#Disadvantages of Distance Learning

[siffrins-therapist]

An obstacle of having major backstory plot points happen in a country no one can remember: Having NO blinding clue how to integrate that info into the main storyline.

[palakjaindigital]

Thoughts on online education/distance learning?

[hazashiovo]

Helloooo!! Can I request mako and bolín (seperate) being protective of their (s/o), thank you a lot<33

Ofc u can!

A/n: mako and Bolin have the most requests so far,I'm really glad tbh that people are submitting requests,keep em coming.i also added in Korra and Kuvira ,since this seems like a perfect imagine for them.

Genre: Fluff

Mako x reader, Bolin x reader, Kuvira x reader,Korra x reader (all separate)

Overprotective Lovers

Warnings: none.

Starting off with Mako,he's the kind of guy that doesn't take well to someone talking to you in some kind of mean way in front of him, especially if you're more a more naive person.

Even if you take care of yourself, he's still there making sure you're away from harms way.

If you ever get hurt or kidnapped,it's over for whoever did it, it's not like he's usually a calm person,but take away his favorite person and you got yourself a big problem to deal with.

Even when you're not exactly in danger, he's there. It's sweet really,but it can also be annoying when overdone.

You like being protected by him,but not all the time, he didn't like it when you talked to Korra, claiming since she's the avatar she would draw unnecessary attention over you and put you in complicated situations.

Of course you explain to him that you're a big girl and that you can watch over yourself,but he just can't understand it. {Sigh}.

Korra? Well she had her ups and downs. But she learned ,ok? Once you two got together ,this feeling that's she allways had grew stronger,her urge to protect you.

Of course she would blame it on the fact that she's the avatar,but really it was her being protective of you.

Even before dating her ,you knew this would draw a lot of attention to yourself, and potential enemies of the avatar would want to harm you. But that didn't stop you,after all you're free to love whoever you want even if it endangers you.

When Korra faced Amon she used to be Terrified something bad would happen to you, even her dreams would be hunted by dark images. She would see Amon preparing to take away your bending,but each time she would wake up before anything happened,in cold sweat,with you by her side.

If you're a light sleeper,you would assure her nothing happened to you,and that you're okay.

Even after she defeated Amon, more villains appeared,making Korra constantly worry about you. But one thing is sure, that she would always be there to protect you,and in case anything happens,to save you.

This boy is the most carefree of them all. He doesn't really have to worry that you would be kidnapped or hurt most of the time,but if it ever happens, either someone hurt you or something went wrong in the mission?

He's full boyfriend mode on. He wouldn't be like Korra or Mako, first thing he would do is bring you to safety, revenge not being his thing.

If you're okay ,that's what matters to him. But now if you're especially targeted by someone? He's not as chill as before. Especially since he recently learned how to lava bend, which makes him a pretty strong bender, definitely not the kind you would want to piss off by chasing around his girlfriend,nu uh.

Bolin knew it was a mistake to introduce you to his boss, Varrick.

That man would make flirty jokes with you,which always made Bolin roll his eyes and mock him quietly.

So what if he's smart and rich? You wouldn't like a prick like him.

Whenever Varrick got too close, your boy would be there to put distance between the two of you. It's not that he's jealous,but he knows how his boss is.

Yeah no. I doubt anyone would even try to threaten you while she's around.

After all the power and respect she gained, expect people to fear you just because you're with her. So mostly Kuvira doesn't have to worry that anyone is gonna try anything.

After all she made quite a name for herself.

Even so, being The Great Uniter's s/o came with it's disadvantages.

For example,if someone really wanted to hurt her,they would target you. You're her soft spot,and she knows it.

Yes,you have your personal guards picked by Kuvira herself. Just because she doesn't expect you to be attacked it doesn't mean she won't be prepared for it.

You're hers,and the world knows it.

.

.

A/n : I really enjoyed writing this,I might make another part with different characters :)

[kitty6choi]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆

𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: The memory of his betrayal is still present in your mind, but you decide to leave it behind now that you are at peace, but when an old friend asks you for a favor, you cannot refuse without imagining that you will relive some feelings that you thought you had buried.

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Song Mingi x fem! reader

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut MDNI + little angust + mafia au + loves from the past

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.2k (damn it)

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Fights, physical injuries, blood, aggression, violence, hidden identity, sexual warnings: unprotected sex (don't do it), semi-public sex, fingering, mutual masturbation, creampie, (sorry if I forgot anything)

A/N: First of all, sorry for the delay, December was very frustrating for me and it wasn't very pleasant and I needed a little break, but now I'm better so I was finally able to finish this fic and I'm very proud, I hope you like it <3 English is not my first language so sorry if I made a mistake.

⋆｡˚୨𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍୧˚｡⋆

With hurried steps, you adjusted the cap over your hair and pulled up the collar of your jacket. You were fleeing from the sirens echoing in the distance. It wasn’t anything new for you, and you knew it wouldn’t stop being part of your life because of the bad decisions you’d made in the past. This was your life now, and there was nothing else you could do but survive.

What started as small thefts to eat or find something to keep you warm turned into a desperate search for shelter. That’s how you ended up seeking help from dangerous people. The Black Eye wasn’t just a group of petty criminals; they were an organized, ruthless network—and, for you, the last chance to keep living.

Despite your efforts, you knew you were at a disadvantage because you were a woman. But if you had to hide that fact to survive, you would do it. The hardest part was cutting your hair, but you did it. Then, you wrapped your chest with bandages, wore loose-fitting clothes, and finally, you began calling yourself “Lee.” You tried not to speak too much and always wore a cap to hide your face, hoping no one would ask too many questions. That’s how you managed to catch the attention of one of their members.

They tested you for a couple of months before deciding to present you to their leader. You were nervous, cold sweat trickling down your back, but you kept calm as you waited in a room. Then, the doors opened, and two people walked in. One of them was tall and muscular, with multiple scars on his face. From his imposing presence, you guessed he was the leader, Jack. The other person entered calmly, taking his time to assess the room silently but with sharp alertness.

“Is this the new recruit?” the second person asked in a deep, curious voice.

“Yes, Mingi, this is Lee,” another man replied, shoving you forward. He was the recruiter who had "guaranteed" your entry into the group.

Mingi approached you, observing you for a long moment, watching how you lowered your gaze and hid your hands in your pockets.

“Why do you want to join us?” he finally asked. His voice was low, almost gentle, but heavy with authority.

“I need protection. And you need someone who knows how to navigate the streets,” you replied, your voice firm but calm.

“You better be useful, Lee,” he said, pronouncing your false name with authority. You knew that from now on, you belonged to the gang, and he was making your place clear. “There’s no room for the weak here.”

“You’re in,” the other man said before turning and leaving the room, leaving you with the assurance that you’d live to see another day.

Your days of trying to survive on your own had now turned into trying to hide your true identity to keep living. It was hard, but over time, you learned to manage. You avoided interacting with the members and rarely spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Still, there were a few moments when you were almost discovered.

You tried to blend in, and for most people, you succeeded—except for one. Song Mingi. He always seemed to notice everything, and for the past few months, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you. It was starting to get annoying.

One day, after a mission went slightly out of control, you returned to the abandoned warehouse that served as the gang’s base. A voice you knew all too well called your name.

“Lee, come here.” You turned to see Mingi in the distance and dragged your feet toward him “I have to admit, I’m surprised you made it back,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. He always said before every mission that he didn’t expect you to return, but you made it back just to see his irritated expression.

“Get used to it, Song. I’ll be here for a while,” you replied, a bit defiantly, raising your head to meet his gaze despite his towering height.

Mingi stared at you, tilting his head slightly, and let out a low chuckle—but there was no humor in it. With a swift motion, before you could react, he grabbed your face firmly, his nails digging into your cheeks.

“Listen closely,” he said, leaning in, his voice dropping but his grip unrelenting as you struggled to free yourself by clutching his hand. “There’s no place here for someone like you.” You froze at his words, fear flashing in your eyes as you locked gazes with him. Then, without warning, he shoved you hard, making you fall to the ground “Get out,” he said coldly.

The days didn’t get any better, and you began questioning whether you had made the right decision. But the fear of what might happen if you left the gang kept you in place—even if it meant enduring Mingi watching your every move.

One day, the gang organized one of its oldest traditions: an internal fighting tournament. It was a way to measure strength, prove who was worthy and who wasn’t, and keep the members sharp for real confrontations. The atmosphere in the warehouse was charged with excitement and pent-up violence, as shouts and bets filled the space.

You didn’t want to be there, but you thought staying alone in the rooms would make you stand out more. Blending into the crowd seemed safer—or so you thought. The fight was entertaining, but it didn’t excite you as much as it did the people around you. Still, you forced yourself to watch and analyze the movements of both fighters. To no one’s surprise, the expected victor won. He had five consecutive wins under his belt, and now, as his sixth opponent lay defeated, no one wanted to face him.

“Who’s next?” the winner shouted, scanning the crowd for his next victim. Everyone took a step back, and silence began to fill the room. You noticed how some were shoving the newer recruits forward. From afar, you felt a gaze on you. You looked up, only to lock eyes with Mingi, who was staring at you intently, a smile on his face.

“Lee, maybe you should go next,” Mingi said suddenly, breaking the silence. You cursed him in your mind as all eyes turned to you. You began searching for an excuse to decline, but you knew Mingi wouldn’t let this opportunity pass “You should earn your place, rookie,” he said, taunting you. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder “Or do you think you don’t deserve it?” he added, provoking you further.

You felt hands pushing you toward the ring. With your heart pounding, you climbed into the makeshift ring as the crowd gathered around, shouting bets and cheering for the fight.

You glanced at Mingi behind the crowd and sighed, cursing him under your breath before turning to face your opponent. He was a tall, muscular man whose muscles seemed to have muscles. His angry expression only highlighted how eager he was for this fight.

You took a step back, but hands pushed you forward. Then, the bell rang, signaling the start of your defeat.

You didn’t even try. You knew you had no chance. You simply closed your eyes as you saw the man’s fist coming straight for your face, bracing for the impact. His punch knocked the air out of you in one blow. You thought that would be enough to stop him, but you didn’t expect him to climb on top of you and continue his brutal assault.

Everything around you grew blurry. The crowd’s cheers faded into the distance. You didn’t fight back—not even a little. You let the darkness take over.

When you opened your eyes again, you wished you hadn’t. A sharp pain coursed through your entire body, as if a train had run you over. Despite the agony, you tried to move to figure out where you were until something stopped you.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice ordered. You turned your head to see Mingi sitting nearby, arms crossed. He looked worried, though he tried to hide it behind a mask of seriousness.

“What happened?” you asked, staying still.

“You got beaten up,” he said bluntly. “Then you passed out.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Well, thanks to you.”

Mingi sighed deeply, watching as you struggled to sit up. He seemed angry—not at you, but at himself.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he said, his frustration evident.

“Whatever,” you muttered, attempting to stand, but the pain in your left side was unbearable. “Damn it.”

“Let me help you,” Mingi offered, stepping closer. You flinched, fear sparking within you as he approached. The sudden movement made you wince in pain again.

“I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t,” he snapped, taking another step forward. You tried to back away, but with your injuries and his speed, you couldn’t stop him from grabbing your arm.

“Stop moving,” he commanded. You wanted to fight him off, but there wasn’t a trace of strength left in your body. He pushed you gently back onto the mattress and lifted your hoodie.

His expression darkened instantly. His hand froze mid-motion as he realized the truth.

“You…” His voice came out uneven, words escaping him as the realization sank in. Everything finally clicked in his mind. “Why?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have the energy to argue, especially over something like this. You simply waited for the worst to come.

And it did, far sooner than expected. The door to the room opened, and the leader walked in. Mingi snapped out of his daze as Jack approached you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity.

“How are you?” Jack asked, ignoring the tension hanging in the air.

“I…”

“can’t stay,” Mingi’s voice rang out, cutting through the room. Fear surged in you as you silently begged him with your eyes to keep the secret. But the doubt in his gaze told you all hope was lost “It's a woman,” Mingi declared. The words echoed in the room, followed by silence so profound that all you could hear was the pounding of your heart.

Jack’s gaze shifted to you, filled with a mix of astonishment and concern. After a long, heavy sigh, he finally spoke.

“I know.”

“What?!” Both you and Mingi exclaimed at the same time, equally stunned. You thought Jack would throw you out right then and there, not admit he already knew.

“How…?” you asked, still in shock.

“Since when?” Mingi demanded angrily. “And why didn’t you tell me?”Jack leaned against the wall, crossing his arms “Since the beginning. It was kind of obvious, if you ask me,” he said, looking directly at you. “You were shorter than most, and your appearance was different. You stood out. It wasn’t hard to figure out.” Mingi stepped forward, but Jack continued “I let you join because I wanted to see how far you’d go on your own—until this idiot decided to intervene.” Mingi lowered his head like a scolded dog.

“Even so, she can’t stay,” Mingi insisted.

“She absolutely can. And you, you damned fool, will shut your mouth and act like you saw nothing,” Jack ordered.

“But she can’t defend herself!”

“This is your fault,” Jack shouted, his voice rising. “I told you to leave Lee alone, and now she’s hurt. From now on, she’s your responsibility. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Mingi clenched his fists, his face red with fury and frustration. Without another word, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

You were left in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Everything felt strange and surreal. Jack approached you, and you looked at him, still processing.

“Why?” you finally asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack replied.You let out a tired sigh, too drained to argue. You just wanted to rest.

“Mingi’s a good person, but sometimes he’s an idiot,” Jack said. “He’ll look after you. You don’t have to worry; no one will find out your secret. You’re safe here.”You decided to believe his words. You didn’t want to fight anymore “Now rest. Everything will be fine.”

******

The first few months were tense. You were still recovering and couldn’t do much more than linger around. Even so, Mingi was always nearby, watching you with a mix of frustration and curiosity in his eyes. He made sure no one got too close to you, even if it meant getting into fights with other gang members. His constant presence annoyed you, but it was also a relief. You knew that, despite everything, he was keeping his word to protect you.

When you felt ready to return to the streets, Mingi stopped you, and Jack agreed. You had no choice but to stay in the warehouse, but you didn’t waste your time. You started training to be prepared—you didn’t want to end up on the ground again.

It was nighttime, and everyone else seemed to be asleep, but the sound of your fists hitting the old punching bag echoed throughout the space. Your punches were clumsy, and you felt exhaustion in your arms with each hit, but you refused to give up. You needed to learn to defend yourself.

“You’re terrible,” his deep voice said behind you, making you freeze. You turned quickly to see Mingi leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that irritating smile.

“What do you want, Song?”

“Nothing. The noise woke me up, that’s all. Go on,” he said, gesturing toward the bag hanging in front of you.

“If you’re not going to help, then leave,” you replied, rolling your eyes before turning back to the bag and hitting it again, ignoring him.

He walked toward you slowly, letting out an exaggerated sigh. Standing behind you, he took your wrists in his large hands before you could protest, adjusting them into a different position. His touch was firm but surprisingly gentle.

“Like this. Keep your fists tighter, and don’t just use your arms. You need to involve your whole body in the punch.” His closeness made you nervous. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck and the warmth of his body just behind yours. You shivered but tried to focus on his words.

“Now, try again,” he said, releasing you slowly.

You took a deep breath and threw another punch at the bag, following his instructions. This time, your punch felt stronger.

“Better,” he said with a smile, nodding in approval.

“Whatever.” You couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. There was something in his expression, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat faster. “Thanks.” You didn’t know where those words came from, but somehow, they made the air in the room feel lighter.

“You’ve done enough for tonight,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than before. “Get some rest. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“This is just the first step, Lee.” He turned and walked toward the exit, but before leaving, he paused for a moment to look back at you as you struggled to steady the strange rhythm of your heart.

"Again."Your heart was pounding, and every muscle in your body screamed with exhaustion, but all you could hear was Mingi's voice "Harder."Your hands were bruised and swollen, yet you didn’t stop throwing punches "Harder." You focused on everything Mingi had taught you over the past few weeks—firm feet, clenched fists, channeling your strength. But there was something more, something raw. The anger you’d suppressed for years surged within you, blinding and heavy with sadness.

On your final punch, you released everything you’d been holding inside. Your body gave out, and you collapsed to your knees, gasping for air. Mingi rushed to your side, helping you sit down somewhere nearby as he handed you a bottle of water.

“Shit, don’t scare me like that.”You shoved him away and tried to stand, ready to continue, but he grabbed your arm “Take a break.”

“I can’t,” you said breathlessly. “I need to be ready for tomorrow.”

“You’re not fighting.”

“You can’t stop me, Song.” Mingi gripped your shoulders, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” His words caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he stepped closer. He was so close now that you could barely think.“Not again.” The overwhelming silence was filled with an unfamiliar sensation in your chest.

In recent weeks, the two of you had spent hours training together. At first, it was just a few hours a night, but over time, the darkness of the night wrapped you both in an odd honesty. You talked about things you never planned to share. He told you how he ended up in the gang, and for the first time in years, you told someone the truth about your past.

“I’m ready,” you said firmly. “And neither you nor anyone else is going to stop me.” You pulled away from his grasp and headed toward the exit, but you heard his hurried footsteps behind you.

“What are you trying to prove?” You turned slightly to look at him and sighed.

“It’s not about that. The world is cruel to someone like me.” You knew he understood you meant being a woman, and his expression softened with compassion “And I won’t let them leave me on the ground again.”

Mingi didn’t know how to respond. You gave him one last glance, noticing a vulnerability in him that you had never seen before. And in that moment, you realized your feelings for Mingi were starting to change.

The boy who once seemed like your greatest enemy had become your only source of security in a dangerous world. And though neither of you would admit it, something was growing between you—something neither of you knew how to handle amidst the darkness surrounding you.

The next day, Mingi promised himself not to interfere. But as the fights began, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd for you. Not seeing you anywhere made him tense. If Jack found out you’d joined the fights again, he’d kill him—but what mattered most to Mingi was knowing where you were.

The matches dragged on, and he began to relax, thinking you wouldn’t show. But when the final winner was announced and the event was wrapping up, he saw a shadow cross the ring and step into the center.

“This isn’t over,” you declared loudly.

“Get off the ring, Lee!” someone shouted. “They’ll beat you up again!”

Mingi watched as a dark shadow crossed your face, and your eyes took on a hardened, almost menacing look.

“Why don’t you try it?” Everyone fell silent, shocked at your boldness. You’d always flown under the radar, but this was new—and it sparked curiosity in some “Or are you scared?”

The crowd erupted, people pushing and shoving to see who would step up to face you. Mingi tried to get to you, but the chaos of the crowd held him back.

Finally, someone stepped into the ring, facing you. You raised your fists, and he laughed before getting into position.

“You’re done for.”

“We’ll see.”

The bell rang, and the man lunged at you with speed. But you easily dodged him and drove your elbow into his side. He stumbled, turning to glare at you, realizing this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

Adrenaline coursed through your body. You were exhausted, your lungs begging for rest, but you couldn’t stop—not now. The man threw punches aimed at your face, and you dodged as best as you could. The crowd’s shouts blurred into the background as you focused entirely on the emotions spilling out with every strike.

Rage consumed you as you drove a punch into his face, your body moving on its own as you continued to rain blows on the unconscious man beneath you.

Hands pulled you away as the crowd erupted into cheers. You looked up and could barely make out your name being chanted amidst the chaos—you had won.

Mingi shoved his way through the throng, crossed the ring, and ran to you. You thought he was coming to congratulate you, but his furious expression said otherwise.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice silencing the crowd instantly “This is over.” People protested, but Mingi didn’t back down “I said it’s over!”

Reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse. You turned to leave, but he grabbed your hand and dragged you down the hallways until you were alone in a room.

“Let me go,” you demanded, struggling against his grip.

He didn’t release you until he closed the door behind you both, shutting out the rest of the world.

“What were you thinking?” Mingi paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair “They could’ve hurt you or worse…” His voice was thick with anger and desperation, tinged with something that sounded like worry.

“But they didn’t.” He sighed and gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your bloodied hands. You quickly hid them behind you.

Mingi stepped closer, taking your hands into his. For a moment, it looked like it pained him to even look at them. Your knuckles were torn, and the pain was unbearable, though you refused to admit it.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said firmly, guiding you to the bathroom and making you sit down. “Stay still.”

Without waiting for your permission, he grabbed a small first aid kit from a nearby shelf. His movements were deliberate but gentle as he cleaned your knuckles with a damp cloth. You shut your eyes, biting your lip to stifle a groan.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, pouring antiseptic over your wounds.

“Could you be gentler?” you hissed, pulling one hand back, but he caught it with ease.

“If you were more careful, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you felt charged with something that went beyond physical pain.

The silence stretched as he wrapped your hands in bandages. His fingers were surprisingly tender, and for a moment, you forgot the pain and exhaustion. His closeness overwhelmed you, the warmth of his skin sending your senses into overdrive.

“Mingi…” you began, but didn’t know how to finish.

“What?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his tone filled with an intensity that took your breath away. “Because if I don’t, who will?”

His gaze held yours, and something in his expression shifted. There was vulnerability, honesty, you’d never seen in him before.

Time seemed to freeze as his hand lingered on yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second, and a wave of nervous energy swept through you.

“Mingi…”

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was hesitant at first, almost as if he were unsure. But when you didn’t pull away, it deepened, filled with a desperation that mirrored the chaos around you.

Your heart raced as you closed your eyes, letting the walls between you crumble entirely. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and relief, as if this moment had been inevitable all along.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless. His gaze searched yours, and what you saw wasn’t his usual cocky demeanor but something raw and genuine. You didn’t know what to say, so you simply looked at him, letting the gravity of what had just happened settle between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only this fragile moment the first kiss in a place as dangerous as it was unexpected.

“No…” you said suddenly, breaking the atmosphere. “This…”

“Please, don’t say it.”

“Mingi, I…” you didn’t know what to do. You had never experienced anything like what you were feeling in your body. This was new and strange, and you were scared, unsure of what to do or say.

“Please, don’t push me away,” he pleaded, holding your waist and looking at you with eyes full of desperation.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, letting the tears well up in your eyes. Mingi hugged you, letting you sob into his chest as he gently stroked your back to comfort you.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” he said softly. You looked up for a moment, and for the first time in your life, you let the walls around you crumble.

“Do you promise?”

“I will never leave you,” he assured you. His words struck you deeply, and you trusted him. You let his arms wrap around you, comforting you for the night, not knowing it wouldn’t be the only time he would do so.

*******

Time only made your feelings for Mingi grow. It became harder and harder to hide it from others, as being near him felt like standing on fire. Every glance, every slight touch from him made your heart race. Whenever you had the chance to be alone, Mingi would pin you against the wall, pressing his lips to yours, his hands wandering over your body. But you always stopped him when he tried to touch you beneath your clothes. He never insisted, and you were grateful for that, though deep inside, you wanted it too. Yet you were scared—it was something you'd never done before, and you feared it wouldn’t go right.

Mingi never let anyone get close to you. On the missions you shared, he was always by your side, never leaving you alone. Sometimes, when someone bothered you, Mingi made sure to put them in their place, even if it ended in a fight.

You knew this life wasn’t easy—it never was—but there were moments when it felt unbearable. Sometimes you wondered what you had done to deserve this. Sometimes you wished for an easier life, for loving parents, for school, to fall in love under different circumstances, to be a normal girl who could dress up in beautiful clothes without needing to hide to protect herself.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, your feet led you to Mingi’s room. You hesitated before knocking on his door but eventually did. A few seconds later, he stood in front of you, and without waiting for anything, you wrapped your arms around him, seeking the comforting warmth of his body.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can I sleep with you?” you asked, knowing it was risky, knowing it was dangerous, but you had no other safe place to go. “Just for tonight,” you pleaded.

“Alright.”

You had only been in his room once before—the day everything began, that afternoon when he had tended to your wounds and shared that first kiss with you. “Is everything okay?” he asked as he closed the door.

“No.” With him, you had the chance to be honest, and you never held back from telling him the truth. “I’m tired.” Mingi hugged you tightly, trying to ease the weight from your body.

“Come here.”

You both lay down on the small bed, and you curled up against his chest. It was the first time you’d been this close, yet somehow, it felt as if you had done it a thousand times.

“Mingi,” you said, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “If there were another life… do you think this would be different?”

His silence made your chest tighten slightly, but then his hand caressed your cheek with tender compassion.

“If there were another life, I wouldn’t care how it was, as long as I could be by your side.”

Without being able to help it, you pushed yourself up and kissed him, unloading all your sorrow into his mouth, all those thoughts you had you left on his lips for a moment, you didn't want to think about anything other than him. His kisses became desperate and hungry, you felt that intense heat on your body and his hands holding you tightly did nothing but want it. You separated from him for a moment and lifted your sweatshirt, but he stopped you.

“No… I don't want you to do this if you're not ready.”

“Mingi… I want to do it” you wanted him to touch you, you wanted his mouth to run over your skin and show yourself to him without any barrier, you wanted him to see you as you were. You took off your sweatshirt and Mingi looked down at the bandage that covered your breasts, you took a breath and began to take it off, a part of you felt relieved to take it off as you showed yourself as you were in front of him and a part of you was afraid.

When you finished your breathing was labored at the sight, Mingi had bitten his lip and seemed to be struggling with something inside of him. You took one of his hands and placed it on one of your breasts as you sat on his lap.

“Please… say something” you begged as you saw how he closed his eyes.

“You are beautiful,” he said before kissing you again.

That night they both gave more than their bodies, they put their hearts in their hands and gave it to the other, letting the moon be the only witness of their love.

*********

In all the times they had had a mission they had never failed, but this time everything seemed different, everyone was divided and the sound of sirens was heard getting closer, they couldn't get out of the place, they were surrounded and the bullets in their weapons had run out a while ago.

“Shit” Mingi growled at your side hiding “we will get out of this” he told you taking your hand without caring if anyone saw them.

The years had passed faster than you thought, but in that time neither of you hesitated to walk away from the other, even when Jack warned them about the rumors that ran through the gang, Mingi didn't care if they assumed things and neither did you, even so, they tried to be discreet and give themselves only in the shadows.

“I’m scared” you said with tears in your eyes

“Everything will be okay” a loud bang was heard and you both looked out just to see the opportunity to leave, someone had broken the glass of the door ��okay, let’s go” he said without letting go of your hand heading to the exit, but before you could get there you felt a strong blow to the head that made you let go of his hand.

Mingi noticed immediately and lunged at the person who had hit you, you tried to get up, but everything was spinning and you felt something hot dripping down your forehead. You touched your head and were not surprised to see your hand red, you took a breath and tried to look for Mingi, but everything seemed to go slower and slower and the sound of sirens resonated in your ears at the same time as someone screamed.

“We have to go” “It’s too late” “They’re here” “Leave him”

You couldn’t bear the pain any longer and you closed your eyes for a moment. You wanted Mingi to take you in his arms, you wanted to feel the warmth of his body comforting you again and hear his voice telling you that everything would be okay, but all you could feel was the cold of the floor and the only thing you could feel was the unbearable pain in your head. You looked up for a moment and wanted to believe that what you saw was a bad dream, that it was just a figment of your imagination, but something inside you broke when you saw Mingi running away from you leaving you alone.

********

Five years had to pass before you could get out of prison, but those five years couldn't make you forget the day you opened your eyes and realized that you had lost everything again and you were alone again. The day Mingi decided to abandon you and leave you behind, that day remained engraved like ink on your skin all this time.

No matter how many times you repeated it and tried to make it less painful, it always felt like a million needles were stuck in your heart and crushed at the same time, it was a slow and raw pain that became more unbearable every second.

The day you got out of prison you looked at the sky as if it were the first time, you let the sun's rays penetrate your skin and warm your body. It was a little comforting to leave feeling like you could start from scratch. Life had given you a new opportunity and this time you wouldn't repeat the same mistakes of the past.

You walked through the streets, contemplating the city that once seemed huge to you, but over the years you got to know every alley, every sidewalk, every store in it. Without realizing it, you ended up somewhere you knew too well, maybe it was your subconscious or maybe it was because you had nowhere to go, but you decided to push the old worn door and enter anyway.

You were surprised that the old warehouse was still here, but seeing it empty and full of dust seemed strange to you. The place that was once your home now felt unknown, despite the bad times you spent here there were also many good ones. Every corner you passed brought back memories and you smiled sadly, the old jacket was still hanging and you felt a small knot remembering someone by your side teaching you how to fight, you looked away and walked every inch until you ended up in front of a door you knew well.

A part of you wanted to knock and hoped someone would open it like the first time you did, you wanted to meet someone, but you opened the door yourself only to find an empty room full of memories and dust. It hurt to be here, but you didn't know where to go.

You entered letting the memories flood over you and it was as if you were living them for the first time, that first kiss, that first night together and many others that followed, those endless hugs and the words he whispered to you to help you sleep. But all that had vanished, all that was in the past thanks to him.

You opened the window and looked at the buildings in the distance while the night fell and the city was flooded with dreams and unfulfilled hopes, you looked at the sky and contemplated the moon whispering your wishes knowing that it wouldn't hear you.

You woke up thanks to the sound of something falling and a bottle rolling on the floor followed by firm footsteps that ran through the place. You looked around for something to defend yourself with, but all you saw was the trash from the food you had stolen and the beer cans you had left abandoned in a corner over the days.

You slipped out of the room and walked towards where you had heard the noise, your heart pounding as you tried to hide in the shadows as you knew how. You peeked your head out and noticed the figure of a man curiously admiring the deformed drawing you had made with the dust the night before.

He seemed to sense your gaze as he looked up and let out a laugh.

“I know you’re there” you hid again and pressed your body against the cold wall, you thought of something, but nothing came to mind, you looked at the ground and the only thing you found were your fists, well, if you had to fight to escape you would do it, you had done it before, you should… “Lee”

That name paralyzed you, you felt like your heart stopped for a second and you peeked out again only to see Jack with his arms crossed when he saw your head peek out. You felt relief run through your body and you came out of your hiding place.

“Shit, you almost scared me to death”

“I’m glad to see you” he said showing a smile “you look… different” shame took over you knowing that he saw your long hair and that you showed your figure without hiding behind a sweatshirt

“How did you find me?” You asked suddenly, changing the subject

“I never stopped coming here hoping you would show up” you turned your gaze to the ground, you were glad to know that someone was waiting for you “when I find out what happened that day…”

“No… that doesn't matter” you interrupted him before he could continue “what have you come for?”

“I want to help you, you can join again and…”

“No, I'm not going back there again” Jack sighed, he looked tired

“Everything has changed, you know?” He dropped onto an old bench, kicking up some dust. “Many left since… we had to leave here and everything was much harder.” He ran his hand over his face as he remembered, you could tell he was having trouble speaking. “A new gang appeared and… we had to join them or we were finished. Many left, including Mingi.” His name made you a little uncomfortable, but you stood firm. “Little by little, the new gang grew and got involved in shady business, but we had no choice.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter, no one knew this would happen.” He stood up and took a step towards you. He looked at you tiredly and placed his hand on your shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you want, but if you need help, just call me.” He gave you a piece of paper with an address on it and left, leaving you in the dust and the weight of his words.

You thought you would never call him, but the weeks were getting harder and harder alone, stealing wasn’t enough anymore and even though this place was huge it wasn’t equipped to keep running.

You looked again at the crumpled paper you once threw away and wondered if (again) this wasn’t one of your bad decisions. When you got to the place you were surprised to see a small house on the outskirts of town, you expected an old warehouse again or maybe someone’s garage. With a little fear and holding your breath in your lungs you dared to knock on the door.

Jack smiled at you and let you in. He gave you new clothes and let you take a bath, he fed you well and you devoured every bite. You had never felt anything like this and now you knew why people lived so happily.

“So?” you asked leaving your fourth empty plate “if I join you what will I have to do?”

“It's easy” Jack said sitting in front of you “you'll just get paid”

“Wow, I didn't think I'd be Lee again”

“No” he interrupted you “this time it won't be Lee, it'll be you”

“But…”

“That doesn't matter”

A part of you knew that this would be more dangerous than before, you knew it sounded like a terrible idea and that it would be even worse, but you had no choice, you never had one, so you had no choice but to accept.

The days passed and Jack warned you that this would be dangerous, the people you would meet were very dangerous, that they belonged to some kind of mafia and that you should be prepared, he gave you a gun and although you had never used it to harm anyone the weight of having one was always comforting.

The day had arrived, Jack and you were inside a luxurious bar, you had never been in one and you were amazed by the bright lights and the music resonating in your ears, a part of you wanted to abandon everything and get lost among the people while having fun dancing, but you weren't here for that, you had a mission and you wouldn't let anything cloud your mind. Jack guided you through the hallways and approached you.

“It's the last door on the right” he told you before disappearing with a tall guy with a kind smile. Nerves ran through your body even though you had gone over the plan a thousand times before, but you never imagined being in this situation. The missions you had carried out had always been as 'Lee' but now you had left it behind, now Lee had been left in a place of the past and now you walked as the real you.

You entered that room with your head held high, with your heels clicking on the floor and with the loaded gun hidden in your leg, but none of that could prepare you for what you were going to find on the other side of the door.

It was a small room, with just a desk and two chairs, but the light was very dim, so much so that you could barely see the other person in front of you because of the thick smoke from the cigarette he was smoking, even so, you approached and sat in the empty chair that was in front of the desk.

The smoke parted like a curtain and left you both stunned when you saw the face of the person in front of you, he thought he would never see you again and you thought that the pain of that betrayal was behind you, but when you saw it all seemed to come back to you like a wave hitting your heart hard, everything you thought you had forgotten, all the feelings and memories came back to you when you recognized those eyes.

“I see you’ve been busy,” you said, trying to control your voice. Mingi stood up suddenly, it was as if he had seen a ghost and had stolen the words from him. “So much so that you seem to have forgotten me.”

“I never forgot you,” he suddenly replied. Just being here made you feel a lump in your throat with the millions of memories you spent together clouding your mind, but you never forgot the last moment.

“But you abandoned me.”

“What… what are you doing here?” he suddenly asked.

“I can ask you the same thing” Mingi stayed silent, the shock of seeing you still had him speechless “let me guess… you’re the one who’s going to give me the payment, aren’t you?”

“You… joined the gang again?”

“Deal with your own problems Song” you placed your hands on the desk a little irritated

“But why?”

“I don’t have time for you” you stood up annoyed, but the truth was that you couldn’t stand being in the same room with the guy who broke your heart “give me the payment and go back to your business”

Mingi shook his head and looked at you again, he noticed that you had long hair and the dress you were wearing highlighted the curves that you once hid, you looked very different, but he still knew that you were still the same.

“Let’s talk”

“No” you answered firmly taking out the gun “save it, your words are of no use to me now”

“Don’t do it” he pleaded when he saw you load the gun “you don’t even know how…”

You pulled the trigger aiming close to him making his words stay in his mouth.

“I won’t repeat it again Song… give me the payment”

Mingi let out a dry laugh knowing he had lost, he took out the money and placed it on the desk, you looked at him for a second and went for the money when he didn’t say anything, but he quickly took your hand, Mingi couldn’t let you go, not again. You tried to get away, but quickly between the fight and the struggle you were face to face.

“Let me go”

“No” you pointed the gun, but when you least expected it Mingi had snatched the gun from your hand, you no longer had anything to fight with, but that didn’t stop you from trying to do it.

“You never change” he said taking your hands in quick movements and imprisoning your body on the desk “you are still as stubborn as before”

“And you are still an idiot” you could not do anything, you could only look at him with resentment hoping that the weight of your gaze would do something to him.

Mingi was not going to hurt you, he only wanted to talk things over, but when he saw your eyes he knew that you were dragging bad memories from the past.

“I never forgot you” he repeated and somehow you felt that his words reached your heart.

You looked at him and realized the closeness that there was between the two of you, as if all the past that had existed between you had vanished and only this moment existed. He was very close and something inside you urged you to get closer to him, your heart was beating strongly and you wanted to feel more than a simple touch of his hands on your wrists, you still loved him, you always knew it.

“It still hurts” you said, holding back your tears and the urge to hug him. Mingi let go of your hands but didn’t move away “I can’t forget it so easily”

“So, let me help you” he came a little closer and you felt his breath on your lips for a second, you could have moved away, you could have pushed him away and left that room, but the truth was that you also wanted to forget the traces of the past.

His lips were just like you remembered, soft and delicate with a warmth you had never felt before. Mingi's hands ran down your arms to your hips and he held you by the back to bring you even closer. You separated for a moment and it was as if all the differences, thoughts and problems had disappeared in that simple kiss, his gaze was filled with a mixture of desire and pure longing.

“Mingi…” his name in your voice was like a spell for his body and he responded immediately waiting for your words, but there was nothing to say, you just wanted this, you wanted him.

You pushed yourself forward and held onto his neck as you brought your lips together again, your kisses were no longer slow, now they were just devouring each other, your tongues met and your teeth clashed because of the desperation and desire that seemed to overflow.

His hands held you tightly, as if he feared that at any moment you might fade away again, but each kiss felt more real than ever. Mingi contoured your figure and lifted the hem of your dress, you couldn't help but moan a little at the feeling of his fingers on your skin and he took the opportunity to grab your legs and climb onto the desk.

Your gazes met for an instant and you both knew what the other wanted. Mingi squeezed your thighs as he watched you take off the straps of your dress, leaving your breasts exposed. You noticed how he bit his lips, but at the same time he contemplated your body.

His mouth went straight to your neck and you let out a muffled moan at the feeling of his kisses, his hands went up your legs and slowly approached your core at the same time as his kisses now went down your collarbone and approached your chest.

When his fingers touched your pussy you arched your back from the sensation you had missed so much, without wasting time he began to move his fingers over the fabric letting your breathing slowly become agitated. You placed your hands behind you to lean on the desk and leave your chest at his mercy, with his other hand he took one of your breasts while his mouth captured your nipple.

You felt your body slowly sink into the whirlwind of sensations that Mingi caused you, you opened your legs to seek a little more pleasure and Mingi noticed it, you felt his smile on your skin and he looked up to see your pleading face.

“Do you want more?” you nodded desperately and he moved the fabric that separated your pussy from his fingers.

You let out a moan when his fingers ran over your wet core and touched your clitoris, he played with it for a moment turning it and pressing gently on it making you start to moan. You never took your eyes off him and you were struggling not to close your legs when a shiver ran through your body announcing your orgasm.

Mingi knew it and sank two of his fingers inside you, you let out a stifled sigh and held onto his shoulders when he began to move them in and out. You pulled him in for a kiss and he gladly accepted without stopping giving you pleasure, your hips began to move on their own looking for the highest point, your legs began to tremble and when you thought you had achieved it Mingi stopped.

“Not yet princess” you sobbed internally, but when he pulled his fingers out of you a strange mix of shame and excitement filled you inside as you watched him take them to his mouth and taste the trace of you left on him.

You placed your hands on his chest and began to unbutton his shirt, Mingi admired the way your hands shook a little, but you were determined to undress him. When you opened the shirt you admired his bare chest and ran your hands over his skin feeling every inch of his torso, you slid your hand down his abdomen and stopped for a second when you noticed the bulge in his pants.

You noticed his anxious and desperate look, you began to unbuckle his belt, but Mingi felt that you were too slow but that it was somehow a kind of torture. He took a slow breath trying to concentrate on not ripping his clothes off himself and let you continue at your pace.

You gently pressed his bulge when you pulled down his pants and heard him curse, you saw how his chest rose and fell faster and faster, but you continued just touching him above.

“Shit… stop playing with me” he begged through gritted teeth.

“It’s your punishment.” Mingi closed his eyes and sighed as he felt your hand touch him beneath his boxers. He felt you wrap around his girth and begin to massage him.

It was getting harder and harder for him to breathe and it was complete torture the way your thumb played with his sensitive tip. He grabbed your legs and brought you a little closer to the edge, he needed you right now, he wanted to have you and fill you, he couldn’t take it anymore and neither could you. You stopped as his cock began to twitch and smiled as you heard a frustrated sigh from him.

“I guess I deserve it” he said with a broken voice and you nodded when his forehead pressed against yours “but I can’t continue like this anymore” he confessed looking into your eyes “let me have you one more time”

“I’ve always been yours Mingi” your words moved his chest and he lowered your panties along with his boxers leaving the path clear between your bodies.

Your breathing mixed and you both moaned when he placed the tip of his cock over your entrance, you held onto his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin when he slowly sank into you.

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and your moans saying Mingi's name. You were hugging his neck and Mingi's hands were holding your ass while his thrusts took you into a spiral of sensations. His mouth devoured your neck and his teeth left marks on your shoulders.

You didn't want this moment to stop, but when Mingi separated from you for a moment you felt empty. He lowered you from the desk only to turn you around making you show him your ass while he pressed your breasts against the wood. You turned your head to look at him, but you moaned when you felt him sink easily into your pussy.

Mingi grabbed your waist tightly and looked at your figure, he approached your body and your skin crawled when his mouth began to leave a trail of kisses all over your back. One of his hands slid down a little and squeezed your ass hard before giving you a spank that made you moan, his hand went inside your legs and touched your clit making you squirm under his body that pressed against yours.

“Mingi… I’m close” you warned, but he continued to touch you as his cock sank deeper and deeper inside making your body start to shake.

“Cum for me princess” his words in your ear gave you shivers and his thrusts mixed with his fingers on your clit seemed to be enough to make you let yourself go in the fog that was starting to take you to your orgasm.

You scratched the wood beneath you looking for something to hold on to as you let the knot in your belly come loose. Mingi gave a few more thrusts and sank in hard letting his load warm your insides. He kissed your back and then pulled away from you, watching his essence drip down your thighs.

He couldn't resist the urge to pick it up and sink his fingers into your sensitive pussy, you moved at his touch and pressed against his fingers that didn't let you spill anything.

"Stay like that, just a moment" he said admiring your body and seeing how a trace of him was left on your body.

After he helped you get dressed the atmosphere became tense again, it was obvious that you didn't want to leave that room and separate again, but Mingi couldn't have you with him, his job was dangerous and he didn't want to put you in danger, while he thought about what to do you finally decided to speak.

"I have to go, they're waiting for me" your voice came out broken and revealed that you didn't want to leave

"Will we see each other again?"

“I don’t know” Mingi took your hand so you wouldn’t leave and hugged you tightly, he didn’t want to let you go, not again.

When you looked at each other again thinking it would be a farewell a loud bang was heard outside. You looked at each other once and without thinking Mingi took your hand before opening the door and discovering what was happening.

There was a lot of smoke and you couldn’t see anything beyond you, but the screams of the people were not long in being heard. People began to run towards the exit, they didn’t know what had happened, but moving a little further they noticed a destroyed wall in a row, people were pushing each other to get out and everything was chaos.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of sirens and something inside you brought you back to the past. You were starting to get restless and wanted to get out of here, but Mingi squeezed your hand reminding you that you weren’t alone.

"I won't let you go again" he said before taking out his gun and walking through the crowd without letting go of you. They managed to get out and for the first time you felt relief when you looked at him, he hugged you tightly and knew it was what he had to do "I'm not leaving you, come with me, I'll protect you"

You'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but you knew Mingi was serious, he wouldn't let anything bad happen to you again so you just nodded as you shed tears and kept a new hope in your heart.

𝐴𝐿𝐿 𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐾𝑆 𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝐵𝑌 ©𝐾𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑦𝟼𝑐𝘩𝑜𝑖 𝑀𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐵𝐸 𝑃𝐿𝐴𝐺𝐼𝐴𝑅𝐼𝑍𝐸𝐷 𝑂𝑅 𝐶𝑂𝑃𝐼𝐸𝐷

tag: @londonbridges01 || @likeathunderoverflow

[writers-potion]

Writing Weapons (4): Clubs, Maces, Axes, Slings and Arrows

Clubs & Maces

Maces are refined versions of clubs, usually made from steel and flanged or spiked.

Perfect for smashing and plate armour and for crushing skulls.

When used on horseback, the rider uses continuous swining motion and leans to the side to hit.

Type of Fight Scene: gritty, historical fiction, smashing armour

Typical user: brawny male with broad shoulders nad bulging biceps

Mostly used in: historical fiction - Stone Age to Middle Ages

Main Action: smash, crush, bludgeon, batter

Main motion: downwards

Typical injury: crushed bones, crushed skull

Strategy for lethal fight: crush skull

Disadvantages: heavy, need to get closer to the opponent

Batle Axes

Used by a peasant or lumberjack

Special battle axes are bigger and heavier, with longer handles

A weapons for attack rather than defence, good at cleaving through armour

Can break through enemy shields and kill a charging horse.

They require intense training, so users are highly skilled elite soldiers, often aristocrats.

Types of Fight Scene: gritty, brutal, battles, attack, historical fiction, fantasy fiction, cutting through armour

Typical User: tall brawny male with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, courageous, elite soldier, Viking, Saxon

Mostly Used In: European Dark Ages to Middle Ages

Main Action: cleave, hack, chop, cut, split

Main Motion: downwards

Typical Injury: severed large limbs, split skulls, cleaved torsos

Strategy for Lethal Fight: severe the arm which holds the sword or the shield, or cleave torso from top to bottom, or cut off a lef then split the skull

Disadvantages: big and heavy

Bows and Arrows

They are weapons of mass use. Hundred of arrows are shot at the enemy to inflict as mcuh damagne as possible from a distance.

In the middle of the battle and for close combat, they're useless.

Castles were designed for the use of bows and arrows, with narrow windows called 'archer slits'. The top of the outer walls were desgined so archers could shoot while remaining under cover.

Arrows are relateively cheap and quickly to produce. Tips an be metal or sharpened stone, wood, bone, glass splinters, etc.

Pieces of feather at the end help the arrows fly better, but knowing which part of the feather to attach how and where is much -treasured knowledge.

Characters can learn the basics of archery can be done quickly at an emergency. However, to be really good it takes years of practice.

Most important skill is to be able to shoot many arrows in quick succession.

Stone Slings

Stone slings are cheap to make - it only takes a piece of leather, string and ammunition are simply pebbls lying around.

This makes it good for low-tech historical periods and for characters of all ages and physical capacities.

Doesn't require great physical strength, but a lot of practice is required to achieve accuracy.

Different cultures have different techniques for holding and releasing, none of which includes the continuous frantic whirling around beloved by moview makers. Rotatin is usually done once or twice, or not at all.

(1) the slinger hooks the end of the sling over her fingers (2) holds the hand above the shoulder so the sling's bag with the stone in it hangs down behind her shoulder. (3) flings it straight forward.

Blunders to Avoid

Depicting an axeman as an unkilled brute who chops blindly.

Battles where the archers shoot when sword fighters are already engaged in close fighting

[rainswriting-blog]

Never Push the Ghost

Summary: After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, you’ve learned to navigate his temper carefully, but today, you’re done playing it safe. What begins as a frustrated outburst over his bad habits quickly spirals into a charged confrontation, where tempers flare, boundaries are tested, and passions ignite. As the tension between you and Simon peaks, one thing becomes clear: he always knows how to handle you, even when you’re determined to push his limits.

Warning(s): P and V pentation physical restraint, including choking, pinning, dominance, power dynamics, punishment, consensual rough intimacy, emotional intensity, teasing, role-specific, minor injuries during physical interactions, Aftercare. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

After six years of marriage to Simon “Ghost” Riley, now 40 and still serving in the British SAS, you’ve learned to tread carefully around his temper. At Mid twenties, you’ve always been mindful not to push his buttons. But today? Today, you’d had enough.

It started innocently enough—his boots. Always in the way. You tripped over them for what felt like the hundredth time, and this time, the frustration boiled over. He was sitting there, unmasked for once, watching TV as if everything in the world was perfectly fine.

You snatched up his boots and hurled them toward him, voice sharp with irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Simon! Stop leaving your damn shoes everywhere. I keep tripping on them!”

His head turned slowly, disbelief flickering across his features as he rose to his full height. His imposing frame towered over you, and his voice, low and deliberate, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Did you just throw shoes at me?” he asked, stretching as he stepped toward you, his tone more curious than angry.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I did,” you shot back, your words laced with sass and defiance, despite the undeniable power he radiated.

He moves swiftly, his hand wrapping around your throat as your back meets the wall with a sharp thud. Your head connects with the surface, leaving a dull ache, but his thumb brushes against your bottom lip in a startlingly gentle contrast.

"You better be careful what you say next," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If it’s not an apology, I don’t want to fucking hear it." With that, he releases you, his hand falling away as if daring you to challenge him.

Glaring up at him, you rub the back of your head, fury bubbling to the surface. “You literally made me hit my head on the wall,” you snap. “Fuck you, Simon.”

Spinning on your heel, you stomp toward the stairs, heart pounding. You make it halfway up when you hear it—the quiet, deliberate sound of him following you. His footsteps are almost too soft to detect, but you know him too well.

“Oh, shit,” you mutter under your breath, the realization sending adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without thinking, you break into a run, bolting up the stairs as fast as your legs will carry you.

You barely made it a step past the doorway to your shared bed when Simon closed the distance between you. With swift precision, he tackled you—not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to bring you down to the floor.

“Simon, stop it!” you protested, your palms landing on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he didn’t budge.

“You want to be a fucking brat? Fine,” he growled, his voice low and steady as he pinned you effortlessly. His muscular legs straddled your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Then I’ll show you how brats are punished.”

Before you could protest further, his hand captured both your wrists, bringing them above your head in a single, controlled motion. His grip was unyielding but not cruel, a balance of dominance and restraint.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your legs kicking out instinctively, but it was no use. He was stronger, his weight and precision leaving you at a clear disadvantage. You glared up at him in his brown eyes, heart pounding as adrenaline and frustration warred within you.

Simon’s grip tightened just enough to make his point, his voice calm but unyielding. “I’ll let go when you stop acting like a child and throwing fucking shoes at people,” he said. With a swift motion, he rolled you onto your stomach, keeping control as he got to his feet, now towering over you.

You stayed there, catching your breath, until his next words broke the silence. “Take off your pants,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Why?” you shot back, twisting your head to look at him.

His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Reluctantly, you complied, fumbling to unbutton and slide them off. Before you could ask what next, his voice cut through again. “Panties too.”

You hesitated, but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn’t asking twice. Sighing, you obeyed, sliding them off before he snatched both garments and tossed them down the hallway, the sound of fabric landing echoing faintly in the quiet room.

Without warning, his hands gripped your sides, lifting you effortlessly by your armpits. “Simon, what the hell?” you protested, but he ignored you, carrying you over to the bed.

He positioned you carefully, ensuring your body lay across the edge of the mattress, your hips and butt perfectly displayed for him. His grip was firm yet controlled, a calculated dominance that left you breathless. You squirmed, but it was no use—he had all the control.

Simon reached for his belt, pulling it from the dresser with a deliberate motion that made your breath hitch. He folded it over in his hands, the leather snapping sharply as he tested it.

“You’re going to count to 26,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “And you better not forget what number you’re on. If you do, we start over.”

Before you could respond, the first strike landed on your bare cheeks with a sharp crack. A startled scream tore from your lips as the sting spread, your fingers instinctively clutching the sheets beneath you.

“...One,” you managed to gasp, voice trembling.

“Good,” he said, his tone almost approving, before bringing the belt down again. The sound and sensation mingled, sending a rush of heat and embarrassment through you as you clenched your fists.

“Two,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the next strike.

The pattern continued, each snap of the belt prompting you to grit your teeth and call out the next number, your voice growing steadier as the count rose. His measured strikes and unrelenting focus made it clear—he wasn’t stopping until you finished, no matter how much you squirmed or protested.

By the time the 26th strike landed, your body trembled, and tears streamed down your face, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The sting of each strike blended together, leaving you raw and overwhelmed. Between sobs, the apology tumbled out of you, sincere and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you choked, voice shaky but genuine. “I’m so sorry.”

He immediately set the belt aside and knelt down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they guided you up into his arms. His chest was solid, comforting, as he wrapped you in his embrace. One hand gently rubbed your back, the other cradling the back of your head as he held you close.

“Shh,” he murmured, his tone soft now, the sharpness of his earlier discipline gone. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His words soothed you as his touch anchored you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the moment. He stayed with you, murmuring quiet reassurances until your tears slowed, your breathing evened out, and the tension began to melt away.

As your breathing steadied and your tears finally subsided, Simon leaned back slightly, his hand brushing gently over your cheek to wipe away the remnants of your tears. His voice softened, a teasing edge creeping into his tone.

“Do you want your reward now?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver through you.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, his words cutting through the lingering haze of emotion. His thumb traced soothing circles on your shoulder, waiting patiently for your answer.

You nodded, the weight of the moment leaving you breathless. Simon didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you to the middle of your king-size bed. He laid you down gently, his hands lingering on your sides as his eyes searched yours for any hesitation.

Pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion, his toned chest and arms were on full display, the raw strength in his movements evident. He reached for your legs, guiding them open as wide as they could go, his touch firm but careful.

Then, without warning, his mouth found your core, warm and commanding. The open-mouthed kiss sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your back arching slightly as a soft moan escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his messy brown hair, gripping it as the sensation overwhelmed you. He hummed in response, the vibrations sending waves of warmth through you as he worked with unrelenting focus, every movement designed to unravel you completely.

Between gasps and the waves of pleasure coursing through you, a laugh bubbled up, light and breathless. You tugged gently at Simon’s hair, your fingers still tangled in his locks as you managed to speak through a moan.

“This is one of the reasons I married you, Si,” you said, your voice a mix of amusement and bliss.

He paused for a moment, glancing up at you with a cocky smirk, his lips glistening. “Is that so?” he teased, his voice low and rich, the warmth in his tone matched only by the glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving you made the right choice.”

Before you could respond, he resumed his focus, his touch and attention reminding you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

As your body trembled under his touch, your voice came out in a breathy whisper, the words tumbling out between moans.

“Another reason is… you’re so good to me,” you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension in your body coiled tighter. “Even though I’m a brat sometimes… you still love me.”

Simon’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a soft, almost tender smile playing on his lips even as he kept his focus. “Always,” he murmured against your skin, the vibration of his voice sending you closer to the edge.

His words, paired with the intensity of his actions, sent you spiraling, your climax crashing over you in a wave that left you breathless and utterly undone.

Simon stood, his movements deliberate as he shed his pants and boxers in one swift motion. His toned physique, now fully bare, radiated strength and confidence. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and detail as he leaned down, tugging your shirt off in a fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed beneath him.

Hovering over you, his warmth enveloped you as his lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss. The intensity of the makeout session sent your head spinning, your hands exploring his firm chest before sliding down, wrapping around his sheer size. Your touch elicited a low groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips as you slowly pumped him, feeling his weight and heat in your grasp.

Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved lower, finding your tightened nipple. He flicked it with his tongue before sucking gently, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. At the same time, the head of his cock teased your folds, sliding along your sensitive skin in slow, deliberate strokes, building anticipation with every movement. The combination of his touch and his skilled attention had your body arching toward him, craving more.

As the teasing continued, the overwhelming need to feel him took over. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, trying to pull him closer and push him inside you yourself. The desperation in your movements made him chuckle low in his throat, his tone dripping with amusement.

“So impatient, love,” Simon said, shaking his head slightly as a playful smirk curved his lips. His hand moved to your breast, delivering a firm yet playful slap that made you gasp, the sting mingling with the pleasure coursing through you.

“You’ve got to let me enjoy this,” he teased, his voice low and husky as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours again. “I’ll give you what you want, but only when I’m ready.”

Simon took his time, exploring every inch of your body with a precision that left you trembling beneath him. His hands, lips, and tongue traced over your skin, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. He seemed to revel in your every reaction, taking his sweet time, teasing and testing you until your body was wound so tight it felt like you might snap.

What felt like hours later, when you were on the edge of begging, he finally positioned himself at your entrance. Without warning, he thrust into your core in one smooth motion, filling you completely. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation took hold of you.

“Finally,” you managed to whisper, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the sheer intensity of him. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of satisfaction and desire flashing in his gaze.

“Worth the wait, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his deep voice sending another shiver through you as he began to move, setting a rhythm that left you breathless.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping him as you locked eyes with him, his big brown eyes dark with intensity. Your voice came out low but firm, trembling slightly with anticipation.

“Now choke me, Si,” you whispered, the request hanging heavy in the air between you.

His movements paused for just a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the edge of dominance returning to his expression.

“You really are a brat, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with that familiar authority. His hand moved up, brushing against your throat before settling there, firm but controlled, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Say the word if it’s too much,” he said, his voice dropping lower, the weight of his care evident even in his commanding tone. When you nodded, his grip tightened just enough to leave you breathless, amplifying the sensation of everything else as he moved with unrelenting purpose, his eyes never leaving yours.

Simon’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to send a rush of heat through your body, amplifying every sensation. Without hesitation, he began thrusting into you rough and fast, each movement deliberate and powerful. The sudden intensity had you arching beneath him, your hands clawing at his back as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your cries and screams filled the room, raw and uncontrollable, mingling with his low, guttural groans. The overwhelming sensations blurred the line between pleasure and pain, leaving you trembling and completely at his mercy. Tears streamed down your face, not from distress but from the sheer intensity of the moment, your body responding to him in ways that left you utterly undone.

“Look at you,” Simon growled, his voice thick with desire as his hand on your throat loosened slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Screaming for me like this… you’re perfect.”

His words only heightened your arousal, your body tightening around him as the pleasure built to a breaking point. You could feel the tension coiling in your core, ready to snap as he continued his relentless pace, determined to push you completely over the edge.

Your second climax hit like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as the release came with a splash. Simon pulled out briefly, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight—your release coating his thighs, cock, and the bed beneath you. A proud, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he ran a hand along your trembling body.

“You really are full of surprises, love,” he murmured, his tone filled with a mix of amusement and desire.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, your mind still hazy from the intensity, but he didn’t give you a moment to recover. Without hesitation, he pushed back into you, filling you once again as he resumed his relentless movements. His pace was just as intense, if not more so, driving you higher despite the overstimulation.

“Not done with you yet,” Simon growled, his voice low and commanding as his hips snapped against yours. His hands gripped your waist, anchoring you in place as he continued to take you apart, determined to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your shaking form. The overwhelming sensations left you gasping, your mind spinning as he pushed you toward yet another peak.

Your body gave in entirely to the overwhelming sensations, trembling uncontrollably as you couldn’t stop squirting with each relentless thrust. The bed beneath you was soaked, your cries filling the room as overstimulation consumed you. Tears streamed down your face, the intensity leaving you shaking and gripping onto Simon like a lifeline.

Your nails dug into his back, leaving red trails and even drawing blood in your desperation to ground yourself amidst the overpowering pleasure. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, your reaction only spurred him on. His groans grew deeper, rougher, as he chased his own release, his movements becoming erratic.

Finally, with a guttural growl of your name, Simon thrust deeply one last time, his release surging into your womb. His weight pressed against you as he buried his face into your neck, his breathing ragged and heavy. The warmth of his release filled you, and he stayed there for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle.

Still trembling, you clung to him, your body utterly spent. His arms wrapped around you protectively, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered softly, “You’re incredible, love. Always.”

Your trembling arms wrapped around Simon’s neck, holding onto him tightly, as though letting go might make the world fall away. Your body shook with aftershocks, your breath uneven as you clung to him, seeking comfort in his warmth and strength.

Simon’s hands roamed over your back, soothing you with soft strokes and murmured reassurances. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he said gently, his voice low and comforting as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Carefully, he shifted, pulling out of you with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity you had just shared. A soft whimper escaped your lips at the sensation, but he was quick to gather you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispered, holding you close as he ran his fingers through your hair. His other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, grounding you as he kept you wrapped in his embrace.

You buried your face in his neck, unwilling to let go, the scent of him and the steady beat of his heart calming the storm inside you. He stayed there with you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you come down at your own pace, his love and care wrapping around you like a cocoon.

Simon held you close for a moment longer before his voice broke through the haze, soft but firm. “Love, we gotta get up,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “I need to clean you up… and we need new sheets,” he added, his gaze drifting to the mess between your thighs and the soaked bed beneath you.

You groaned softly, nuzzling into his neck, reluctant to let go. “Can’t we just stay like this a little longer?” you whispered, your voice still shaky.

He chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring as he gently stroked your back. “As much as I’d love that, we’re not exactly in the best condition to keep lying here.” His hand moved to your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Come on, love. Let me take care of you.”

With a soft sigh, you nodded, though your arms stayed loosely draped around his neck. He kissed your forehead before carefully helping you sit up, his hands steadying you as your trembling body adjusted. “Let me grab a warm cloth and something for the bed,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on your knee before moving to take care of things.

You stayed where you were, your legs still open, trusting him completely as he knelt in front of you with a warm, damp cloth. His touch was gentle as he began to clean you up, his focus intent on being as careful as possible.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the cloth brushed over your sensitive skin, and you looked down at him, your voice trembling. “Si, careful… I’m so sensitive.”

He glanced up at you with a soft, apologetic smile, his brown eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m trying, love,” he said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he continued his careful work.

His free hand rested lightly on your thigh, a grounding touch meant to steady you as he moved the cloth over you with deliberate precision. Despite your sensitivity, his care and attention helped you relax bit by bit, his patience and love evident in every motion.

“Almost done,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh before finishing, ensuring you were comfortable and clean before setting the cloth aside. “There we go. All taken care of,” he said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction as he stood, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Simon froze mid-step, his eyes widening as realization struck. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“What?” you asked, suddenly alarmed, your body tensing at his tone.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago.” Grabbing his boxers, he quickly pulled them on and strode to the bedroom door, which had been open the whole time. Your stomach sank as you watched him leave.

In the living room, Simon stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Johnny sprawled on the couch, his face a mix of mortification and sheer disbelief.

“Johnny,” Simon began, his voice low and cautious. “What did you hear?”

Without missing a beat, Johnny’s eyes darted to Simon, then quickly away, his ears turning bright red. “Everything,” he said, his voice flat and tinged with awkwardness.

Simon groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced over his shoulder toward the bedroom, then back to his visibly uncomfortable friend. “For fuck’s sake, Johnny. You couldn’t knock or announce yourself?”

Johnny shrugged, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. “Didn’t think I’d need to, mate. Thought I’d be welcomed like usual—not treated to… that.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

Annoyed that Simon hadn’t come back, you walked out of the bedroom, forgetting—or not caring—that you were still completely naked. The moment you stepped into the living room, Simon and Johnny’s heads whipped toward you, both sets of eyes widening in shock.

“Bloody hell!” Johnny exclaimed, immediately covering his face with his hands, though the damage was clearly done.

Simon’s reaction was instant and instinctive. Without saying a word, he bolted toward you, his expression a mix of frustration and protectiveness. In a flash, he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Si!” you yelped, your fists lightly pounding his back in protest as he made a beeline for the stairs.

“Not a fucking chance I’m letting Johnny get another second of this view,” Simon growled, his voice low and clipped. He carried you back into the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him with a firm thud, and set you down on the bed with an exasperated sigh.

“What were you thinking, love?” he asked, hands on his hips, though his tone was more amused than angry.

“I was wondering why you didn’t come back,” you replied with a shrug, though a flush crept across your cheeks.

“I wanted more cuddles, Si,” you say, pouting as you sit on the bed, watching him with big, pleading eyes.

Simon sighs, a soft smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “You’re unbelievable, love,” he mutters, walking over and pulling you into his arms. “But I’ll give you all the cuddles you want—after I deal with Johnny.”

Simon strides back into the living room where Johnny is still sitting, clearly trying to process everything he’s just witnessed. Simon waves a hand dismissively. “Sorry about that, Johnny. Do whatever you want—I need to get back to Y/N. She wants more cuddles.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to head back upstairs.

“Uh, LT,” Johnny calls out, his voice laced with concern and disbelief. “Your back is bleeding. What the hell did she do to you?”

Simon glances over his shoulder, smirking slightly. “It’s part of the territory, Johnny,” he says nonchalantly before disappearing upstairs, leaving Johnny sitting there, dumbfounded and speechless.

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[vampsywrites]

IV — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Making out, Mentions of blood, Arguments, Physical Fights, Protective Neteyam, Slight Jealous Neteyam

Word Count: 5k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

"Control your breath, like a soothing river finding its rhythm."

Today's lesson was a departure from the usual climbing sessions you've had the last months. Neteyam had proven himself more than capable of scaling the heights with ease, showcasing his prowess as a skilled and agile climber. It was time to advance his training further and introduce him to a new and essential skill: the art of breath control.

As Omatikaya, he lacked the enhanced lung capacity that your own physiology provided. Over generations, your people had adapted to the challenging conditions of Pandora's higher elevations, making your lungs incredibly efficient at utilizing the limited oxygen resources available. This biological disadvantage of his made it all the more crucial for Neteyam to learn proper techniques.

Sitting cross-legged opposite each other, knees touching, your hands gently pressed against his diaphragm and chest as you began the lesson.

"Close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose," you instructed softly. "Fill your lungs to their fullest capacity, and feel the air spreading to every corner, energizing your body."

Neteyam followed your guidance, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply through his nose. His chest rose, and you could feel his abdomen expanding under your touch as he took in the breath. His inhale was steady but not as deep as you wanted it to be.

"Remember to ease your body," you pointed out gently. "Try again. I want you to hold that breath for a moment, just a beat longer than you're used to. Then release the air slowly through your mouth. Let it flow out like a gentle stream, not a gusty wind."

Neteyam complied. He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath through his nose, following your guidance carefully. His chest expanded further this time, and you could feel the tension in his body as he held his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his mouth.

"You are doing well," you beam.

Despite appearing as though you were focused on teaching Neteyam, your gaze occasionally shifted to the others around you. In the distance, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Kiri were having their own lessons, led by a skilled warrior-hunter from your clan. It seemed as though they were learning well, albeit still displaying moments of clumsiness.

These past few months, normalcy resettled itself in the Sully family rather quickly, like a piece of a puzzle that’s been jostled loose slotting seamlessly back into place.

Kiri, in particular, seemed to be in her element — lost in a world of her own. The girl had long wandered away from her group, traversing the slope of the rock with a skill that far surpassed her experience. She was completely absorbed in the breathtaking views the mountain provided and the wild flora that adorned its sides.

Tuk, on the other hand, was having a blast with a group of younger kids. They were energetically bouncing off the lower parts of the rock wall with their ropes, playing and laughing together. Their youthful enthusiasm was contagious, and it brought a nostalgic smile to your face, reminding you of your own childhood.

Lo'ak had also adapted smoothly, effortlessly climbing higher peaks with a few Na'vi your age. He appeared at ease, his initial apprehension towards the heights now gone as he engaged in friendly banter and conversations with your people.

“I think you’re just using this as an excuse to feel me up, syulang.”

Neteyam's voice draws your attention away, his calloused hands cupping over yours and pressing them flat against the planes of his chest and abdomen. His dark azure skin was smooth beneath your touch, the defined muscles firm and sculpted, evidence of his disciplined training and physical prowess as a warrior.

A cross frown danced on your lips as you retorted, "It is you who is placing my hands over your skin. I am just making sure you're learning properly. “

Neteyam's lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I don't see you removing them," he quipped, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

With a shake of your head, you slap at his side of his ribs, eliciting a grunt of surprise from the man.

"Enough. Show me the form I taught," you instruct, shifting back into your role as his teacher.

Neteyam does his breathing exercises accordingly, and you watch with a keen eye, pleased to see his improved technique.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

"Yes," you nod approvingly, genuinely impressed, "that is good."

As the lesson continued to flow smoothly, you instinctively moved closer to Neteyam, wanting to better feel the rise and fall of his chest as he practiced his breathing. In response, Neteyam couldn't resist the impulse to pull at your arms, playfully coaxing you into his lap.

"Skxawng! " With a laugh, you surrendered and settled into his embrace.

Fronts firmly pressed against each other, the closeness between you felt comforting and familiar. It was like two halves of a whole coming together, bodies fitting together so naturally that it was as if they were meant to be in this position.

Neither of you made a move to break the embrace. There was no rush, no need to move on from this moment of connection. Instead, you found yourself cupping his face in your hands, a rare smile gracing your lips as you gazed down at him. Neteyam's fingers traced soothing patterns on your back, fiddling with the back of your woven chest piece, causing a delightful shiver to travel down your spine. The simple touch spoke volumes, conveying a level of intimacy that went beyond words.

"I am still so impressed at how fast you have learned," you whisper softly.

"I have a great teacher," Neteyam laughs, his tail coiling around your thigh in an affectionate manner. Mirroring his actions, your tail trails up his torso, exploring his rugged skin before wrapping itself around his forearm.

As your hands move to his sides, intending to trace comforting circles, you notice a sudden jerk from Neteyam, followed by a low hiss slipping from his lips. In an instant, worry floods your senses, and you draw away from him, giving him space.

"What is it?" you say in panic, your eyes quickly scanning his figure for any signs of distress. They land on small, bloodied scratch marks by his ribs, and realization washes over you.

"Ah," you grimace, a hint of shame in your voice as you hastily reach into your medicinal pouch, your fingers searching for a specific bottle. "I apologize. I did not realize my claws were digging into your skin."

Neteyam offers a reassuring smile, though you can tell that he isn't blaming you in the slightest. "It's alright," he says. "You are acting like I was just maimed. These are little scratches, nothing serious."

You appreciate his attempt to alleviate your concern, knowing that he is not blaming you in the slightest. Still, you find the bottle you were searching for and carefully apply the healing ointment to the scratch marks, your touch featherlight. Neteyam observes your hands move swiftly, appreciating the skill with which you handle the situation.

As Tsahìk, you were used to being gentle and careful with your touch, but there were moments when your physical attributes could unintentionally cause harm. At the tips of your slender fingers were rugged and curved structures resembling claws. This unique feature was a defining characteristic of your people, granting you a remarkable advantage in navigating challenging terrains with ease.

Once you finish applying the ointment, Neteyam takes ahold of your hands, dragging them up until they are eye-level. The warrior's touch is tender as he begins to trace his finger along the curve of your claws. His eyes study the intricate detailing, admiring the look of your unique appendages.

When relaxed, your fingers appeared deceptively normal, concealing the sharp daggers within. But with a simple flex of your hand, the claws emerged gracefully. During his lessons, you would usually keep them out, ready to demonstrate and assist him at any moment.

"I should have been more careful," you murmur, withdrawing your claws.

Neteyam shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "It's not your fault." He then holds your hands in his, his large palm practically engulfing yours. "Your baby hands did not cause much damage anyways."

In offense, you playfully slap his shoulder, your mouth dropping open in feigned shock. "I will have you know that these 'baby hands' have scaled mountains and traversed terrains you cannot begin to imagine!"

Neteyam raises an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed, but a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "Oh, I am sure they have."

The carefree scene is abruptly interrupted as a shadow suddenly looms over you. Lifting your gaze, you find a familiar face twisted into a stern expression, the lines of displeasure etched across his edged features.

"Tserat," you spat the name out as if it were a poison lathered on your tongue, your disdain for him evident in the sharpness of your tone.

Throughout your life, this man had been a constant thorn in your side, always critical of your choices and quick to engage in arguments.

Among many, his vehement disapproval of your sudden engagement with the eldest Sully boy was no secret, and you were well aware that he had something to say about it now.

The Na'vi acknowledged you with a forced smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was a flicker of malice in his gaze as he shifted his focus to Neteyam, sizing up the warrior with a critical eye.

"Forest boy, I see you're enjoying your little lesson," Tserat quipped with a mocking tone. "Didn't know you needed such close instruction."

"We were just practicing some breathing techniques," Neteyam replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as he maintained a remarkable composure despite the charged atmosphere. The venomous tone with which Tserat addressed him was not lost on the Omatikayan, but he chose not to acknowledge it — avoiding any unnecessary conflict.

And yet, Tserat's taunts only continued as he stepped closer, trying to provoke a reaction. "A lesson on breathing techniques?" he scoffed. "Those are only given to little children."

Your patience was wearing thin, and frustration seeped into your voice as you snapped back at him, "Why do you come to us? What do you want?"

"What do I want? I want to know why you are allowing him to seduce you like this," Tserat hissed, his glare intensifying. "This vrrtep—"

The derogatory word hit a nerve, and anger surged within you. Snarling in response, your tail whipped around angrily, "You speak to future Olo'eyktan, Tserat!"

"Future Olo'eyktan?" Tserat scoffed derisively. "The halfbreed can barely scale up a hill! A forest dweller like him wouldn't last a day with our mountain-born warriors, let alone dare to lead them."

"You would do well not to underestimate him," you spat back with a fiery edge, warning firm as you stood your ground, defending Neteyam. "He is embracing our ways with utmost respect and honor, more than some who were born into it."

"This outsider can learn, but his roots are deep in the forest. He will never truly understand the heart and soul of our people." Tserat remarked, face twisted in a hateful sneer. Then, his attention shifted to Neteyam, words dripping with scorn, "You should just go away!"

"Tserat—" you interject, but your words are cut short when a strong hand latches onto your elbow, shutting down the stream of your furious thoughts.

Neteyam steps closer, his hands now moving to gently grip at your waist, seeking to ground you.

"Leave it," he urges softly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Leave it, tìyawn."

You oblige, trying to shift your focus to Neteyam, desperately wanting to tune out Tserat's jeers, to let them fade into the background like distant echoes. But you knew him all too well; if he was anything, he was relentless.

"Stupid girl," the hunter hisses, his words laced with venom, as he whips his head back in agitation. "Always going head first. Never thinking!"

"Watch your tone," Neteyam growls under his breath, the low rumble vibrating through his chest like distant thunder, as his tail wraps itself around your hips protectively. Though his eyes remain fixed on Tserat, Neteyam's senses are on high alert, attuned to every nuance of your body language—from the subtle shift of your ears pinning back against your head to the coiling of your tail low by your feet.

At the sight of your clear discomfort, his other hand itches at the side of his hip where his blade was, instincts screaming for him to act.

"Hey!" The loud voice of Lo'ak booms across the clearing, announcing his arrival. His eyes narrows as he strides forward, each heavy step accompanied by the rhythmic swing of his braids and the clicking of beads.

"Fuck is your problem?" Lo'ak scowls, his tone laced with anger and disdain. He forcefully shoves Tserat back, nearly knocking the man off balance. The grin Tserat flashes at the Omatikaya in response is nothing but a display of teeth and pure viciousness.

"Look who's here, another half-bred freak," Tserat bites back as he pushes against Lo'ak's shoulders, attempting to regain some ground.

Kiri, appearing in a disheveled mess but fierce as ever, storms into the scene — anger lacing her features. Without hesitation, she raises her voice, directing her anger at Tserat.

"Leave us alone!" Kiri shouts as she takes hold of Lo'ak's arm, preventing her younger brother from making any rash moves. But before she can persuade Lo'ak to calm himself, he wrenches his arm free from her grasp.

Without a second thought, Lo'ak hurls himself forward, his fist colliding with Tserat's jaw in a sickening thud. The hunter's head snaps to the side, blood spewing from his split lip as he's left momentarily stunned. After coming to his senses, Tserat snarls, eyes filled with rage as he hits back at Lo'ak with an equal measure of force.

Both of them grapple each other, bodies locked in a struggle. In the chaos of the crossfire, Tserat unexpectedly knocks into you, catching you off guard. Your feet tangle, and you stumble backward, unable to maintain your balance. With a harsh thud, you crash onto the unforgiving dirt ground, pain flaring through your body.

"Tserat!" you shriek, a mixture of anger and pain lacing your voice.

Before you can fully gather your bearings, Neteyam is already in action. In one fluid and furious motion, he lunges forward and shoves Tserat away from his brother, the sheer force of the push sending the hunter hurtling back into the rugged rock face of the mountain. The impact reverberates through the air, a loud thud echoing in the clearing, followed by the rumble of loose stones tumbling down the slope.

Dust billows up around Tserat, momentarily obscuring his figure in a haze of grit and debris. As the cloud of dust clears, Tserat emerges, his eyes burning with a dangerous glint, his rage undeterred by the impact.

Neteyam's lips curl back into a snarl, fangs bared in an unmistakable display of aggression. A guttural hiss then erupts from his lips, a growl that emanates from deep within his chest. It's a primal warning, a clear message that he will not tolerate any further harm directed towards you or anyone else he cares about.

"You—!" Tserat, refusing to back down, meets Neteyam's hiss with one of his own, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the axe at his hip.

Neteyam's response is swift and decisive. He too arms himself, unsheathing his knife. Its sharp metallic sound rings out like a battle cry, slicing through the air with a deadly "shhlck!" The blade gleams in the dappled sunlight, its edge honed and ready for any threat that may come his way.

As the pain from the earlier shove courses through your body, you grit your teeth and rise to your feet, adrenaline fueling you. You rush to Neteyam's side, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your trembling hand as you press it against his chest.

"Ma'Neteyam" you hush. "Mawey. It is alright. It is alright."

Tserat's eyes burn with envy and resentment as he watches the bond between you and Neteyam, a bond that he can't comprehend, much less accept. To him, it's a betrayal, a disloyalty to your people.

The way your touch traced the outlines of Neteyam's skin, the concern in your eyes, and the unwavering support you offered—it all but intensified his misplaced fury. The sight of your closeness with this outsider feels like a knife twisting in his heart, fueling his anger and pushing him to the brink of it all.

Driven by a whirlwind of emotions, Tserat lunged toward you both with a roar of anger. But before he could reach you, a commanding voice cut through the air like a thunderclap, halting him in his tracks.

"Ftang!"

As you turn around, you see your mother landing with a mighty thump, her ikran letting out a shrill, piercing cry. The elderly chief dismounted and approached your group with a stony expression, her fur coat still adorned with remnants of snow.

With every step, your mother shed away her usual warm and caring persona as Iumayi and slipped into the familiar face of Olo'eyktan. Ruthless, cold, Olo'eyktan.

"Why are you here, boy?" she hissed, her icy gaze remaining fixed on Tserat. He looked away, clearly disgruntled and tense under the weight of her scrutiny. ”You disobeyed direct orders! You are supposed to be on patrol! Instead, I see you stirring up a fight!"

Amidst her tirade, your mother's gaze locked onto yours. Her stern expression softened momentarily as Neteyam rushed to help you up, his touch tenderly tracing the outlines of your bruises. The sight of her child in distress stirred her maternal instincts, but she swiftly composed herself, tearing her gaze away from the display of care between you and Neteyam, refocusing on the matter at hand.

"Olo'eykte," Tserat gritted his teeth, his words now flowing in the Iuva'rian dialect, knowing that Neteyam couldn't understand it, "Can you not see this mockery of a union? Y/N was promised to me."

"It doesn't matter what you believe was promised," your mother stated resolutely, switching her language to match his. "Eywa did not will for your union to happen. The Great Mother guides us all, and sometimes our paths lead us in different directions."

As his ears pinned back, a hint of vulnerability flashed in Tserat's eyes. Frustration, resentment, and envy tangled together, gnawing at his heart.

The memory of your father's vision surged in his mind, a painful reminder of what could have been. He recalled how the Olo'eykte had approached him, believing it was he who was in the vision. "A mighty warrior, fierce and protective of his people," she had said, her eyes ablaze with belief in his destiny.

With those words echoing in his ears, Tserat had undergone rigorous training, honing his skills and preparing himself for the role he believed was his birthright. But all of that changed when the Sullys arrived. With Neteyam's emergence as Toruk Makto's son, everything shifted.

The vision, once meant for Tserat, was now directed toward Neteyam, a forest dweller with no ancestral ties to the clan. The mantle of leadership, which he had longed for and devoted himself to, was abruptly snatched away, as if it had never truly been within his grasp.

"Everything is changing," Tserat spat out, hurt etched across his features. "This family brings destruction and war wherever they go. What's to say they won't bring it here?"

"This warrior," Tserat turned to look at Neteyam, his expression brimming with disdain."—does not even know how to breathe our air properly. And you want him to lead us?"

"This is not the time or place for a challenge," Iumayi scorns. "If you believe yourself more worthy to lead, you will have your opportunity to prove it in a ritual battle after he completes the coming of age ceremony."

Tserat ran his tongue over his lips, his emotions carefully hidden behind a neutral mask. With a sigh, he averted his gaze, locking onto the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the chief.

The tension in the air was palpable as the confrontation reached its conclusion. Tserat eventually turned and left, his departure marked by one last glowering look directed Neteyam's way.

Neteyam, still holding you close, sensed the lingering unease and decided it was best to move away from the scene. With one arm wrapped protectively around you, he bid a goodbye to your mother and led you toward Seze.

The Omatikayan carefully lifted you up and secured you onto her back, ensuring your safety as he climbed on behind you.

"Irayo," you whisper. Neteyam's strong arms encircled you, and you leaned back, resting against him

"Kea tìkin," Neteyam hums.

Neteyam had led you to a secluded green clearing hidden deep in the heart of the valley. The tall, ancient trees stood as protective guardians, shielding you both from the prying eyes of the outside world. The rustling leaves and the distant songs of wind created a calming atmosphere, offering a private haven for you and Neteyam to grapple with the emotions that had been swirling between you.

Approaching the dense thicket of trees that hovered over the peak, your steps faltered when Neteyam's rough fingers wrapped around your elbow, gently pulling you back. His hand then rested softly on your hip, thumb tracing soothing circles on your striped skin.

The weight of moodiness still clung to you like a stubborn fog, but his touch and tender words began to penetrate that cloud, slowly lifting the veil of uncertainty that had settled.

"What's wrong? Talk to me, baby," Neteyam murmured, the foreign English endearment slipping off his accented tongue as smooth as the cascading waters of a tranquil stream.

Despite his plea, your lips were sealed shut, teeth biting down on the plump flesh, eyes refusing to look away from the blooming purple bruises on your skin. Faintly, you felt a burning sensation building up on your waterline, an all-too-familiar sign of tears threatening to spill over. It was an emotion you had long tried to suppress over the years, but the events of the day had taken their toll on your strength.

"Sweet girl," Neteyam soothed, his thumb pressing onto your lips and gently easing it away from your fangs. He then reached out to brush a reassuring hand against your cheek, guiding your watery gaze to meet his. The sight of your unshed tears pierced through him like a spear, striking a chord deep within his heart.

"Tserat is a fool," you drew in a shaky breath, the frustration evident in your voice. "Stubborn. Resistant to change!"

"I saw," he acknowledged with a low chuckle, but his expression softened with understanding. "People like him hold on to old ways out of fear. But change is the natural course of life. Do not worry, they will come to understand soon. Give them time."

Neteyam then paused, his eyes taking you in, a rugged hand running up your back in a comforting gesture. The forest around you seemed to grow quieter. "You two seemed to know each other…"

You nodded, a mix of emotions welling up inside you as memories of the past flooded back. "Yes," you replied, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "We were once very close. Me and him were promised."

"Oh," Neteyam breathed out, his voice tinged with a deep, rich green envy that simmered just below the surface. The intensity in his eyes blazed, and a hint of possessiveness seeped into his tone.

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, drawing you closer to him, and you willingly leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his protective hold.

The lithe form of his tail swished from side to side, revealing the restlessness he felt, while his eyes remained fixed on yours, guarded yet filled with a yearning for understanding. You could tell the man before you bled with questions, but he was treading carefully, respectful of your boundaries and not wanting to intrude.

It was something you had noticed over the past few months spent together. Neteyam, a warrior at heart, was skilled at concealing his emotions. He had a way of pushing down his feelings, riding out pain - both emotional and physical with a stoic determination until they dissipated. His strength and resilience were admirable, and you respected his ability to handle difficult situations without faltering.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, a part of you longed to see more of his vulnerability, to understand the layers beneath his tough exterior. You wanted to know the man beyond the warrior, the man behind the title of future Olo'eyktan, the person he was when he let his guard down.

In moments of quiet intimacy like this, you caught glimpses of tenderness in him, emotions he carefully kept in check. It made you feel that you were so close to understanding him on a deeper level, yet there was still a distance that kept you from fully unraveling the complexities of his heart.

"I said once," you reiterated gently, wanting him to know that the past was merely a stepping stone that led you to him. "I did not go through with the ceremony."

His grip on your waist softened, and he pulled you even closer, intertwining his fingers with yours. It felt as if the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you in that secluded green clearing.

"Why did you not?" Neteyam's question hung in the air like a delicate thread, his voice barely above a whisper, brimming with vulnerability.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, the topic of conversation causing your heart to race. The freckles upon his nose and forehead caught the golden rays of the setting sun, making him look even more mesmerizing as his eyes languidly traced your face.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you found the strength to answer honestly. "I did not want him," you stated firmly, making it clear that your heart had never truly belonged to Tserat.

Ears pulled flat back, he stepped closer and found his hand reaching out to take a hold of his your hip. His gaze was dark, untamed like the forest as flickers of emotion flashed across the specs of gold, brown and green in his eyes. The tension between you and him thickened, fueled by a potent mix of jealousy, desire, and the simmering anger from the confrontation.

"And who do you want?" Neteyam's voice was a husky murmur, tinged with longing. He searched your eyes for an answer, almost as if he feared what would come out of your lips.

And you knew that this was the moment of truth, where your confession could either bring you closer or drive you apart.

In the past few months, both of you had danced around the touches of affection, tiptoeing around the unspoken feelings that had quietly but intensely grown between you. On the surface, it seemed as if you were merely fulfilling your duties, following the paths arranged for you. But beneath it all, there was something deeper, a bond that had become undeniable.

Standing before Neteyam, you could feel the tremor in his touch, the unspoken fear of rejection. But there was also a glimmer of hope shimmering in those golden pools, a belief that maybe, just maybe, you would choose him.

Without skipping a beat, you looked up into his eyes, your own gaze unwavering. "You."

"I want you, Neteyam."

Neteyam felt his heart leap to his throat at your words, desire chipping away at was left of the walls he had built up. His grip on you tightened and he looked into your eyes, seeking permission for what he was about to do, gaze gliding down to your lips.

Without words, you both knew what you wanted, what you needed. You understood the unspoken plea in his eyes and nodded, granting him permission to close the distance between you.

Neteyam's hand moved from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer as he drew you into a deep kiss. Your fingers threaded through his dark hair, and you felt the roughness of his braids against your skin. The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of earthy warmth and a hint of something uniquely him.

"I want you too," he breathed out against your lips, attempting to pull you even closer, molding his body onto yours. "More than anything."

Minutes pass and the intensity of your passionate kiss gradually subsided. Finally, you both drew away, finding yourselves breathless yet exhilarated. The rush of emotions still coursed through your veins, leaving you both trembling with the weight of the moment.

Neteyam's forehead pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours as you gazed into each other's eyes, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

"I see you," you finally gasped out, your voice hitching. Those three simple words carried the weight of all your feelings, a declaration of your understanding and acceptance of him, flaws and all.

Neteyam froze, his breath catching in his throat. The exhale from his lips was entirely broken, as if you had stolen his last remaining breath from his lungs. Slowly, he found himself giving in to the overwhelming rush of emotions, the walls he had built over years finally falling down in ruins.

"I see you," Neteyam returned, accent thick, voice breathless and guttural. He leaned in to kiss you once more, sealing his emotions with the tender touch of his lips against yours. Those three words were repeated over and over against your lips, a desperate show of his affections.

Neteyam bared everything he had inside, his deepest desires, fears, and dreams, pouring his heart before you like a crimson offering as he hoped beyond hope that you would handle it with the utmost care.

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

the relationship is established! now its time to plan on how to destroy it. /hj

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If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :( Also, if any new people want to be tagged - please send me an ask in my inbox or reblog instead! Bc sometimes I can't see the comments ^^

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

"for many years now, i am more desire than fact" — that's paik sa-eon. what i love about how his character is written is the element of duality that is so easily discernible in his behavior. him outwardly being one of the coldest k-drama male leads makes the way his emotions bleed through for heejoo even more viscerally impactful.

even as he's berating heejoo for hiding the fact that she can speak from him; sa-eon puts her coverlet around her shoulders to keep her warm. despite being haunted by the immensity of the secret that she's kept from him, he still wants to buy her a gift for clearing the final interpreter interview. this is how thwarted love operates: when your words seek to push away or hold at bay; your actions still seek to draw the person you care for closer. how much can you love someone, if even when your languages are at odds with each other; your gestures towards the person you care about are always united in their longing to bring them happiness. bring them ease. bring them comfort.

paik sa-eon looks out for heejoo during her first day — quickly steps in and says that he intends to learn sign language, so that she doesn't appear at a disadvantage in front of his associate. the significance of him choosing to learn her way of conversing even though he knows she can be verbal shouldn't be ignored — this is the first time he's genuinely attempted to communicate with her. on her terms. as per her comfort. in a manner of her choosing.

distances that feel unbridgeable can be conquered with just this little — the ability to look at someone and say: "if this is the language you choose to speak, i will speak it with you. i will speak it to you."

this; and the enchanted symmetry of the first words that sa-eon heard from his wife in person being his own name — made for a brilliant episode. well worth the wait.

[tornoleander]

Finally Ironed out some ninja designs! I Usually don’t share references but with the behind the scenes stuff I’m doing on my Skybound project I don’t have much else I can share yet.

There is a few headcanon/ Fic stuff in references and powers and the all ninja shot is for first part of Skybound project.

I can share Skybound project Updates! I’m making lots of progress! Trying to focus on p1 stuff so I can put full force into the p2 stuff!

|

V

P1 may be ready Summer? 2025

My Skybound talk Video:

* God I have so much to ramble about just when I think I covered something a new angle gets me

* How TF am I supposed to sanely transition from the wholesome reasons I love this season into the horribly problem stuff. Sigh*

* Actually studying videos covering serious topics to navigate how to word things.

* I have to stop drawing so much art for everything or no one will ever see this video.

* The desire to animate my character lipsinking to me is an evolutionary disadvantage I will resist.

Cannon compliant Animatic:

* Song is Ironed out fought a while adding voice lines and I’m way more excited than I thought I’d be for this animatic because I thought it would be overshadowed by how strongly I feel about the other 2. But damn.

* I’m storyboarding after like my life depends on it rn

* Really trying to capture Nya’s character Ark which sent me right back to the video script because I remembered that one reddit post calling her a bitch and rage wrote for 2 hours.

* I am determined to make people see how good her character arc actually is.

* Throwing Jay shade in this one lol he was kinda awful even with being manipulated.

* Trying to convey clear Ideas and story through art is pain but also addicting.

* This is meant as a leading to both part two animatics, but bbnb Kai is shorter than wytyaa Kai. The difference is significant everything else pre dinner with Nadakhan is the same. The other head cannons are almost aligned as far as I know. It’s JUST Kai. What do I do with him?!? Lmao Might just distance him from the other ninja so you can’t tell how tall he is. Thank goodness he is the most gullible and first to wish it all away

P2 out like December if I’M lucky TT

Even though I should focus on first things first, I can’t help myself. these fics have lived rent free in my brain for like 2 years and despite plans shifting the excitement of drawing the story I read and put to music in my head is a force of nature. Thanks Adhd

Wytyaa:

* I storyboarded about half the scenes I want to. Songs are decided but a few parts I’m waiting for the rest of the story for.

* I think I’m going to mess with color palette. I really want to capture the emotion and intensity. I’m learning the full potential of my art and

* I need Final ch released for maping out the second half.

* BUT I AM NOT READY TO READ IT @mondothebombo And from what you told me I don’t think I’ll be able to finish P1 by then. cries*

* I wanna capture the feeling reading wytyaa.

* May make my wytyaa specific refs so I can make animatic art I can post early.

Bbnb

* It’s all storyboarded and half animated

* Thinking about redoing most the earlier stuff, consistency has been a problem

* Also was to mess with colors, dark backgrounds and intense colors.

* I fought with my ref forever to find good enough lightning scar colors cause figuring out the right amount of contrast is pain.

* So now I want to redraw my bbnb scar references a third time.

* May draw other bbnb specific refs so I can make some art for the animatic I can post here early or on on my old A03 book

If you have Any questions feel free to leave an ask! I answer all eventually sometimes I do save em up though so if I didn’t answer something yet, Sorry I will get to you.

[nothomegal]

“The beast and it’s treasure”

Pyramid Head x GNReader

Summary: you’ve been playing chase with this monster for god knows how long. Well aware of his inhuman strength and monstrous brutality you of course avoided it any tried your best to keep distance. Unfortunately, it becomes too much one day and you question yourself if it's even worth to keep going... So, what will you do ones you're at the mercy of this creature, (Y/N)?

Warnings: typical mentions of violence and murder, (Y/N) accepting death, Pyra being obsessive towards (Y/N).

World Count: 1.8k

(Y/N)’s shoes made a loud noise against the ground as they ran through the building. They don't even know what building they entered, they didn’t bother to learn, it’s irrelevant because if it is after them, nothing can stop the chase.

A door? A wall? Doesn’t matter which one is, it just tanks through with it's massive body and helmet as if the obstacle is made of paper. Another monster? It's sword will take care. (Y/N) is too fast? It’s okay, it can walk nonstop for days. (Y/N) hides? That’s trickier, yet it has all the time available to seek. No matter what they do, they always remain in disadvantage.

This isn’t even funny anymore, at first it kinda was since many monsters living in this nonsense of a town learned to avoid (Y/N), aware of who is stalking them. Now it’s just annoying, and scary, very scary. Witnessing a crowd of terrifying and deformed creatures flee from them like they're fire in sheer panic only reminds them of how fucked they truly are.

They stop in their tracks to regain their breath, and also to listen for any heavy footsteps or metal scraping the floor. There was nothing, no other sound but their own panting.

They lost it, for now.

After finding a place to sit down, (Y/N) let out a sigh as they plop on the ground carelessly. They remain in this ragdoll-like posture for a long while as they stare at the wall in front of them, their mind blank. They could think about something, but they're too mentaly exhausted for that, apart from the fact that whenever they do think about something interesting, the beast always announces it presence with bulky footsteps, capable to shake the ground with each it takes, or the annoying and overly loud noise of it's giant sword scraping the floor as it walks.

(Y/N)'s thoughts involuntarely focused on that creature. They're not sure if it has some official name but the few people they met in Silent Hill call it 'Pyramid Head', a pretty suiting name for obvious reasons.

Even though this beast had been pursuing them for a while, they never really managed to get a close look at it, and it's not like they want to, not after seeing all the things it does... From attempting some questionable activities with the mannequin-looking creatures and nurse monsters, to practically skin a person alive with a single pull, or cut them in half with one swing of that sword... Yeah, everything about this creature is horrible! A very few (and the craziest ones) call him 'The judge', though the creature's actions are the ones worth to judge...

(Y/N) doesn't even notice how they begin to doze off, their body too tired to stay awake. Though Silent Hill goes by it's rules and hunger or thirst no longer affect any unfortunate soul that's trapped in here, the impact this place has on people's mind is the real problem. The more they stay awake, the more their sanity deteriorate, their mind cannot keep up with everything that's going on, and simply accepting this nonsense and moving on doesn't work anymore. They want to sleep, they want to sleep and rest so badly, yet they know they can't, at least not without it being on their tail again and ready for another round of this cat and mouse game.

And just moments after this particular thought, they hear a loud noise somewhere in the building, like a wall being demolished, and soon it was followed by the annoying scraping sound.

They should be scared, they should get up and run, attempt to find an exit and another place to hide, they should... But they won't, not anymore. What's even the point? If they get up and run it will simply reset this cycle of running, chasing, hiding, finding and pursuing...

Running, chasing, hiding, finding, pursuing, running, chasing, hiding, finding, pursuing...

It's the same, it's always the same... (Y/N) already attempted things to break this vicious cycle, hell, they even tried to trick other monsters to attack this pyramid headed beast, it was the most reckless and desperate they've ever been because their genius plan consisted in straight up run into the crownd of monsters while the beast pursued them, they didn't care if they die in the process or not, they just wanted to get rid of it one way or another. But it proved to be way more powerful that any other being living in this hellhole, the beast dismembered every single creature that stayed on it's way to (Y/N), it didn't slow down even a bit as he slaughtered his path. The only moment it did stop, was to execute a creature who had the guts go after (Y/N), the beast personally chased the creature down and proceded to give it a painfull end with it's bare hands as it made loud metallic growls inside of it's helmet. After that event, every single monster avoided (Y/N) like plague, even the ones who at first did have hostile intentions would flee in fear ones realized who they are.

After this quick recap inside of (Y/N)'s mind, they made their decision...

They let out a sigh as they remain in their sitting position, even as they feel the floor underneath them start to slightly vibrate from the giant sword and the heavy footsteps, they still don't move or look up, their gaze glued at the floor.

They can feel the beast get closer, it's probably at the end of the dark hallway they're in, but... Instead of feeling fear, they feel relief. Relief to finally get over this torture, sure, they won't come out alive to live a long happy life filled with hopes and dreams like they always imagined, but at least they'll die knowing that they attempted, that they did their best.

As they hear the creature get closer, they close their eyes, a tired yet peaceful expression forming on their face. It's okay, soon everything will be okay and over and they'll finally get the so desired sleep where they no longer have to experience the anxiety of waking up and have to run for their life.

The beast finally reaches them and stops right in front, (Y/N) remained with their eyes closed and head down, waiting for their so long avoided punishment. Who knows, maybe they do deserve to be here, maybe they never were as good of a person as they thought, maybe this is their personal hell and if they die the chase cycle will repeat itself for an eternity... They don't know at this point, or care, they just want this over, and whatever verdict this monster will give them, they'll accept it.

Nothing happens for a long while, but they know the beast is there, they can hear it's heavy breathing through the metal helmet. They start to question why is it doing nothing? It's been chasing them so viciously for so long, so why did it stop? Is it because there is no longer a thrill from the persecution? No real sense of revard for catching them?... What is even happening?

Why is it not killing them yet?

(Y/N)'s breath shakes when they suddenly feel something big and warm, like a palm. wrap it's fingers around their throat and slowly tilt their head so they're looking up. The hand holding them is firm but at the same time oddly gentle, as if not wanting to cause them any pain, yet. Despite all of this, their eyes remained closed and their expression calm, they were no longer afraid of the beast, just tired...

—"{I deserve this... I deserve everything.}"— you whisper under your breath.

Their voice was nothing but a faint noise that barely echoed through the hallway and soon was overshadowed by the overwhelming silence and the monster's breathing. But soon a new sound appeared, a low metallic grumbling that resembled a purr. The sound was so deep that it made (Y/N)'s chest vibrate. If that wasn't weird enough, the feeling of something wet and slippery touching their face definetely was, enough for them to finally open their eyes.

A breath got caught in their throat at the sight of the beast kneeling in front of them, even in this possition it's frame remained huge and towering over them. A small metallic part of his helmet was peeled up, and from the formed hole was peeking out a long tentacle... Tongue? That was wiggling in front of them and dripping bits of (what they hope is) saliva on their clothes.

The monster let out another metallic purr at the sight of their now opened eyes, and without a warning it runs it's long tongue across their face, causing (Y/N)'s expression to morph into a disgusted and embarassed one as a spine chill runs through them. The beast let's out an amused rumble as it watches them, so confused and innocent.

It's tongue eventually retrieves back into the helmet, while (Y/N) is a bit too busy wiping the drool from their face and keeping themselves from gagging. Soon their little activity got interrupted when the monster lifts them up with one arm, like they weight no more than a kid's toy, and slungs them over it's broad shoulder. It takes (Y/N) a moment to process what's going on and why (or how) they're still alive.

Ones having a secure grip on them, the monster takes the sword with it's other hand and starts to walk into an unknown direction, but this time he wasn't doing it alone. (Y/N), surprisingly, doesn't try to fight against his grasp, they simply relax and let their body hang on it's shoulder. They just now realize how warm the beast's body is, were they've been this cold for so long? When was the last time they felt warmth radiate from another living being?... This feels so comforting...

Allowing their exhaustion to take over, (Y/N) goes completely rag-doll as they close their eyes. The warmth, the steps that the monster takes, his metallic yet rithmic breathing... All these factors lulled (Y/N) into a restless sleep, they don't care where this beast is taking them, they don't care what it's plans are, they don't care if they die tonight, all they want is rest.

When they were about to slumber away, the monster momentarily stops and sticks it's sword into the ground. It slides (Y/N) off of it's shoulder and instead cradles them closer to it's chest, effortlessly supporting their weight with one single strong arm. Ones they were close and comfortable, the creature resumes it's pace, though this time, it would occasionally nuzzle part of it's helmet into them in a very gentle manner so they don't get hurt with the sharp metallic edges.

Who would've think that such brutal and merciless beast could be so caring and gentle with another living being, and indeed it's impressive, impressive that (Y/N) had the luck to get the executioner's attention and liking. Though... Some would call it luck, others a misfortune, because now they're stuck in his grasp for an eternity because the monster will never let go...

Not when they became his most precious and cherished little treasure.

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 1: nothing's new

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: After nearly two years of peace, you are called back to the Capitol only to find that the future they promised you was a lie.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Use of Weapons, Mention of Injuries, Minor Character Death.

Word Count: 6.5k

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Coriolanus Snow is many things, he thinks to himself, but incompetent is not one of them. So there had been the Lucy Gray hiccup. Helping her cheat the Games only for her to die at the hands of Dr. Gaul’s snakes after he failed to slip the handkerchief into their tank was inconvenient, to say the least. As was his brief stint as a Peacekeeper as punishment for his dishonest tactics following the discovery of a certain compact with her remains. Still, he had learned a valuable lesson. Love is no more than a disadvantage, a distraction lodging itself like an unfortunate bump in his flawless plan. And now, he is back, having traded Sejanus’s life for his own advancement. It was nothing personal, really. Personal is a luxury, the only one he can not afford.

Sure, the loss had hurt, but the District 7 boy made a fine victor and one he could control with a far greater degree of ease, given the detachment he felt in regard to the kid’s safety. New year, new him, new Games, and this time, things would be different. 

His proposals had gone through without much struggle, especially with Dr. Gaul practically eating out of the palm of his hand. He is the protege; his mentor is the kind of woman you do not cross without bearing the consequences. 

And so, on this fine morning, as he stands with the casual grace of a cat, elegantly perched on the corner of his desk, he can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face as he delivers the order he’s been waiting for weeks to give.

“Well? Go get them.”

It is a cold day in District 10, at least colder than most you think as you finish your daily sweep of the ranch and its expansive territory. You pull back lightly on the reins, bringing the horse to a slow stop.

“To name an animal, any animal, it’s counterproductive. Selfish even. Makes for a more difficult slaughter; always best to remain detached.” Your father’s words echo in your head as you dip your neck to whisper soft praise to the creature below, her hind branded with a string of three numbers: 039. Her label, to call it a name, would be to demean anyone granted the privilege of such a thing.

“That was good Bluebell, nice easy ride. Told you it would get better.” She is young. Young enough to spook with a fair amount of ease, but then so are you. Had been ever since your Games.

You dismount, hitting the ground with a soft thud before coming around to face the gentle giant and fishing a handful of sugar cubes out of your pocket. She nuzzles the food in your palm before beginning to eat, and you run a hand up and down the bridge of her nose. The world is quiet, dew still catching the light of the rising sun when you see it in the distance: the armored vehicle speeding towards the cabin housing the front office. It is not unusual for Peacekeepers to come and go from the building, but the night shift typically does not end until 8:00 am, and dawn’s colors still paint the lower half of the sky. Something is wrong.

Two men exit the vehicle, entering the small building before quickly reappearing at its entrance, a third companion in tow. He stands on the porch for one beat, two, a lazy hand draped over his eyes as he scans the field for something. Someone. And then he points. You. They are looking for you.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and your body screams at you to mount once more and ride as fast and as far away as you can, but you stay rooted. Frozen. You watch, helplessly still, as the car only comes closer, pulling to a stop on the other side of the fence, keeping the pastures separated from the open road. The Peacekeeper in the passenger seat steps out, boots scraping the gravel.

“Ms. L/N?” You only nod.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us; you’ve been called to the Capitol.” You feel like screaming, but your throat constricts, and all you can do is take slow, encumbered breaths as your body caves in on itself and you crumple to the ground.

“I– What?”

You do not mind the mud on your knees, and the slow chill that begins to spread from the places dampened by the wet grass is barely perceptible in your state of shock. Called to the Capitol. Your mind jumps back home, your brother and sister still tucked away, blankets to their chins. They would not rise for another thirty minutes at least. You picture your mother. Savoring a final moment of quiet in her busy day, sipping the coffee you’d left in the pot just for her. Your mind replays the goodbyes you had paid them this morning. Careless and quick, not like the day of the reaping. Just sloppy kisses pressed haphazardly to their foreheads and a gentle farewell on your way out the door.

“That’s not possible– It’s not– I haven’t…” There is an eerie stillness to the world at this time of day. One that only seems to press inwards, suffocating you. Distantly, you feel the soft pressure of Bluebell’s muzzle on your shoulder as though urging you to get up

Though the man in the driver’s seat seems annoyed by the inconvenience, his partner fails to shield the look of pity that flits across his face as he dips to pass through the fence, pulling you up and then back through the gap with him. He is not rough as he sets you in the backseat, not like the Peacekeepers you remember from your Games, or maybe he is; everything seems a blur as the car makes its way to the train station, and it is only as the compartment doors to close behind you that you think of Bluebell, left out in the pasture, probably licking fallen sugar cubes off the ground.

Treech releases a labored exhale as he tries once more to readjust his grip on the axe. It’s just a tree. He can sense the nearby Peacekeeper shuffling from foot to foot, anxious for him to get on with the process. This is not the arena. I am safe. I am home.

There is no time off granted to returning victors following their stint in the Games. Production is production, and there are quotas to be met, so Treech had arrived home, and the following morning, before the sun had kissed the hilltops with its light, he had risen to go to work. Only work didn’t come easy the way it used to, lulling him into a rhythmic sense of comfort with its repetitive motions, and each time he raised his axe, all he saw was them. The other tributes waiting to receive the killing blow.

Treech wipes the sweat from his brow in a single frustrated motion in spite of the cold, then, squaring his jaw, he takes a swing. Crunch. The axe lodges itself in Teslee’s head, and he stumbles back, eyes wide with fear. Only it is not Teslee. No. He blinks once, twice, and it is only a pine tree, and he is back in the forest, sinking under the weight of the Peacekeeper’s heavy glare. The man, stationed less than a yard away, begins to move towards him, and Treech prepares himself for another beating, the sharp threats from the last time still ringing in his ears.

“Officer,” a voice calls out in their direction as another man of higher rank, from what Treech can gauge, approaches the pair. The two men meet and begin to speak in hushed voices, eyes flitting in his direction every few sentences. They’re gonna fire me. Or worse, string me up in the square and use me as an example. His grip on the axe tightens. His axe. His father’s before him. He will not go down without a fight.

“Hey, you,” Treech keeps his eyes on the forest floor, silently praying to any higher power that will listen that he is not the you in question. 

“Hey! Hey, you!” He can hear the man approaching, but the sound of his footsteps is dulled by the pounding of Treech’s heart. He feels like a child in a bathtub, head halfway under the surface as the water beats at his eardrums, completely still and as loud as a tidal wave. A firm grasp settles around the fabric of his winter coat, far too thin for the cold but the best he can afford.

“Listen to me when I’m fucking speaking to you,” the Peacekeeper spits, and Treech’s mouth settles into a hard line, his hand curled into a tight fist, twitching by his side. The man before him huffs in frustration.

“Call came in from the Capitol; you’re on the next train out,” he moves as though he’s going to release Treech before yanking him back in, close enough to press his mouth to the boy’s ear. 

“You’re lucky the order came from above; if I had a say, I’d gun you down right here for the disrespect.” With that, he gives the kid before him a hard shove before beginning to stalk off.

“Let’s go.” But Treech feels as though the ground beneath him has disappeared. Back to the Capitol? Would they send him into the arena? He was done. Won his Games fair and square. He was supposed to be free. What more could they want?

The first thing you notice about the train is that it is the nicest thing you have ever set foot inside of. During your Games, and all those before and after, transport to the Capitol had been relegated to old cattle cars used to shuttle livestock across Panem, and the same had been true on your return trip. This is different. Every inch of the compartment is decorated with the lavish and ornate, all-cushioned seats and elaborate chandeliers.

The second thing you notice is the boy. He is older than you, you think, by several years. Five, maybe six. He seems out of place, tucked into the corner of one of the booths, sizing you up suspiciously. He looks familiar.

“I– Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met before,” he responds, cold and guarded. But there is something about him, his build, tall and broad, dark skin and brown eyes; you could almost imagine them looking soft and kind in a different environment. 

He keeps the sharp look on his face, and you have yet to move from the doors when it clicks.

“You won seven years ago; I remember you. District 11. Teff, right?”

“You’re the girl from 10,” he says, and his posture relaxes, if only by a fraction.

“Y/N.” You smile, and you mean it to be a comfort, but there’s a fear in your eyes that betrays the anxiety deep in your gut. Still, you move closer, sliding into the seat across from him and bringing your hands into a neat pile on your lap.

“What are we doing here?” It’s small and whispered as it escapes your lips, and your gaze refuses to meet Teff’s as you wait for an answer.

“I have no idea.”

It is several hours before the train stops again, and though they are mostly passed in silence, the occasional attempt is made at small talk. Whispered theories mingle among everyday questions. So, what do you do in District 11? Do you think they’re gonna kill us? There’s lots of horses back home, cows too. They can’t put us back in, right? Only once, that’s what they said. 

The next time the doors open, you are in 2, as indicated by the towering stone walls keeping it separate from neighboring Districts. Three people get on. One of the boys you recognize immediately: Octavian Blackwell, the first victor. His hair is dark, clipped short in a sort of military cut, and his eyes look as though they are carved from steel. Beside him is a girl, small and lithe, her posture relaxed and tense all at once. Antonia. The name echos out from some dark, cavernous corner of your mind. The first female victor, 3rd Hunger Games. The final boy is taller than both his counterparts, though leaner in build than Octavian; you wrack your brain, praying for some form of recollection, but he remains unfamiliar to you.

“More victors,” whispers Teff, and you watch as the three faces before you seem to come to the same realization.

“What the fuck is going on?” It’s the District 2 boy who breaks the silence, the one whose name continues to elude you. 

“Hector,” Antonia hisses, a warning lacing her tone, but her eyes betray a curiosity lingering beneath the surface. 

“They can’t put us back in, right? There’s not enough. Not to mention, half the districts wouldn’t even have tributes,” you sputter the words up, an involuntary torrent of concern spewing from your mouth. Your gaze flits nervously from face to face, and in spite of the many hardened exteriors, you can feel it beneath the surface, a brewing apprehension. Octavian breaks the silence.

“They won’t put us back in.” And he seems certain. He is old, you think. Not old in the way a grandparent is, but aged certainly. You had never taken the time to imagine a tribute outside childhood, escaping adolescence into fully formed adulthood, but here was Octavian, who must have been at least twenty-six, with several deep-set wrinkles beginning to mar his brow.

“Probably just rounding us all up to kill us, send a real message after those shitshow Games last year,” Hector grumbles, moving further into the compartment and thrusting himself into the booth across from you and Teff. “Just watch; I bet we’ll hit 4 next, then 7, and 1.”

The noise of uncomfortable shuffling seems to fill the compartment, and eventually, Octavian and Antonia settle into the booth beside Hector. You can’t help but allow the shell of a laugh to brush past your lips. A whole train car for the lot of you, and here you were, pressed into the two corner booths. Sure, the cage is bigger, but you still cower like animals. Like you’re back in those trucks ushering you from the train to the arena, gleaning a last moment of comfort as you brushed shoulders with the children you would watch die.

Hector was right. The train stopped at 4, though only one boy got on. Trawl, he’d won the 8th Games, just before yours. You remember distantly hearing of another victor from 4, a boy who was killed upon return. Murdered by the father of his district partner, who accused him of killing her. Stabbed him in the town square, they said. The Peacekeepers only watched.

The train grinds once more to a halt in 7, and quick glance outside the window reveals a station made entirely of wood, grand posts carved with ornate designs supporting the massive roof. You glance towards the door, waiting for him, the newest victor. You do not have to work hard to recall his name, Treech; the two syllables had echoed from every radio in your mother's house the day the 10th Games ended.

The doors open with a hiss, and he stumbles in as though pushed, a mop of curls obscuring his eyes. He seems dazed. As he lifts his head, you watch it happen. The same realization that had dawned on every victor to enter the compartment after you, but then his gaze only grows dull as though accepting some secret fate you had yet to be alerted of before he shuffles forward, taking a seat on a longer bench facing the door. Alone. 

It is several more hours before you reach 1, and although some hushed conversation continues to fill the train car, you sit in silence, casting worried glances at the quiet boy with his head in his hands. He is not crying, you think; his shoulders are too still, but his breathing remains too rapid to indicate sleep. Maybe he just likes to listen, you suppose, trying to grasp the newest direction of the chatter around you. Maybe he’s scared. As you turn once more to analyze his hunched shape, Trawl catches your line of sight, speaking up from beside you.

“Just leave him alone; if he wants to sit by himself sulking, that’s his problem,” he mutters close to your ear.

“For all we know, we could be walking into an ambush. Give him a break,” you say, moving to stand before making your way over to the place on the bench beside him. You are quiet for a time, unsure how to start, but as your lips begin to purse around a greeting, he interrupts you.

“I like your hat.” His voice is flat, a single eye visible from behind the curtain of his hair. You forgot you were wearing a hat. It was your father’s from his brief time on the ranch before transferring to the slaughterhouse, where he met your mom. Your hand darts up to trace the brim.

“Thanks, it was–” But then his tone registers, and you recognize the snark behind the compliment, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“You some sort of cowgirl?”

“How do you know what a cowgirl is?” You ask, and your eyebrows draw together in surprise at the knowledge.

“Read about them in school once, before I dropped out.”

“I guess so. Usually, people just call me a ranch hand.” He lifts his head at this, and you realize he’s quite pretty on closer viewing.

“Doesn’t sound as cool.” The ghost of a smirk lights his face as he says it.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” you say, grinning back. His smile is quick to fade, and he turns once more, fixing his gaze ahead, away from you.

“Why are we here?” He asks, his cocky demeanor gone in an instant. You ache to be able to provide him with an answer, but the same question has been clawing at you since the two men showed up on the ranch this morning. 

“I– I’m not sure.” He nods, and it is solemn, like a prayer, but he does not return his face to his hands, instead watching the miles of land roll by in a blur, no single thing occupying the space outside the window for longer than a second. You find yourself looking, too, imagining how it must feel to go 250 mph. You decide it's probably like flying.

By the time you reach 1 to collect its two victors, a searing silence has spread over the train, the atmosphere tense. The journey to the Capitol is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and as the skyline appears over the barriers built to keep people like you out, you feel the apprehension shrouding the compartment begin to buzz. It is only then that Hector speaks, shattering the stillness with a single phrase.

“Welcome back to Hell.”

The sun is setting as the train pulls into the station, and you twitch nervously, scraping your nails against the pads of your fingertips. Beside you, Treech watches your movements with a fixed gaze as though pondering reaching out to still the repetitive motions himself. He does not, and you fail to notice his attention on you at all, eyes fixed ahead on the double doors. 

When they open, a swarm of Peacekeepers descends on the car within a matter of seconds, hoisting you from the seats, snatching at arms and shoulders in their attempts to muscle you out of the compartment. A startled yelp escapes your lips as the man with a harsh grasp on the collar of your shirt rips you forward and onto the platform, jostling your hat from your head. 

“No–” You lunge for the single remnant of your father, straining against the Peacekeeper working to wrangle you towards an awaiting vehicle, but it is no use. He wraps you in a firm pair of arms, lifting you, kicking and biting from the ground the remainder of the distance before tossing you onto the floor of the car. As you whip around to assail him once more, the doors fall closed with a thud, leaving you to pound futilely against them.

Eventually, your jabs lose their power, and you sink down, forehead pressed to the cool metal, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming tears from spilling over. A hand makes its presence known on your shoulder as the car begins to move, and you turn to glimpse Trawl, his face painted with concern. A quick once over of the vehicle reveals only half the victors had been loaded on: you, Trawl, and the two tributes from 1, Lux, who sits with both hands clasped primly in her lap, and Beau, whose only visible sign of distress is the repeated preening of his hair.

“My– My hat. It was my dad’s–” you stutter out as Trawl helps you onto the seat beside his, “I don’t– there’s nothing else left.” The concern in his eyes settles into pity, and you feel like shrinking under the weight of his compassion, tired of feeling helpless.

It is not long before the car pulls to a stop, and the doors come open once more. It is dark out now, and you can’t help but find it unusual, the feeling that you are being smuggled, rushed in under the cover of night. Typically everything is a display in the Capitol. If they are going to kill you, where are the cameras? You are ushered into an elevator, and one of the Peacekeepers extends an arm, scanning a card before pressing the button for the top floor. You think distantly this might be some sort of hotel. You have never been inside a hotel before. A simple ding alerts you to the fact that you have reached your destination, and you are jostled out and through the door directly before you following the swipe of another card.

It is a large room. You had always believed hotels came with the promise of a bed, but this seems more like a home: a kitchen with appliances you do not recognize, a luxurious lounge with a semicircular couch facing a large projection, and a man, his hair as white as snow.

“Please, let’s not manhandle our guests,” he calls out to the group of Peacekeepers herding you into the center of the room, and they back away, taking up posts on the surrounding walls. Their message is clear: you are not permitted to leave. 

You reach up to rub at the place where, only moments before, your arm had been kept in an iron grip when the door to the room flings open again, the remainder of the victors stumbling in. Teff comes first, ripping his bicep from the man beside him upon entrance, followed by Hector, Antonia, and Octavian, who seem more contained. Last is Treech, a newly formed bruise beginning to darken the area around his eye, and your father's hat held delicately in his hand, fingers pinched around the rim. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor but lifts his head upon hearing your stifled gasp. 

“Come, make yourselves comfortable. I don’t bite, I promise.” The man at the front of the room speaks with a placating tone and words meant to dulcify, but he smiles like a wolf. No one moves.

“Let’s try this again. Sit down.” From behind you, you can hear the Peacekeepers beginning to shuffle from their stations, inching forward. Octavian is the first to budge. He takes a tentative step in the direction of the couch before nodding at Antonia and Hector, who follow close behind. You look to Teff and then to Treech, only a few feet away from him, still holding your father’s hat. The former surveys the room once before giving you a slow nod, and you move to sit. They file in behind you, Trawl quick on their heels, and the four of you occupy a single corner of the couch being sure to leave room for Lux and Beau. As he slides into the seat next to yours, Treech tenderly sets the hat atop your lap, and you mouth a subtle thank you that he leaves unacknowledged.

“Much better.” The man before you grins, and out of the corner of your eye, you see a look of recognition pass across Treech’s face.

“So glad you could all join us.” He claps his hands together before clearing his throat to begin.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you’re doing here, and I want to assure you that in spite of the worries you expressed on the train, we are not going to kill you.” A chill passes down your spine at his implication: they had been watching you.

“See, you represent a new beginning. The birth of a different kind of Games. A better kind of Games.” A wave of confusion seems to pass over the lot of you. Though it is more like anxiety, and you feel a bit like you are drowning in it.

“Now, last year, well, that was quite the mess,” he says, nodding to Treech as though they are in on some sort of joke together. Your stomach turns. 

“But the important thing is, we learned something: the people of the Capitol need someone to care about. To root for, if you will. Which means it’s time for a new way of thinking.” He pauses as though for dramatic effect, and you can’t help but think his speech feels practiced. Had he smiled this morning, delivering his death knell to the bathroom mirror?

“Right now, the Games, they make people sad, uncomfortable even. Too much humanity, not enough spectacle.” Beside you, Treech tenses. “There is nothing commodifiable about the current structure. But if, say, we were to place a higher value on the victors and make you celebrities of sorts, then this blight becomes an honor.” The nine faces before him appear as though they are sculpted from stone; he clears his throat before continuing.

“And how, you may ask, do we plan to do that? Well, starting this year, the past victors will be in charge of mentoring the children from your districts.” Here, there is some breakage. Anger, plain and simple, seeping through the masks. Antonia begins to speak.

“Fuck no–”

“I’m not finished, thank you. Now, this will come with an array of new challenges. There will, of course, be interviews to prepare them for, something you obviously have no experience with, as well as a tribute parade.” Your nose crinkles in disgust as the sole image your mind conjures is last year’s tributes chained to a flatbed truck, Brandy’s dead body swaying from a crane above them. Brandy, who you knew. Who was only one year younger than you. Who had a talent for soothing any creature with which she came in contact and who cried for three days the first time she killed a hog.

“And you will be in charge of organizing sponsorships once they are in the arena, networking, and such. But not to worry, each of you will be given an escort from the Capitol, someone to help you navigate the trickier aspects of the job. And you will not go unrewarded either. Starting this year, victors will be granted financial compensation as well as eventual housing in a Victor’s Village, which will be put up in each of your home districts. Still, we will need to begin with a sort of reintroduction to teach the public what your new role as a victor is, and–”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, so quiet you think no one hears.

“Excuse me?” The man’s gaze is icy cold, like a knife to the chest.

“That’s– That’s not fair. What about the kids in 12? 8? 6 and 5? If you do this, the same people will win every year.” You stare back, and when your hands begin to shake, you hide them beneath your thighs.

“I don’t typically give lessons in power for free; you should be grateful.”

“You’re evil.” And it is not a question. You are certain.

“Not evil, just practical.”

“The Capitol hates us, they think we’re scum. They’ll never get behind this,” Treech offers from beside you, and you see it on him, the mark of last year's Games. The toll they took.

“If the citizens of the Capitol think we care, they will too. I’ll put you on television with the goddamned President if I have to. This will work.”

“What if we won’t do it?” Teff demands, his voice low, tinged with a warning.

“You have a family, do you not?” The man asks, and the threat pools in his eyes, but he voices it anyway. “Would you like to continue having a family?” It is quiet for a moment, and the weight of his words feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried in your life.

“We were supposed to be done. We won our Games,” It is Hector who speaks this time, rising from his seat. He pauses for a moment, then raises his brow as though in a challenge. “Well, I don’t have any family. Not anymore. Not thanks to this bullshit fucking system, so you know what? I think I’ll pass.” From beside him, Antonia claws at his arm, a pleading look in her eyes. It is too late. The man with the white hair nods, and two of the Peacekeepers on the back wall step forward. 

“That’s too bad. He can go.” They are on Hector in a matter of seconds, but they do not make for the door; instead, they seize him, one on each arm, and turn towards the hallway, splitting off from the large central room. Several victors move to stand, with Trawl and Octavian making an attempt to follow, but they are swiftly restrained, and you sit in silent shock as the sounds of Hector’s struggle become distant. A door slams. Then, a gunshot. After that, it is quiet. Your limbs feel stiff, frozen even. From your other side, Lux releases a stifled sob. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Teff throw up.

“Anyone else have any concerns they wish to voice?” It’s as though you have all stopped breathing.

“Wonderful. We’ll begin in the morning. You’ll each have a team here to prepare you for the press tour. Your rooms are numbered by district. Be ready at 5:00 am sharp. I’d hate to have any more incidents.”

“So, we’re trapped here?” You speak again, though the sound of your own voice comes as a shock. The man only sighs.

“This is not a prison, no. Though we would prefer you not leave the premises–” You don’t give him time to finish, making a hasty exit through the door where you came in.

“Just make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he sighs with a haphazard wave of his hand in your direction.

You are at the bar when Treech finds you, two glasses of Posca deep.

He hadn’t meant to go looking for you, really, only to clear his head and get away from that room. Shortly after your departure, two men had entered with a stretcher and left only minutes later with it full, the vague outline of a body visible beneath a white linen sheet. He had followed them out and then quickly abandoned their company at the prospect of sharing their elevator, instead descending the stairs. From the 32nd floor. And there you were, right as the door to the lobby opened, hat on the bar and your eyes fixed on something he wasn’t sure was really there.

“No hard liquor here. At least not for us,” you huff, slumping in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And don’t bother asking for the bottle either. They’ll just give you one of these. Nothing more dignified than drowning my sorrows in a glass that costs more than my mother’s house,” you wave a limp hand at the ornate flute before you, doing little to disguise the biting sarcasm in your tone.

“I’ll take what she’s having,” Treech mutters to the man behind the bar, though he keeps his eyes fixed on the counter, unwilling to bear the weight of the curious gaze being pressed upon the pair of you.

“Do you remember them, the other tributes?” You ask suddenly, as though the thought had been clouding your mind for hours.

“The other victors?” You shake your head.

“No. The other kids in the arena.” Treech freezes for only a moment, caught off guard, but it’s enough time for the truth to plaster itself across his face. Every day.

“Sure.” You don’t say anything, only sit patiently, waiting for him to continue. “There was– There was Lamina; she was from home.” I watched her die. I sat by and did nothing. “And there was Coral and Mizzen; they were from 4. And the youngest. She was from 8. Had these hearts made of buttons on her pants. Wovey, I think. From 12, there was Lucy Gray, the girl who sang. Reaper, he was the last to die. I killed him. Killed the girl from 3, too. Teslee.”

He feels his voice begin to waver and opts to stop talking. You sit in silence for a moment, trading quiet nods with the bartender as he returns with Treech’s drink.

“Rye.”

“Sorry?” Treech asks, still lost in the memories of his fellow tributes.

“He was the youngest. He had these eyes just like my kid brother, big and sad. He just stood there, I remember, when the games started. The boy from 2 killed him; just walked up and broke his neck. Couldn’t have been that hard; he was so small. But he looked so surprised like he hadn’t known it was coming, even after he hit the ground.” Treech thinks he might be sick, and beside him, the color has drained from your face.

“Twenty-four kids every year, and we’ll have front-row seats to all of it. The people in the districts, in the Capitol, they’ll forget, let a name or two slip, but we’ll see them all. Watch them train, see their interviews, pick them apart in hopes of a weakness.” Treech downs his glass in one go before signaling to the bartender he needs a refill. You push your flute in the same direction, looking the District 7 boy up and down as though you’d never given him too much thought before.

“I never envied you. The way the Capitol dragged you through the streets for all those funerals, put you behind bars in a fuckin’ zoo, had you play nice and pleasant before sending you off to slaughter. At least ours was quick. Picked us all up on the train, threw us in the back of a truck, and then dumped us in the arena. Nobody knew who we were. Nobody wanted to.” You break off in a laugh that is brittle and unforgiving.

“Maybe it’ll be better this way. I’m in the market for a new job. Turns out you’re no good at chopping trees when you can barely hold an axe anymore,” Treech jokes, but the smile on his face does not reach his eyes.

“They–” but you are quick to pause, halting mid-sentence as though contemplating continuing. You exhale softly before clearing your throat and lifting your eyes once more to meet his. 

“They had to fire me.” Treech’s brows lurch forward in confusion, creating two dimples in the flesh just above his nose. 

“At the slaughterhouse,” you supply. “They had to fire me. I couldn’t– I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t kill anything. The Peacekeepers, they just wanted me gone. I’m pretty sure they would have just gotten rid of me too, you know, set an example, but I knew the guy who ran the place. I used to give his daughter art lessons. He made a call, and I got transferred. Started working as a ranch hand instead.” You stop, and for a moment, Treech thinks you’ve finished.

“I kept thinking they were him. I would pick up the knife, and suddenly, it was like I was back in the arena, watching him die.” The last part came out in a whisper.

“They say what I did to that kid; they say it was mercy. A mercy kill. But I still killed him, and he’s still dead. And I have never stopped thinking about it.” You clear your throat once more and cast your gaze down, hoping to disguise the tears collecting in your eyes. Treech takes notice. He remembers a conversation not two months prior with his mother. The way his voice shook as he spoke. About the games. About the other tributes. He recalls the twisted expression of discomfort she bore, the pity, and above all, his own anger at feeling helpless. Wounded.

“Art lessons? You paint?” Relief, instant and undisguised, etches itself across your features. 

“Draw, mostly. Charcoal, pencil, anything easy to come by. I was gonna be a veterinarian before– Well, you know. I was practicing for scientific sketches, but I just sort of fell in love with the way they moved– animals.”

“You have a favorite?”

“Horses are the hardest. Cows– they’re soft, like people. Some people, I guess. I saw a fox once, little gray thing, sleeping in the grass. I think maybe I liked that one the best. My mom used to say it was good luck, a fox crossing your path. Though, I can’t imagine how. That– That was the day before my reaping.”

You sit in silence for a moment before Treech speaks again.

“You lived. Maybe that was it: the good luck.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Like maybe everyone else got out easy, and here we are still living in a nightmare.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” he whispers, but it’s as though he’s pleading with some higher power that it might be true. “It can’t be.”

“Wake up, Treech. This is it for us. They are gonna drag us out here every year to flounce around the capitol, parading new kids to their deaths– or worse, whatever this is, the horrible aftermath–”

“There’ll be new mentors. New winners–”

“Yeah, in 1 and 2 and maybe 4. Don’t you get it? We’re the runt districts. We’ll be lucky if we see another Victor in the next twenty-five years,” Treech swallows hard, willing his mouth to stop tasting so dry; he can feel his heart in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe you ran with the pack in your games, but things are gonna change. Look around. They already are.”

[bardic-tales]

Day 4 | Day 6

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 5 - Perspective on Materia

Materia is a big part of life on Gaia. Most people use it every day to cast magic or protect themselves. But for Bianca Moore, it’s more complicated. She didn’t grow up on Gaia, and she doesn’t feel the same connection to the Planet as others do.

In this post, I explore how Bianca struggles with materia, why it doesn’t work well for her, and what it means for her journey. This isn’t just about magic. It’s about survival, control, and her fight to never be used again.

Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse, body horror, captivity, experimentation, exploitation, medical trauma, psychological trauma, violence.

Bianca Moore’s relationship with materia is one marked by tension, inefficiency, and philosophical dissonance. As someone who was not born of Gaia but rather cast into it, she lacks the intuitive harmony that many of its natives possess with the Planet’s flow of energy.

Materia, crystallized fragments of the Lifestream, remains accessible to her in a functional sense, but her ability to harness it is hampered by a fundamental disconnect. Since she exists outside the Lifestream materia does not respond to her with the same potency or reliability it might to someone more attuned to the Planet’s will. To Bianca, materia is a foreign language: beautiful, powerful, but never quite her native tongue.

This inherent distance complicates her combat strategy. In the early stages of her journey through Gaia, Bianca finds herself at a disadvantage compared to seasoned materia users like Aerith or even mid-tier SOLDIERs. Offensive spells are especially volatile. Because of this, she relies heavily on her innate abilities rather than spells. For example, she regularly turns to her demonic regeneration, celestial senses, and weapons like Noctemaris. This lack of fluency in materia magic has forced her to sharpen her martial instincts and rely on cunning.

Still, Post-Fall Bianca is not one to accept limitation passively. Her disdain for being controlled drives her to confront this obstacle with characteristic stubbornness. She begins to experiment with support materia, like Haste or Barrier, which require less magical finesse but still offer tactical advantages.

Over time, she develops a kind of calculated relationship with materia. She doesn't trust it, but she learns how to make it work for her through precise, minimal use. It becomes a tool, not a crutch. This mirrors her broader worldview. Power should serve will, not the other way around.

Her feelings toward materia also carry an emotional weight. She cannot forget that Mako is harvested from the dying Lifestream and often through the same industrial greed that once chained her to an operating table. To Bianca, materia is both a weapon and a wound. In its manufactured state, materia's existence is a symbol of Gaia’s pain, and using it feels like feeding off the same cycle of extraction and exploitation that nearly destroyed her. Even as she learns to wield it, part of her resents its very existence. If the Lifestream is a living consciousness, materia is its fractured memory. Bianca has enough ghosts of her own to contend with.

In the end, Bianca’s relationship with materia is neither natural nor reverent. It is a hard-won truce between alien power and individual will. She does not seek to master it for glory or tradition, but for survival and, ultimately, vengeance. Every time she casts a weakened spell through materia, it is a reminder of the world she was never meant to belong to but was thrust into. It represents the forces that tried to erase her autonomy.

Her eventual proficiency would not be a celebration of magical growth, but a reclamation of control. For Bianca Moore, materia is not a gift. It is a battleground to be one and a tool to be used.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

So I've been trying to get a gist of post-time skip Ben based on Chaos Theory trailer (obsessed again? wrong, I never stopped being obsessed), and I feel like I can optimistically assume that his personality will make sense for his character development that we've seen in Camp Cretaceous.

I made a post about it once but to sum it up shortly:

season 1 Ben is a boy who was clearly raised in some sort of bubble (a different bubble than Kenji) - he is scared and anxious (not just regarding dinosaurs); at the same time we get hints that he can be very passionate and has a sense of an adventure (he's just scared to cross the line). Season 2 Ben experienced a massive traumatic event, to put it nicely, his personality was put into a blender which was then turned on and left unsupervised for several days. His season 2 jungle boy persona, while still consistent with the traits showed prior (as mentioned - Ben was both passionate and adventurous before - he was just too shy to act on it), is mostly a result of a severe trauma; meaning his personality feels more extreme because he had to rely on extremes to survive. Season 3 Ben is one of the most interesting "forms of evolution". The trauma is still fresh but at the same time Ben tries to think beyond it – wants to make decisions based not on "fight or flight" response but on his own feelings on the matter, it's very interesting but in this season - though not visibly - he slightly reconnects with season 1 personality (slightly) for example by considering advantages and disadvantages of his actions (leaving Nublar or staying) (it doesn't apply to every situation which is actually quite perfect because at this point he is still pretty damn traumatized). Then we have season 4 which is actually very important for Ben's character arc because, for the second time, he loses his footing - Nublar was wild but familiar, Nublar was 'never without Bumpy'. Mantah Corp Island is completely new and Ben is forced to reestablish what actions and behaviors are going to pay off in this environment; ironically enough, I think that the distance from Nublar is good for him - Nublar was also the environment where he got traumatized, personally I think that the island could, to some extent, prevent him from healing. And ofc, season 5 - Ben shows clear signs that he is going to evolve as a person; he mellows down not because he gets soft in a bad way but because he recognizes that he doesn't always have to be a knife. At the same time, he is not hesitant to strike if the situation calls.

So, now let's take a quick look at Ben in the Chaos Theory trailer. I noticed four traits that we can spot in that short clip:

He has that sort of shy-silly boy charm to him. A subtle mixture of bashfulness ("hey Darius," his voice is amused but he also sounds a bit apologetic). That is something that especially shines through his character in season 1

When he needs to be serious - he is ("Someone is hunting us"). This is such Ben-thing to do, especially in season 4 and season 5 Ben – when he is learning how to distinguish between a real danger and something that doesn't require setting the world on fire.

He gets slightly panicky sometimes ("before it's too late!") which is a fantastic news because trauma really messed up Ben's sense of danger and it's just good to knows that he feels fear like a normal person (yes, when someone is hunting you for sport, I guess everyone would be a little bit panicky)

From what I can tell - when the situation calls he does display signs of recklessness - notice how he's driving the car. Notice how Darius is visibly not impressed with Ben behind the wheel. Now, sure we can't tell whether someone (something?) is chasing them at that exact moment but either way - it seems that Ben is in a hurry and, excuse me but, he does not give a flying fck about safety on the road (which is! funny considering how he was driving the gyrosphere in season 1)

So yeah, overall, I think that we are going to get a nice continuation of Ben's character arc in Chaos Theory. I certainly hope so because watching Ben grow as a person was one of my favorite aspects of Camp Cretaceous!

Ah, and also... I really hope that at some point in Chaos Theory Ben will do something unhinged out of nowhere and the rest of the campers (because we will see all of them - I don't doubt that) will look at each other, nod, and say "ah, yes, that's our Ben"

[gingermintpepper]

Day 1: Apollo

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!

His interpretation for my work is based very much around the concept of his manifestation as the Radiant God of the String. Because of this, quite like Hecate, he’s triple-fold and occupies three major spaces; the string of Fate and therefore prophecy, the bowstring and therefore distance and destruction and the lyrestring and therefore music and order. He’s a somewhat melancholy figure all things considered - Fate and following Fate’s tennants is something that he struggled a lot with as a child and even now as a more mature deity, the only solution he’s truly found is to take things one day at a time. Very diligent and fastidious, he’s a hard worker and tends to put his everything into completing any task set before him which also tends to work to his disadvantage since he’s prone to becoming tunnel-visioned until he’s finished what he said he would finish. His family orchestrated his winter breaks because he had the nasty habit of working himself sick when he was still very young.

Apollo is generally represented by circles in my work - priests of Apollo will be marked with at least three circles on their face and usually wear triangular jewellry (typically earrings or necklace charms) to reflect the triple-nature of their god. His favoured colour is a rich, deep blue and while he typically wears elaborate eye paint, he rarely uses face powders. Wears gem-toned blues for his lips unless in mourning where he will leave himself unadorned and unpainted out of respect.

Some quick trivia: 

Was born identical to Artemis even though they were born (years) apart. Had brown hair, wolf’s ears and fangs and horns when he was a child but never manifested those features again after his penance for slaying Python. If he’s very stressed or angry, sometimes his fangs will show. The brown of his hair grew out to blond naturally as he developed and matured as a god.

Proficient in all instruments but has always especially preferred stringed instruments. Truly unmatched with a kithara but only uses it for special occasions and official meetings. Generally prefers his lyre for every day usage

Really good at sewing and braiding strings together due to the exercises he had to do while under the tutelage of the Moirai sisters. Can’t weave since Athena banned him from touching a loom but he does like watching her spin. The one time she caught him trying to replicate her patterns with a needle and thread, she complained to Zeus that he had broken his oath. He teases her about that even now.

Was the last of the Twelve to learn how to read and write because he hates letter systems and finds it too arbitrary. Prior to the collaboration that resulted in written letter systems, everyone was perfectly fine with remembering the important stuff and encoding the rest in artistic format such as tapestries, pottery, furniture and jewellry. Apollo himself has a truly formidable memory since he’s been composing and immortalising the events and histories of the world in song since he was very young. He finds written books very dull but Clio’s very insistent about written histories being important and convenient so reluctantly, he’s given permission for his songs and poems to be -gags- transcribed and written down.

Is only called Apollo by his parents, Artemis and Dionysus. Hermes rarely calls him by name in general and the others, including other siblings like Ares and Athena, have always called him Phoebus. Interestingly, Zeus usually calls him Phoebus but will call him Apollo when they are alone or when he’s being especially serious. Apollo is completely comfortable with either name but he does see Phoebus as a bit more formal than Apollo. (Despite his best efforts, both Calliope and Clio also still stubbornly call him Phoebus though he’s fairly sure it’s mostly because they know it bothers him.)

[cow-stealin-gal]

character roster

Cuz Im thinking about this

The Combo Gal: Acela Valani

Roleplay blog about said oc: @dancin-fo-gold

[Lizard-Folk]

Nicknames: The Dancin Dagger, The Happy Feet Fighter, The Fancy Showrunner

Acela is a Lizard folk girl who dances and plays music to gain popularity of the towns she visits. Her dancing skills translates into impressive footwork to dodge attacks and to rush the enemy with multiple strikes.

Furthermore, Acela’s passion and drive to stand out as the best dancer allowed her to develop a variety of different strikes to confuse the enemy and keep them on their toes. Though, Acela is very prideful to the extent that she will challenge her critics to a competition; be it a dance battle or a battle of the bands to determine who is the best performer. However, Acela also engage in petty squabbles where she bickers with strangers for hours. Nevertheless, she cares deeply about her performances and her reputation, so she would rather defend herself than to bear the insults.

So for her gameplay mechanics, her attack buttons branch out into different attack patterns to allow the player to combine button mashing and complex patterns. (Inspired by the Nintendo DS game: Naruto Shippuden: Ninja Destiny 2) The thing about her attack kit is that she would have less input lag than the average character in the roster. Though, giving her an unfair advantage would definitely lead to trouble. Thus she’ll need a critical disadvantage.

As a character who can strike the most within a short moment, her attacks are among the weakest. As in smacking peeps with a stick type of damage. Her weapons include sabers, rapiers, and daggers, where they deal less damage than the other weapons, such as Paula’s Greataxe, Lydia’s spear & halberd, and so on.

Although, Acela is somewhat tough, as having scales that require more force to break through is enough to protect her…but not from Paula.

The Tank: Paula Dendafter

Roleplay blog about said oc: @somethin-somethin-wolfgirl

[Wolf-folk] Nicknames: The Bumblin’ Brute

Paula is a beefy, muscular wolf-folk girl whou fights opponents Paula’s brute strength is more than enough to break bones, wood, and occasionally stone or metal. Her reputation for crushing rocks, breaking through walls and overall intimidating enemies with her expressions alone has led enemies to pray that they don’t run into her. Although, Paula’s absolute clumsiness has also led to trouble and embarrassment, with poor Paula getting angrier from the embarrassing moments. However, she has learned how to stand her ground against people who think they have a right to talk shit about her without having to throw hands. Plus, if a target tries striking her using a weapon, her brute strength & tough body allows her to trap them to then beat the shit outta them. As such, her gameplay mechanic includes trapping a character once they strike her with a decent or strong attack before she responds with a stronger axe strike. Of course, she takes damage. (Inspired by Stark from Freiren’s Beyond Journeys End.)

As a clumsy character with strength to strength to spare, Paula’s moveset is simple. A little too simple. But can she’s not restricted to fighting with only one weapon. She also has a handful of martial arts (boxing, kick boxing, wrestling).

Paula is a tough character to defeat, even with strong attacks to break her guard. Although, her speed is the only disadvantage to her kit.

speaking of which.

—

The DPS: Lydia Katheere

Roleplay blog about said oc: @mountaingoit

[Satyr with dragon biology] Nicknames: That Bitch with a Costume, The Mountain Menace, The Terrible Tourist Attraction

Lydia is a speedy satyr girl, she can hunt down enemies, run past army defenses, and leap across long distances. Perfect for one-upping tourists. As such, she is the main recon specialist in discovering enemy tactics, where she runs around the field dodging enemy fire and taunts them along the way. (Like Scout from Team Fortress 2). Sometimes, she gets into trouble for picking fights with different people due to being a douchebag. Despite, she does realize when she’s in the wrong and will back off.

She wields a crystal spear for three major reasons; - balancing practice: to keep her fighting style and recon skills in tip-top shape - hiking sessions: to carry her weight over long distances - battle: to fight the enemy and disarm them to ensure that they won’t cause trouble (might need to revise this part later)

As such, her game mechanics include parkour techniques for platforming such as, sliding, wall-riding, wall-jumping, somersaults, and climbing. Other characters do have parkour capabilities, Acela can perform different somersault routines, while Paula has more stamina for climbing large mountains. But only Lydia can combine the dexterity of somersaults and the strength to traverse perilous terrains in order to explore different regions. By default, Lydia is faster than both characters, where her attacks can deal immense damage. But she is vulnerable to Paula’s constitution trap and will sometimes have to abandon her weapon.

Lydia is pretty fast, faster than the characters in this roster…however how does she fare against magic? (Ok, she has a few magic capabilities but not to the extent of this character)

—

The Glass Cannon: Paprika Whitterstone

Roleplay blog about said oc: @scaredfurryfire [Deer-folk with ???? Blood]

Nicknames: the Sinister Cinder, the Unfortunate Soul, the one who walks with no end

Paprika is a deerfolk girl who has lived for centuries, often to the detriment of her mental health. It doesn’t help that bounty hunters are constantly after her, leaving her no time to relax. No one in society knows where she came from, but in their eyes, her most notorious crimes include, burning down a brothel during her younger years and releasing a explosive outburst that charred an angry mob into the town square. [I’m borrowing parts of Vash’s situation with bounty hunters to write her as a grey individual.] Frightful and filled with self-hatred, she wanders the region to avoid contact with society, where the sheer loneliness eats away at her sanity. As far as she knows, she’ll never be redeemed, and that, in by itself, is a soul-crushing realization. Paprika’s main magical ability is fire, a whole lot of fire. She has the capability to casually blast humongous waves of fire, but she chooses not to. Instead, she tries hard to learn how to heal with her nearly nonexistent nature magic. It never occurs to her that her flames have incredible healing qualities. However, she has yet to encounter someone who trusts her with such regard to encourage her to even begin a feat.

Paprika’s main mechanic is…troubling. she does stealth/survival but if she’s pushed to a limit, she might rage. Paprika can blast fire at targets but often doesn’t want to. So, she resorts to running and hiding. But whenever a bounty hunter gets a hold of a hostage (sometimes families and friends), she’ll drop everything and give herself up in order to stop them from hurting people.

However, bounty hunters are hardly merciful. Most times they knock her out (might be infuriating to see someone powerful get knocked out). Then they rob the hostages anyways. Other times, hostages and bounty hunters further escalate the situation, where the person trying to defend Paprika becomes severely injured. Her rage starts to build up and her powers begins to flare. In cases that a close friend is assaulted, she becomes dead set on revenge where she burns down hideouts, melts weapons, and scare ever loving shit outta bounty hunters. Of course, it takes a special kind of evil to push her to kill. (i decided to do a mix of Vash from Trigun and Gohan from Dragon Ball Z)

oh right, uhm…Paprika’s gameplay will generally be a story plot with choices.

But she may have a section where she blasts enemies with fire.

The Tactician: Cheyene Kastravo

no roleplay blog yet

[Deer-folk with ????? Blood]

Code-Name: Nebulus A mysterious deer-folk figure with demonic features is living among the common folk in secret. She talks with people everyday, but not one person can recall a single detail about her background. Including her birthday.

Cheyene’s gameplay features stealth mechanics, a timer, and outfit selection to either match the occasion or wear as a cosmetic. Some outfits can be purchased. Most of them add ammunition space to reload the weapons.

She has proficiencies with firearms, martial arts, rope, and a grappling hook.

The bullets are limited, so the player has to think carefully about which to use firearm to use. Her office has a small set of firearms to choose from, including bullets

But that’s one of the few places that she can get bullets, including firearm shops. (I might need to research more on this).

And thats it

[dark-frosted-heart]

The Fairytale Keeper's Final Assessment - Roger (Part 2)

This is the 1st anniversary event and is in his POV.

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Roger: You need a beer after working up a good sweat. Here, cheers.

Kate: A tavern…always a tavern…

Roger: What’s up, not in the mood to drink?

Kate: Now, I was feeling thirsty and I like this tavern because it’s comfy. However…I’d like more of…Nevermind.

Owner: Yo, Kate. You’re letting this guy lead you around again? You never learn, do you?

The owner held out a small dish to Kate.

Owner: I want you to try some of this dried fruit. Roger’s the type to say salting the meat will make it taste good so he’s useless.

Kate: I get it. To Roger, nutrition’s all that matters.

Roger: Hm…?

Kate was laughing as she enjoyed her conversation with the owner.

(You’ve grown used to it. Both being with me and being in this type of environment)

Shortly after meeting, Kate and I had spent a whole day together.

At the time, I dared Kate to join me on a brutal mission and even shot a man down before her eyes.

Kate’s been earnest since the moment I met her and gives 100% in everything.

That way of life’s a virtue.

However, in darkness, it’s a disadvantage.

(I know that the harder and more sincere you try, the faster your life will be destroyed)

(That’s why I told Kate that day…)

(“It’s wise to keep your distance if you want to live”)

(I always thought that Kate would go back to her old life while keeping her distance)

(Even now, Kate is with me)

Kate: Roger, hey, Roger.

Roger: Hm…?! Mmm.

When I turned my head to look at her, she shoved dried fruit into my mouth.

Kate: Hehe, that’s for always bullying me.

Roger: Oh? YOu’re learning how to deal with me. Howeverー

I pinched Kate’s cheek and examined her.

Roger: I'm the kind of person who, when someone treats me badly, I want to treat them even worse. Remember that.

Kate: Got eet.

Kate rubbed her cheek and happiness returned to her voice.

Kate: Can I take you somewhere this time, Roger?

Roger: Next I was going to take you to the black market where drugs are secretly being sold.

Kate: I’ll pass on that today!

--

Kate took me to a lovely little cafe on a street corner.

Kate: I wanted to visit a place like this at least once with you.

Roger: Oh, even just one drink’s elaborately made. Do they have a bigger size?

Kate: Hehe, I thought so…

Roger: Hm?

Kate: You may be inconsiderate but you won’t turn a person down.

Roger: I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel insulted or flattered.

Kate: A compliment, more or less.

As I was having the coffee and lovely little pastry Kate ordered for me…

Something cold fell on my cheek.

Roger and Kate: Ah…

When I looked up, pure white snowflakes danced in the clear sky.

Kate: Snow…At this time of the year?

Roger: Diamond dust*

Kate: Diamond dust?

Roger: A few days ago, we had some out of season snow. The snow that collected on the building’s now being blown down by the wind.

Kate: Oh, how fascinating. …It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

Kate murmured as she stared at the snow falling like petals.

Kate: There’s something I once heard. That people make up to 35,000 decisions a day. If one of them had been different, we wouldn’t be seeing this today.

As Kate says, life’s made up of countless choices.

(When the day ends, I’ll reveal the fairytale keeper agreement to Kate and leave the choice to her)

(I don’t think I should be involved)

(Kate decides what she wants to do with her life)

(...But)

Kate’s gaze, which was focused on the snow, suddenly turned to me.

Kate: I’m glad I got to meet you Roger through a miraculous coincidence.

(Ah, I see)

(Not immediately giving her the choice of whether or not to continue as a fairytale keeper)

(Not telling her that the moment when we’ll have to part ways is coming)

One unconscious thought assembles into a big motive.

(I still want to be with the little lady, don't I?)

Just as the falling snow reminds me to look up at the sky, Kate’s words remind me of how I feel.

Feelings are too simple to ignore.

Roger: Pfft, haha…

Kate: Huh, what’s wrong?

Roger: It’s nothing.

Hey, Kate. There’s one more place I’d like to go.

–

Roger: Oh, so this is where you used to live.

Kate: Yes. Looks like Victor’s still paying the rent. For when I come back one day.

Kate surveyed the place in nostalgia.

She muttered something before I could show her the agreement form.

Kate: If my time as a fairytale keeper’s coming to an end, then we’ll have to part ways.

Roger: Kate, here.

Kate: A letter of agreement…to continue as a fairy tale keeper?

Kate blinked as I told her everything.

She then nodded once, as if understanding everything.

Roger: Originally, I’m the one that’s supposed to sign it. But I think the choice should be yours, Kate.

Kate: I knew that you, who told me that I should “think for myself”, would say something like that.

Roger: The choice is yours, but let me tell you how I feel first.

I closed the gap between us and examined her expression.

And then I placed a hand on her head.

Roger: Kate, I’d die of boredom without you. I’d miss you. So stay as a fairytale keeper.

Kate: Roger…

Roger: So, what are you going to do, Kate? Continue being a fairytale keeper? Or are you going to say farewell-to me.

*He says 風花 which is “snow on a clear day” but that felt weird to use in this exchange. Though I don’t know if diamond dust is the right term to use either given where the snow came from.