#i wish there was any easy way to find all these alternate names for the food souls

[clarrolx]

can you give me some yusheng (shunde raw fish) facts please? he's my favorite but i didn't finish his event due to my weak team :(( thank you!!

Aaaaa!!! Thank you! For asking!

I'm sorry you didn't get to finish, but depending on how far you got some of what I'm about to say may be repetitive, sorry about that.

For others, Shunde Raw Fish is also called Yusheng in the event, and Hazel Grouse Soup is called Feilong. It's shorter to type, so I'm going to refer to them as that lol

During the latter half of the event, Yusheng and Feilong get body swapped, they both have a hard time controlling each other's bodys.

But it's when Feilong finds out just how strong Yusheng's body is that Yusheng shares that the reson he won't fight Feilong is because he once lost control of his strength and ended up drowning a whole village. He's been scared of his own strength ever since.

There's another reason as well. Once he fully accepts and uses the strength called 'The Dragon King's Will', his father, the current dragon king and leader of the Oceanids will pass on. Yusheng will get all the power and responsibility at once!

Anyways, that absolutely happens. I actually have the final chapter, before the epilogue recorded on my phone so I'll see if I can figure out how to upload it. It had a fully voiced song. The hype was very real.

Important because Yusheng tries to sacrifice himself at the end, but Feilong runs in and takes his place and dies and it was all very gay. Like if anyone wants to ship them, the material is everywhere

After everything in the event, we get to see that Yusheng has become the king of the oceanids. Also, mc was able to bring back Feilong by remaking the dish and using the Tale of Food. But it took a year, he also doesn't remember anything and immediately tries to fight Yusheng again lol

Other random facts I have gathered because I was lucky enough to roll him:

- He's a great cook

- He fasts intermittently due to the fish used for Shunde Raw Fish being starved for a bit for the dish.

- Yusheng has no qualms about using his sword for cooking, it's also good training to him apparently lol

- MC and Yusheng spar and train together.

- He rides dolphins around sometimes for practice balancing

- Both Yusheng and Feilong earned their way to becoming dragons. Though, Feilong was supposed to be a Phoenix but trained as a dragon. Sweet dumb boy.

Sorry this isn't super coherent and I don't have too much more. I haven't had the chance to up his affection much. I'll post the finale video soon, so if anyone wants to check it out.

Thank you so much for sending this ask. Please ask more if you want or jump into my dms, I don't bite ^^

[the-one-and-only-elita]

One thing that I absolutely love about TFOne's writing is that it manages to avoid a lot of the heavier criticism I've seen regarding MegOp's hero/villain dynamic over the years (trust me, the mid-2010s TF discourse was crazy)

*Spoilers Below*

First of all, the narrative benefits so much from the main 4 cast members all being a part of the same exploited mining class. So many takes on MegOp have Orion being of a higher status (an archivist, a cop, etc) while Megatron is much lower down on the social latter (a miner, a gladiator, often in the context of being a slave).

I've seen many people be put off by this, because it feels as if Megs is being villianized for being rightfully angry at the system that deeply harmed and exploited him, while Orion/Optimus is praised for taking a more pacifistic stance despite him not suffering as much from or in some ways even benefiting from the system he claims to oppose. I don't find their dynamic to be as simple as that, and I do find these takes to be a bit reductive, but I do very much see where they are coming from.

I am definitely one of those people who's very frustrated with the way pacifism is hailed as the one true path of morality, and the inherent implication that taking any sort of revenge on the people who abused/exploited you makes you just as bad as them. Also, Marvel's particular brand of demonizing any form of radical political action, despite the system clearly being broken and corrupt, but being completely unwilling to offer any other alternatives to meaningfully change things for the better.

When looking at what I described above its pretty easy to see how a lot of versions of MegOp's hero/villain dynamic unfortunately fits into that trope. Bringing it back to TFOne, you can see how Op and Meg coming from the same political/social status subverts this. The existence of Elita and Bee only further illustrates that out of the 4 people of the mining class who were all deceived, exploited, and literally mutilated in the same way it is only D-16 that completely loses himself to his rage, even to the point where he loses compassion for his own companions and disregarding the safety of the other miners (when he decides to "tears everything down" and Elita exclaims he's going to "kill everyone").

What I think I love most about the characterization in TFOne is that Orion is the radical one. Not only that, but he is praised by Elita and by extension the narrative for it. He is constantly challenging authority, and is the first to have the suspicion that their society is structured in an unjust way.

Meanwhile D-16, to be frank, is kind of a bootlicker. He fully believed in the system and that Sentinal Prime, as someone with power, had the right to decided "what was best" for those who are weaker/lesser (I wish I had the specific quote from D-16 to support this, but the movie's still in theaters). It illustrate that D-16 already held certain fascistic ideals, and that he and Orion already have fundamentally opposing moral/political values, it simply hasn't been of any consequence yet. It shows that their eventual falling out was inevitable, even if they had decided to rebuild Cybertron together.

It should also be noted that D-16's feelings of anger and betrayal do not necessarily have anything to do with the unjust system itself, but that said unjust system was predicated on a lie. Hence his fixation on deception in the post-credits scene and him naming his faction the Decepticons. Meanwhile, when Orion learns the truth he's just sort of like "yeah, I always kinda knew something was up" because again, he understood on some level that their system was predicated on injustice.

Even D-16's obsession with Megatronus Prime, while initially an endearing aspect of his character, is also an indicator of the questionably large amount of value he puts on one's strength. It foreshadows the "might makes right" ideology that the decepticons follow, and is a key part of their ideological characterization across continuities.

Instead of the narrative we often see in Transformers media were Optimus is idolized by the narrative for being more moderate and Megatron is villiainized for being radical (or so people often claim), it is instead Optimus who is rewarded and praised by the narrative for being radical, and Megatron who is villainized and punished by the narrative for holding potentially fascistic values.

I do agree with some criticism I've seen that the whole thing with killing Sentinel and D-16's final turn into villainy felt a bit rushed and more than a little cliche, but I also understand it both had a limited runtime and that it is ultimately a family film meant to be accessible to children. More importantly though, I think the movie set the groundwork early on that, no matter how this final act played out, D-16 was always going to turn to darkness, and Orion would not have been able to stop him.

Its perfectly tragic, the way all MegOp should be, while also feeling really well thought out from a thematic standpoint. I love it.

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[fkinavocado]

a very indulgent exploration of what could've, should've been...

Don't Worry Darling (SPIN-OFF) - Masterlist, Author’s Notes & Warnings / alternatively, read on wattpad

Part One (word count: 6.2k)

“... Jack? Excuse me, Jack? Is that really you?”

The man reluctantly stopped in his tracks and turned around, recognizing the woman but having forgotten her name. “Oh… hi there, uhm…?”

“Emma. It’s Emma. You remember me, right?”

“Yeah, you’re, uhm… you used to work at the hospital…”

Emma approached him, noting he wasn’t keen on breaching the gap himself. Poor fellow, she thought. He looked a mess. She was surprised she’d even recognized him. “Oh, I’m still at the hospital! How are you, Jack? You know, we’re all worried about you. Why didn’t you take us up on our offer, hm? We’d have loved to help you any way we could… It can’t have been easy. Gloria told us she came over once with a home cooked casserole but no one answered the door. She assumed you’d moved. Which is good, we thought. But we couldn’t get a hold of you, you must’ve also changed your number…”

Jack wasn’t really making eye contact. His gaze downcast, a hoodie atop of a beanie on his head and an oversized, worn out puffer jacket that almost swallowed him up. He looked very poorly even hidden behind all that. His facial hair unkempt, as was his hair tucked underneath his beanie, seemingly longer strands of it all messy and straw-like peeking out. His glasses loose at his temples. His face was hollow cheeked and she really feared he wasn’t looking after himself properly at all. But what really stood out to her was the bouquet of flowers he was carrying.

“Yeah… I moved out of there. Too many memories.”

“Those were her favourite… pink roses,” she mused. “You miss her so, don’t you, Jack? You can’t even bear talking to me about her, you poor man, even after all this time… What must you be going through… do you– agh. This is so insensible of me to even ask. Forgive me. But if it’s any consolation, us at the hospital haven’t given up hope. We still think she’s out there, somewhere, our Alice…”

Jack cleared his throat and took a step back. “I should get going…”

“Of course. Do take care of yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to reach out, you know where to find us. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,...” he stammered a bit, not knowing what else to say. He walked for a while in the wrong direction, just in case the nosy woman decided to follow him. 

He hadn’t moved. That would’ve been near impossible, and since he managed to dodge the bullet while the police were sniffing around for the longest time, he figured there wasn’t any reason to do so anymore. But he couldn’t have her know that, which is why he never answered the door to the other woman with the casserole either. 

After making sure she wasn’t following him, he resumed his walk home. He wished he could find some type of work from home. He’d be saving so much time and money on the commute, plus he’d always be there, which was quite imperative, all things considered.

What if there was a power outage? The one time that’d happened, there’d been dire consequences. Consequences he hadn’t had to endure. And he simply couldn’t allow that to happen again.

There were so many things that could go wrong while he wasn’t home.

Plus, if he worked remote he could take on a full shift. As it was, he had to work part-time, which wasn’t nearly enough to make ends meet. But the commute and all the prep he had to do were taking up too much time, time he didn’t want to waste here.

Finally arriving home, he made sure to secure the front door- the lock and all 3 of the bolts. 

Checking the computer screen, he only had 40 minutes left. The woman had made him late, what with all the detours he had to make to be sure she wasn’t following him.

Canned tuna it was, then. Again. No time for cooking. Not that he had much in the fridge anyway. 

He always felt antsy between the time he got back home and logging in. He wanted to get everything done and out of the way as soon as possible- cooking, laundry, cleaning (more like tidying up, the apartment was far from clean even by his standards), everything on autopilot, peeking at the computer screen every now and then to make sure he didn’t miss his log-in window.

With 20 minutes to spare, that was his que. 

“Oh!” He rushed back to the kitchen to retrieve the flowers, then using the keys that he wore on a chain around his neck for safekeeping, he unbolted yet another set of locks on the bedroom door. 

There she was. 

His heart always swelled in his chest seeing her there, safe and sound. Everyday day, without fail, a sigh of relief escaped his lips once he entered the bedroom. He’d probably never stop worrying while he was away for work.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time…” he hummed the lyrics to a song he used to sing to her often, placing the flowers in a vase by the bed. “Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” He sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress her supple cheek. “But I love you the most.”

Jack knew he did. Who else would do all this for her? Nobody! He tended after her, emptied out her waste bags as well as checked the respective connecting catheters were secure in place, cleaned her up, all without so much as wrinkling his nose. He replaced the IV, taking note that there was some bruising on that arm so he made sure to switch, he removed her compressive socks and massaged her limbs thoroughly before putting them back on, even made sure to hydrate her lips though she was getting all her nutrients through her IV, hell- he thought of everything. He did it all for her happily, and would do much more if needed. 

She’d done so much for them, too. 

She still did!

But long gone were the days where he’d see her come home from back to back shifts at the hospital, with barely any time to get some sleep in before she had to head back, all because she had to support the both of them all while paying off her student loans. 

Medschool was so expensive. Had he met her before he’d have talked her out of that career path. He’d have talked her out of any career! No. That was his job. He was the caretaker. He was the breadwinner. It’d been like that since the beginning of time. It was only natural for the man to provide. The fact that she’d had to for all that time had been killing him, every day that he had to sit at home and wait for her to get back from the hospital only to see her defeated, exhausted, drained beyond belief. 

Resident doctors were paid shit but strung out to the max. Especially surgeons. 

Meanwhile, Jack had struggled to find a job for the longest time. Unlike her, he hadn’t gone to college, let alone university. His parents couldn’t afford it at the time and he knew better than to tie himself up in student loans. He’d had odd jobs but nothing really ever stuck. He had no real skills, and every entry job demanded some form of higher education nowadays.

Plus, someone had to do house chores, cook and clean. And they couldn’t afford help. 

It’d been eating him up inside. It was all backwards! 

All up until he’d met someone online and got to talking over a game of World of Warcraft. This guy swore up and down about this dark web programme he’d found, but it was all very hush-hush, and Jack had to put in some serious gameplay time until he managed to extricate the info out of him.

The guy was very paranoid about telling him and even used a code system for what to look up. Jack took the lead and before long, he fell down the rabbit hole of what he now knew to be the Victory Project.

He got so immersed trying to digest all this new info being thrown his way all of a sudden that he nearly got caught listening to one of the podcasts when she’d gotten home from the hospital one day. He’d even forgotten to call the plumber. Boy- had that pissed her off.

She was already on edge all the time. Never had any time for him anyway- but if she got upset over silly little things she shut him out completely. 

He felt emasculated. Rejected. Reduced to a housewife.

Jack smirked to himself, as he tended to her whilst pondering all that. Securing the straps back around her wrists he mused at how things had changed. “I fixed it for us, I told you I would. Now you’re the one who’s waiting for me just as we speak. And I don’t even come home to you in scrubs, do I? No, I come home to you all handsome, suit and tie and ready to get my fill of you. Never too tired for you, am I darling? You’re such a great cook, god knows my mouth waters just thinking of all you’ve slaved over for us to feast on, but all I wanna do is feast on you instead. Aren’t you lucky?”

Jack watched her expressionless eyes for a moment as if waiting for her to answer him back, and promptly remembered to apply her eye drops, noticing they looked extra blood-shot than normal. He then finally got comfy in bed next to her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He was hard already just in anticipation of the way she’d excitedly open the door for him. The door to their lavish home, and their extravagant life together that he’d earned for the two of them. Him. 

He fixed the device around his own eyes and turned it on, taking her hand in his. 

“Welcome to the Victory Project. There are currently 72 active users.”

Nothing beat this. The pleasant, warm afternoon air sweeping through his perfectly coiffed hair as he rushed to get home to her from the Victory Headquarters. Here, the weather was always perfect… whereas, in the apartment, he had to keep the heating on a lower setting, the bill was ridiculous during the colder months. He always had to wear layers and layers, but not in the bedroom- no, he kept a radiator in there. All for her. He had to switch it off for safety reasons while he was away at work but it wasn’t like she was aware of her surroundings anyway! All the more reasons why he had to find something remote so he could work from home and clear up all these little things that bugged him about the whole arrangement. 

But he didn’t want to think about all that, not while he was here. No, here, those problems didn’t exist. This was his preferred reality, this was what he chose to believe was real. All the rest was just a means to an end.

He could feel all his exhaustment leave his body the closer he got to the house. He seldom wondered why she couldn’t have done the same for him coming back from the hospital. Why she couldn’t just leave all that baggage at the door and be glad to be home, back to him, where he waited for her like a lovesick puppy with separation anxiety.

He knew the answer to that now, of course, and that was all Frank’s merit- the brain behind this whole thing. He’d listened to his podcasts for a long while before he enrolled into the program. There was no way she could ever respect him within their given dynamic at the time. The roles were reversed and she couldn’t allow herself to be a woman to her man.

He’d fixed it, though, and boy, had Frank been right.

Every day, without fail, he knocked on the door coming home from work and there she was- all smiles and carefree and so eager to please him, in any way he saw fit. All because she respected him now. He was the man of the house, he was the breadwinner, he put a roof over her head, he got her all her little heart desired and kept her satisfied and happy. 

Which is why when nobody answered the door he was a bit taken aback.

Using his key that he’d rarely ever had to use himself to unlock the door, he let himself in and carefully inspected the silent house.

He knew, realistically, that there was no way something could’ve gone wrong- there was no crime in Victory. No one had broken into their home. But still, he searched the house tentatively. “Alice?”

Everything was spotless, and most striking of all, he couldn’t smell a trace of the homecooked meal he’d so been looking forward to. That tuna was enough to sustain his physical body, but not his large appetite.

Reaching the bedroom, he furrowed his brows with worry upon finding her… sleeping. Passed out on the bed, clad in her street clothes. She’d seemingly come back home from town exhausted and must’ve stretched her bones a bit by the looks of it. 

He contemplated waking her up. Maybe crawling between her thighs and having her gasp awake at the feel of him lapping languidly at her folds. He loved waking her up like that, and she did too. She loved being loved on, and Jack absolutely loved pleasuring her. She was so much more responsive, so much more sensitive to his touch, he could pleasure her over and over for hours on end. Probably ‘cause of all the practice he was having on a regular basis. And maybe he adjusted some settings regarding his stamina while creating his profile too, but at the end of the day, why not? He did it for her. All of this was for her!

Jack grunted to himself before closing the door to the bedroom so he wouldn’t perturb her sleep, deciding last minute to forgo his initial plans. Funny he’d been reminiscing about how things used to be just in time for this to happen all of a sudden.

It must’ve been a glitch in the system or something. This wasn’t in line with what he’d designed for themselves. Here, they were never tired, ill or imperfect in any way. Jack made a mental note to look into this after he logged out.

In the meanwhile- he’d never tried his hand at cooking here, where presumably he’d be a lot better at it than he was in reality. 

Just like with everything else.

*

Alice blinked her eyes awake. She took in her surroundings and hesitantly stood up on the bed in the dark room, letting her sight adjust. 

How did she get back here? Not here, here. She had an inkling of how she’d managed that- but back to the house, from the Headquarters. She couldn’t remember making the trek back.

Maybe she didn’t have to.

Maybe this was the default setting she woke up to everytime after entering… the simulation. Because, what else was this if not that?!

How long was she out of it? Judging by the darkness surrounding her, a good few hours. Perking her ears up, she could hear music- so Jack was home too.

She cradled her knees to her chest, trying to let it all sink in. She hadn’t had time to properly digest what had happened, in her unconscious state.

Hell, she was surprised she could even remember.

But this explained it… explained all the fuzzy deja vu-like flashbacks she kept having. Explained her brain fog and all the things she just couldn’t follow through in her train of thought. Explained why she sometimes couldn’t account for most of her day until Jack came home from work, almost as if she’d been on auto-pilot. 

Explained all the vivid “dreams”. 

They weren’t fanciful dreams, idealistic wishes of a progressive feminist world for which she’d gotten shock therapy at the Victory’s doctor’s orders.

They were her memories.

Waking up tied down to that bed… her own bed, from another life, had been traumatic, but she clearly was still in shock to be so calm about it. 

She hadn’t been calm initially of course- not when she couldn’t move her arms or blink her eyes shut. 

She’d managed to slip out of the confines, her wrists weak and frail and barely recognizable, yanking her IV out of her vein by accident- she hadn’t even known it was there!, all in an effort to get those things that forced her eyes open off of her face.

She’d been hysteric. Tried to muffle her own screams, because she didn’t know who was around to hear them. Tried to calm herself down, but the more she noticed, the more she hyperventilated. Like the fact that had both urinary and rectal catheters sticking out of her. Then she noticed how emaciated she looked, almost like she couldn’t even recognize her own body. She couldn’t feel her limbs, she felt numb and achy all over, bruises all across her skin from sitting still for so long. Her throat was hoarse, she couldn’t really scream that loud even if she wanted to.

She’d fumbled out of bed and immediately collapsed to the floor. She was too weak to stand, and she prayed she hadn’t broken any bones in her fall. She sat there crying in a fetal position for god knows how long, thinking of all the fractures she’d fixed in the OR, and all her knowledge that had gone to waste. 

All her life that had gone to waste!

This room, this bedroom- her old life came back to her in a flash, flooding all her senses. It felt like everything was finally clicking into place, and despite how miserable and utterly devastated she felt, it was a relief to finally figure it out. 

With the way nobody came rushing into the bedroom, she knew she was alone. Unless Jack was at this computer, headphones on– oh god. She felt her mind split into two trying to reconcile the fact that these two very different men were one and the same!

She was alone strapped to the bed- which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t constrained like she was. He hadn’t been forced into this. Unless they were being kept separate… both victims of this sick mindfuck. 

Because… surely– surely Jack couldn’t be behind this.

… Could he?

Scrambling for the door, determined to get some answers, she reached for the doorknob.

When she couldn’t get it to open, she mustered up all her strength to stand up- but still- it was no use. It was locked. And with the way it felt it looked like the door had been tampered with, bolted shut from the outside, not just locked. 

She was trapped. A prisoner in her own home. She eyed the windows next and even if by some miracle they weren’t bolted shut too- she knew she was too weak to try and use the fire escape. She’d surely succumb to her death trying to evade. She needed a plan- a better plan.

Her brain was scurrying to come up with something-anything, all the while dry heaving at the sight of her waste bags still attached to her by those catheters and the overall stale smell of the room, but she knew that with how dehydrated she was, vomiting would take her out completely at that point. She head to keep it together, had to–

She’d heard what she recognized to be the front door. Her blood froze in her veins. She didn’t know who it was, she had no idea who was behind all this. She had no clue where Jack was, if he even was part of this– her heart told her no, he couldn’t have, but at this point she had no way of knowing what was real or not, let alone what this all meant.

She couldn’t risk being found conscious. She was clearly being kept in a comatose state, treated as one such patient at least, and the fact that she’d woken up from that induced state was definitely not intended to happen.

She remembered what had happened before she woke up like this- she’d reached the infamous, off limits Victory Headquarters. Because a plane had crashed in that direction, and the trolley driver didn’t believe her nor wanted to take her there!

She’d made the trek all the way there… it’d taken her ages, in the scorching sun- and finally, finally, she’d reached the imposing building, in hopes of finding some help or at least some answers at that point!

Next thing she knew, she’d woken up strapped to this bed. Her bed, in her old bedroom, from her old life that had been stolen away from her!

She needed to gather as much information as possible, and the only way she could do that was to get back into that bed and pretend she never came to.

There was no other way.

She hurried as best she could, barely making it back to the bed, made sure she was laid out in the same outstretched position. By some miracle, the catheters were still in place, their respective bags on the floor by the foot of the bed. The hardest part was fixing whatever that contraption was over her face and around her eyes. It dug deep into her flesh and she remembered to wipe any traces of tears from her face when new ones began rolling down her face. She was surprised her body could even produce them with how parched she felt. She then inserted the needle back into her bruised vein– which was sure to get infected at this rate, whoever was doing this to her was amateur at best, or they didn’t much care to keep her alive. She didn’t know which prospect was worse. She slipped her wrists back through the strap loops, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious she’d gotten them a bit loose when she struggled her way out of them. 

And then she’d waited. And waited. And waited. All the while a bright red light scanned her eyeballs systematically, no doubt whatever was used to induce her into that trance or whatever it was that created the optimal parameters for the alternate reality to take place. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. She couldn’t even begin to understand how it worked- all she knew was that it was all too real to be just a dream. No. That was a controlled environment. The world simulation came to her again.

Her whole body froze as she’d heard the lock, then what she counted to be 3 other bolts on the bedroom door. She could only see directly above her, and that barely- but she could hear him when he came in. 

Smell him, even. 

And it wasn’t the smell of expensive cologne she’d grown used to, but a more familiar smell. A smell that felt more real, more ingrained in her subconscious- that of clothes he’d dug out of the laundry hamper to wear a few more times when everything else was too dirty even for his own standards, mixed with canned tuna and the faintest amount of deodorant that did nothing to mask the fact that he’d skipped showering for a day or two.

Her heart sank when she heard him hum to himself the song that had been stuck in her mind for ages- the one she’d been humming herself but couldn’t remember where she knew it from. This is where she knew it from. It’d been their song, in a way, a song he’d made up just for her.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time… Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” She felt him sit on the edge of the bed and tried her best not to flinch when he leaned in to caress her cheek. “But I love you the most.”

She could feel her eyes well up with tears. Tears she couldn’t even blink away. 

He then started tending to her and she mustered up all of her willpower not to lurch at him when he’d gotten her out of her restraints- she knew she was no match for him, not in her weakened state by any means.

He was doing this to her. It was him! All while declaring his love for her. She felt her heart break into a million pieces, all the while forcing herself not to make any movements and break her cover. Not even when he cleaned her with wet wipes up and checked the catheters, emptying the waste bags. God- she wished she was dead. For a while she zoned out completely, much like rape victims. She just let it happen to her, dissociating from her body completely, mentally checking out.

He’d eventually poured what must’ve been eyedrops into her sockets and that brought her back to reality. Whatever reality was anymore…

And then… to her utter shock, she felt him get in bed next to her. The familiar clank of the device she’d placed back onto herself could be heard and she realized he was putting on the same headgear. 

He was… joining her? He was willingly putting himself through this? Sure, he wasn’t forced into it against his will, there was nobody strapping himself to the bed, nobody feeding him through an IV and treating him like a comatose patient.

But he was entering the simulation the same way she was. Through that headgear.

Is this what he did everyday while he was “at work”? Was this the infamously secret Victory Project that she couldn’t even ask him about- exiting that alternate reality and coming back here?

She heard him switch it on and then the whole room went dark before a projector of sorts played a familiar black and white scene on the ceiling, above the bed. She felt him interlace his fingers with hers and she was done for- she couldn’t fight it. Whatever this was, it was working fast, making her slip into unconsciousness almost immediately.

Followed directly after by her waking up in her other bedroom. Unrestrained. Nothing to force her eyes open. Clean. Rejuvenated even.

But scared shitless.

Traumatised.

Heartbroken.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, trying to make sense of it all in the darkness. Thankful to be able to move freely, thankful to feel like her old self, but well aware that it was all an illusion, that her real self was held hostage somewhere god knows where. Helpless, frail and alone.

She felt conflicted. Why was he doing this?! Why had he done this to her? She’d heard him say he loved her most. Heard he’d brought her flowers, even though she couldn’t even see them. Felt him tend to her, he was doing a lousy job at it but was keeping her alive and she could tell he was trying his best, being gentle, careful, thoughtful even when the reality was he didn’t have to. Not when, for all he knew, she was unconscious. 

This was insanity. 

There was no other explanation. No other justification. She understood the nuances- could see why this was- on paper- a better life. But it was fake! And most of all, it wasn’t her choice!

She’d been forced into it, against her will, without her even being aware of it! Her life had been robbed away from her. Her family, her friends, her hard work. The only common denominator… was Jack.

She didn’t know how to go about it, but if there was any chance of her escaping, she had to play dumb and pretend she knew nothing.

She wasn’t sure how she could face him knowing what she did, but she had to. She had to buy time, enough time until she could put her plan into motion. 

She didn’t know if she’d succeed, but she had to try. She had to. She had to escape, claim her life back, good or bad.

She got off the bed, marvelling at how strong and healthy she felt, as opposed to how she’d collapsed on the floor in her real body. That alone emboldened her, she had to go face the music.

And face the music she did. Jack had put a record on, blasting it at high volume with little consideration to her being asleep. No surprises there.

But as she approached the kitchen, she took in the sight of him… cooking. Or, trying to cook. 

Apparently, you couldn’t tweak everything in this alternate reality. Or maybe he didn’t care to fumble with his cooking skills. Because he’d definitely perfected some of his other skills–

“You’re awake!... I didn’t have time to set the table.”

“What’s going on?” She watched him scurry around the kitchen, trying to do a dozen things at once and failing. 

“Well, I’m making you dinner. Now, we were supposed to have five courses. Unfortunately, I think we’re down to about three.” 

She took note of the mess, especially the way something was about to catch on fire on the stove.

“That– don’t look at that. That course is officially off the menu.”

That’s when it clicked in her brain– the fucker had switched up his accent! He had a British accent here! Oh, she could laugh if she didn’t feel like murdering him. She reminded herself it wouldn’t be the real him she’d be murdering, though. No, for all she knew if she harmed him in any way here, she might end up trapped inside this simulation forever if her plan failed. Or until her real body died, with no one to tend for it, even as poorly as he was, in the real world.

She had to thread carefully. “What happened?”

“I got a little aggressive with the seasoning.”

“How long have you been home?”

“Uh, a few hours.” He proceeded to make even more of a mess in his attempt to jump from one dish to the next. “Okaaay. Nope. Don’t look at that. That’s– Okay, so I’m making that roast, you know the one you made for my birthday? Only with a few changes…”

“I was here when you got here?” 

“Yeah. Asleep in the bedroom. Do you put carrots in a roast?”

“How did I get home?” That was a reasonable question. Last thing she knew of this reality was she’d reached the Headquarters. She needed to know if anyone knew about it.

“Trolley, I think.”

“Wait, so he came out and got me?!”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Jack, I got off the trolley. I saw a plane crash.”

“Alice, I think I would’ve heard if there was a plane crash.”

“No, Jack, I saw it…”

“They tend to be rather loud…”

“... and I started walking–”

“–and hard to miss.”

It was dawning on her that she wasn’t going to milk any info on this out of him. He was going to pretend the plane never crashed, of course, whatever that even meant for this simulation. Or maybe the plane crashing was only visible to her version of this altered reality. She couldn’t know for sure. But he seemed unconcerned otherwise. She didn’t think he knew she’d gone there. She really must’ve re-entered right back into the bedroom, after all, she, along with all the other women, were never meant to go up there, the Headquarters were off-limits.

Meaning that was probably from where the men entered. Since they were the only ones who came and left. The women were probably all bound to their own respective beds back in the real world, they were never meant to leave the simulation. It made sense why she’d found herself back in the house- where she belonged. And it made sense if that was where the man entered and exited since that’s where they all allegedly went everyday for “work”.

Her heart sank at the realization that it was highly probable that all the other women were victims, just like her. Unless everything and everyone else was a simulation around them.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

She tried not to flinch when Jack finally noticed she’d zoned out whilst trying to process all of this, and touched her shoulder, taking a better look at her.

“No…I don’t know–I’m not…”

Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. That smell of expensive cologne hit her again, overriding the smell of stale clothes and canned tuna from her recent memory. And his embrace felt so familiar, so comforting, that for a moment she allowed herself to pretend like this was the person she knew to love her. The person she couldn’t wait to come back home from work everyday. The person that made her smile and laugh and moan and cry tears of happiness. She knew him well, she loved him with all her heart. And she was reluctant to accept that this man was the same that was keeping her strapped against the bed. Because that was the reality of it. 

But this version of Jack that was holding her felt so real as well…

“I had a really weird dream. A really weird dream…”

“I’m sorry.”

Her heart sank. Was he, sorry? She buried her face deeper into his chest and held her breath, stifling a sob as tears flooded her eyes immediately. She wanted to break down in his arms and ask him why he’d done this. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself. Wanted for him to somehow, magically, make it all better.

But she knew there was no way for him to do it. There was nothing he could say or do to justify what he’d done to her, even if his intentions didn’t seem as evil as they truly were to him.

Because she knew Jack. She knew he’d probably convinced himself somehow that this was the only way out of the miserable life they were living- and be it as it were, it was her life! He’d had no right to steal it from her like that. 

“Do you know what weird dreams make me? Hungry.” He fed her a carrot he was holding jokingly then turned her around as she chewed absentmindedly, her mind racing, still taking in the reality of what her life was. Or the alternate reality, more like it.

Jack cupped her face, searching her eyes and declared solemnly, “Alice, I want to be honest with you about something.”

She almost choked on the carrot she was chewing on. Was he–

“I don’t think these mashed potatoes are gonna work.”

She swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth at her naivete. “That’s because you need to boil them first, baby…”

“I knew it… I knew there was a step missing. Such an idiot,” he smiled bashfully.

She laughed at that. A manic laugh, but he didn’t seem to notice. Not at how incompetent he was at such a basic life skill- who the hell tries to mash raw potatoes?!- but at how hopeful she’d been for a moment there, believing he was about to confess everything just like that, out of the blue.

“Let me put a pot on…”

“No, no, no–”

“Come on, let me–”

“Make us some drinks. Relax.” He pulled her out of the kitchen and into the lounge, declaring “I am your chef tonight!”

Lord knew she desperately needed a drink at this point, so she sighed heavily, getting to it, when he stopped her in her tracks, “hey!”

“Hm?”

“You love me?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She replied like she used to, back in the real world. Something she didn’t remember ever doing here, but it just came to her by reflex now that her memory of her past life had come back to her fully. And for some reason that she couldn’t explain, she meant it, still. “The most.”

Jack seemed pleased with her answer, and resumed his ‘cooking’. Alice turned to the whiskey bottle and downed two doubles, one after the other. 

How was she ever going to get free when her stupid heart had meant what she said?

She couldn’t allow herself to be fooled by this false reality any longer. Couldn’t allow to slip into his arms again and pretend he loved her when this was anything but love. 

So she waited. Waited until he fell asleep that night (thankfully all the “cooking” had seemingly tired him out and he didn’t try anything)- praying this meant he was truly asleep.

Got dressed, tiptoed out of the house and geared up for a long journey to the Headquarters. She couldn’t risk taking the car and waking him or the neighbours up, alerting them with this unusual behaviour. There weren't any trolleys late at night by any means- everyone was sound asleep.

Everyone but her.

She was no longer asleep.

A/N: i've been meaning to get to this for the longest while! hopefully it scratches some itches we've been left with. i had fun writing this first part. more to come 👀

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

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[malisorn]

✉ || 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary | Aemond and his way of showing you his love through gifts. And one time where you showed your love back to him ๋࣭ ⭑

Warnings & Suggestions | No warnings at all, Soft!Aemond, Fluff, Happy Marriage, No physical description of reader

Notes | Another sweet and soft fluff to rot your tooth.

A necklace of gold, each pendant is either amethyst or sapphire, alternating and complimenting each other at the same time. They are glimmering, beautiful and daring-

“Do you like it?” you looked up to him, realized that you have been staring at the necklace far too long, a sentence barely formed in your thought “It's…… you shouldn't have, it's too-” It's unduly, especially for the first courting between you and the prince. “It'd match you well, my lady.” Worry runs across your body until his hands touch your hair, placing a necklace on your neck. Now, you are blushing hard “Thank you, my prince.” 

Moons have passed and soon enough, you will wed your future husband in the holy place of Grand Sept. You find it hard to sleep, thinking of every little things. Aemond has been kind to you ever since the first courting, showering you with gifts of the greatest value. The jewelry hanging on your dressing table is a proof of it. You couldn't help but worry that all this gesture would disappear the second you married him.

As you fell into a deep sleep, you dreamed of dragons. You recognize Vhagar from the large size and the mighty face. Beside Vhagar was an ivory dragon of a smaller size, yet the air around that beautiful dragon brightened everything. There was gold tracing around. You've never read or seen any dragons like this in real life. The two creatures are flying together through the highest sky, sounds of roaring and wings clapping wake you up to the early morning. You think of the dream as you prepare for the day. Once you are done, you quickly make your way to Aemond and tell him of the dream, how captivating it is that you wished to be stuck there for eternity. 

On the wedding night, while you wait for your husband patiently. He comes in and takes you to a mysterious chest with dragons carved on the surface. You gasped at the sight of the creamy-and-gold dragon egg. It was stoned and old, yet the scales were exactly how you saw in your dream. “How did you get this?” your fingers traced the egg's scales, just like the dream. “A merchant sold me this in a great deal, it was stolen and stoned but it's still beautiful.” his hands reach your waist to hold you tight. “Such a coincidence it is, must have been a good sign for our marriage” you smile at his thoughtfulness, “Thank you, my husband.”

As the wedding passed, your marriage has turned into everything you have dreamed of. You and your husband have spent time together more freely. You told him about your interests, especially flowers, how pleasant you felt when you looked at them or how proud it is to plant and water them as they grew and bloom. It's like all your worries being blown away by the soft wind. But he doesn't seem as interested in it, so you try to keep it to yourself.

Failed, you keep mentioning them, how you heard there was a talking tree and even a talking bird in the Summer Isles, how there were the most exotic roses anyone could find in the maze of Highgarden, how you wanted to see all of them in person or at least read more about them. It keeps going and you thought you had annoyed him until your name day.

He brings you a book of plants, flowers and trees ranging from the most common to the rarest. It tells all about their origins, symbolism and their own unique story. It was heavy and thick, the cover was carved in the shape of flowers. “I have Maester Orwyle found this for you, one of the oldest books in the Citadel, it was not an easy process, sweet wife of mine.” You couldn't believe he could get this for you. “Though this would not be the only gift from me.” your husband's words confused you a bit until you saw the look he gave you. “Thank you, Aemond.”

What a blessing it has been. Your marriage is fortunate to be full of love. Your husband did his duty as well as he cared deeply for you. You wore the jewelry he gave you, the silks imported from the furthest lands, the book in your hand for your name day. You were spoiled rotten and an idea crossed your mind.

He would've loved it, it would've been amazing. You keep thinking about it. This week, you've been distancing yourself from Aemond as you prepare the gift for him.

You requested a private supper with only your husband and you. He didn't question at first, but he was obviously eager to know why you suddenly wanted to have a private meal. When he arrives, you keep smiling at him, blushing at his words and it all ends when he rises. “Why a private supper?” You rise after him. “I just wanted a quiet time between us, that's all.” It is not a good lie and he doesn't seem convinced. “Tell me.” his tone is clear that whatever it is that you try to hide, you have to stop. “Fine” you groaned and took his hand as you lead your husband to the gift.

“I am not sure if you would like it but I wanted to let you know that I love you too. And you did so well, trying to show it to me.” You said to him as you brought out the gift. He instantly knew what it was and, undeniably, he softly smiled.

A Longsword made of Dragonglass, sharp and light. On the hilt was a gemstone of Sapphire, to match his left-eye. All was jet black but at the heart of the sword was brightened with blue stone. It was simple, perfectly made just for him and it meant everything.

“Do you like it?” he looked up to you. You look like an angel from this view. He nodded, finding it hard to express himself in words. You immediately hug him, “Be careful!” He shouted as the sword still lays on him. You didn't seem to care though, he simply accepted your warm embrace. What has he done to deserve you? To have someone beside him who cares this much. There are many moments in which he knew he had to protect you, but in this second, he vowed he would burn everything down if anyone dared to touch you and he would go across the known world just to see your smile. “Thank you, my love.”

masterlist for more

images' credits ๋࣭ ⭑

Casket of jewels on a table principally of German Origin - Pieter Gerritsz. van Roestraten

The Marquise de Pezay, and the Marquise de Rougé with Her Sons Alexis and Adrien - Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun

Pronk Still Life with Holbein Bowl, Nautilus Cup, Glass Goblet and Fruit Dish - Willem Kalf

[multific]

The Same Mistake

K'uk'ulkan x Reader

A/N: Alternate version of Second Chance. 

You were once a Queen, now you were a traitor. 

The people who used to respect and love you, turned against you and chased you out of the water.

Along with the love of your life, K'uk'ulkan or you should probably call him, Namor.

The man who once loved you more than anything. The man who promised you everything.

Turned against you all because you refused to fight. 

He was ready for a war against Wakanda and the entire world. He wanted to burn it all down. He wanted you by his side. 

But you refused.

And so, you were chased away.

Thankfully, the Wakandans were extremely kind people, Shuri offered you a home near the river. Even if you told her you couldn't return to the water.

Namor said he would personally come to kill you if you do.

And so, you and your baby had to learn to live above water.

Your baby, as you often ran your hand down your belly, was the very reason you refused to participate in the fights.

Your baby was the reason you didn't wish to burn the world along with Namor. 

You refused to give birth to your child and bring them to a world of misery and pain.

If because of that, you were said to be a traitor, so be it.

When you refused to fight, your child was only a suspicion of yours, you weren't sure if you were really pregnant or not.

Wakanda was even kind enough to guide you to a lake. A lake not connected to any other water, in there you gave birth to your daughter.

Your beautiful daughter who looked just like your husband.

She became your everything. It broke your heart that she might never see Talokan.

But you will try your best to show her that not all people on the surface are bad.

Once she was of age, you often brought her with you to the market. Almost everyone knew the little Princess by now. Kindly named after her grandmother, Fen was a true ray of sunshine.

She was only two months old, but she was already laughing and giggling at everyone.

But she did look a lot like her father.

Her ears pointy as his, but she didn't have any wings on her ankles. She had your smile and nose, but his eyes. She was a spitting image of her father.

Which really gave you a big challenge.

You tried to hate Namor. Tried to resent him for sending you away and for tearing himself away from a child he didn't even know existed.

But you had to be strong for Fen and for yourself.

Shuri often invited you over to the palace. Just casually talking as she showed you her newest projects.

Much like today. 

Nakia took your baby from you so you could have a couple quiet moments.

You laughed along with Shuri when the door busted open. Okoye followed in two Talokan soldiers.

"As I said, she is busy!" Okoye yelled at the three men. 

"Princess. We wish to speak." said Namor.

You were frozen in your seat. The entire room went quiet as you refused to look at him.

"I'll take my leave." you quickly said before turning to run out and find Nakia and your daughter.

Even just being near him was extremely difficult.

You soon found your daughter as you took her into your arms and ran out of the palace. But of course, it wasn't that easy, because just as you were about to leave, Namor was standing in the doorway, still talking to Shuri but everyone noticed you.

You slightly tightened your grip around your daughter as you tried to work your way around the two soldiers. 

But of course, it was more difficult than it needed to be.

Your daughter was getting fussy as the man in front of you still didn't move.

"Let me leave." you begged in your native language, but the soldier didn't move.

"You are holding a true treasure," said Namor behind you. Thankfully, you were hiding her from the people around you, covering her ears.

"I'm only a traitor, let me leave." you asked once more but no one moved. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Namor approaching you from behind as she took a step closer to you, trying to see your baby.

You suddenly turned and looked into his eyes.

The same eyes your daughter had.

"Let me leave." you said once more before Namor nodded and the soldier moved, you rushed out.

"She married someone?" asked Namor from Shuri who refused to answer instead she turned and walked back to her lab.

But the thought didn't leave Namor.

You were the love of his life, yet you found someone else so quickly. He felt betrayed on a whole new level. 

And in his anger, which blinded him greatly, he went to your home. Ready to kill the man who dared to take you from him.

He swam up the river and easily found you, he could hear you sing softly as he approached the window. He was flying as he looked inside, hiding in the dark night, he watched you, your child on your shoulder, sleeping as you bounced her.

Then as you turned Namor saw her ears. The little ears which looked exactly like his.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

You put Fen to bed before returning to the living room, ready to clean up when you nearly jumped out of your skin as you noticed Namor standing by the opened balcony door.

"I never entered your waters! You have to leave!" you said but he didn't move.

You noticed how his eyes changed. His expression was completely different from the previous one. No more anger can be seen. 

"Why didn't you tell me I have a daughter?" you were taken aback. Did he see her before? Or did he come here for revenge and saw? 

Probably the latter, knowing him.

"You told me if I enter the water again, you would personally come to kill me. And you wouldn't hesitate."

"I thought you knew, I would never hurt you. I felt betrayed."

"How do you think I felt? One disagreement with you, and you sent me away. Declared me a traitor. I wasn't sure that I was pregnant. I didn't know back then. But I refused to give birth to a child into a burning world." he stayed quiet. "Please don't take her from me." you whispered, trying not to break down as you finally let fear enter you. 

He was powerful, more powerful than you, a God.

He could do anything he wanted.

Your statement seems to strike him.

"I could never. I thought you found someone else, and got over our centuries-old love so easily, I'm happy I was wrong. I thought... we tried so much... I thought we couldn't have children."

"I wasn't expecting it either. But when I showed signs... you were talking about a fight and war." when you sensed to anger in him, you also calmed. "Do you want to see her?" it didn't take him long to say yes.

You guided him to her room, in there she slept in her little crib.

"She is just like you, but she can go far longer than you without water."

"What's her name?"

"She was named after a very strong and kind woman. Her name is Fen." you watched as he reached out, running a finger down her face.

"After my mother... she is beautiful." 

"She is a very happy baby. Always smiling and giggling at people."

There was a couple minutes of silence when he just kept staring at her. 

"You need to return to Talokan. She needs to be with her people."

"No." he suddenly turned to look at you. "You sent me away, you said you don't want me anymore, that you don't love me anymore. I can't put her through the same."

"It was anger and fear talking not me. I never stopped loving you." 

"You say that now, but what happens when we have another disagreement?"

"Do you still love me?" he suddenly asked.

"I do. But I need to think of her as well. If you throw us out or me out... I wouldn't survive that." he moved to stand in front of you.

"I swear to you, on my own life on our people's lives on the secrecy of Talokan that this will never happen again. Ever." he could tell you were still unsure.

"I will stay here with her, you could come and visit. I want you to prove it to me, to us, you will need to gain my trust again." he nodded, understanding your decision. 

"I will come every day when I can." you nodded this time.

He spent a couple more minutes looking at her before he left.

You were so nervous, you decided to sleep with her in your bathtub. 

The fear of him taking her from you was too big.

---

As he promised, he arrived the next day, although you weren't in your home. He decided to wait.

He soon saw you return with your daughter in one hand, the other holding a bag of food. 

Fen was currently too occupied with your necklace to see the man.

"Let me get that for you." he said as he took the bag from your hand, his eyes never leaving his daughter. "She looks like you." he said as he followed you into the home.

"I think she looks more like you." You whispered as you began to prepare some lunch. 

"I can hold her if you want, so you can move around." he saw your grip tighten around Fen. "You think I would take her from you? You think of me as a monster who would separate a mother from their child?"

"You separated me from my home, my people and from my husband." your reply cut deep with him. But he couldn't deny the truth. "But you also know that I wouldn't stop at anything if you do take her from me."

"I won't take her from you. And I do know what you are capable of, yes." with that, you slowly lifted her off of your hip, she made a noise of confusion before she looked at the stranger to who she was handed to.

"Hello, My Little One. I'm your father, I'm sorry I wasn't here before." Fen was quiet, was too quiet, it was completely uncharacteristic of her. It did worry you but soon her attention drifted to Namor's necklaces. "She is much like you. You also adore my jewels," he smirked as he looked at you but you were too busy preparing lunch.

He knew that with these small steps, he will be able to get you back. And he will make sure to never make the same mistake again. 

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[bbystark]

♡ yandere!posion ivy x reader ♡

summary: ivy meets a cute flower shop owner and decides to (kidnap) take her home. mdni

a/n: request for @brainrotqueen :)

you grew up in gotham, inherited a flower shop from your now retired father. it was hard, barely paid the bills some months. but you enjoyed it, often experimenting with growing other plants to try to make some extra money.

ivy first came upon you when she was strolling around, wanting to get flowers for harley after she had broken up with joker- again.

she had walked into your shop and grabbed a random bouquet of red flowers, prettily arranged with black tissue paper. you swore that your plants scattered across the store leaned towards her.

she had noticed you had orchids behind your little counter, and a bonsai tree next to the register. she was impressed, those weren't easy to keep alive. "a bonsai?" she quirked her head at you.

"oh, yes. his name is benjamin. it was my fathers, he's a pain to keep alive."

she gives you a thoughtful hum, thanking you when you hand her the change. you don't see her again after that.

but she sees you, after one conversation she was hooked. she started following you around gotham, telling all her friends that you were off limits. if anything happened to you, they would have to answer poison ivy.

she isn't a bad person deep, deep down, just very misunderstood. as most villains were. she would sometimes send low life criminals crying and shaking into your shop, saying "need $500 worth of flowers please." setting crumbled handfuls of bills on your counter.

that'll teach him to pickpocket, ivy would think.

you shamefully took the money each time, wanting to give yourself a little room to breathe financially. besides, you weren't breaking any laws, you gave the men the flowers. it was a simple business transaction.

ivy watches you when you're at home, watering your plants. she learns you name them all and finds the little quirk warming her heart.

starts leaving you exotic flowers she grows when she thinks about you. some on your bed, some in the flower shop.

you figured it was your dad, at least that's what you told yourself to keep from freaking. you didn't have time for the alternative and the gotham pd weren't that helpful anyway.

you were sooo wrong. a few weeks later after ivy sees you flirting with another girl, getting her number and smiling to yourself as you walk away. something in ivy snaps.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

you wake up in a soft chair, hands and feet bound by vines. your head is pounding, seeing double when you finally peak your eyes open. after a few moments you're slightly more lucid, and you start to panic. whimpers leave your mouth and the chair scrapes across the floor with your attempts at breaking the vines.

ivy is at your side suddenly, gently cooing and stroking your shoulders. "it's okay, i'm not gonna hurt you beautiful." she pets your hair.

she steps away and lets the vines uncurl from your wrists, leaving your legs bound. you're on them in a second, scratching at the vines, trying to get them loose.

ivy's finger twitches and they begin to tighten painfully, and you immediately get the point. you slam your back against the chair, hands gripping the arm rests.

they immediately loosen, letting blood back into your feet. you look at her as she smiles at you. you recognize her, finally. she had come in months ago and said something about your bonsai tree. of course you had crossed paths with one of the most notorious villains in gotham.

the last thing you remembered was being on the way back from the flower shop, and then it all goes blank. "did you drug me?" you mouth feels uncomfortably dry.

"just a little datura plant, had to make sure you didn't get all bruised up when i took you."

"took me?"

she nods, giving you another small smile. you wish she would stop doing that. you have so many questions, but above all else, you wanted to get out of there.

"are you thirsty?" you ignore her, staring at the vine covered floor. she leaves, and you look around. a shiver goes down your spine when you realize that that she has multiple plants that you sold in your shop. how she got them, you had no clue.

she comes back with a mug, putting a hand on your chin and tilting it to your lips. you try to look at what's inside, but the mug is black, and you can't tell if it's water or something dangerous.

"it's just water. now drink, or i'll have to force you to."

you do as she said, scared of the latter. it tastes fine, cold and refreshing on your dry throat. it was just water; you sigh in relief.

seconds later you're out cold. ivy uses her vines to take you to her couch, laying you down gently. she strokes your hair again, fixing it so it's out of your face. when you wake up, the special little love serum she got just for you will take effect and she can't wait.

the moment is interrupted by harley bursting through the door. she she's ivy and makes her way over. "ivy!" she stops, noticing your limp form on the couch and red wrists. "ivy, what did you do." she deadpans.

"it's called taking initiative," she replied.

"this is not what i meant when i said take her out y'know."

ivy didn't care, you were finally hers now. she was so excited for you to feel the same.

[simcardiac-arrested]

BOO!!!!! sillyguy jumpscare

“looks like a raver ancient built him” - my friend

“i am SUCH a fan of how you make all of your fanocs annoying himbos with unnecessary swag” - my other friend

“he’s fresh sans” - like, two people

so — he’s finally here!!! the Basketball!!!! be warned INSANE and MINDBLOWING loredrop below‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ as well as some general trivia about NWB + some more silly doodles

The Ancients, dissatisfied with the very prominent lack of results the Iterator project was bringing, began having doubts. Perhaps they had gone about this the wrong way? After all, the jellyfish that doesn’t try is the one that doesn’t get caught in the net. It seemed they had made their design of the Iterators inherently flawed — they tried too hard to solve the Problem, over and over and over again.

It was time for something new. An alternative.

And so, the idea for the Anti-Iterator project was brought into the world — a whole generation of Iterators that didn’t try. Some called it redundant, some pointless. But it convinced plenty, certainly enough to make that idea a reality, and the plan came into fruition.

No Way Back was the first created; his name was given to him to signify a turning point, a new era of Iterators. One that would bring with it change and, hopefully, finally, a solution.

so anyway NWB did absolutely nothing except talk excessively about the ancients’ fashion and sometimes ask them for their drip clothes for his collection and also make cringefail music. the project was discontinued immediately

NOW!!! TOP 10 GAMER TRIVIA:

- makes the shittiest sounding music possible, sincerely believes it’s peak art. if you don’t think the same way he’ll say You dont get it. You just dont

- fan of fashion, art & history, but in a normal way (unlike pebbles). really wishes he could have a whole wardrobe of clothes like his creators, but they’re all gone now </3 and even back then when they were all still alive they. did not like giving him stuff (they did not like him)

- one of them did give him the nikeys though

- most of his creators deemed him useless and didn’t particularly care for him. however, some of them (usually the kids) liked talking with NWB, and he enjoyed interacting with them too. he kind of misses the ancients even if they were asses

- is an enigma to his local group: he barely sends messages, and when he does it’s wildly off topic, and literally NEVER about work related stuff. occasionally he’ll drop his “bangers” in the groupchat and ask for opinions. unfortunately most of the iterators ignore him because they find him annoying (and useless as well. very ancientcore of them)

- kind of incomprehensible. he just says things

- doesn’t really have a god complex so he’s generally friendly, open-minded and easy going, but if you’re mean to him he’ll go Wow. Not cool, man. and he’ll probably give you a lecture like a 90s PSA

- calls himself a DJ. doesn’t even have a proper DJ name. probably doesn’t even know what a club is

- fan of nature, enjoyer of life. has no friends and no purpose but doesn’t let it get to him. at least he can make the equivalent of cbat 2 and force every iterator in the world to listen to it

- he’s stupid but he’s also really smart because. supercomputer. however he chooses to not use his brain and instead be silly. he thinks it’s funnier that way

- sometimes sends his music to other iterators besides his local group’s. they also ignore him

- you really can’t tell when he’s being ironic or not, and whether he’s really THAT dumb or if he’s just trolling. one thing for sure — he loves to mess with the stuck-up iterators from his local group if they decide to bother him

- if the ancients had any equivalent of the 80s, he would’ve been a very very big fan of it

- loves animals too. would call slugcat “little dude”

leave your thoughts in the COMMENTS below!!! remember to LIKE and SUBSCRIBE and listen to DJNWB on SPOTIFY (suddenly becomes normal) if you have any questions feel free to ask and i will answer. i love this guy he’s my everything

[poorlittleyaoyao]

Well technically the postcanon Jin ARE amenable to reforming the succession! By way of probably murdering Jin Ling in a violent coup. Jin Ling didn't even automatically inherit, Jiang Cheng had to go over with zidian in hand to threaten A-Ling's various scheming cousins into backing him before he was officially appointed sect leader. Like because all the current sects we hear about were founded AS bloodline sects the parent to child inheritance presumably IS in the sect laws. Not that it's impossible to change the sect laws but thats probably easier to do in the event of no blood relation to inherit. The Jin are chock full of blood relations who could challenge Jin Ling and that's the whole problem.

ohhhh I am sitting here vibrating because medieval England as told via inaccurate Elizabethan plays is one of the historical settings I enjoy and Jin Ling shades of Edward III, Richard II, and Elizabeth of York going on at different points in his life!

But to zero in on the Richard II part (because Richard ALSO inherited at a young age because his father predeceased his grandfather): That's why I mentioned safety as a factor for Jiang Cheng pushing for the Jin having a meritocracy. Richard spent his early life being micromanaged and run roughshod over by his uncles by turns, and his position was precarious even as an adult. Some of this was self-inflicted, to be fair, but a lot of it was that he had SO MANY uncles who felt that they (or their sons) had at least a good a claim as Richard, especially since Richard had no heir of his own. Richard would, ultimately, be deposed and replaced with his cousin Henry IV, after which he was imprisoned and died under Highly Suspicious Circumstances.

That's the environment I envision Jin Ling stuck in following canon, and the issue I see Jiang Cheng facing is whether Jin Ling is safer if he steps down from his place as leader of Lanling Jin, or whether he needs to maintain power at all costs because Lanling Jin is such a nest of vipers that his relatives will harm him even if he willingly steps down because his existence itself is seen as a threat. And I don't know the answer to that one! I wish I did. I would read the shit out of that novel.

(TANGENT: The danger in which Jin Ling finds himself must have existed in equal measure for Jin Guangyao, because while Jin Guangyao has the advantage of being adult, he has the disadvantage of being a belatedly-legitimized bastard whose name punts him out of the order of succession. While English law stated that the kingship belonged to Richard, there was debate over whether they ought to instead grant it to his eldest living uncle, John of Gaunt, but support went to Richard because John of Gaunt was an asshole. I wonder if the reverse that happened with Jin Guangyao, with his sparkling reputation overriding his birth thanks to the alternatives being small children or total shitheads.)

Any changes in laws WOULD take time, though, especially given the rancid vibes in Jinlintai, so there is no easy way out of this for poor Jin Ling. The Edward III path of being a hardass seems like it probably would be safest for him, and that makes me sad.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Natural Satellite [ch 13]

An In Stars and Time AU. In ch 13, Loop deflects. Siffrin spirals. Isabeau tries to keep up. You can start from chapter one here.

Isabeau nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-Woah!!! Sif!!!” “Yes?” “You’re—wow, you’re like, really quiet!!” “Yes.” Sif flops down in the grass, patting around vaguely till they find a thick-ish branch. They snap it in half with a startling crack, eye it thoughtfully, and then halve it again before unsheathing their dagger. ...Huh. They’re whittling again, even though they know their work won’t outlast the loop. Which means they want to talk about something. “What’s up, Sif?” “The canopy.” “Annnd…?” Sif’s blade digs into the wood, scraping off a long, curling shaving. “And I thought we should talk about Wish Craft.”

[isat spoilers / 2 hats spoilers / spoilers thru act 6]

Isabeau has, like, at least a million questions.

If Loop—(Sif???) (No, they chose the name Loop; that has to matter)—is really some alternate version of Siffrin, then… what? What? What??? What would that even mean??? And why would they keep it a secret from Sif? What’s the point in keeping secrets from yourself?

Of course Isa isn’t going to rat them out. It’s not his place. And he’s definitely not gonna confront them about their past. What kind of a crab could look at someone who Changed that much and try to talk to the person they used to be? Loop is Loop now. Isabeau is totally cool with that.

…He’s just a little confused about why there are two of them.

Isabeau knows how it feels to Change. But it’s not like he walked out of the House holding hands with the kid he used to be. One person can’t become two people. That’s not how it works. (That’s not how anything works.)

He needs to talk to Loop. Luckily, he’s in the right place. There should be at least a few minutes before Siffrin catches up. Longer, if Sif stops to talk to Mira. It’s not ideal, but it should be enough to get at least a few answers.

“Loop!” he gasps, when he spots them.

“What do you want,” Loop asks sourly.

“N-Nothing!! I’m just a little confused, is all!”

“Okay.”

“And… I guess I was hoping you could help with that?”

Loop gives him a close-eyed smile. “Optimistic!”

“I’m just, um. I… guess I’m having a hard time getting my head around it?”

Loop’s eyes snap open. “Why? Because I don’t hang on your every word? Because I’m not some cute little puppy, like your Siffrin?”

“What? No! Because why are there two of you???”

He watches Loop draw themself up to snap at him and then just—settle back into their seat. “Oh.”

Yeah, oh. “So. You know. Why are there two of you?”

“Does it matter?”

“And how do you look so different? Body Craft is, I mean, it’s pretty advanced, but I don’t think it’s possible to—I mean—I’m pretty sure you’re made of light?”

Loop examines their hands, the white shining from under their nails. “It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“And—” This one is embarrassing, but he can’t help it. “W-Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“…Why would I?”

Yeah, Isabeau probably could’ve seen that coming. “Are you seriously not going to answer any of my questions?”

“I’d have thought that would be obvious.” Loop narrows their eyes at him. “Don’t you have any manners? This is Vaugarde. It’s rude to ask someone about who they used to be.”

Wow, they are really not making this easy! “I’m not— I don’t care that you Changed. Or, I mean, it’s great! If you’re happy, I’m happy! I just… I mean… It kinda seems like you aren’t, though?”

Loop’s face hardens. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“Well, who do you wanna talk to?”

“No one! Ever!!! Till the end of time!!!!”

Isabeau groans. “Look, I didn’t wanna play this card, but you just really don’t seem like you’re doing very well…”

“What impressive powers of perception! Your parents must be proud.”

“…and I guess it seems like you’re cool with that, but I’m not, so I think you probably have to talk to someone, so… i-if you really won’t talk to me, then—” He grimaces, bracing for the worst. “I… think I might have to tell Sif.”

To his surprise, Loop just rolls their eyes. “Knock yourself out. I’m sure he’ll be soooo~ surprised.”

“Wh— Huh???”

“Why are you acting like that?” Loop asks grumpily. “You just said it just last loop. That they guessed who I was, and he thought I was probably him.”

“B-But that’s just a theory!”

“Oh, grow up. How long did it take you to clock me? Three loops? Maybe four? He’s been here for hundreds.”

(“Hund—????”)

“They have all the pieces. He’s just deluding himself because he doesn’t like the implication.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but… “What implication?”

Loop smiles nastily. “That—”

“Oh, good,” Siffrin says, from immediately behind him. “You’re already here.”

Isabeau nearly jumps out of his skin. “W-Woah!!! Sif!!!”

“Yes?”

“You’re—wow, you’re like, really quiet!!”

“Yes.” Sif flops down in the grass, patting around vaguely till they find a thick-ish branch. They snap it in half with a startling crack, eye it thoughtfully, and then halve it again before unsheathing their dagger.

Huh. They’re whittling again, even though they know their work won’t outlast the loop. Which means they want to talk about something. “What’s up, Sif?”

“The canopy.”

“Annnd…?”

Sif’s blade digs into the wood, scraping off a long, curling shaving. “And I thought we should talk about Wish Craft.”

“It sounds like you should talk about Wish Craft,” Loop sniffs. “You are the only one who knows the rituals.”

Isabeau gives them a look, but doesn’t argue.

“I don’t think that’s right, though,” Sif mutters. “My wish wasn’t even related. And, I mean… do I know the rituals?”

“You knew the right numbers,” Isa points out. “And the chanting and stuff.”

“Right, but it can’t be that simple. If repeating was all it took, then I’d still have that toilet paper.”

Isabeau stares.

Unexpectedly, Loop stares, too. “Come again?”

“The toilet paper,” Sif says again. “Didn’t you see? In the bathroom on the third floor.”

“I don’t watch you pee, stardust. Gross.”

“Wait,” Isabeau interjects, “I’m sorry, I just… You can do Wish Craft by peeing?”

“Piss Craft,” Sif says, apparently on reflex, and then glares. “I mean, no. Obviously not. Will you just listen?”

Isabeau shuts his mouth obligingly. He’s listening.

* * *

You don’t like that Isabeau is talking to Loop now. You can feel that something’s shifted between them, and you don’t like that, either. But at least Isa still mostly does what you tell him.

“I’m saying I didn’t do Wish Craft,” you explain. “I did the wanting, and the repeating, and it didn’t do anything. I didn’t get what I…”

. . . Wait.

What did you repeat, exactly? It definitely wasn’t “toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper.” What were your exact words? You asked it to come with you. No. To loop back with you. And you said—

You said you didn’t want to be alone.

(“S-Sif?” Isa says nervously. “You’re, um. You should probably be careful?”

You follow his gaze toward your hands. You’ve reduced the whole branch to sawdust. You flip your knife shut and brush off your knees in disgust.)

You said you didn’t want to be alone. And you’re not alone anymore, are you? Someone’s looping back with you, but it’s not the blinding toilet paper.

“Oh, Stars,” you mumble. “I did it.”

Loop wheezes. “What, really? Piss Craft?”

“No!! Shut up!! Will you both just shut up and listen? I’m saying that I—” Stars, but it hurts to admit. “It’s— Isa, he’s… It was my fault. I’m the reason he remembers.”

Isabeau’s eyes widen. “Wait, but… are you saying, um. D-Does that mean you wished for me?”

Right. Of course he’d ask that. You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing. “Not… exactly?”

“Toilet paper??????”

“I just wanted something I could hold!!” you say defensively. “I was losing my mind!! I was tired and alone and tired of being alone and I couldn’t make anyone touch me and I was just—so blinding tired of dying that I… yes. Yes. Toilet paper.”

For some reason, Isabeau looks even more confused. “W-Wait, what?”

“I said I wanted something I could hold.”

Loop stops laughing for just long enough to choke out, “Wrong sentence, stardust.”

You frown at them, running over your lines in your mind. It all seems pretty self-explanatory. “What?”

“You—” Isabeau’s face is quickly changing color. “You, um. You… wanted us to touch you?”

Oh. Oh, no.

You can read the rest of ch 13 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/139473697 Or start from the beginning here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53412649/chapters/135189547

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 80 }

cigarette flavored kisses.

shinichiro sano x fem.reader

you always hated working the night shift at this diner, especially on a saturday night. it was always so loud, especially when these wannabe gangs kept coming in.

despite it all, you did your best to serve the customers and save up some money going from paycheck to paycheck. sometimes, the boys would get a little too handsy, but you kept your lips sealed shut as per your boss's own advice.

"just serve 'em with a smile. they're our regulars and regulars always have a special spot here."

god how you wished you could just disappear, or better yet, find a more decent job that paid just as well. but alas, you couldn't find any other alternatives, nor could you afford to.

which was why you were currently so miserable at the moment.

during the later portion of your shift, a customer kept pestering you while you waited tables. he had his eyes set on you since the moment he walked in, and he just couldn't take the hint.

you even resorted to making up a story about how you had a boyfriend that was going to kick his ass if he didn't stop, yet still- he persisted. even going as far as to follow you when you left work after your shift ended, keeping you pinned against him and the wall behind you.

"come on, give ol' me a chance. there's no way you gotta boyfriend if you're working like this. i can support you, babe, me and my crew own this city. you don't even have to worry about a damn thing!"

"i told you, i have a boyfriend and he will kill you if he sees you flirting with me! just let me go, already!"

a deep voice calls out your name, catching your attention. coming towards you was a young man you frequently saw eating at the diner. sometimes, he came with his little brother and sister, always behaving so achingly sweet while in their company.

he steps closer, and you could see his dark eyes and pale skin as a cigarette hung from his lips. he takes a drag from it while grabbing a hold of your harasser's shirt, succeeding in pulling him off of you as he takes out the burning tip of the cigarette against the man's shirt.

"shit, s-sano, t-take it easy man, i didn't think she was yours- oof!" the tall man punches the harasser in his face before taking a protective stance in front of you. "you trying to take my woman away from me?"

"n-no man, i swear, had i known she belonged to you, i wouldn't have- i'm sorry okay?!" it's then that he finally takes the hint, bolting away while leaving you alone with the man simply known as sano.

only when he disappears does the tall man let out a string of curses, holding on to the hand that he had used to punch your harasser away. the sight of his tough guy act quickly melting away makes you giggle a bit, causing sano to grimace.

"h-hey, are you okay? did that asshole hurt you or anything?"

you shake your head, gently taking a hold of his arm as you decided to lead him back to your apartment to help with healing his bruised hand. "no, but you certainly got hurt."

he groans, "no fair, it hurts my ego seeing a pretty girl laughing at me when i just wanted to defend her."

"and you did your job perfectly well, if i may say so myself." you slide your grip down from his arm to take a hold of his hand. it felt warm in yours, and you found yourself not wanting to let him go. there was a sweetness about sano that you couldn't deny, and it absolutely drew you into him.

"how did you know my name, anyways?" you ask him, staring directly into his dark eyes. he blushes a bit at your question, even managing to turn red from beneath the lamplight as he coughs and points down at your name tag still secured to the front of your work uniform.

"o-oh, right." you felt stupid for not realizing how your name tag was still on, but his soft whisper manages to make you feel better when he admits, "i like coming to that diner just to see you. mikey and emma keep pushing me to ask you out, but i always end up losing my nerves and gettin' tongue tied around you."

his confession was way more than you could ever ask for, feeling your own cheeks become heated in response. shutting your eyes momentarily, you let out a sigh before telling him, "you should have asked me out. only a fool would reject you, mr. sano."

it's then that he stops walking, with his tall form now standing in front of you. he frames at your face with his uninjured hand, thumb caressing almost lovingly against your bottom lip. "shinichiro."

"huh?"

"call me shinichiro." his touch was still so soft against your skin, and his features were so beautiful to you that you found it difficult to look away from him. you were both mesmerized by each other, remaining completely silent until he suddenly blurts out "can i kiss you?"

with a stiff nod, you allow shinichiro to adjust his hold on you before leaning down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. it was a little awkward, but soon enough, his lips found a rhythm against yours, slanting perfectly against them as he kissed you with a fervor you had never felt before.

your first ever kiss tasted of coffee and cigarettes, and you found yourself not minding the fact that you had managed to capture the heart of this soft delinquent.

a.n. - here's another update bc reading these latest chapter for tokyo revengers makes me realize i may be a shinichiro sano girl after all.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Anonymous

Published: Jan 9, 2024

I’m a school librarian in a major UK city and I wanted to write to you about what is going on inside education at the moment. The final straw for me came when I received an email from the (US) School Library Journal about their trans and NB spotlight with the line “J.K. Rowling’s recent transphobic tirades on social media”. And check out the line-up on the Zoom panel!

Enough is enough.

I will admit that several years ago I was pretty full-on with my alphabet-soup allyship and then I got peaked by Mumsnet when I had my children. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. 

My issue is with how the indoctrination has seeped into books and materials unchecked. Last year I read the book “Nothing Ever Happens Here” written from the POV of a young girl about her father transitioning and it was utterly awful. The ending was the family all happy with two “mums”. It was a Stonewall pamphlet in disguise. Any possibility that the child would be upset by what was happening at home was quickly brushed aside. It turns out that its author, Sarah Hagger-Holt, is a Stonewall employee.

There are so many books like this finding their way into libraries and the library staff do not appear to be questioning the content or even the quality of the writing as long as the books tick the “inclusivity” box. For example, “If I Was Your Girl” is an award-winning story about a trans girl who gets surgery and hormones and “passes” in her new school. It’s written by Meredith Russo, a trans-identified male, who has a history of sexual and emotional abuse, but no matter! It reads like a TRA wet dream: the pretty young teen smoothly transitions and gets the life she wants, which includes getting a gorgeous, straight boyfriend. A young person reading this may not realise that this is simply wish-fulfillment wrapped up in Young Adult (YA) fiction and nothing in it is remotely feasible.

Recently I was being nosy on a secondary school’s website and discovered their library’s LGBT section was made up of “Some Girls Bind”, “Being Jazz”, and “The Trans Teen Survival Guide”. That was it. Nothing else for the LGB kids. “The Trans Teen Guide” explains to young people how easy it is to legally change your name, and signposts websites where you can buy binders. Mermaids are listed as a place to find support, of course. 

Meanwhile, JKR is Satan for standing up for women and girls. It is painful reading discussion board threads written by librarians questioning what they should do about the “problematic author.” Facebook groups are particularly interesting as I’ve witnessed the group moderators remove the comments that support JKR because they were repeatedly reported by other members of the group. Some say they won’t buy her books, or they will remove them from circulation or stock them but not promote them.

No more Harry Potter events, no more displays of her work. It’s not all librarians, but there are plenty of vocal ones who have bought into the idea that JKR is literally murdering trans kids with her words. Last year I unsubscribed from a favourite Young Adult podcast for their segment on what to promote as an alternative to Harry Potter. It’s madness. 

I think the thing I really object to in libraries overall is the lack of questioning going on. I know you have covered the Drag Story Time in public libraries, but I’m really shocked by the lack of research and critical thinking from information professionals who are supposed to be champions of these skills. I’m sure that many of them believe they are doing the right thing. I know I did. 

The School Library Association made Juno Dawson one of their Patrons at the end of 2020. I met Dawson many years years ago at a library event and I really appreciated hearing an honest and frankly, painful story of a young gay boy being bullied and how much of a lifeline the school library was. Dawson struck me as a very kind and deeply sad person at that point. School libraries are a safe space for the vulnerable, and it’s no coincidence that often you will find the LGBT students seek it as a place of sanctuary. We do need someone popular and well-known to speak up for us as patron. Let’s be honest though; Dawson has made a tremendous career from being trans. From speaking to packed-out auditoriums of young readers to writing non-fiction books educating us as “she knows everything about gender because she’s been both.” A few years ago, over 300 copies of Dawson’s book “What’s the T” were bought and donated to schools by well-meaning people on Twitter. So heart-warming and kind. Nobody seems to be questioning this. 

I’ve been a huge supporter of my LGBT students for the whole of my twenty-plus year career. It hurts to see these brilliant young girls telling me they’re non-binary or trans. The vast majority of our female students in this ever-growing group are on the autistic spectrum or have mental health issues. I don’t understand why this isn’t being questioned more vocally. I’m worried that I’ve made this much, much worse by promoting this propaganda dressed up as YA fiction for years. LGBT History Month? Here, have this book telling you being a lesbian is bad and you’re probably trans. 

I’m scared that at some point the trans ideology train is going to come for the “forbidden” books in my library.  Will my Head tell me I need to remove all the Harry Potter books? What about the non-fiction books that tell these girls the biological truth about periods and puberty? Cancel culture is coming for school librarians in the UK; how long before we become like the US school system where books are regularly banned for being offensive to individual, captured parents?

Librarians were struggling to keep our jobs before Covid-19 and now it is even harder. We are being made redundant to save money. Lots of school libraries were closed and became temporary classrooms, COVID testing centres, or spill-over staff rooms in 2020. Some of us haven’t recovered. Are librarians really going to poke their heads above the parapet if it means they might be marked as “transphobic” and made unable to get a job in a school again? Or maybe have to move sectors and end up working at university libraries which are even more indoctrinated?

For the moment I’m concentrating on trying to undo some of the damage I’ve done. Last year I purchased a pile of Young Adult books featuring happy, gender non-conforming girls. I’ve researched YA love stories about positive LGB relationships. I want our girls to realise they are perfect just the way they are. 

To parents I would say, try to talk to your children about what they are reading. Honest, open communication is key. 

Please remember that there are people in schools who are trying to make a difference. We just can’t say it openly.

(Author’s name has been witheld on her request. If you have a story on how gender ideology is affecting your place of work, please write to thewhistleblowermailbox@gmail.com)

==

Reminder, Juno Dawson is the same self-hating gay man who said:

"There are a lot of gay men out there who are gay men as a consolation prize because they couldn't be women. That was certainly true of me."

He has no business giving any advice to anyone, least of all gay kids.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Bar Stop-Off

In One More Hero's fourth chapter, CR!Sonic came back into Dimension MP-2021, immediately going to find OMT!Tails and OMT!Mina.

CR!Sonic: Tails!

OMT!Tails: Huh? Sonic?

CR!Sonic: Look, I... I'm really sorry about earlier. I've got a lot on my plate, and I want to make it up to you however I can.

He noticed Tails was just looking at him.

CR!Sonic: Uh, what are you doing?

OMT!Tails: Making you feel guilty proper. ...Is it working?

He was making puppy-dog eyes at CR!Sonic.

CR!Sonic: How could it-? No. Look at me, does it look like it's working? No, it's... no it's... ohhhh...

He covered his face in embarrassment.

CR!Sonic (muffled): MMMMPH! DON'T LET HIM WIN!

He uncovered his face after a moment, having given in.

CR!Sonic: *sigh* Alright, kid. You win.

OMT!Tails: Oh, yeah! This is Mina, by the way. I thought she had undergone the name "Mairead", though she told me it was just an alias.

OMT!Mina: Hello!

CR!Sonic: Oh, you guys know each other? Very cool. Well, c'mon, then! No time to lose!

Cut to them sitting in a bar area at McLovely's.

OMT!Tails: So, remind me what we're doing here again.

OMT!Mina: Dang, the menu here's appetizing!

CR!Sonic was having a breakfast chilli dog for himself.

CR!Sonic: Just a quick snack before we get down to business.

OMT!Tails: Before we continue, by the way, I was looking for petitions on behalf of a friend who wants AI-generated art outlawed around here. You guys alright with giving signatures?

CR!Sonic: Huh! I'm down for it!

OMT!Mina: Me too!

OMT!Tails: Sweet! Just be careful not to get any chilli stains on the paper.

The two put their signatures on CraftyCorn's petition sheet.

OMT!Tails: So, got any advice you can share with me now that we're back to equals?

He had to keep CR!Sonic from pilfering his burger while asking this.

CR!Sonic: First off, train your body to become immune to motion-sickness, or doing any of my stunts will suck. Uh... Definitely don't go crazy when you're full on chilli dogs, like me. Threw up like a water hose last time I did that.

OMT!Tails: Right, got it. Anything else?

CR!Sonic: Uhh... I dunno. Not really the... mentor type of guy. I'm more of a... action type.

OMT!Tails: Ah, I see. So, what's the plan once we arrive at the crashed Death Egg site off South Island's coast?

CR!Sonic: Easy! Step 1: I break in, Step 2: infiltrate the lab, Step 3: sneak in, destroy a couple of robots while I'm at it. Step 4: you two come in and help me gain access to the computer, Step 5: download the important stuff, Step 6: grab a sandwich from the cafeteria, and Step 7: dip it outta there and fix everything!

OMT!Tails: Okey-doke! Also, just to let you know, the head scientist at that place is that brown-haired lady with the bike. I saw her in one part of a documentary at my new school's taster session.

CR!Sonic: ... Got it. Step 8: re-evaluate my personal biases.

OMT!Tails: Well, that's our plan, right?

OMT!Mina: We could practice jogging somewhere on the way!

OMT!Tails: Sure!

After they paid for the meal, they got on a bus on their way to Emerald Coast.

CR!Sonic: Just to be clear, we're not running all the way over to the shore just from the city. Not after a hearty brunch. Keep your legs fresh, kid. You're gonna thank me later.

OMT!Tails: Fair enough.

CR!Sonic: Supporting public transportation is always a plus, especially when you're a hero! Some cities just don't put enough support behind it!

OMT!Mina: (Deep down, he really is a hero like he always was.)

CR!Sonic kicked back.

CR!Sonic: Gosh, helping out this alternate Tails is actually kinda fun. I wonder how the guys back home are doing?

(Cue everything going to shit in Crossover Realm's Knothole and Newtropolis, fire everywhere, buildings tipping over, everyone screaming and running in chaos)

Gary: (screaming in hysterics) WHERE'S MY WISH?!?! I WANT MY WISH!!!

CLE: Oh BEC, PLEASE hurry up with those wishes!

Back with the main crew...

CR!Sonic: Eh, I'm sure it'll be fine.

OMT!Tails: What is it like at your universe?

CR!Sonic: Long story. It'd boggle you just processing it if I told you.

Elsewhere (for whatever reason)...

Exegod: The nerve of that Pico (yep, he means me). Inviting me to go Into, Across and Beyond for another scene. On such short notice! Even if I wanted to go, my SCHEDULE WOULDN’T ALLOW IT! (Looks at schedule) 4:00, wallow in self pity. 4:30, stare into the abyss. 5:00, fix the Sonic franchise for good (tell no one). 5:30, pics of Sally_ALT in incognito mode. 6:30, dinner with me, I can’t cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing… I’m booked! Of course if I hold the loathing to 9, I can still be back here in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But WHAT WOULD I WEAR?!

[wri0thesley]

lI have a friend who has played Honkai since CN release and we agreed that Otto is both an asshole and a tragic figure.

I’m sure other anons have already told you about how awful and creepy that guy can sometimes be. Like the cloning, the experiments, the obsession with Karen… Still, one thing that struck me out is that, from another POV, this is just the makings of a tragic character - we hate him so much because he did OUR girls dirty and we love our girls. But to the core of it, Otto doesn’t do all of this because he enjoys torturing girls or experimenting or finding the limits of humanity. He does it to revive Karen.

(And in the end, it isn’t even revival he settles for, this man literally goes into an unexplained and impossible place where the tree responsible for creating alternative realities is, and forces it to grow branches where Karen survives. At the expense of his own existence, I think? It’s been a while. Thus Spoke Apocalypse was truly a masterpiece.)

I’m more of a fan to the “head canon” that Otto treated Karen more as a God and a figure of faith for all the good in the world than his lover. Thus Spoke Apocalypse sees him lamenting the fall of heroes (Karen) while the wicked and the evil (him and others) live on.

BUT ANYWAYS… BUT ANYWAYS… Continuing on. Otto doesn’t do it out of malice NOR the goodness in his heart, he’s just doing it for the sake of reviving Karen at any cost. I think he spared his eventual granddaughter on a whim and nostalgia, and then eventually grew feelings for her. While he wishes that Teri was out of harms way in his goal, he would not stop in his footsteps just for her, not when Karen is on the other scale. My friend and I agreed that he was a complicated figure that’s very very very easy to hate because 1) he’s the villain that kickstarts the tragedy of our tuna 2) he experiments 3) he treats almost everyone as dispensable pawns 4) he loves a woman who is gay for another woman and people want him to stop 5) it takes a while for his character to release all the juicy bits.

But despite all of that, the organization he created for the sole purpose of reviving Karen and which committed atrocities in the background, is ALSO responsible and vital for humanity’s continued victories against honkai. Their strongest Valkyrie, Durandal, is a good woman and she is aware of what the organization does, but in an earlier plot she confronts an escaping tuna and rebuts with how millions of humans are still alive BECAUSE of Otto’s organization. I don’t remember all the points, but technical consensus if we are speaking of lore alone, Otto has kept humanity afloat for the past few centuries because of his organization, his deeds, his obsession.

Perhaps he would have had a better story if only he didn’t fell in love with Karen (who’s so good it can either be endearing or disgustingly hypocritical) and instead fell in love with someone else who wasn’t as absolute good as Karen (the girl decides to walk to her death herself… in CN servers the opinions on her are split between liking her or hating her).

On the other hand, if he hadn’t been obsessed with the tragic end of Karen and did many atrocities in her name, humanity probably would have ended up dead or way more trashed than in canon. But probably it doesn’t matter who, as long as it’s someone Otto loves, if they died in any way at any point, he’s the kind of obsessed person who would do anything to revive them or give them another chance to survive - at any cost.

Hm. Technically he could be the Male MC of a romance manhua that ended with the heroine dead, and second season is him t trying to revive her and he’s the villain?

COUGH COUGH

A lot of people comparing Luocha and Otto a lot (obviously hahaha) but I kinda hope Hoyoverse doesn’t pop out with another Karen that Luocha obsesses over. For one, it’d be hard to replicate Thus Spoke Apocalypse when Otto had 500 years to germinate his foolish plan. For two, Hoyoverse just stop torturing my man and his alternative characters with these unrequited love plots and GIVE HIM TO ME!!!!!!!☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Anonymous asked: Void Archives is Void Archives, but he looks like Otto apparently because when the guy entered the Imaginary Tree in Thus Spoke Apocalypse and was erased out of existence, Void Archives decided to, on a whim probably, take on his looks when he interacted with OTHER characters.

I think Void Archives takes on Otto’s image when he speaks with Welt at some point in HI3. Plot is kinda difficult and unless you micromanage all the notes it can be difficult…

Anonymous asked: There's also a theorie that's the coffin Luocha carry has the dead body of Kallen (the lesbian dead crush)

Anonymous asked: Also the HONKAI game developers love putting Otto, welt and Kevin in idol dresses for some reason

me trying to keep track of all of these things you guys are telling me about the alternate version of a man ive seen in game for about ten minutes and desperately want to bone:

dfnjbkgfjnkb no but i do appreciate it!!! i do not think i will ever play honkai because it seems so complicated (and 'fantasy game' and 'space game on a train' are easy concept that i am SO into), but it is nice to know from the people who know Lore what is going on! i am sure playing other honkais would give me a good/better idea of whats going on but hopefully hoyo are also aware star rail will be lots of people's first honkai and not make it too reliant on knowing so much! <3

[crookedherringcolorclod]

Amaya’s Past, Chapter 3: But You’ve Already Bought a Ticket and There’s No Turning Back Now.

Alternative Title: We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. Part 3

Title based on: “Carousel” by Melenie Martinez

Previous Chapter.

Chapter 2

•Amaya was just scurrying around town when people were gathering on the streets, she didn’t pay much attention to what people were saying as the people were shocked at the bright confetti raining down on the gloomy streets.

•Suddenly someone’s hand reached out to her, before Amaya could say anything she was led to a circus tent by the arm, sat down on one of the wooden seats and the performance began.

“Ladies and Gents, it’s a pleasure to see you all!” The ringleader bellowed to the crowd as he took a dramatic bow, and the crowd cheered. “The name’s Jack but do address me as ringmaster Jack please and thank ye”.

“Now do please… do enjoy the show!” Jack shouted to the crowd once more before throwing smoke in front of him to make his exit.

•Amaya was curious about the spectacle, so she kept quiet as she watched the show, marveling over the bright colors. She was surprised to see the various performances taking place, they were magical in her eyes.

•The bright flames from the firebreather’s mouth made the circus tent brighter, and Amaya couldn’t help but continue to stare at the tightrope walker slowly walking down the tightrope and pretend to lose their balance.

•Then there were the bright colors of the acrobats’ outfits that seemed to dance around like a kaleidoscope, it was like a living dream right before someone’s eyes.

•The kid eventually found out that he accidentally grabbed Amaya and scrambled to find his friend. Amaya joined him as the circus continued its endless performances, all the while someone was watching them intently.

•The foggy streets at night made things harder for Amaya and the kid to find anything in front of them. The child was unaware of the man clad in dark clothing following behind them, but Amaya did.

•Without hesitation Amaya teleported behind the man and pushed him down on the ground.

“Wait! Wait! Let me explain!” The man yelped, Amaya did not want to make any chances and used more strength to make sure he didn’t escape his grasp.

“Who are you? Why are you following us?” Amaya questioned, the man writhed underneath her, his ash blonde hair covering his eyes.

“Owen, you shouldn’t be out and about alone” the man grumbled under his breath. Eventually, Amaya let him go and the man stood up.

“I work as a musician in the circus, it’s dark out and it would be best to stay overnight at the available tents” Owen noted, brushing off the dirt from his clothes.

•Amaya sighed, she didn’t have money in her and she didn’t want the child to wander the dark streets alone. So, the two followed Owen back to where the traveling circus was.

•Owen led them to a dozen of green tents next to the circus tent. There were wearing colorful costumes and people in their regular clothes smiling and chatting over meals.

“Come, the ringmaster’s tent is this way” Owen led Amaya and the child to one of the bigger tents and revealed the ringmaster and a man juggling with knives.

“Owen! How’ve you beeen!” The knife thrower exclaimed in delight, his hazel eyes shining gold in the warm light of the oil lamp.

“Lukas, please.” Owen pleaded, clearly exasperated from the shining knives flashing in the light. “Put the knives down, we have guests.” Gesturing to Amaya and the child with her.

• Lukas’s eyes went to Amaya, curious about her. He let out a small laugh and approached her with an easy smile.

“Why hello there, do you wish to join the circus, milady?” Lukas took Amaya’s hands in his and she flinched from the casualness of it all. His soft yet husky voice resonated in her ears and his warm calloused hands enveloped hers.

“Lukas now is not the time and place.” The ringleader stood up and placed a hand on Lukas’ shoulder, making Lukas withdraw his hands from Amaya’s, albeit reluctantly.

•The ringleader eventually let Amaya and the child stay for the night in one of the spare tents given by one of the performers who decided to quit.

•In the morning, the child was able to return to his home safely and found his friend along the way. As for Amaya, the ringmaster was confused when she didn’t leave and asked to join as a performer in the circus.

“Well dear, would you care to show us what you can do?”

Amaya had been thinking for quite a while and spoke up. “Would it be all right if I go up there?” She pointed at the tightrope, watching the tightrope walker slowly make her way to the other side.

The ringmaster looked at Amaya “Are you sure? It can be rather scary to go up there., I guess we can put the safety nets for you and Emily.” Amaya nodded without hesitation and was sent to the top with Emily.

•By the time Emily and the ringleader allowed Amaya to walk on the tightrope, they were shocked when Amaya, decided to immediately walk on the tightrope.

•She could feel how springy the rope felt, it was almost like she was bouncing on a trampoline. The ringmaster was ready to faint when he was watching Amaya lose and gain her balance as she walked down the tightrope.

•After half an hour of scolding, Amaya is accepted into the circus as a tightrope walker. Emily had to teach her basics, how she should put her weight on the rope to prevent any accidents during performances.

•Amaya had to observe the weather as she practiced walking on the tightrope, she felt like a leaf that was ready to be vulnerable to the elements. The rope fibers felt more unstable compared to the thatches on a regular roof of a house in the towns she scoped around.

•Amaya loved that what was considered weird to everyone else, was normal in the circus. She felt much safer there compared to the village she used to live in. Even though Amaya was going to different places, she felt like she could only talk to herself and that there is no one that she can reach out to, until now.

•With time, Amaya managed to fit in quite well in the circus. She helps set up the tents, prepped food for everyone to eat, and chatted together with the other performers backstage.

•When Amaya performed, everyone had to hold their breaths as she seemed to dance on the tightrope with nothing to help her balance.

•The walk was slow as Amaya would dare to do splits and handstands and the crowd would gasp in shock, not willing to take their eyes off her as she continued her daring performance. It didn’t feel daunting to walk on the tightrope for her. If anything, Amaya felt at peace as she walked on the tightrope, alone for the few minutes of her performance. Yet at the same time, she isn’t alone, because there are people that are waiting for her to come back down.

•In her free time, Amaya spent time with Lukas as he tried to teach her how to throw knives, holding her arms and wrists with his hands. He would talk with her and joke around, and Amaya would smile, just to see him flash a grin back at her.

•Both Lukas and Amaya had grown close since she joined the circus, Lukas would usually go to Amaya after she finished warming up and find excuses to talk to her. Everyone seemed to notice how he would look at Amaya tenderly, help brush her hair behind her ear and his eyes would drift to her lips and would stop when Amaya would ask him what was wrong, only to brush it off.

•The other men in the circus would even try to convince Lukas to at least tell Amaya how he felt, only for him to say that it was not a good time, and it would have to wait. He knew how awkward it can be for couples to break things off when they fell out of love and how it affected their performances. Lukas never knew that he’ll never get the chance to tell Amaya how he felt.

•Everything seemed to shift even more when the circus’ doctor was replaced, he was old, and his sight has begun to fail him. So, before the doctor resigned, he introduced the circus to the doctor that would take his place, a young man who appears to be in his late 20s named Reinhart.

•Amaya seldom needed to go to the new doctor and would only go to the medical tent to help fellow performers whenever they got injured and even went as far as to carry a few of them on her shoulders if they can’t walk. Despite that, she gets a strange feeling when Dr. Reinhart looked at her, it was like how the former doctor looked at her.

•She recalled the time when she almost listened to the conversation between Reinhart and the former doctor, something along the lines of finally finding someone and how it will not be long before everything takes place.

•Months passed by, and it was 1929, the economy declined, the prices were getting higher, and it was harder for everyone to sustain themselves. Which also caused the circus to struggle with money. Eventually, the circus was forced to close, and Amaya had to fend for herself in the streets again.

•Amaya’s new normal was eating potluck provided by the church, huddling herself in the cold, walking down the streets, and looking down in hopes she didn’t step on anyone. People were getting sicker and coughed out blood that can’t be seen in their dark clothes, but Amaya could still smell it.

•When Amaya needed to drink blood, it was thin and bitter from malnourishment that she was tempted to spit it out. Staler from cornbread and the people needed to make the most of their money when it came to food.

•Until one day, Amaya was walking in the dark streets. Night arrived and she coughed out black liquid from her mouth and morphed it into butterflies and they flew up into the sky. Her eyes glazed over as she focused on every window, every opening, and everyone who managed to sleep in a warm bed.

•Then Amaya saw a young lady sleeping under the covers, she looked healthy, and her window was open, it felt too easy, but Amaya wasn’t going to complain, she needed to eat. Getting a head start, Amaya sprinted towards the building and jumped, her hands managed to catch in between the bricks and started climbing.

•It was quiet as the vampire crept up into the lady’s room, Amaya seemed to move as if she was in a trance as the butterflies dispersed and crawled back into her mouth. She tiptoed on the floor, avoiding the clothing strewn around the floor, and crawled on the soft mattress, towards the sleeping victim.

•Cautiously, Amaya brushed the lady’s brown hair to the side, covered her mouth with her hands, and bit down on her shoulder. Her eyes widened in shock when she heard the lady moan… in pleasure?

•Withdrawing her fangs, Amaya grabbed the lady by the shoulders to inspect her. The lady’s eyes were glazed, her body felt like it was burning under Amaya’s touch, and she wouldn’t stop babbling… she must have been drugged with something.

•Pulling the blanket over the lady, Amaya attempted to make her escape when suddenly, her head started to spin, and her vision got blurry. She collapsed on the floor and the last thing she saw was a white-haired man walking toward her.

“Charlotte??” “CHARLOTTE! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“Is… is she going to be, ok?” Amaya felt a warm hand enveloped in hers. She couldn’t think anymore before she faded into unconsciousness once more.

•The next night arrived when Amaya woke up sweating, in a panic, and feeling whatever was around her that can be used as a weapon. She was about ready to hit something or someone with a tray when someone else grabbed her hand.

“Charlotte, it’s me! It’s Aurelia!”

“Lottie please, you still need to rest”

•Amaya slowly came back to her senses as she tried to look around her. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she found her sisters in front of her… much older than the last time she saw them when their parents were…

“Alice…? Aurelia…?”

•Asa was on the brink of tears, Akemi sighed in relief… it is their youngest sister… she’s alive.

•Amaya felt her throat get tighter as she hugged her sisters closer. It’s been too long… they’ve changed so much.

“Ciiiiciii… my head hurts.” Amaya cried out as Asa gathered her in her arms.

“Relio… where are we? How… how did you find me?”

“Shhh, you need to rest. Everything is going to be ok.”

•Tears welled up in her eyes as she started to sob against Asa’s chest. Akemi patted her head in hopes to comfort her.

“Alice…. Aurelia…. I thought I lost you forever…”

•Thus, they have reunited once more.

[daemonhxckergrrl]

vampire morality and ethics in popular media

it's spooky season, so the perfect time to have some musings about this topic. i love vampires. i love the many different things they can portray. i love their aesthetics. i love the questions a vampire-filled universe raises.

so, let's get one thing clear first of all - vampires are monsters. they're creatures of the night. literal undead parasites. and that's okay !! they don't need to be anything more than that !!

however, if you're interested in posing questions around morality, about the ethics of existence as one of those creatures, about nature and nurture and souls and all sorts, then yeah exploring that can be fun and add to your work !

thing is, the most common ways i've seen in popular media are either "abstain" (at the cost of sanity or health/power or both), or "vegetarianism" (animal blood, which is less powerful/less tasty). and tbh both of these concepts suck.

the abstaining one could be used as a way to talk about how that's not actually a reliable method (allegory for pro-life "you don't need abortions if you don't fuck" arguments and how awful they are) and the "veggie" one could be used to talk about hierarchies of value and how we moralise the same act depending on who the victim is. i think some media has done this with their vamps only drinking from homeless people or something just as awful (another on i think i've seen is prisoners ?).

BUT aside from a couple that i can't remember the names of, these ideas always seem surface-level and more a convenient way to have a "nice and friendly" monster who's "good, really".

if you want to find a good way to approach ensuring the survival of beings who are self-aware and don't wish to hurt others and carry that guilt, alongside avoiding relegating any class of being to "inherently disposable" despite being able to feel pain, then i think i have a solution.

the ethical issue we're tackling here is very similar to ones surrounding veganism. and, once you get past people doing it purely for the environment (ironic wrt PU/plastic leather alternatives), for their health, or to look trendy...you end up at one fundamental thing: consent.

if the argument is that cows don't consent to be repeatedly impregnated and milked or killed for their skin and flesh, that's the same argument why drinking a random stranger dry or sireing them is unethical: lack of consent.

so, how do we solve that ? easy ! we get consent. you wanna tell me there aren't people who would willingly be turned, or become 24/7 thralls, or even just offer up a blood donation (in a bag or directly from their veins, preference depending) to their local bat monsters ??

there are plenty of people horny for vampires, so that should be used in media. fucking blood brothels or something idk. it's ethically sourced from beings who can and have consented, and it comes with none of the downsides of animal blood (both for the animal and for the vamp). plus, i'm sure a few people would be into staging hunts for clients as well, if just rocking up and grabbing a bag or making out w/ extra fang wasn't their style).