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Those who travel through the ferns 🌿: (I tagged people who either beta-ed for me, I know like Pero or who might be interested. If you don’t want to be tagged, let me know.)

@tinytinymenace @604to647 @jessthebaker @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone

@soft-girl-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing @bishtrouille @yorksgirl @inept-the-magnificent

@avastrasposts @perotovar @connectioneverywhere @alltheglitterandtheroar @all-the-things-2020

@rav3n-pascal22 @iamskyereads @sherala007 @morallyinept @pascalsanctuary

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar #pero tovar x ofc #Pero Tovar x plus size ofc #pero tovar fanfiction #Pero Tovar fantasy #dragons #Nerdie fic #one she’s really into #Fire and Fury #yet another series

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cinebration · 1 year

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The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Part 5]

The Darkling makes a decision.

Tagged: @don-daygamerz, @weallhaveadestiny, @kaqua, @sinful-wxrld, @ashdab2611, @ultarviolence, @chodingcreature, @demonenotturno, @crowssixof, @mxacegrey, @dreamlandcreations, @s-r-reads, @byulsrecs, @peleksstuff, @seraferna, @imtherain, @vex-et-soleil, @rayrlupin, @peakyispunk, @itsyaspwr, @adajoemaya, @b1bbles, @rockintensse, @adharanotfound, @allinestarr

Warnings: mention of blood, body horror

Gif Source: ethanhunt

Shock and fear broke the Darkling’s iron composure, his hands instinctively drawing together to perform the Cut. You didn’t so much as flinch, staring at him with eerie, unblinking eyes as though trying to drive the force of your conviction into his skull.

He didn’t complete the movement, leaving the Cut unfinished and melting back into the shadows.

“Now,” you said, your voice low, as though you were struggling to restrain it, “while you waste time coming to the right decision, I will go on ahead and clear the fort of Fjerdans.”

Without so much as a backward glance, you pivoted sharply on your heel and stalked off in the direction of Ulensk. The horses had bolted during the fray, long since gone and out of sight.

The Darkling watched your back until you disappeared behind the trees, once again entertaining the idea of slicing you in half not only for your insolence but for the fear you instilled in him. The feeling was shockingly cold, shriveling his insides and freezing his lungs. His breath tore raggedly from his chest.

If Baghra were there, she would say, “You cannot afford to make an enemy of this woman. Either kill her or bring her into the fold.”

Neither option was preferable to his fear-clouded mind. You knew who he actually was, but rather than flinch and fear him, you had placed the Black Heretic on some kind of pedestal. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would had been like if you had been there during the creation of the Fold. Instead of Baghra’s “What have you done?” you might have stared at the black shadow unfolding across the land with wonder in your eyes and said what the Darkling had most needed to hear in that moment: “Beautiful.”

The thought of it sent a thrill through him. He didn’t have to be General Kirigan in front of you. He didn’t have to temper his words or feign scorn for his “ancestor.” He didn’t have to hide his true plans, centuries in the making, to keep the Grisha from fearing his vision of the future before it had come to pass.

Shouts rose up in the distance, followed immediately by screams.

The Darkling listened to the swelling sounds of violence and death. For a brief moment, as high-pitched screams rent the quiet of the woods, he heard something harmonious in the sound. What had you said that first day? A symphony of their bones…

Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he did need a fanatic, someone utterly devoted to him and his cause. Someone who would do anything without asking why, who would destroy and silence for him while he maintained the aloof composure of a general above it all, his boogeyman operating in the shadows behind him.

The Darkling set off toward the fort, following your footsteps in the snow.

He arrived to find you dispatching one last Fjerdan. The man, fueled by terror and adrenaline, threw himself pell-mell at you. You lunged forward, your hand slapping across his bearded face, and yanked the skeleton from his flesh. Gore splattered over your kefta as the body separated from its bones, a sickening, vile sound splitting the silence. Tossing the skeleton aside with one hand, you wiped your palms on your kefta and turned to face the Darkling.

He surveyed the carnage in mute fascination. “Is this what the other Fjerdans looked like that first day we met?”

“It was more…artful,” you answered, waving your hand about in a vague gesture. “Staged to achieve maximum shock and awe, as they say.”

“You know the value of spectacle.”

“I know the importance of dramatic delivery,” you countered.

“Is that all?” The Darkling stepped around a corpse. “Do you know the value of discretion? Of subtlety?”

“I am capable of it, although I don’t prefer it.”

“You don’t mind being the subject of fear and hatred? You don’t mind the whispers they will speak of you?”

“One doesn’t develop this kind of skill and worry about what others will say. If anything, if they don’t fear and hate me, I will consider myself a failure.”

“Even among Grisha?”

“I am not here for the Grisha.”

The Darkling fixed his gaze on you. You met his stare without flinching once more, letting him bear the weight of your full gaze.

“In four hundred years, you are unlike any Grisha I have ever seen,” he said. The words slipped past his lips unbidden, a truth he didn’t bother twisting or concealing.

“That is the point.”

A faint smile tugged on his lips despite himself. Shaking his head, he schooled his expression into a stern mask. “I don’t deal well with insubordinates.”

“Then don’t give me any orders for me to react to with insubordination.”

“I need to know that I can trust you to do what I ask and how I want it.”

Wiping your hands together again, dried blood flaking off your palms, you countered, “I’m not allowed to have disagreements? To suggest alternatives? Isn’t that what proper counsel does?”

The Darkling frowned. “Now you aim to be one of my strategists? What happened to being my shadow?”

“In some cultures, the shadow is believed to be one’s second self. Or one’s demon. Either way, I have a voice, and I didn’t come all this way to be silenced when you need my expertise most.”

“And why do I need your expertise most now?”

“Can’t you feel it?” You inhaled deeply, as though you could taste it on the air. “The change? Something is coming, and you need to be ready.”

Unease slithered through his guts. “What’s coming?”

A beatific smile split your face. “Your chance for more power.”

A sharp thrill shot up the Darkling’s spine, compounded by the unnerving expression on your face. For a moment, you were darkly beautiful, terrifying and awe-inspiring.

The Darkling slowly stepped forward and extended his hand to you. Eyebrow arching, you slipped your hand in his, your palm rough and your fingers strong as they clasped for a shake.

“Call me Aleksander.”

#The Darkling x Reader #The Darkling #The Darkling imagine #Aleksander Morozova x Reader #Aleksander Morozova #Aleksander Morozova imagine #General Kirigan x Reader #General Kirigan #General Kirigan imagine #Ben Barnes x Reader #Ben Barnes #Ben Barnes imagine #Shadow and Bone #Shadow & Bone

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ambersalbums · 1 month

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HEY.. WHAT? i hit 100 followers like THREE weeks ago (august 7th) but i figured that i could just start it on my first day of school. cuz . i was on a hiatus.. a lot of yapping ahead (/nsrs)

✦RULES

the event will run from august 22th to august 31st (for anyone late), and there will be five (5) days of editing! please mention me in the post ( @ambersalbums ) and tag it with #amber100. - keep in mind i dont use tumblr in-school so most posts will be reblogged after 3:40 PM est <3 any fandoms are allowed besides nsfw, countryhumans/balls, class of 09 adult men + kylar, most webtoons (check my white/blacklist if you're curious), vivziepop media, & gore! (this means i am allowing hyv submissions!) extra: - any art used MUST be credited (doesnt matter if its sourced directly from the media or if its fanart) - PSDs, frames, png packs, or anything in between is accepted, as long as its related to the prompt! - enjoy yourself! if a prompt is stressing you out, you're free to skip or do a free day ! that being said, this is a HUGE milestone for me as i started this account about three (3) months ago and this means so much to me. i apologize for the odd posting schedules and ranging quality, but i'm happy to be hosting an event <3 here are the prompts!

✦PROMPTS

august 22th: monochrome (one color, ex. only green/shades of green) OR black & white august 23rd: based off the first result you get when you pinterest "png" OR an edit based around an object august 24th: favorite sanrio character OR comfort character from your childhood august 25th: favorite spider-character OR a neon-colored edit august 26th: favorite animal OR favorite fantasy species/being

✦PRIZES

* wheel will be spun on september 1st * winners are chosen by being put on a wheel to decide their place. * for every prompt completed, a user is added to the wheel again. for example, if i completed every prompt, i would be put on the wheel five times. 3RD PLACE one edit + png pack of your choice 2ND PLACE two edits + png pack of your choice + custom frame 1ST PLACE three edits + two png packs of your choice + custom frame

✦TAGS

dm or ask to be removed ! (no pressure to reblog /g) @68chan @battampria @bunnietism @doveish @edit-corner

@his-tomorrows @lavendergalactic @llocket @our-escape-for-survival @penasixty

@pinkidol @sunkupng

#amber100 #★ ⋮ espresso ⸝⸝#★┊[decaf] .ᐟ #editblr #editblr event #events #tags just to appear i fear >#rentry graphics #rentry #long post

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 4 months

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A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 5

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

As soon as you returned from Loguetown, good news greeted you. But the minute you journeyed to Mirror Ball Island for a potential deal that seemed dubious, you were destined to regret being so obstinate and reckless. As usual, a certain Warlord was nearby to lend a hand. And a whole lot more.

Warning: Mention of blood, violence, minor gore and death. NSFW content, detailed oral sex description.

Long chapter ahead!

Mihawk found himself at a loss to explain his drive to seek you out. The mere thought of causing you any form of displeasure stirred within him an odd sense of disquiet.

He intentionally chose to disregard the world government's mandates and opted to leave you untouched. In his perspective, handing you over would be pointless, and he undoubtedly had no intent of taking your life himself.

Despite your unrefined power and lack of ample experience, you showcased your deservingness of his attention. There was a distinct trait in you, evident in your direct eye contact, in your unwavering resolve, and in your ethical principles that seemed to call for nurturing. Mihawk was eager to see your development and the person you could become with appropriate training, mentorship, and time. A woman so determined and capable, able to cut an admiral's throat and make a solo escape from a high-security base, who had again and again evaded his meticulous observation.

You had ignited his curiosity.

Over time, his hunt for you became a source of amusement for Mihawk, to the extent that he deliberately allowed you to flee, just to provide himself an excuse to find you again and prolong his assignment. You had categorized it as a game of cat and mouse, but to him, you were not a rat, not a prey he intended to crush.

You harbored a distinctive spark, a flame that he had no desire to extinguish.

As a result of this, Mihawk found himself irresistibly drawn to you.

He was a man enamored with the sea, not one to squander his precious time on meaningless dalliances. He wasn't the type to succumb to a woman's allure, and he didn’t have any inclination towards winning the affection of one. He thrived in solitude, free from complications, and devoid of anyone clinging to him with demands he had no intention of fulfilling.

Yet, somehow, your presence had turned his world upside down. He admired your beauty, your charisma, your quick comebacks, and your steadfastness in standing your ground.

Your scent was marvelous, sweet and fragrant. He liked your attention to your looks, your selection of jewelry, and your distinctive style. And the way you moved, radiating sensuality and confidence, was a trait he found unbelieavably attractive.

You stirred up raw, primal instincts within him. You provoked a sense of obligation in Mihawk to stay in the East Blue, vigilantly monitoring your journeys, from the day he discovered that his non-compliance had prompted the marines to dispatch a larger contingent of bounty hunters after you.

You were essentially a stranger, an unknown. He shouldn't have been worried about your destiny or whereabouts. He had done his part, he had released you and saved your life once, he had granted you a second opportunity. What else could there possibly be?

The more he sought an answer, the more his mind was inundated with recollections of your trembling form beneath his. Echoes of your moans, your heartbeat, your silky skin, and your delightfully exquisite, temptingly enticing, heated womanliness enveloping his arousal.

Meeting you in Loguetown was not something he had foreseen, and admittedly, it took him a moment to penetrate your disguise and identify you. As soon as he saw your hair cascading down, your familiar eyes locking with his, he was immediately filled with an unusual feeling of worry for you. He tried to brush it off, to keep his space, and return to his peaceful solitude by the fire. But, in his attempt to do so, he inadvertently hurt your emotions and pride, leading you to shoot him the most scornful look he had ever received.

And he found it utterly distasteful.

Under different circumstances, he wouldn't have pondered over it too much. He was used to being chased by ambitious swordsmen trying to seize his title and more, and he couldn't have cared less about how others viewed him. Still, for some unfathomable reason, the thought of you nursing a grudge against him was... surprisingly hard to stomach.

And he would be deceiving himself if he denied that he didn't thoroughly enjoy the passionate tryst you both shared for the second time. Hell be damned, that was unquestionably fantastic.

Being with you felt like sheer bliss. Mihawk never really held much fascination for sex, or any form of physical contact in general. As long as he could vent some adrenaline in a fight with Yoru, he didn't see the need for anything else.

In some way, you guided him to uncover something new, something that presently, he could not fathom sharing with anyone else. You were extraordinary, adeptly handling his energy and rhythm, even asking for more when he thought he was pushing you to your limits.

Locating a deserving adversary in battle was difficult enough, bordering on the impossible. It was uncommon to encounter someone who could hold their own till the end, without instantly yielding to his overwhelming power. Discovering that he had found a well-matched partner in matters of intimacy was, against his initial beliefs, delightfully satisfying. He had never made a conscious effort to seek one, as he could always achieve quick self-gratification if the need became particularly pressing. He was accustomed to handling things himself, both metaphorically and literally, never craving company.

You had bewitched him, as he now seemed more than willing to endure your presence around him after all.

Leaving your vessel was unequivocally necessary. Awakening next to you felt unfamiliar, and your slumbering figure looked so delicate, endearing and warm. He needed to clear his mind of that image, seeking solace in a breath of fresh air.

Admittedly, it was a bit mortifying for him, but when he noticed the small strap of your top sliding off your shoulder, exposing a considerable portion of your upper breast, Mihawk felt compelled to tighten his jaw and inhale deeply, as a means to master his physiological reaction in the morning. For someone as disciplined and self-restrained as he was, it was inconceivable to be so agitated over a woman.

He had spent a lifetime sailing the open seas, encountering numerous women who endeavored to enchant him over a casual drink and similar enticements. Yet, he never spared them even a fleeting glance, regardless of how attractive they might be. Occasionally, some resorted to more drastic measures to capture his attention, but the sight of an unclothed woman had never provoked such an intense response in him. It was part of human nature, it was merely a body, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

So what was it about you that had suddenly ensnared Mihawk so profoundly? Why did he even opt to spend the night beside you?

It was preposterous. Absurd. Ludicrous. He had more important matters to handle than filling his mind with thoughts of someone.

And as he strolled through Loguetown's quiet lanes at the break of day, he grappled with finding an explanation that held any logic.

Unsuccessfully, at that.

You repeatedly webt through the message Mihawk left behind, imprinting his distinct handwriting and the words he composed deep into your consciousness. There was an instance when you doubted his presence, questioning whether your drowsy state had fabricated an apparition that had never claimed a spot in your bed.

And if that piece of paper wasn't sufficient proof, the residual fragrance on the pillow, which you found yourself breathing in for a whole hour, provided further confirmation of its authenticity.

In line with your plan, you assumed a new disguise and set off on another expedition around the town. Your bag was packed with a generous amount of trinkets, new clothes, and essential supplies that would prove useful during your sea voyage. A part of you had wished for another run-in with the Warlord, but it didn't happen. His note had mentioned 'seeing you around', but it didn't provide any specific timeframe.

For all you knew, it could be weeks or even months from that day before your paths crossed again.

Your muscles were aflame, and even the simplest movement felt like a daunting task. He was an absolute beast during sex, and despite your ability to keep up with his stamina, there was a threshold to what your body could endure without experiencing the repercussions afterwards.

Instead, it seemed to amplify your desire for him, a progression that was somewhat disconcerting for you and an aspect you didn't anticipate. You had no plans of becoming reliant, or overly emotionally tangled with an unpredictable man like Dracule Mihawk. You valued your liberty, a fundamental principle that had formerly kept you away from any potential romantic involvement with Isaiah.

You were familiar with the notion of physical closeness without any additional expectations. You had the chance to settle down far before that day, in spite of the bounty on your head that forced you to hop from one island to another. You consciously relinquished it all.

For your own sanity, whatever influence Mihawk had imposed on you needed to fade as quickly as possible. The last thing you needed was a shattered heart, especially considering that you seemed to be nurturing authentic feelings for a man who would probably never be able to return your affection.

Your expedition to Loguetown turned out to be notably successful. Despite the high presence of marines surveilling the area, it posed no apparent threat to you. By this point, you had become skilled at assuming disguises, seamlessly blending into any role you decided to enact. There was a certain level of enjoyment in it, if it weren't for the serious consequences that were at stake.

On your return to Isaiah's headquarters, you slipped into one of your newly acquired outfits and reclined on the ship's deck. With your arms comfortably propped behind your head, you found yourself gazing up at the unblemished blue sky, breathing in the familiar salty air that you had grown to love. Occasional cramps continued to bother you, but they couldn't stop you from reminiscing about your fervent night. However, you had to swiftly suppress the emerging picture, or you'd find yourself growing increasingly flustered, merely envisioning Mihawk's sturdy chest and the sensation of his arousal penetrating your depths.

Undeniably, the fact that he was so devastatingly sexy didn't make things any easier.

Frustrated by your thoughts persistently reverting to places you didn't want to linger on, you rose to your feet and took several deep breaths to calm your senses and steady your nerves. You found tranquility in watching the pulsating waves and ripples of the ocean, the horizon line sharply separating the sea from the sky.

Although you savored the solitude and tranquility of your travels, there were occasions when you found yourself craving for some companionship. You yearned for someone to converse and share your explorations with, someone to sit beside under the celestial canvas of stars.

You wavered on the brink of giving in to the temptation to use your portable snail phone, considering reaching out to your family, to talk to them, to assure them of your safety. A part of you still harbored anxieties about their views of your predicament, the bounty the World Government had put on you, and the transgression you had committed for your own survival, a detail that no one seemed to consider.

It distressed you, but you stopped yourself midway. That had to wait. As for how long, you couldn't determine.

You were unaware that such a harrowing ordeal was finally drawing to a close.

The moment you set foot in Isaiah's home, he hurried towards you with a beaming smile and outstretched arms, pulling you into a tight, unexpected hug. His right hand gently glided up and down your back, while the other tenderly brushed through your hair.

"Uhh... it's good to see you too," you said, hesitantly returning the gesture. "It's only been a few days though, I didn't think you'd miss me this much.”

Isaiah chuckled into your ear. "Oh, come on. I mean, of course I missed you, but we both know this calls for a celebration.”

You regarded him as if he were inebriated. "How many bottles did you have?”

"Hey! You know I'm not like that. Well, sometimes... maybe. But I swear, I only had one glass after finding out.”

"Finding out... what?”

He let out another hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah yeah, let's play the clueless game now.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, slightly tilting your head to the side. "Isaiah, I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about.”

Watching his smile dissolve into a look of utter disbelief was quite entertaining to observe. "Wait, are you serious?”

"I just returned and came directly to your quarters. What did I miss?”

His jaw slackened and his eyes ballooned in astonishment. "Holy crap. Sweetheart, this is big. I'm surprised it escaped your notice.”

You shrugged. "Well, perhaps you could shed some light on it then?”

Isaiah let out a breath, his wide smile making a comeback. As he briskly navigated through the room towards his desk, your eyes followed him. He began rummaging through an array of maps and papers strewn all over, looking for something specific.

"Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon this in the street.”

He passed you what seemed to be a bounty poster. It required a moment of processing to realize it carried your name, along with a troubled image of you captured shortly after your daring escape from the Marine base. But what truly gripped your attention was the text at the bottom; the former bounty of berries for your capture or death had been wiped out, supplanted by newly inked words stating "BOUNTY CANCELLED BY ORDER OF THE WORLD GOVERNMENT".

You had to read the statement at least ten times consecutively to fully comprehend what it conveyed.

Bounty cancelled.

Cancelled.

Your bounty had been cancelled.

You were quite sure that all color was draining from your face, and the shock was so intense that you couldn't even gather the strength to blink.

"Y/N? Are you okay?”

"I.... how.....?”

"What did you do to convince that group of jerks?”

You shook your head. "Isaiah, I did nothing. I swear to you, this is completely unexpected.”

"Huh, strange,” he responded, rubbing his nose. “Regardless, this is good news, isn't it?”

Such a miracle had been the object of your longing for several months, and you had resigned yourself to the likelihood of it remaining a far-fetched dream. After all, how could their opinion of you change, particularly after finding that Admiral in a pool of blood? There was no conceivable way they could interpret that episode from a different perspective. When you were in their grasp, not a single one of them demonstrated any shred of sympathy. What compelled the marines to change their decision?

Unless…

…Someone with close ties to them, wielding enough influence and strength, somehow managed to alter their viewpoint.

Someone like Mihawk himself.

There was no other feasible explanation. You knew the marines required him far more than he could ever possibly need them. Despite repeatedly telling yourself that you could be seriously wrong, that he wouldn't waste his time advocating and making threats for your sake to the World Government, there was a persistent inner voice suggesting otherwise. Because, what other reason could there be?

Your legs gave way beneath you, and you collapsed into a seated position on the floor, knees bent and spread out in a frog-like stance. Isaiah was initially stunned, but as soon as he saw the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes, he realized that your reaction was entirely appropriate given the joyous turn of events. He was well acquainted with the trials you had faced, and the anxiety you felt each time you came across your bounty posters strewn across the East Blue. And now, finally, after such a long period, you were completely free. Free to roam without the constant dread of a bounty hunter lurking at every turn, free to live the life you wanted without the looming threat of marines ready to seize you.

"Please tell me this isn't a joke," you managed to utter through choked emotions.

Isaiah squeezed your shoulder affectionately. "I can assure you it's not. This isn't the only poster I've seen of you with the cancelled bounty. I just grabbed one as a keepsake of this monumental occasion.”

And with that, the floodgates burst open, tear after tear spilling onto the poster, absorbing into the paper that you gripped just a tad too firmly, leading to its partial crumpling.

"I can finally see my family again," you whispered. "I can speak to them.”

"Are you planning to return home?”

"Not permanently. I should pay them a visit soon, but for now, I want nothing more than to hear their voices. It's been so long, Isaiah.”

"I know, Y/N, I know. You can't imagine how happy this makes me. You always deserved so much better than the nonsense they heaped upon you.”

A hiccup convulsed through your body, and your crying escalated with every passing minute, as a torrent of pain, relief, joy, and shock swept over you simultaneously. Isaiah stayed there, holding you like the trustworthy friend he was, providing support as you weathered this emotional storm. It was only when your tears had entirely dried up that your chest stopped heaving, and you managed to regain your composure. Your eyes, now red and swollen, smarted slightly as your makeup smeared against your skin. But in that moment, you couldn't have been less concerned.

Isaiah allowed you to use his bathroom to quickly freshen up, while he whipped up something sweet and scrumptious for you to eat and poured quality wine into your glasses. You always felt at ease and content in his company, which served as a stark reminder of the attraction you once held for him. Reflecting on it now, it felt almost absurd, given your current lack of feelings towards him. Of course, you still cared for Isaiah, but only in a platonic way that was no deeper than the sibling-like bond you had forged with him over the recent weeks.

Even the mere notion of being intimate with him felt utterly strange.

After savoring a few drinks and a selection of homemade cookies (he, unexpectedly, had a knack for baking and did it exceedingly well), you found a spot on his plush couch while he positioned himself on the opposite side, reclining in one of his signature straw chairs. Suddenly, his face took on a grave aspect, and he began to diligently sketch something onto a map. A short time later, he presented it to you, his apprehension palpable.

"You know, a pirate came by two days ago, asking about you and the kind of deals you're involved in.”

“Oh?”

"He requested me to arrange a meeting for you at this location, which is a day's journey away.”

“Okay…?”

Isaiah, with his far-reaching network of contacts, was well-known among many pirates and individuals alike. Although this wasn't his first time serving as an intermediary between you and other parties, he appeared significantly more troubled than you had ever seen him before.

"Y/N, to be honest, I don't think you should go.”

"Why is that?”

"I don't know... just a hunch. I did some research, and these pirates are not exactly reputable. Their captain is highly dubious and, quite frankly, potentially dangerous.”

You sat up straight. "Do you think this could be a trap?”

"Perhaps? I can't be sure. It's possible that the guy was a fake envoy and they've arranged for a group of bounty hunters to capture you.”

"If that's the case, then it wouldn't make any sense now, would it? My bounty has been cancelled, so even if they were to kill me, they wouldn't gain anything from it.”

He pursed his lips. "Yeah, you have a point. Given the recent development, it's possible you won't even find anyone waiting for you there.”

You smiled. "Well, I'd say it's worth a shot. You know I can handle myself, and any possible deal is a good deal for me. I can't afford to miss an opportunity.”

"Eh, I knew you would say that.”

He stretched his arms, standing up from the chair while stifling a yawn midway. "I know you're capable of protecting yourself, and I also realize that I wouldn't be able to dissuade you either way. If you want to investigate, then go ahead. Just... please be careful, okay?”

You nodded in response, thanking him for his concern as your gaze fixated absently on the marker on the map. Were his apprehensions justified? Were you on the verge of more unwanted trouble now that you were no longer a wanted criminal? You didn't know what to expect, but you had no intention of backing down from what could be a rewarding situation.

Moreover, you were known for your incredible stubbornness. Sometimes, it was among your most admirable qualities, yet in different contexts, it starkly highlighted your most conspicuous imperfections.

In any case, you were bound to find out soon enough.

Before withdrawing to his room for the night, Isaiah paused, only to falter and scratch his chin. He stared at the back of your hair, filled with uncertainty, before releasing a prolonged sigh.

"Hey, um, I wanted to ask...”

You turned your head, giving him a sidelong glance over your shoulder. "Hmm?”

He looked anxious, seemingly ill at ease, stumbling over his words. "There's something I.... that they.... I mean....”

You frowned, the corner of your lips twitching slightly. "Isaiah, what are you stammering about?”

He laughed awkwardly. "Ah, don’t mind me. I believe I've had one too many drinks.”

"Eh. What's new, right?”

"Aye, you know how I am.”

He fell silent, his eyes getting lost somewhere on the floor. You waited for him to continue, but ultimately, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Nah, I don't even recall what I wanted to say. It's probably better if I sleep on it.”

You nodded, offering a gentle smile. "Of course. Sleep well, Isaiah.”

"You too.”

It was strange, given that you had seen him intoxicated numerous times, yet he appeared to be perfectly lucid and walked without any difficulty. Whatever he had intended to say, you were left in the dark.

And that was, in fact, another revelation that would come to you in a short span of time.

The rhythmic beat of music permeated the air as you set foot on Mirror Ball Island, a place celebrated for its endless parties and vibrant nightlife. The streets were teeming with color and activity, even in broad daylight — an ideal camouflage for any potential danger lurking within.

The instructions that Isaiah had provided were quite vague. They hinted that you were supposed to be at the Neon Mirage, a well-known club that was perpetually open to locals and tourists alike. The name you were supposed to keep an eye out for was Nicholas Burke, the pirate captain who had arranged the meeting through his trusted messenger. You had certainly heard of him before, but struggled to recall the face depicted on his bounty poster.

The nightclub was situated on the fringes of the main strip, a hub for the island's more covert activities, a place where deals were made away from prying eyes. As you maneuvered through the crowd of party-goers, your senses remained keenly attuned.

Admittedly, you weren't particularly drawn to this kind of lifestyle. You greatly preferred your privacy and peace, without the concern of random people colliding into you. You had to repeat the pirate's name several times, inquiring about him from anyone you encountered. Eventually, the bartender, dressed in a flamboyant purple suit, pinpointed the man's exact whereabouts, directing you toward a remote couch in a corner.

You could barely make him out, partially obscured by the other men around him and the energetic dancers that were circling and obstructing your path.

A few of them even tried to involve you, coaxing you to join their dance by taking hold of your arms and swinging them up and down to the beat. It was unsettling, and you had to suppress the urge to punch them in the face.

You managed to extricate yourself, almost tripping over your own feet in the process, but as soon as you had a clear sight of the man in question, your blood seemed to halt in your veins.

While you couldn't remember his face from the wanted poster, you could definitely recognize him from your recent meeting with him. Right there, just a few inches away, sat the same pirate you had run into in Loguetown, the audacious man who dared to challenge Dracule Mihawk in a bid to seize his title. For a moment, you wondered whether he had recognized you, seen past your disguise and known your true identity all along. But the more you dwelled on that possibility, the more you convinced yourself that it couldn't be the case.

You had met your fair share of dubious individuals and despicable pirates, yet you were strongly tempted to simply turn around and leave, not wanting to waste a single moment with someone of his ilk. But then, the smuggler within you prevailed, reminding you that you needed all the money and artifacts you could gather to sustain a decent life on the open sea.

It couldn't be that terrible, could it? Just a few minutes to strike a suitable deal; there was no need to pretend to be friendly.

Gritting your teeth, you took a few steps towards the crew, purposefully keeping a menacing demeanor that would live up to your former nickname.

His attention immediately shifted to you, an eyebrow raised. Considering your bounty posters were quite prominently plastered all over the East Blue, it didn't come as a surprise that he could readily identify you. “Ah, look who it be," he bellowed over the booming music. "If it ain't the bloody Cutthroat herself!”

Your smile felt strained, but you didn't feel the need to impress him.

"Or should I say, the not-so-Cutthroat anymore.”

"What can I say," you responded, folding your arms. "Clearly someone's gone and printed the wrong thing.”

The pirate let out a laugh, his mouth gaping so wide that it seemed almost inhuman.

"You must be Nicholas Burke, I gather. I heard you have something for me.”

"Straight to the point, eh? I like that.”

The pirate, radiating a deceptive sense of camaraderie, rose to his feet and motioned for you to follow him to a more secluded area. "I've got a private spot where we can chat uninterrupted," he stated, his voice smooth and enticing.

You mentally grumbled, because he couldn't appear any more suspicious than he already did.

"My, what an honor. Did you reserve the VIP room just for me?”

Nicholas shrugged. "Aye aye. Only the best for a fine lass such as yourself.”

Ugh, what a nuisance.

Playing along, you trailed behind him through a labyrinth of winding corridors, the clamor of the club receding as you left the main hall behind. You arrived in a dimly lit back room, secluded from the watchful gazes of the other patrons.

The room was sparsely furnished, with just a few chairs and a sturdy beam spanning across the ceiling. It felt more like an interrogation chamber than a lounge area. Only two of his men had accompanied you, stationed at the closed door like vigilant sentinels.

Oh yes, not dubious in the slightest.

Once again, you did exactly what was expected of you, sitting across from him with an air of pretended obliviousness. "So, what is this all about?”

The pirate tilted his head to the side, regarding you with a pair of lazy, inquisitive eyes. "Have we met before, love?”

Gross.

"I would have remembered that," you replied.

"Mh. And yet, you remind me of someone.”

"Clearly. You recognized me from the bounty posters.”

He sat up straight, his eyes narrowing. "Nay, it's something else. I feel like I've conversed with you already.”

You crossed your legs, blinking innocently. "I meet many people.”

His head bobbed repeatedly, as if he were attempting to unravel your disguise and see through your falsehood.

"Now, can we please get down to business and discuss why you summoned me here?”

His expression darkened, and the way he leaned forward, licking his lips and shifting his right hand into his pocket, certainly did not signal anything good.

"Ah, you see, my dear, I've caught wind of some rumors.”

"That seems to be the trend these days.”

Nicholas flashed a wicked grin. "Indeed. But these particular rumors piqued my interest.”

You tightened your grip around your knee. "Is that so?”

"Would ya like to know what they're all about?”

No.

"It appears you're itching to tell me anyway.”

He nodded again, silently, seemingly taking pleasure in the visible erosion of your patience.

"That's quite a piece of news. Word is that one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, none other than Dracule Mihawk, has been seen around the East Blue quite frequently in recent weeks.”

Your eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "Yeah? And that should matter to me because...?”

He erupted into another boisterous laugh, and you had to restrain yourself from pinching your nose to block out the terrible stench of alcohol wafting from his mouth.

"Oh, you're good at this.”

"Good at what?" You inquired.

He cleared his throat, reverting back to his serious, intimidating demeanor.

"Now, don't play coy, sweet thing. There's no need for you to act oblivious.”

"I'm afraid you'll need to be more straightforward than that.”

He snickered, and you couldn't help but continually glance at the hand that was restlessly gripping his pocket for no apparent reason.

"We both know what those rumors suggest."

"Do I, though?”

He growled slightly. "Damn right you do. As a matter of fact, the Warlord has been seen in the company of a woman. The Cutthroat, they say. You, my dear.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Given that Mihawk had come to your aid in a public tavern, it wasn't entirely absurd. But when you took into account the pirate's lingering bruises and his determination to seize the Warlord's title, you started to grasp the real motive behind this encounter on Mirror Ball Island.

Nicholas Burke wasn't seeking your services, nor was he looking to negotiate a deal with you. Or at least, not the kind of deal you were used to.

No, this was likely nothing more than a contrived scheme he had concocted to draw the Warlord's attention, and that could only imply one thing: he had no intention of letting you leave the Neon Mirage. Not of your own accord and certainly not without restrains.

At that point, your feigned smile disappeared from your face. "I came here because you said you had a job for me. I didn't travel all the way to this island for a bunch of rumors.”

"Oh, but I do, in fact, have a job for ya.”

With your heightened senses, you could feel the other men approaching with the stealth of a cat, prepared to spring into action. You heard the faint sound of something heavy being drawn from their holsters, noticed their shadows and looming presence creeping closer.

"All I expect from you is to be a good lass.”

It all unfolded so rapidly, and you had to respond on instinct when one of them lifted his rifle, preparing to hit you in the head with the stock of it. You propelled yourself upwards and swiveled around, ducking and grabbing the weapon with all the force you could muster. Before the other pirate could hurl his enormous hammer at you, you grabbed the dagger at your side and plunged it directly into your attacker's abdomen. You evaded the second blow as the injured man whimpered in pain and coiled into a fetal position on the floor. Pushing the chair aside, you landed a strong kick to the chest of the other man, making him reel backward. Immediately afterward, you pulled out your gun and took a precise shot, targeting his leg.

Streams of blood trickled down from their wounds, staining the polished floor.

Unfortunately, you had misjudged the odds at your disposal, as there was a third man in the room to whom you had forcibly exposed your back. You barely registered a hand coming from behind, pressing a piece of cloth against your mouth and nose. It didn't take long for you to realize that the fabric was drenched in some sort of sedative. You immediately felt your muscles becoming numb and your body weakening moment by moment as the arsenic disseminated through your limbs.

You tried to resist it, flailing your arms and legs in a vain attempt to break free from his grasp.

"Shhh, don't fight it," Nicholas murmured into your ear, his voice reverberating in your head and growing faint.

The world around you blurred and dimmed as the drug took effect, and you slumped into his arms, unable to free yourself from his vile grip.

"Sweet dreams.”

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself in a very grim situation. A thick, rough rope coiled tightly around your torso, securing your wrists to your spinal column. The rope was threaded through a pulley system affixed to the beam above, and you were hoisted into the air, your feet suspended several feet off the ground.

Your head was foggy, but as soon as you fully came back to your senses, you pulled and thrashed to no avail.

Nicholas was now occupying the same chair you had been seated in, looking at you with a satisfied, venomous smirk. More of his crew had filtered in, lounging casually around the room with drinks in their hands. The red stains were still present, but you couldn't locate the injured men anywhere.

The tightness of the binding restricted your movements, and the coarse material bit into your skin with every slight motion.

The pirate rose to his feet once more and advanced, his malicious smile highlighted by the dim light. "Comfortable?" he jeered. "I hope so, because you're going to be up there for quite some time.”

The sound of the party continued to echo faintly in the background, a stark contrast to the silent, heavy atmosphere of the room you were in.

"What exactly do you hope to achieve here?" You demanded angrily.

"Ah, it's quite simple. I have no interest in killing you, you're nothing more than a tool.”

"A tool for what? You're merely wasting your time.”

He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Oh, I know precisely what I'm doing.”

"Mihawk isn’t even aware that I'm here.”

"I'm not acting blindly, Miss Cutthroat.”

Did he really think that Mihawk would monitor all your movements? Granted, he had proven more than capable of doing so, finding you wherever you went, pursuing you at the behest of the World Government. But now that he no longer had a valid excuse to follow you with your bounty out of the way, it seemed unlikely that he would seek you out solely for the pleasure of your company.

As painful as it was to acknowledge that to yourself.

"Aren't you his woman or something? You of all people should know that Dracule Mihawk is exceptionally resourceful. He's a predator, the marines' lapdog.”

You chuckled, feeling the bindings holding tight. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm nobody's woman. Least of all his. Whatever rumor you've heard about us, there's no truth in it.”

You could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the concern of having made a colossal mistake.

"You're just saying that to throw me off.”

"Oh no, I assure you. And besides, you're delusional if you think you can defeat him.”

He squinted at you, taking another step closer. "Where have I seen you before?”

"Again? I've already told you we've never met.”

He brought his fingers to his chin, scrutinizing your face in contemplation. "Nah, I'm not buying it. There's something in your eyes, even in your voice. You look familiar.”

How could he even recognize you considering the vast difference between your normal behavior and the masculine role you'd played in Loguetown? Was he truly that astute to realize you were the same boy he'd agreed to bring along?

And then, his eyes widened, and he repeatedly pointed at you, his index finger moving in a gesture of recognition. "Wait, yes, of course! You were that boy, weren't you? That skinny runt from the tavern in Loguetown.”

Apparently, he was indeed.

And that suggested your disguises weren't as foolproof as you had believed.

“Who?”

"No, no, no, don't even try to deny it. It was you! I'm certain of it. That's why you were so desperate to be there, you weren't interested in watching the fight. You were looking for the Warlord.”

Damn it.

"Can you believe this, lads? Our lady friend over here is the same cabin boy from Loguetown!”

Suddenly, all eyes were focused on you, and a wave of collective amusement erupted around you, punctuated by cries of surprise and disbelief.

"Oh, you must have run into my younger brother," you fabricated.

"Yeah, right. And I'm a fish-man.”

It was now futile to attempt to persuade him, as this pirate proved to be far more intelligent and observant than you had initially estimated.

"Heh. If I had known you were so... enticing, I would have interacted with you differently.”

A knot formed in your stomach as he swept his lustful expression all over you, gnawing on his lower lip and unnervingly hovering his fingers near your belt. The menacing laughter from his crew sent shivers down your spine, prompting your mind to envision situations you'd prefer not to be involved in.

You exhaled a sigh of relief the moment he retreated back to his seat. "Such a shame, really. For my plan to be successful, we must ensure you remain entirely... intact.”

How did you land in such a predicament? You possessed an uncanny ability to land yourself in the most dreadful situations, even now, when the constant threat of bounty hunters lying in ambush was no longer a concern.

"Whatever plan you're cooking up, it's bound to fail. You stand no chance against him”

Nicholas drew in a frustrated breath. "Don't you think I'm aware of that? That rascal could have cut us down in one sweep if he'd wished.”

"You were the one who provoked him. You appeared quite certain of your ability to best him.”

He shrugged. "You know how it goes. You'll never know unless ya give it a shot.”

Your arms throbbed from the strain of the rope, but the knots were so meticulously tied that only a knife could grant you freedom.

"I fail to understand, then. If he were to stride through that door, your crew would be finished.”

The pirate clasped his hands before him. "Ah, but this is where my strategy comes into play. With you suspended up there, directly within my reach, he will be helpless. It's either you or his reputation. That's the real reason I needed you.”

"You're joking, right? You know how fast he is. You can't seriously think he'll stand by and let you have your way.”

He appeared indifferent, slouching further into the back of his chair.

"He's not the type of man to sacrifice everything for a woman, anyway. He would never grant you your desires, not even if you threaten to kill me.”

"Yeah, whatever.”

His strategy was riddled with flaws, a testament to his clear desperation to usurp Mihawk's position, regardless of the fallout for him and his entire crew.

"Your bounty was rescinded," he declared. "The World Government never does that unless there's a specific reason that serves its interests.”

You could sense the bitterness in his tone, the unmistakable tinge of envy.

"Your association with him has earned you this privilege. How is that fair?”

You exhaled. "I was under the impression that pirates took pride in their bounties.”

"Oh, don't misunderstand me, I never cared that much. But having the marines hounding me wherever I go is bothersome. A Warlord of his status doesn't need to fret about anything or anyone standing in his way.”

"So that's your ambition? To become a Warlord and do as you please? To usurp his title when your swordsmanship is nowhere near his level?”

"That's enough.”

You laughed derisively at him. "And you believe the World Government would even consider you? The gap between you and Mihawk is exponential.”

He rose so quickly that the chair skidded backward, and his fury was so palpable now that you were certain he could incinerate you with his eyes alone. “Hold your tongue!”

The bile in your mouth was too toxic to suppress. "Mihawk earned his title. You only want to steal it because you know you can't achieve it through merit. How pitiful can you be?”

Nicholas drew his gun, the elongated barrel aimed squarely at your forehead. "I could simply conclude this here, pull the trigger right now.”

You knew he wasn't bluffing, and once again, you had to tread carefully with your words. "Then you're signing your own death warrant either way.”

His hand trembled, and you could hear the telltale clink of bullets shifting within the metal confines. “The bait is set, and the prize is right here in my hands. Say what you will, I couldn't care less about your unsolicited opinion, lass.”

You could feel the blood circulation in your limbs being cut off, with prickling sensations painfully shooting through your elbows, forearms, and hands. There was a possibility that Mihawk would never make an appearance, potentially leaving you in an extended state of suspense before Nicholas initiated a counteraction. Worse yet, he could completely dispose of you the moment your presence was deemed unnecessary.

If only you had heeded your instincts the moment you encountered him in Neon Mirage, instead of sticking to your obstinacy and avarice. What would a lost deal have signified? It wasn't as though better opportunities were out of reach.

With your hands constricted, you couldn't grab anything even if you wished to, and all your weapons had been carefully confiscated. You pulled and scraped at the ropes in a bid to slacken the knots, but it only served to tire your fingers and nearly snap your nails.

You were starting to accept the grim reality that survival might not be in your cards this time around.

Until the thunderous noise of the wooden door splintering, catapulting forward to hit three pirates simultaneously and subsequently knocking them unconscious before splitting in half, caused you to startle in surprise.

A piercing, icy atmosphere pervaded the entire room. The air appeared to turn colder, and the light wavered as if reacting to the aura of something—or someone—genuinely fearsome. There, at the doorway, stood Dracule Mihawk, his eyes gleaming with a foreboding intensity. Yoru was securely gripped in his right hand, his distinctive hat partially veiling his face, casting it in shadow.

He progressed agonizingly slow, stepping into the room while the rest of the crew recoiled in fear.

The pirate captain, momentarily taken aback, quickly regained his composure by clearing his throat. "Mihawk," he called out, forcing a confidence he didn’t truly feel. "You've come. Just as I hoped.”

Mihawk's gaze swept over the environment, zeroing in on the sight of you hanging in mid-air. His eyes tightened, and his grip on Yoru's handle subtly intensified. Without a spoken word, he moved forward, each step measured and deliberate.

“Stop right there!" The pirate captain barked, his voice shaking. "One more step, and I'll-”

In a fraction of a second, four men rallied and formed a defensive wall, brandishing their swords and guns in a show of intimidation. In a blink, Mihawk launched an air slash, propelling the pirates through the air to land with a thud.

You noted just how severe their wounds appeared to be, with one man lying on his back, his eyes wide and his face growing pale, with bits of his insides showing from the nasty opening.

Mihawk didn't even physically touch them; he struck them all in one swift move, distributing his attack evenly.

Panic broke out among the leftover pirates, but it was too late. Mihawk moved with an efficiency that bordered on the supernatural, his blade gleaming and humming. Every strike was lethal, every movement nimble and graceful.

The ones who survived, wisely chose to flee for their lives, vacating the room amidst desperate cries and guttural screams.

The pirate captain, now frantic, seized his pistol again and pressed it against your side. "Don't move!" he shrieked. "Or I'll kill her!”

Mihawk halted, his penetrating gaze meeting the captain's. "You're already dead," he stated, his voice a low, apathetic, yet menacing murmur that induced shivers even in you.

"We can resolve this peacefully, there's no need for further bloodshed," Nicholas proclaimed. "I'll release her, but you must relinquish your title to me.”

Mihawk viewed him as if he were a mere reject, a man lacking in any semblance of dignity. When his golden orbs landed on you, you responded with a shake of your head. You held deep skepticism that he would ever prioritize your wellbeing, but you still wished to ensure he wouldn't act on any sudden impulses.

His shoulders appeared to relax, and as he fastened Yoru to his back, Nicholas cackled like a lunatic, "Good choice.”

You sensed the cold metal barrel of the gun leaving your side, and watched as Nicholas slid in front of you, tauntingly waving the weapon at Mihawk.

And that was a tremendous mistake on his part.

"What do you need this for anyway? You're strong. You already have the power to do as you please.”

Now, he was the one left exposed, his back enticingly within your reach. Given the choice, you would prefer to spare his pathetic life, letting him wallow in his own despair. However, this pirate had displayed a worrying degree of determination, and there was a substantial risk that he might initiate another assault, targeting either you or Mihawk.

And while it wouldn't pose a real issue to him, for you, it could be rather perilous.

"I'm not a fool, Warlord. I know I can't defeat you. But I could fire at both of you before you have time to react, and as invincible as you may be, I doubt you'd be immune to a bullet in your head.”

No, you couldn't let that happen. Despite potentially overanalyzing the situation and having confidence in Mihawk's abilities and survival instincts, it was a risk you were not prepared to take, regardless of how insignificant it might be.

And quite honestly, you had grown tired of these men treating you as nothing more than an object to be shackled and tormented.

Without wasting another second, you initiated a pendulum motion by swinging your legs back and forth, then wound them around the pirate’s neck from behind, tightening your thighs and entrapping his head in a vice-like grip. Nicholas was struggling for breath, grasping at your left leg with one hand as you endeavored to maintain your position, careful not to twist excessively. Before he could pull the trigger and fire a bullet into your knee, Mihawk flicked his wrist, launching his golden knife straight into the pirate's hand. A groan of pain echoed as the pistol clattered onto the floor, and Mihawk's compact dagger pierced through the pirate's thick glove, dyeing the leather a bright crimson.

You were enraged, throttling him forcefully while gritting your teeth. Mihawk stayed emotionless, observing the scene without even a blink. You could have let up, allowed the man to fall unconscious and collapse, but you persisted. Nicholas fought back for as long as he could, keeping his feet planted firmly on the ground in an upright stance.

With a final effort, you twisted your hips and a resonating snap echoed through the room. Nicholas' arms finally went limp, and his legs buckled like melting gelatin. You let him go, his body falling forward, void of any motion, completely lifeless.

It wasn't your first instance of claiming a life for self-protection, but it never brought you any hint of satisfaction. It was something you did out of necessity.

Furthermore, you were weary of being rescued like a damsel in distress. You wanted to demonstrate to Mihawk that you could hold your own, without behaving like a helpless doll awaiting liberation.

You gasped for breath, the rope gently rocking, strands of your hair falling onto your face. Mihawk casually reclaimed his knife, extracting it from the dead man's hand and using the pirate’s clothing to wipe the blade clean of blood. The pendant was whole again, its other half coming together with a clink against his chest.

As he rose to his feet, he extended his hand to Yoru's hilt once more, severing the rope suspending you with a diagonal stroke. His speed was extraordinary, executing an elegant twirl to ensure you didn't plummet, catching you around the waist the moment you descended. You found yourself nestled against his chest, your feet softly landing on the floor as though you had gently floated down. His robust, inebriating scent wafted into your nostrils and permeated your lungs, his warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket on a chilly night.

You raised your head, your eyes meeting his, your breath catching in your throat. He was observing you with his usual detached expression, yet you could detect something else hidden in those golden irises. Could it be guilt, perhaps? You couldn't be sure. It was likely just your mind creating illusions.

Your fingers let go of his coat and you disengaged, turning away with a subtle smile. "How do you always manage to find me?”

As you moved towards your belongings, Mihawk replied, "This pirate ensured that I knew your precise location.”

"Ah. So he did have a clue about what he was doing, after all.”

“Hardly.”

You laughed lightly, repositioning your weapons and soothing your sore arms. "We should probably leave, before someone stumbles upon the chaos we've caused.”

You had scarcely finished your sentence when Mihawk was already crossing the threshold, where the door once stood. You kept up with his long strides at a quick pace, as the two of you walked through the corridors, the music intensifying and growing closer with each passing moment. The quest to reach the exit proved to be particularly amusing, with Mihawk tensing and pursing his lips in distaste whenever someone dared to graze his arms or boldly tried to tug him onto the dance floor.

Needless to say, drawing in some fresh air again was quite a relief, despite the equally boisterous and festive atmosphere outside. It appeared that some sort of dance competition was underway, but Mihawk wasn't the sort to show even the slightest curiosity about it. Without uttering a word, he pivoted on his heels and strolled away, not even bestowing a single glance in your direction.

His dealings with you were over, after all. He had come to your rescue a second time, journeying to a place he clearly found unappealing. What else could possibly keep him on the Mirror Ball Island now that his task involving you was accomplished?

And yet, this time you were resolute in not letting him depart.

"Where do you think you're going?”

He managed to catch your words, even amidst the chatter and ongoing festivities in the street. "Anywhere that isn't this jarring parade.”

Without overthinking, you grabbed his clothed arm and pulled him away from the main path, heading into an alley that seemed quiet enough for conversation without straining your voice. Itriguingly, Mihawk acquiesced, and you both seemed to find a measure of peace in that corner that felt detached from the rest of the town, shrouded in darkness and seclusion, with no one else in sight.

You positioned yourself in front of him, arms folded. He waited silently, barely inclining his head as he studied you.

There was so much you longed to express, but your heart held you back. Without beating around the bush, you dove straight into the crux of the matter, as it was the primary reason why you could likely abandon your disguises entirely now.

"It was you, wasn’t it? You persuaded them to revoke my bounty.”

A trace of satisfaction surfaced on his features, though he was careful to mask it. "If that's what you believe.”

"Are you suggesting they changed their minds out of the pure kindness of their hearts?”

His eyes drifted away, resting on a random point beyond your head. "I can't read their minds.”

"Mihawk, seriously. There's no way they'd just cancel it out of the blue. Especially considering they’ve even sent you after me in the first place.”

His focus fell back on you, steady and earnest. Yet somehow, you could detect a hint of gentleness.

"Mihawk, I owe you my gratitude. You've done so much for me that I can't even begin to fathom how I could ever repay you.”

"You're not in debt to me.”

"Yes, I am. You've saved my life, what, three times if we consider the fact you ignored the orders? And now you've managed to get my bounty removed in the blink of an eye.”

He pondered over it, searching for the appropriate response to provide. "I have no interest in any form of repayment. I've done precisely what I wanted, no more and no less.”

You smiled, for his words were an indirect admission of his involvement. You were already conscious of that, but it was reassuring to know you weren't wrong.

"Why did you choose to come here today?”

"Why wouldn't I?”

"Because I'm not your responsibility. But you always end up saving me from the worst kind of situations.”

His eyes rolled upwards. "You have a particular talent for getting yourself into those.”

“Fair point.” You moved a bit closer, casting an even larger shadow over him. "But that doesn't answer my question. Did you have… concerns about me?”

His jaw clenched, and Mihawk remained entirely silent.

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting you to show up.”

His eyes were deep and magnetic, riveted on your face as if to hypnotize you, unblinking. How could he weave such a spell on you? How could he make you succumb to his charm, right when you were meant to fear him more than anyone else?

And then, his reply came, surpassing anything you could have ever imagined.

"No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell the tale.”

His abrupt proclamation caught you entirely off guard, spoken as though it was the most straightforward and self-evident fact. You had to replay it over and over in your head, simply because you struggled to believe you'd heard him correctly.

Had he really confessed to viewing you as significant? Or, at the very least, did he regard you as valuable enough to deem you as someone worthy of his affection (or whatever that was supposed to be)?

A blush heated your cheeks, but the dimly lit alley was kind enough to keep it concealed.

"Did I miss something?" You questioned aloud. "I wasn't aware of the fact that you considered me as yours.”

The way he diverted his gaze, displaying a touch of irritation, yet so noticeably disconcerted and mildly anxious, caused your heart to race and stomach to flutter.

"If you see this as a game, I have no inclination to participate.”

Was that uncertainty in his voice? The fear of you treating what you had as mere amusement? You had been forthright with him that you weren’t toying around, and you deeply cherished every kiss you exchanged, every touch, every sigh or groan.

If anything, you believed he was the one taking it less seriously than it meant to you. And now, witnessing his determined possessiveness, you felt as though the floor had vanished beneath your feet.

"This isn't a game, Mihawk. It never was.”

You guided your hand upward, allowing your fingertips to graze the smooth skin of his chest, trace the outline of his cross dagger, and lightly touch his collarbones. One might assume that he didn’t enjoy it, that your touch left him unaffected. But the rhythm of his heart, steady yet robust, could be felt against your palm.

"About that payment thing," you whispered, bringing your nose to his coarse cheek. "I might have a suggestion. Of course, only if you're open to it.”

Merely thinking about it made you feel improper, even indecent, considering you were still in a public location. Still, you couldn’t suppress your instincts, as having him so close to you again sparked that familiar fire within, that sexual tension, that instinctive tightening in your core.

Mihawk picked up on it immediately, judging by the sensual tone of your voice and the growing desire evident in your darkened eyes. The sun had long set, which only served to provide the two of you with even greater privacy. Given that the alley ended in a dead end, you could easily prevent anyone from sneaking in from the other side.

Everyone was preoccupied with the music, watching the competition that had just begun. No one was sparing even a single glance in your direction, it was just the two of you, secluded in your own bubble of physical longing.

"Do as you see fit," he responded indifferently. "Kneel and make use of that mouth of yours.”

You froze, your lips halting their motion against his jaw. Did he really say what you thought he said?

In the end, it wasn't much different from what you had envisioned. As you looked at him, slightly shocked but delighted that his desires matched yours, Mihawk remained motionless and commanding. Even in the darkness, you could see the molten gold of his irises, as if they glowed with their own vitality.

You grinned, bending your legs and situating yourself in an improvised sitting position on the ground. Your knees ached against the asphalt, but you had more pressing matters to think about. Much more appealing matters.

You refused to break the eye contact, staring at him from below. Even from that angle, he was absolutely breathtaking, with the outline of his abs catching the nighttime illumination, his eyes shimmering, his lips curving, and his Adam's apple probing forward.

You moved your hands along his thighs, up and down, at a torturously slow pace. His baggy pants did little to hide the swelling bulge between his legs, but as much as you wanted to deliver him the satisfaction he deserved, you didn't want to rush the process.

You began to unbuckle his belt, pushing his pants just low enough to reveal more of his V-shaped waistline, his chiseled sides, and the beautiful, spongy head of his arousal. He didn't react at all, remaining as motionless as a sculpture, watching your every move.

You kissed him around the navel, leaving a trail of light-as-a-feather kisses all over his marble-like abdomen. You could see the outline of the veins spreading out and leading lower, the tip of his arousal reacting with a satisfied twitch.

Tentatively, you pushed the front of his trousers further down, being careful not to leave him entirely exposed. As much as you craved him, and despite the thrill you felt from the remote risk of being caught, you respected him too much to shame him. Undressing him was something you wanted to reserve for another occasion, either within the privacy of your cabin or anywhere else that offered ample seclusion.

"Get on it. I don't have all night.”

You stifled a laugh at his sudden impatience, which perfectly reflected how you tried to rush him the last time you lost yourselves in your heated intimacy.

"Do you really want me to finish so quickly? Where's the fun in that.”

Mihawk snorted, and you absolutely adored how riled up he was from your minor ministrations.

"Alright, just give me a moment.”

His arousal was perfect in every way, from every facet that you had the privilege to imprint in your memory. It was long, solid, rigid and smooth as velvet, decorated with a few pronounced veins running along his shaft. You wrapped the base with your dominant hand, sliding it up to the crown, and down again in a rhythmic motion. The sigh that slipped from his lips was barely discernible, but it was a clear indication of his momentary relief.

Then you increased the pressure, intensifying your grip, and running your thumb against the tight underside. His jaw clenched and his lips thinned into a line, providing you with the confirmation you needed about a job well executed.

In retrospect, you never really favored kneeling before a man. It invariably conveyed a sentiment of weakness and submission, and for this reason, you typically preferred to partake in this sort of physical exchange while lying on a bed. Mihawk had completely transformed your world, and you felt compelled to give him everything you had to offer, everything you were, inside and out.

You were starting to love him in your unique way. To love his reticence, his total disinterest in most things, his seeming indifference and nonchalance towards anything that didn't involve a good sword fight.

Brushing your hair aside, you enveloped the tip with your mouth, and closed it as soon as you had completely covered it, softly sucking on it a few times. You let it go with a moist popping sound, only to slide your tongue over the rest of it, treating his entire length to a sensual, tender lick.

You felt his fingers reach for the back of your head, gripping a handful of hair between them. It wasn't harsh in any way, but you recognized his silent encouragement for you to give him more, to take as much of him as you could handle, to present him with that special reward you'd been yearning to give. Your heart seemed on the verge of exploding, and you repositioned yourself on the ground, widening your legs for improved stability, and descending onto him while easing your throat.

His hand tracked your movements, but he let you progress without pushing you. He was in control, but at the same time, there wasn't a single trace of severity in his actions. You descended onto him, using your hand to stimulate what you couldn't reach with your mouth. He didn't seem to mind, holding your nape in his fist, and patiently waiting for you to adapt and accelerate your pace. You hollowed your cheeks, moaned against his skin, and found the perfect rhythm that wouldn't exhaust you, but also wouldn't bore him to the brink of irritation.

The cheering from the background reached your ears as if it were intended for you, accompanied by the sound of hands clapping fervently, whistles, and howls. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly, but he maintained his expression as impassive as it could possibly be.

His arousal, however, told a different story. You felt it shake and pulse in your mouth, growing in size and heat as you persisted. You gave it your best effort, drawing your other hand up to his stomach, feeling its contractions and vibrations.

It was astounding. You weren't even the one receiving pleasure, but for the first time, you felt more than fulfilled merely by being able to satisfy him.

You liked him. You genuinely did. That fact was indisputable.

It didn't take long for you to notice just how eager his erection was for release, how near you were bringing him to that delightful climax you both wanted. With his discipline and physical control, he resisted the urge to thrust his hips forward, giving you complete control to handle it on your own. And so, you alternated your movements, using your hand to caress his length while you focused more on the plush tip, only to lower again.

He was almost there, you could sense it.

"Don't spill a single drop.”

Again, his remark came entirely unexpectedly, but you valued his boldness just as much as anything else. Very slowly, you brought your lips up and lingered on the tip, only to let his full length go after a kiss on it. Biting your lower lip, you scarcely blinked as you echoed his forthrightness, smiling with contentment. "Who do you think I am?”

His hold on you eased, and as your hair tumbled back, he slid his fingers to the front, along your jawline, only to halt at your chin. His thumb brushed over your lips, from bottom to top, and settled at the corner.

"Oh, I know you are more than capable.”

Your body moved on its own, grabbing his wrist, and turning your head so that you could bestow a gentle kiss on his thumb. Mihawk's eyebrow slightly lifted, but he neither attempted to pull away nor reprimanded you for it.

Your smile broadened, and a chuckle came naturally to you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and returned your attention to his arousal. And you went all the way in, moving your head more rapidly, ensuring that your tongue was stimulating all the right areas, your hand speeding up on the remaining length.

Your eyes instinctively shut, and in that instant, Mihawk's own gaze landed on the wall ahead of him, his throat working to swallow, and his lips parting. He didn't moan, he didn't make a sound. Or, to be more precise, none that you could hear over the music playing around you. The moment his climax reached him, his hips jerked, and your mouth was flooded with his essence, which you diligently kept secure and swallowed down, drop by drop.

It was unsurprisingly salty, with a mixed taste that ranged from sweet to sour. You kept your lips attached to him until you were sure there was nothing left for him to give, and true to your promise, none of it ever spilled onto the ground.

Under normal circumstances, you would consider it exceedingly filthy, distasteful, and utterly repugnant to do. But with him, even the things that seemed outrageous before now felt entirely natural. There were times when you felt extremely uncomfortable even with Isaiah, notwithstanding the guy's gentleness and respect for you.

With Mihawk, you felt as though anything was possible.

Now completely done, you ran one finger over your lips to ensure there were no remnants left, and he adjusted his clothes with his characteristic composure as you rose to your feet. You waited for him to finish, smiling like a little girl who had just carried out a secret mischief. When your eyes met again, your grin transformed into a tender smile. You took a step back, then another, and you turned to walk out of the alley without waiting for him to follow you.

You left him there, cooling down while you made your way back to your ship, navigating through the large crowd and leaving the booming music behind.

This time, you didn't lock the door of your cabin. You took off your leather jacket and tossed it over the couch, massaging your neck and taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves. The fatigue was gnawing at you, with the soreness in your arms from the tight rope, your eyelids boring the weight of your exhaustion. And yet, the thought of sleep or pause was far from your mind. You wanted that moment to continue, your departure to be delayed, for Mihawk to remain present and not fade into the ether.

You idly loosened the laces of your shirt, allowing it to open and gently slide down your shoulders. You waited, you hoped, you even prayed.

You didn't have to do it for long, because soon enough, you heard the sound of his footsteps, and the click of the door closing behind him. You were beaming, your face illuminating at the sight of him, halting in front of you with an ostensibly blank expression, but one that held so much more.

Your lips met, colliding into an open-mouthed kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. His hands made contact with your lower back, lifting the fabric of your shirt and slipping underneath it. You had just satisfied him, but that earth-shattering orgasm didn't seem even remotely sufficient to fulfill his desire for you.

And as your tongues intertwined, he could taste himself on it, which only ignited the wildness he was struggling to keep at bay.

You nudged his hat aside, holding its brim delicately between your fingers before letting it settle next to your jacket on the couch. Your shirt cascaded down to the floor, and in an instant, you found yourself drawn to the bed, pressed against the mattress, your wrists firmly held above your head.

The night promised to be lengthy and unforgettable, punctuated with whispers and intimate echoes, artfully veiled by the rhythmic tunes resonating from outside.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 6 ->

#one piece liveaction #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader

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buryustogether · 2 years

Text

the truth of the matter

lycan/werewolf!heisenberg x f!reader

read part one here part 2 part 3

summary: the beast takes you to extract your vengeance upon those who took advantage of you

warnings/tags: mentions of sexual assault, blood, gore, violence, murder, sexual tension, religious references

author’s note: yeah i know it’s not as good as the first one but the next part will have smut so

inspired by mary on a cross by ghost

‘ and the truth of the matter is

i’ll never let you go. ”

The beast’s coat smelled of him.

The sticky scent of pine, the greased stench of oil, the faint tinge of blood - they made up the unique, enchanting aroma that encased you in a secure embrace as you followed the man before you back to the village. Your teeth had stopped their chattering since he draped the fabric across your shoulders, yet your fingers still played a game of numbness, and your lips refused to work in the way they should upon trying to form words.

The cold seeped into your bones like lake water pulling you under, latching onto your very marrow and yanking you beneath the surface. Yet you resisted. You did not collapse to the ground just yet, despite the ache in your lungs, despite the throbbing of your wrists where the metal shackles had kept you tied to the offering pedestal.

Instead, you drove yourself onward, following the footprints of the towering man that trekked slightly ahead of you. Your rage was not yet frozen through. Your fury had thawed. Your hatred and need for revenge and vengeance overpowered any natural instinct your body sent screaming through your veins. Your friends, your parents, your neighbors… they had simply stood by and watched as you were violated. Dressed like a doll. Left to be ravished, then slaughtered.

And where were they now? Warm in their homes, eagerly awaiting what the beast would bring them in exchange for your blood.

“You don’t have to come with, you know.”

You lifted your head upon hearing the beast’s words. Heisenberg. Karl. He’d stopped just ahead of you, gazing over his broad shoulder at your small, hunched form. The corners of his eyes, darkened with his silvery irises, peeked out from the edges of his shades. You wondered where he’d gotten them; the only specs you’d ever seen were the ones made by the carpenter in town for those with poor eyesight. But those were not tinted, as his were.

“No,” you grunted out and quickened your pace to fall in step beside him. You were forced to crane your neck to look up at him. Your exhausted gaze was met with that unreadable expression of his, eyes hidden behind those panes and his mouth set in a thin line. “I want to. I…” You panted slightly, your mind racing. Then your rage resurfaced. “I need to,” you added and set your jaw. “They’re monsters, the whole fucking lot of them. I want to see them suffer.”

Your own words surprised you. Even when you were small and your playthings had been stolen by the other children, you had never been one to resort to violence. And yet when you thought of what they had done to you, without an inch of your consent… it made you want to drop to the frozen ground and howl and scream until your lungs gave out and you succumbed to the elements.

You watched as Heisenberg’s mouth quirked slightly at the corner. His beard twitched with the movement. Again, there came that fluttering and leaden sensation that dropped from your stomach to the space between your thighs.

“And here I thought I was the only beast in the woods,” he rumbled. He cast a thoughtful gaze down the path to the village, then took a step closer. Upon instinct, you inched backward. Yet you stilled yourself, afraid and enraptured all at once. “It’s still a mile or two to the town. Your choice, princess, but take it from me - a wounded animal never makes it far.”

You looked down at the hand he’d extended; gloved in leather; no claws; warm. A flash of memory panged into your head like an empty shotgun shell, freshly fired. You recalled the feeling of hands upon you, restraining your wrists, lifting your skirts, digging with sharp nails into your thighs and pushing them apart. Dirty fingers digging through your most intimate places. Would his hands on you feel like that?

Somehow, in some way, you knew they would not.

Silently, you looked up at him and nodded your head once. Then, with a grunt, he wrapped one arm around your back and the other beneath your legs, and hefted you into a bridal-style carry. At once, your heart skipped a number of beats. You watched the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, felt the murmuring of his heart as the side of your body pressed against his chest. Warmth radiated from his chest like a hearth, and suddenly you were wrapped entirely in that scent of his. It settled your racing nerves.

When you reached up to secure your arms around his neck, a few strands of his grey hair were caught between your clamped fingers. He jerked slightly, releasing a rumble from the pit of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured and released his tresses.

To your surprise, his lips curled upward to show off the whites of his teeth. Again, you imagined his canines growing into jagged blades. “Don’t say sorry for something I liked, sweetheart,” he said.

To avoid his gaze, and perhaps distract him from the sudden uptick in your pulse, you turned your head away.

“Nervous little villager, aren’t you?” he said. He carefully adjusted your weight against him, then began the trek toward the town once more. “Don’t worry, honey.” His voice was suddenly at the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning against your temple. “Nothing’s going to hurt you like they did now that you’re mine.”

It seemed he was aware of the effect his words, his voice, simply his presence, had on you. He relished in the way your grip on him tightened slightly, in the way your breath hitched in your throat and how you squeezed your legs together. Yet all he did was smirk that agonizing smile to himself and tramp along through the snow.

You shut your eyes to the blinding whiteness of the snow in the late afternoon sun, instead tilting your forehead to rest against Heisenberg’s collarbone.

A man had never touched you like this before - well, before today. You’d craved this kind of touch in the past, but the boys in the village were always far too pushy or clingy or cocky to woo you into letting them come any closer than was proper. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t tried; as one of the only young eligible women in the village, it was known you would marry soon and begin to grace the town with the new generation. Every boy that was not already committed to another girl practically tried to jump you.

They invited you to attend service with them, asked you advice for gifts for their mothers and sisters, paid you for the stitching and embroidery you’d made a small hobby of. When you watched over the younger children in the school while the teachers stepped away, they would be sure to bring their little brothers and sisters, just to have an excuse to speak to you.

Some were sweet. Others were downright heinous. And yet your answer had always been no. You were content without a man; and while you, of course, had carnal urges no one could suppress, you did just fine on your own. Yet there were things you wondered about…

“Here.”

Heisenberg’s voice brings you tumbling from your thoughts. He’s stopped at the tree line surrounding your village, stood atop a small hill overlooking the church and the small rows of houses. Inside windows, fireplaces roared and children played on hearth side rugs. Stragglers hurried through the streets in order to get home before dark. Each and every one of them was wondering what great reward they would be bestowed for their sacrifice.

Your grip on the beast tightened yet again without your permission. A small bit of disappointment overpowered the fear for a moment when he let you down to stand on your own. Within your head, a tiny, devilish voice whispered, ‘Soon. He’ll hold you again soon. Make you feel safe again. Touch you like he did in the forest. Soon.’

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said as he began to pull his gloves tighter over his massive hands, “you might want to stay here while I go and pay your people a visit. This might get a little messy.” He cast you a glance. “Messier than even what you had in mind.”

“But -“

“Don’t you worry.” He swept close, taking your chin under his thumb in that way he does. His lips were inches from yours, a mere breath away. If you leaned forward just slightly, you’d be kissing him. “I’ll make them hurt for what they did to you.”

With that he was gone, sauntering down the hill toward the town. He walked with a sort of swagger that brought out his rather wily personality, and yet demanded respect all at the same time. You remembered how frightened you were when you first laid eyes upon him less than an hour ago - hell, how frightened you were now watching him leave - and imagined the terror that would fill the village when they realized just who he was.

You stood at the tree line, still huddled in the beast’s coat, watching. Waiting. So much time passed you thought nothing happened.

Then a scream, shrill and horrified and filled with pure, raw terror, ripped through the air. It rose the birds from their hidden perches in the trees, seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet. Slowly, more howls and shrieks followed the first. You saw the tiny figures of villagers scattering, scrambling for cover as some unseen force sent them all running.

A roar tore through the ravine. It was unlike anything you’d ever heard before; the trees seemed to shake upon their very roots and the clouds threatened to tumble down from the heavens. It was animalistic in its nature, wet and guttural.

The beast.

Suddenly you were filled with that same urge you’d felt when first released from the chains, when tramping through the snow - the urge for vengeance. For revenge. To take the justice that was rightfully yours after what they had done to you.

Despite the cold still controlling your bones, you found yourself stalking down the hill, your footprints following Heisenberg’s larger ones. The image of them fueled you with courage. Knowing he would be there, knowing he would protect you… it made you feel powerful beyond compare; something you had never experienced in your lifetime.

It seemed both an eternity and just moments later that you reached the village. You knew you would not like what you saw, and yet you continued on anyhow. You would not be some martyr, some victim, some nameless sacrifice to them.

You would become their worst regret.

Screams and howls of terror filled your ears, became your whole world, as you turned the corner of a building and laid eyes upon what was your home just this morning. A number of bodies - all men - lay scattered about the snow, each and every one torn near apart with gigantic claw marks. Some’s necks were barely still hanging onto their shoulders, shredded by rows of blade-like monster teeth. The white had turned red, the cobblestones flooded with blood. Women fled into the nearest buildings with their children, wailing for their lost loved ones. One girl prayed before a fallen body and rocked herself on her heels.

They were far too distraught to pay you any mind.

There came a new commotion - from the church - that drew your attention. Some large, ground-trembling force shook the small building in its very foundation. The bell in the tower overhead rang gently, sadly, helpless to do anything but sing its mournful song. You followed its melody. Your boots stamped along the front steps you were dragged up this morning, through the open doorway, and into the threshold.

The sight waiting for you inside was one that nearly brought that sick, sadistic smile back to your painted lips.

The beast had cornered the village priest - the one who had called your name and assaulted you in checking your virginity - in one of the front pews. The man was a bloody, torn-up mess. Blood cascaded from a wound in his shoulder and his nose looked to be broken in two different places. One eye was swollen shut. Scarlet dripped from his mouth and down his pant leg, to where one knee was bent the wrong direction. There was also a wet spot at his crotch.

And the beast - well. He had truly become the beast you’d heard in the legends growing up. He’d become the monster, the savior, the god. Teeth that had once looked just like yours had grown into razor-looking things, the tips and his lips and his beard stained with still-warm blood. Claws had stabbed through his gloves, near six inches each. His shades were gone, allowing that once star-like gaze to become a wicked yellow that burned like rum on fire. Teeth bared, chest heaving, expression torn into one of fitful rage, you feared momentarily that whatever curse or blessing he’d been bestowed upon at birth had overtaken him.

And yet still, in some way you could not understand, you felt safe.

“I beg of you, great one,” stammered the priest as he squeezed up into the pew, “have mercy upon our souls. We meant not to anger you.”

“Don’t speak to me about mercy, you fucking weasel.” Heisenberg reached out a clawed hand and easily lifted the man by his throat, then turned and slammed him back against the pulpit. The wood cracked and splintered beneath his weight. “How many times did that girl beg you for mercy? How many times did mercy cross your mind while you waited for your reward?”

The priest cowered against the pulpit, blood staining the carpet beneath him. He gurgled slightly before pulling his words together. “We wished to appease you!”

“With a fucking human being?!”

His eyes wide enough to drink from and his body bruised and bloody and broken, the priest’s gaze shifted from the creature before him and toward your figure in the doorway. He gasped and sputtered, his terror now tripled.

You relished in his fear. He knew what he had done was wrong, and now he was awaiting your judgement.

The beast followed his eyes with a snarl, jowls curled to show off his teeth, before his golden gaze landed upon you. He watched as you reached around the doorframe of the church and produced an old, warped axe; kept there for emergencies in case of a blizzard. Or an attack. His smile grew into something far more sinister and he stalked - practically on all fours - around the side of the pulpit so that he could peer over the top. What an ironic scene before you; the priest, upon his knees begging for reprive, and the beast you once worshiped as a god braced upon the pulpit.

What a sick, twisted sense of humor the world had.

The priest stammered your name as you slowly approached him, your weak arms struggling to carry the axe with you. “We - we didn’t know…! I told them it was unjust. I tried to stop them…! The council -“

“I once looked up to you,” you seethed, blue lips now moving upon their own accord. The blunt end of the axe dragged upon the floor as you walked, filling the air with the metallic sing of its contact on wood. The beast watched silently, curled around the pulpit, that gaze upon your body and those lips curled into an amused sneer. “I trusted you as a child. I trusted you today. What have I done to deserve this?”

“The council -“

“Coward!” you found yourself shrieking. Your throat tore itself apart with your scream. “You are the council. You are the village! You did this to me!”

“Our God demanded -“

“The truth of the matter is, Father…” With a grunt, you hefted the axe further into your arms and secured your frozen fingers around it. The man before you began to cry and beg. The beast waited. “There is no God.”

The axe swung, propelled by your strength and momentum and grief, and came to rest with a wet, sickening thud. Blood spattered upon your face, your skirts. The priest’s protests silenced. Scarlet slowly, ever so slowly, began to spread in an almost-pretty pool at your feet. When you let the handle go, it stayed put, the blade buried deep in your attacker’s head.

For a moment, there was nothing. Nothing but the still-warm body before you and the rising bile lurching in your throat. Gradually, your rage and need for vengeance melted to horror. You felt your hands drift to your mouth to cover it, your eyes wide and your legs suddenly crooked and unstable.

Before you fell, large, strong arms wrapped around your form and near scooped you up against a warm wall. You inhaled slightly, and you were met with that same scent that enveloped you while walking through the forest. The beast. Heisenberg. Karl.

“May his soul never find the peace he prayed for,” you heard him rumble. Again, those arms lifted your legs so that he was carrying you once more, your feet hanging limp as he turned and brought you to the doorway. Cold reached out for you with thin, spindly arms, carrying with its wind the scent of blood. It was on your face. Your clothes. Your hands.

A small noise must have escaped your throat, because the beast tilted your head slightly so that your face was pressed into his collarbone once more. “I know, honey. Just rest now.” Your hands closed into fists around his shirt, your nose pressed into the nape of his throat. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” And then, right beside your ear as you found yourself drifting away into the darkness behind your eyelids, “No one will fuck with you now that you belong to me.”

tags: @robzombzie @dingusdingusio @syd-vixious @inesalexandra1995 @sincerely-gi @cowsrcool123 @makenten @call-me-magpie @lawlesshedgehog @harley777q @mixx-ie @all-mights-wife @uwu-i-purple-you @ifindyourlipssokisssable @stitchmiku @demodemonio

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snowdropluck204 · 2 days

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A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader - Pt 2

Hiya my lovelies... It's been a while... Mainly because I've been trying to write an original book, but hit a snag, so I'm back to my criminal minds centre of my brain to try and get some inspiration, hopefully this works... Anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Xxx

TW: Murder, gore, blood, mentions of rapists, paedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male, assisted suicide.

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma @alysianc @btsiguess-kpop @devilslittlebabyxx @delusional-4-fake-people @mega-kittyglitter-1 @esposadomd

(y/n) pov

I watched from around the corner of the hallway, waiting for Isabel Jackson to come home, waiting for her to stumble back to her hovel as she did most nights, either from her graveyard shift or from a night of drinking. This particular woman, wasn't as bad as a lot of the people I had previously disposed of, she hadn't killed anyone herself, but she was the reason for two young men, taking their own lives.

I sighed, thinking about the news articles, I remembered this case, it happened about two years ago and was thrown out of court. Because a woman couldn't possibly be capable of raping and abusing four, strapping young men? Could she? Granted the public believed that the person killing all these people was a man, probably not thinking anyone participating in such gruesome events could be a woman. I sighed once more. This was all for one purpose.

I watched, through the camera doorbell, as the woman came home, stumbling into her apartment and promptly passing out, as I could see all the cameras' feeds on my tablet. I waited, for around an hour, before walking up to the door, my mask on, I had decided to lean into the press and media, wearing a mask again, but this time, one of my own design. It was a kabuki mask, one of a skull, bright, innocent colours, like that of my original candy skull mask, but this one was mine. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a long, black rectangular box, a device I had invented, I waved it across the door lock, hearing the soft kachunck as the tumblers fell into place. I looked up at the camera, knowing that the police would be able to see me, I waved.

I opened the door and stepped inside. I took great care in disabling the security system, the cameras, the alarms, of course it wasn't difficult, I was the one who had designed the system, I had been the one to sell them to her...

3rd Person pov

The police, and therefore the BAU, had been notified of finding another body, matching the unsub's MO. A man had called the police, stating that he had just come off his shift at the graveyard, the same one the body was found, when he saw someone leaving, couldn't see a face or clothing, it was barely lit in the early morning. But he walked over, feeling the whole thing was rather sketchy, seeing a dead body just outside the gates of cemetery.

The victim still carried his I.D, whether it was left on the body by design or the killer had forgotten about it was unknown. The man's name was David James, he had been previously convicted of domestic assault, and later, sexual assault and paedophilia. Spencer called Garcia, asking for a background check on the latest victim and receiving a call, not two minutes later with what she had found.

Spencer put the call on speaker phone, holding it up awkwardly, so that Morgan and Hotch could listen into the call, "Go ahead Garcia," Spencer said, eagerly awaiting what she had found.

Garcia sighed, coming through the phone crackled and morphed, "This guy was creepy, not like Hannibal creepy, but just icky kinda creepy. He was arrested a few years ago, police having gotten a call from the neighbours that they heard screaming coming from his place, he was taken in by the police, his wife was bloodied and bruised, with broken fingers, obviously he'd beaten the stuffing out of her, poor woman. There wasn't enough evidence to make it stick, because without the wife's testimony, apparently the rest of the evidence was circumstantial... Morons." Garcia groaned.

"But then there was a sticking of one charge, being sexual assault and paedophilia... Ew... Apparently he molested his own daughter when she was ten... He spent only a year in jail, he made a deal and walked with no parole, that was about five years ago, and unfortunately his daughter couldn't deal with the trauma, she took her own life in a foster home, two years ago. Her mom ran away when she found out her husband was released from prison... She was found a year ago, overdosed, they were buried together at Linwood Cemetery." Garcia finished her deep dive, Spencer was intrigued.

"Wait, Linwood Cemetery?" He asked softly. Garcia confirmed. "That's where the body was found," He informed her. "So the killer knows the specifics about his crimes, knows where his family and previous abuse victims were buried and left him outside the graveyard?" Spencer asked, crouching down to look at the body, seeing a note on one side of the corpse. "That's new..." He said, wearing rubber gloves and picking up the note.

The note read, "No entry for sinners."

"A note from the unsub?" Hotch asked, looking over Spencer's shoulder.

"I don't think so," Morgan responded, "The guy who found the body works here, he seemed to be a pretty big fan of the unsub, he was wearing a pin that said "Don't fear the reaper." Like that song?" He said, "I think this is just that weirdo trying to get fifteen seconds of fame." Morgan rolled his eyes at the idea.

Garcia had been following the media response towards the unsub, most people were completely enamoured with him, that he was doing work that should have been taken care of.

Spencer leaned back towards the body, taking care to look through every aspect of the scene, the body was facing up, arms crossed over his chest, a white lily laced between the fingers, cleaned of most of the blood, which hadn't leaked much onto the ground where he was lying, so the unsub had cleaned up most of the blood at a separate location, most likely the victim's home, before bringing him here. This could have been a sign of remorse... Or a way of leaving less evidence.

The garrote was once again, wrapped around the neck, digging painfully into the skin, leaving deep, bloody grooves in the throat and the handle had the word paedophile carved jaggedly. The carving seemed different to the other victims, this one was angry and harsh, you could see just how much pressure was forced into the wood. Spencer's brow furrowed in concentration, "The unsub seems to have a connection with paedophiles, either they were assaulted as a child or knew somebody who was being assaulted and didn't do anything, that feeling of guilt probably followed them into adulthood and they're trying to compensate for their lack of power then, by forcing their will on these types of felons now.

This kind of unsub is especially dedicated, I doubt he'd stop until he's caught, there's only a finite amount of people he could kill, eventually the felons would become harder to locate, or the unsub would simply get too old... Either way, we need to catch them or he'll just continue..." Spencer finished, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Hotch looked on at him in worry, seeing him so befuddled was odd, to everyone on the team.

When they were ready, the team went back to the local station, ready to give the cops the profile they were working with. Standing in a circle around the group of desks in the bullpen, each member of the team filled in the police on what they knew. "We believe we're searching for a man in their mid twenties, not necessarily poor or well off, more middle class, probably has a job working with parts, computers, cars, something he can have control over." Hotch began.

Morgan stepped forward, to continue, "We believe something happened to this man in his childhood, either he was sexually abused or someone in his life was and he was powerless to do anything about it, now he's taking the law into his own hands to fix what he couldn't fix back then."

Elle began to speak, "He won't be open about his feelings on the news and the press, this isn't about fame and media portrayal, this is personal, he has a target in mind, we just don't know who that is yet, but we do know that he won't stop until this object of his obsession is taken care of, or until we catch him."

Spencer watched his teammates thoughtfully, he was conflicted about his feelings regarding these killings, it was obviously a horrible thing to have to look at the string of victims this unsub had left behind, but these were bad people, so maybe they deserved this kind of end? He stepped forward, "This unsub is most likely calm and collected, someone you could tell your troubles to, someone you can share secrets with, someone charismatic and easygoing. They might be religious, probably some kind of old druid or pagan religion, and they're the kind of person to feel deeply upsetting about hearing about the loss of a person, even if they didn't know them."

Spencer was frustrated with himself, most of the profile wasn't conclusive. The unsub might not be religious, they might have just been incredibly intelligent and throwing the police off by adding a religious format to the killings... They might not have been sympathetic towards their victims, but want to seem as though they are... Everything about this profile felt... Wrong...

One of the local cops came into the room out of breath, "Sorry to interrupt, we've found another body, almost half a mile away from the last..." He said anxiously, Spencer glanced at the rest of the BAU, Gideon meeting his tired eyes. Each time he thought they were getting closer, the unsub seemed to be at least three steps ahead of them...

They were probably on their next victim already...

(y/n) pov

Isabel Jackson, wasn't difficult to deal with, she was so wasted that she barely woke up before I slit her throat, the feeling of her blood seeping into my clothes made me feel ill, I couldn't help the shivering and retching as got back to my car. I sighed, realising there was still someone else I had to visit, someone who wasn't on my list necessarily, but was someone I genuinely did care about.

When I saw the text I was left, I couldn't ignore it, I drove to a suburb neighbourhood, mostly populated by elders, this house was no different. I stepped in through the gap in the back fence, walking through the backyard under the cover of night, I used my key to get into the house through the back door, walking through the house I'd known all my life. This house in particular belonged to a lovely old man named Reggie, he was just the sweetest old fellow, but now...

I walked into the room that was once a cosy living room, now it had been converted into a bedroom, after Reggie got too weary and frail to handle the stairs, the room was now filled with bottles of pills and ointments, heart monitors, IV drips and Reggie... Poor, poor Reggie.

Stage four, terminal pancreatic cancer, he'd beaten cancer once, when I was still small, but he was exhausted, too tired to fight, I stepped closer to the bed, seeing Reg, sleeping, even sleeping he looked tired, each breath looked like it was agony to take. I sat next to him, taking his cold hand in mine, "Reg?" I said softly, trying not to choke on tears and the lump in my throat.

He startled awake, seeing me, he settled back against the pillows. Being that I was inside the house, the curtains were closed, I had taken off my mask, showing my face, I probably looked almost as tired as he was. He smiled weakly, raising his hand from mine to cup my cheek, "Is that my little duck?" He asked, teasingly, that same glint in his eye from all those years ago that never seemed to fade. I smiled, nodding.

When I was a child, from when I was five til I was about eight, I had an obsession with ducks, I had shirts with them, I wore a onesie with a bill and duck tail, apparently I even spent a good few weeks quacking at people... Reggie never let me forget it, I remember when I was a teenager I would roll my eyes at his teasing comments, now, I couldn't even laugh. I leaned into his hand resting against my cheek.

Reggie took in my appearance, a small frown came onto his face, "Never expected my lil duck to become a murderer..." He mumbled. I sighed, nodding, even though it pained me to hear his comment.

"I know Reg... But I have to do this... for everyone that they hurt, or could hurt... For chick..." I told him, my eyes filling with tears, struggling to keep them from trailing down my cheeks. Reggie's eyes grew sad when I mentioned her, he knew exactly who I was doing this for. "When I got the text from your daughter... I didn't know what to do... I didn't know if I would be hearing your last words or taking them..." At that, I broke, leaning my head against his bed, soaking the covers with my tears, my chest sore from my sobs.

I felt Reggie's shaky hand rest on my head, I looked up at him, "You know what I want you to do, but don't feel you have to... I don't want this resting on your conscious." His voice was almost pathetic, quiet, he was simply ready to die...

I sighed, pulling open my bag, the kit I brought out was relatively lightweight, but the gravity of what I was about to do seemed to be pulling my down. I pulled out some syringes. "I got these from a nurse friend I have, they'll put you into a sleep you won't wake up from..." I told him, trying to be stoic, but I could feel myself breaking. This man was like a grandpa to me, to chicky... We would play here after school when our parents were working, hell even when they were, Reggie would chase us about, we'd play tag, hide and seek, and Reg would make us hot chocolate with a horrific amount of marshmallows and whipped cream as he'd tell us stories about monsters and dragons and princesses that were sick of being saved.

Reggie leaned back, closing his eyes, as I injected the serum, "Thank you, my little duck..." He whispered, as his eyes fell closed and his face went slack. I sighed, the dam breaking as I sobbed over the loss. After a few minutes, I laced the flower between his fingers, kissed his head and turned off the beeping monitor, I wiped my face, pulled down my mask and left the house, not even bothering to hide from anyone that could have seen me. I got in my car, and drove, I didn't know where I was driving until I got there...

I was in the field me and chick used to visit, meadow and streams everywhere, my knees began to ache, like they couldn't hold me up anymore. I fell to the floor and began to dig with my gloved hands, I felt like I'd been digging for hours, but I leaned over and screamed. I screamed and screamed until my voice was raw, all the sound being swallowed by this hole in the ground...

Hope this chapter was okay, this was more about setting out a background for your character! Hopefully it won't take me too long to write part three, granted I say that every time... Wish me luck! Xxx

#cute #love #fanfiction #romance #x reader #comfort #open requests #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #x fem!reader #murder #unsub!reader #angst #cw: gore

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diasomnia-month · 9 months

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Diasomnia Month 2024

Hey Dia fans!!! Welcome to the first ever tumblr Diasomnia month!

Why not kick off the beginning of the year with a daily dose of Diasomnia? Starting from March 1st and until March 31st, this blog will be hosting Diasomnia month. This post will tell you everything you need to know!

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Rules:

- You may post any kind of content related to Diasomnia! Art, fics, memes, edits, analysis, etc. If you’ve mentioned @diasomnia-month and use the #diasomniamonth or #diasomonth2024 tags, then your post will be reblogged here!

*All content must be SFW. Blood and gore are allowed, but must be tagged. If you have any questions about what is accepted, just send an ask.

- Don’t sweat it if you miss a prompt, you may post your late works any day of the month until the 31st and it will be reblogged here. All we ask is that you don’t skip ahead and wait for each corresponding day to pass for each prompt.

- Don’t steal, trace, repost, or use other’s works and claim it as your own. This regards posting things that aren’t yours to the diasomnia month tag, and stealing works reblogged here. That’s just disrespectful man.

- No ships! We’d like to keep it between diasomnia, as this is supposed to be a month dedicated just for them. So please don’t bring in additional characters besides the dia boys’ other family members.

- This blog will reblog posts that include Book 7 spoilers, but they must be tagged appropriately.

- Have fun! Don’t stress over getting every prompt done. Do whatever you want with the prompts provided and get creative! Let all your horrible and crazy dia thoughts run wild.

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Prompt list:

Memories

Healing

Weapons

Scars

Hugs

Sun and Moon

Babies

Spring

Love language

Rain

Crossover/AU

Animals

Genderbend

Travel

Dinner

Sleepover

Roleswap

Ice cream

Music

Mirrors

Photos

Dance

Flight

Magic

Roses/thorns

Fire

Monster

Blood

Night

Destiny

Family

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guppygiggles · 7 months

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Like Real People Do ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper moves to a new town. A peaceful morning longboard ride along the boardwalk leads to a chance encounter~! This story is written in first-person (Casper's) perspective.

☁️ Warnings: Light tickling (accidental + clinical setting), mild injury (no blood or gore), death mention (no actual death). Loneliness/insecurity mention.

☁️ Author's Note: This is my first fic (ever, lol, not just with these characters) so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if the tags/warnings are wrong and I will fix them. I am so thankful for the support and love I have received for my characters, it means so much to me.♡

This is a series now!

Part 1 *you are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

"Alright, go ahead and lie back," the doctor instructed as she pulled the extender out from the examination table. I did so, swinging my legs up and planting my socked feet on the extender. Goosebumps rose on my arms as the cold vinyl was easily felt through my thin t-shirt. My eyes traced the borders of the sterile white ceiling tiles, my lips pursing as I prepared to be examined. "I'm just going to feel your belly, okay?"

“Just,” I thought.

"Okay," I sighed, and then locked my teeth together. Perspiration formed between the vinyl and my clammy palms, and a familiar heat began to creep from my ears across my cheeks. Invisible under my soft layer of pudge, my stomach muscles knitted together. As she leaned over the table, I avoided the doctor's eyes, as if one glance would betray some emotion a little too complex -- a little too personal -- for a routine checkup.

She lifted my shirt to the bottom of my ribcage, prompting a shiver as the cold air rushed over my bare skin. Her icy fingers began to unceremoniously probe my stomach; starting above my bellybutton, she pressed and prodded in a seemingly random pattern. Toes curling, I tried to steel myself, to compose my face in a mask of indifference, even as I felt my blush deepen. My belly trembled as her fingers traveled down each side, then lower, pressing into the spots just inside each of my hip bones. I twitched, my composure faltering. Mercifully, I was able to quash my giggle into a sound more akin to a cough.

“Did that hurt?”

“Ah, no, it's just… sensitive,” I answered, cleaning my throat to lend more credibility to my coughing.

“Okay, good. You can sit up now.”

I sat up – a little too quickly – cursing myself as my head spun.

“Well, you're very healthy. We'll keep an eye on that low BP, just make sure you stay hydrated, exercise, yadda yadda, you know the drill,” she prattled as I prepared to leave, jamming my feet into my shoes without untying them.

I checked out at the front desk and got in my car. Once safely in the driver’s seat, a relieved sigh rolled from my chest. In the privacy of my sun-bleached and beat-to-hell Versa, I could admit, at least, in my mind: while I enjoyed being ticklish, it did make doctor visits a challenge at times.

Back at home, the rest of my Saturday proceeded without incident. My new job offered weekends off, a pleasant change from the unpredictable schedule of my previous position. Since I had just moved to Port Oleander, though, I didn't have anyone to spend them with. Most of the time, that was okay; I was pretty introverted, but I did get lonely sometimes. Well… more often than I liked to admit.

Standing over the sink, I ate dinner – leftover chicken with rice and green beans – while watching YouTube on my phone. I took a shower and brushed my teeth. In bed I watched the ceiling fan spin in the dark, trying to follow the tips of each blade with my eyes, until it gently hypnotized me to sleep.

+++

When I awoke, the room was dark and still. Rolling over, I grabbed my phone and checked the time, blinding myself with the backlight I had forgotten to turn down. Four a.m.

I mopped a sweaty hand over my face. For no reason I could discern, I had been waking up three hours before my alarm every day for the past month. With no hope of going back to sleep, I would scroll on my phone, waiting until it was time to get out of bed. Today felt different, though. While I would generally awaken groggy and irritable, today, I was restless and alert.

Summer was hot and humid in my new city, so I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts, my most breathable binder, and a loose t-shirt. “It’s supposed to be nice today. Maybe if I ride my longboard, I'll run into some other skaters and make a friend or something,” I thought, then blushed in spite of myself. Not very many people skated anymore, especially not in my age group, and even if I did run into someone… would they want to befriend a visibly queer person like me? Would I even be safe? Oleander seemed generally more open-minded than my hometown, but since moving there, I had already been the recipient of enough sour looks to make me gun-shy.

I shook my head to stop the spiral.

“All I can do is try.”

+++

Yellow streetlight bathed the boardwalk pavement as I made lazy, wide carves down the vacant street. Aromas of coffee, food and ocean spray enveloped me as businesses began to open. The smooth pavement was a refreshing change from the rough sidewalks where I had grown up, and with my wheels gliding like marbles on glass, I barely needed to push. Clean, cool air filled my lungs and whistled through my short hair, pulling negative thoughts from my mind. It was more than a plank of wood with some metal and wheels attached; it was a magic carpet, and I lived to fly.

I surfed along the boardwalk, watching the sky lighten in shades of red and orange as it prepared to welcome the sun. It was my first time visiting the boardwalk since moving to Oleander, and as I coasted, I came to a pier that stretched way out into the water.

“That might be a cool place to watch the sunrise,” I mused. Angling my feet into a turn, I felt my wheels roll over the wood slats, gently vibrating my feet up to my hips. I was surprised at how soft the wood felt; it rattled a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The pier was dotted with awnings and folded-up stands, but no vendors had opened yet, and I was glad for the lack of pedestrians to avoid. I pushed hard as I cruised down the pier, feeling the cool salt spray on my bare arms and face. As I looked out across the water, something caught my eye.

I thought it was a glass bottle catching the light as it bobbed in the surf, but as I looked closer, I became more convinced that it was not a single object; it didn’t just shine, it glittered, as if someone had spilled a container of sequins in the water. Unlike debris, though, the sparkly mass did not follow the swell of the waves. Seeming to act of its own accord, it moved toward the coast and then back, vertically upward and then down, hovering just above the water. Squinting in the pre-dawn light, I could have sworn it had a smokey, blurry haze around it, too. There was something distinctly alive about its movements. Transfixed, I watched it move almost playfully as it bobbed and weaved along the coast.

By the time I looked up, it was too late. I slammed my foot down to brake, but the slick wood did nothing to stop my forward momentum. My arms pinwheeled as my stomach connected with the guardrail at 10mph. It was only then that I realized just how high the end of the pier was. Shock and vertigo seized my body as I flipped over the rail, hands grasping uselessly at empty air. The next few moments of my experience proceeded as a flashback.

I was nine years old, crying on a beach chair at the public pool. I had jumped off the high-dive for the first time, my skin stinging and red as my dad wrapped me in a towel and sat beside me. He rubbed my back. “You were brave for jumping, angel, but you gotta be careful how you hit the water next time, okay? Water is just like concrete if you’re too high.”

“I wonder if I’ll see him again,” was my last thought as I plummeted into unconsciousness.

+++

The first thing I became aware of was a high-pitched whistle, followed by a musty scent, like wet stone and paper. I opened my eyes to a small, circular room.

Across from me, just beyond the foot of the bed I was lying in, was a red door. The walls were white-painted brick and featured bookshelves that practically exploded with books. “This isn't a bedroom with some books,” I thought, dazed, “it’s a library with a bed in it.” From every available wall space hung scientific illustrations of all kinds. Above my head, a tall window flooded the room with sunlight.

I tried to sit up, causing pain to radiate from my stomach. I was hurt, and this wasn't a hospital, meaning I was in someone else's home… in someone else's bed.

My mind scrambled to fill in the blanks. I woke up too early, again. I was skateboarding. I could smell pancakes and coffee. I wanted to watch the sunrise from the end of the pier. My feet tingled as I recalled my wheels rolling over the wooden slats; it seemed to go on forever. Did I make it to the end? Wait… what was that in the water?

Whatever happened next must have led to my injury. Did someone attack me? I couldn't remember seeing anyone on the pier, but maybe I was wrong. Did I fall?

Immediately, I checked my clothes. They weren't wet, which meant I didn't hit the water, but my back felt a bit damp… perhaps from sweat. How long was I unconscious? Frantically, I jammed my hands in my pockets, looking for my phone. Not only was it gone, so were my wallet and keys. Fuck!

With some difficulty, I kicked my feet out from under the heavy quilt and tried to stand. For the first time, I noticed that the bed had a small table beside it. All my effects were there, along with a glass of water and some over-the-counter painkillers. I urgently checked my phone.

“Six P.M.?!”

I had been sleeping in a stranger's bed for at least eight hours. No, probably even longer. I thrust everything into my pockets and made for the door, feeling a flash of fear that it might be locked. Mercifully, it wasn't.

The door opened with a creak that was loud, but did not travel as the hallway was incredibly small. Stairs led both to and from the tiny landing, going so far in each direction, I could not see where they terminated. Whipping my head around, I looked out the window. I could see nothing but sky. Was I in a tower?

I heard movement from above me. Whoever it was that brought me here was coming back. I started to descend the stairs, as quickly as my aching stomach would allow.

“Wait, stop, please!” A man's voice called down the spiral corridor.

I didn't stop, though. Racing down the steps, I practically tripped over my own feet as I scrambled to escape. Maybe he didn't kidnap me – he did leave all of my belongings, after all – but I wasn't sticking around to find out. My heart thundered in my chest as sweat broke out all over my body. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and I could hear the stranger behind me the whole time I ran, begging me to stop.

“Please, you'll hurt yourself! Please stop!”

When I finally reached the bottom, I threw open the heavy door and gasped as I was met with a cold spray of seawater in my face. Far in the distance, across miles of ocean, I could see the coast. Desperately looking from side to side, I saw that the tower was surrounded completely by water. There was no escape.

“Please… don't go any further. There's no way off this island. Please, I don't want you to get hurt.”

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. As I spun to face the stranger, all the blood drained from my face.

I was stricken by how tall he was, dwarfing me by at least a foot. His skin – if you could call it skin – had the appearance of thick white smoke trapped in a bottle, seeming to billow and roll beneath the surface. Most strange of all was his head. I could see the faintest outline of a human-shaped face, but it expanded outward from the sides and top, forming rolling peaks like a cloud. In the center were two large eyes, the irises and lashes of which were both stark white. Despite the creature’s fantastical appearance, he wore a simple blue button-down shirt and slacks.

Suddenly, I felt sure that I had died on that pier. Perhaps I fell. Perhaps I was still falling even now, synapses grasping at straws, presenting a frenzied hallucination before death. I could feel my grip on consciousness slipping, like flat shoes sliding on ice.

“Please don't hurt me,” I whimpered, fighting the pressure behind my ears and eyes.

“My dear, you being harmed is exactly what I am trying to prevent.”

“What are you? Am I dead?”

“I'll explain everything, okay? Please come back inside,” he pleaded, offering me his hand. My strength was fading fast. Deciding that the risk of trusting this stranger was preferable to collapsing in his doorway, I took it.

+++

Like the bedroom I had awoken in, the lighthouse kitchen was filled with sunlight as I sat at the table. Riding above the ever-present scents of sea, stone, and paper, the dining room air was thick with bergamot and lavender.

“I know it's summer, but I drink hot tea year-round. Would you like some?” he asked.

I suddenly became aware of just how thirsty I was, having been unconscious for so long, followed immediately by a frantic jog down the longest staircase of my life.

“Please,” I croaked.

I watched the back of the cloud-man’s head as he prepared the tea, my brain immediately connecting the loud whistle I had awoken to with his old-fashioned kettle.

He took a seat across from me, porcelain clattering softly as he placed the teacup and saucer in front of me. I sipped, relieved at the familiar and comforting flavor of earl grey.

“Listen… I'm… very sorry. It's really my fault you ended up here… that you got hurt.”

I looked up from my tea, brow furrowed. His eyes were pained as he stared at the vinyl kitchen floor.

“I was collecting sea glass and I lost track of time. When it's dark, humans can't really see me, so I usually do it at night,” he glanced up at me, the faintest hint of blue tinting under his eyes, “when I saw you watching me, I was just going to disappear into the water… but then I saw you hit the end of the pier. You hit it so hard. I got to you before you fell into the water, but you were already unconscious. I didn't know what to do... so I brought you here, to my lighthouse.”

His face was a mask of apprehension and regret. I had no memory of hitting the guardrail, but it did explain the bruise across my stomach.

He continued, “I’m not a medical doctor, but I've read many of your medical textbooks. I… examined you, while you were unconscious, to make sure you weren't seriously injured. Professionally, of course!” The blue tint under his eyes deepened and spread a bit as he stole another glance at me. Was he blushing?

I offered a humorless laugh. “Well, I'm glad you didn't take me to the hospital, my insurance doesn't cover that, and god knows I can't afford it. I've fallen off my skateboard before, it's no biggie. I'm sore, but I don't think it's, like, serious,” I supplied casually, trying to comfort him.

He perked up, just a little.

“I'm really very sorry, and I'm sorry if I scared you, too. I know that seeing me must have been quite a shock. I've read many of your books, and watched you on TV and on the computer, but I've never met a human before.”

Reality began to settle on me. I still wasn't totally convinced that I wasn't flailing in midair, moments from death and hallucinating vividly, but if this was real… then this was the coolest shit that had ever happened to me.

“Even – and perhaps, especially – if am about to die, what's the harm in playing along?” I thought.

“What… are you?” I asked.

He brightened a bit more, even managing a shy smile now.

“I believe in your language, the closest word to describe me would be ‘elemental.’ I learned that from one of your Dungeons and Dragons books. And, I do actually have a name,” he gained a bit of confidence here, giving a little hand flourish, followed by a bow, “Doctor Avery Nimbus, at your service.”

I giggled, and as I did, Avery’s face lit up; his grin was so big, it curved his eyes into half-moons. For a moment, I could swear the room was brighter, and a warmth spread through my chest.

He proceeded, “And you are…?”

“Well, my name is Casper. I'm just your regular ol, garden-variety human.”

“Casper, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, extending a hand across the table. I clasped it gently, his large hand almost completely enveloping mine. His skin had an interesting texture, too; it was cold and soft, much softer than human skin, and I could feel the swirling tempest beneath it, like storm winds against a window pane. He held my hand for just a tick longer than I expected. By the time I looked up, he was already looking away.

“Ah… it's starting to get dark, now. I should take you home,” he said softly.

I frowned. I had so many more questions. A pit grew in my stomach as I thought of returning to the mundanity of my life after this experience, but I couldn't just drop everything, could I…? Besides, I was afraid of overstaying my welcome. I had been sleeping in his bed for hours.

“How do I even get home? You said there's no way off this island, and I didn't see a boat out there…”

Avery beamed again. This time, there was a sly twinkle in his pale eyes.

“Allow me to show you.”

+++

I gasped as Avery hoisted me into his arms, easily carrying me princesses-style despite my extra pounds. The night wrapped around us like a star-studded cloak, Avery's body nearly invisible in the darkness. He stood on the rocky edge of the tiny island, the crashing waves spraying us with salty mist.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Oh, god… as I'll ever be,” I whined, my hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Then here we go~!”

With that, Avery leapt upward with incredible force, propelling us into the night sky. My stomach dropped as I squealed, memories of the drop-tower ride at my hometown amusement park flooding my mind. I hated that ride, but my brother always made me go with him. Avery was trembling, though, and it took a moment for me to realize it was because he was giggling.

“I always love takeoffs,” he tittered, and then began to walk across the air in slow, bouncing leaps. The cool night wind caressed my cheeks as I leaned into his chest, blushing and grateful he couldn't see it in the dark. Looking down on the city below us, I could see where the black of the shore met the twinkling yellow of the boardwalk lights. In that moment, I forbade any further notion of this being a hallucination; even if it wasn't real, I was going to live as though it was.

+++

My feet kissed the ground just outside of my door. Looking up, I stared into the glittering blackness of Avery's face, the bits of ice in his cloud-head catching the lights around the apartment courtyard.

“Will I see you again?” I asked.

“If you like, certainly.”

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” I blurted out, blushing brightly -- and now, there was definitely enough light for him to see it.

For the first time, Avery laughed a real, genuine laugh. It was a symphony that started as a tinkling of giggles, crescendoing into a hearty boom that rattled my chest like a thunder clap, tickling my ears and making them flush.

“Absolutely, dewdrop.”

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

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