#invaded thread 01 .

[wasme]

&.    @invaded​ .

"   i  wouldn’t  go  in  there,    if   i  were  you. ”      mumbled  from  underneath  his  top  hat.     new  style  was  less  about  his  self  expression  as  he  often  loved  to  do,     but  rather  a  bland  attire  to  help   him  blend  in  with  the  locals.     mourning  was  not  a  good  look  on  the  man,     eyes  sunken  further  into  skull  and  lips  refusing  to  lift  skyward  for  anything.    

“ i  just  saw  a  grultig  crawl  under  the  door;    it’s  not  going  to  smell  good. ”

[theunholyrogue]

a bad day (Bayv! Donnie x GN! Reader) part 2

Finally!! I have had major writer’s block over this part so I hope this cuts it! :)

Tw: angst; happy ending, description of pain and wounds, abuse/physical assault, hints of SA, cursing, hints towards sex, 18+.

Tag: @lovelyladylavie (SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER! 🥺)

read part one here

What the hell had happened?

You groaned, your head pounding as you started to come to. You felt the dirty, rough carpet scratch against the side of your face, individual strands flush against your eye, invading your ocular space as your lids fluttered open.

Had they hit you?

Your vision was spotty with black orbs and your mouth was dry. You wondered how long you had been passed out while manuvering your arms and hands to your side, slowly pushing your upper body off of the floor. Your body was damn-near retaliating against you, you hadn’t taken a cold shower to cool your muscles down after your fight, your face was aching from the blow to your nose, and the rest of your head followed suit with a pounding migraine.

Once you sat up, you held your palm to your head, applying pressure in a weak attempt to take the pain away, especially as you pushed yourself to your feet and leaned against the nearby wall. You gazed around, the room being left still and quiet, noticing the brown shards of a beer bottle scattered about the floor.

Bloody hell…

Moving forward, you walked around the corner of the room, looking into the kitchen and saw it just as messy as it been left earlier that day, at least you assumed it was the same day. You eyes focused on the stovetop clock, reading over the green digits.

01:15

You paused, patting the pockets on your jacket and then looking back into the living room, spotting your phone underneath the coffee table covered in butts and booze. You stumbled over, bending over and pulling the mobile device out from it’s hiding spot. You sighed a breath of relief to see that it was only the next day, you were only out for a few hours.

You also noticed the amount of texts and missed calls from Donatello, as well as the other turtles and April, concerned for your safety and why you weren’t answering them. For your safety and theirs, nobody in your friend group knew where you resided, so you could understand their worries if they couldn’t even come check on you.

You proceeded in checking the rest of the house, seeing that your guardian was gone. You had suspected that they went to work, so you took time opportunity to lock yourself up in your room. You flipped the lights on, moaning as the brightness overloaded your senses and caused your head to pound, but you knew that you needed to inspect the back of your head.

Thankfully, you didn’t feel any shards of glasses lodged into your scalp, however, you did have a cut that had slowed down in bleeding, you still felt like it was open enough to need medical intervention.

Checking your phone once again, thumb swiping through various notifications — halfway ignoring the majority — you tapped on the text thread between Raphael and yourself.

You were closest to Raphael outside of Donatello. It wasn’t always that way, however. It took the mutant some time to get used to you, especially since you and his brother started dating. He eventually warmed up to you once he realized that you weren’t going anywhere, and a great friendship had blossomed. You two would train together occasionally, take out silly frustrations on each other through boxing — him mainly due to Leo and you, your homelife and other human-directed problems.

You were upset at Donatello for how he had ditched you earlier, and seeing April’s notifications didn’t help with the negative feelings that continued to fester. So, you tapped on Raphael’s icon and started to call him instead.

Ring…

Ring…

“Where the hell are you?!” Raphael’s voice boomed over the speaker. You could hear the rest of the turtles asking various questions — Is it them? Are they okay? What happened? And so on…

“M’house,” you replied, your voice cracking from lack of use.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

You shook your head, looking outside the window as you spoke, “I think I need a stitch.”

“Why?”

You explained what had happened when you got home, how the wound felt, and how you felt at this moment.

“ ‘Right, Don can-,”

“No,” you interrupted, walking over to your bed and collapsing onto it, “I don’t want his help, he didn’t have time for me earlier so I don’t want it now,” you continued.

The other end of the line was quiet for a few moments, and you started to speak to fill the silence.

“I’m just letting you know that I’m fine. See ya’ later,” you hung up before anybody could speak up. Dropping the phone to your side, you pushed yourself off of the bed and stumbled out of the bedroom, making your way into the bathroom. Figuring a shower would help with the overwhelming body pain and cleansing of your wounded head, you didn’t hesitate at the opportunity.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you started your shower, but as soon as you turned the knobs to cut the water off and exit, it was much colder in the room than it was when you first entered. You shivered, grabbing a towel from its hanging spot on the outside of the glass door and wrapping it around your body.

“Why is it freezing?” You quietly asked yourself as you stepped out of the bathroom, looking at the thermostat across the hall and setting it at a higher temp. You rushed to your room afterwards to get dressed, nearly jumping out of your skin when you saw your boyfriend sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Ahh!”

“Ahh!” He screamed back, averting his gaze as if he had never seen your body before — much less wrapped up in a towel.

“How did you know where I live?!” You asked, gripping the towel.

“You’re asking me that question?” Donatello asked, looking from the window to the ceiling.

“Okay, true… Why are you here?”

“Because I was worried about you, especially after-,”

You cut the terrapin off, “No, shouldn’t you be with April? Fixing a camera? Helping with an issue? Ya’ know, running to the damsel in distress like you always do?” You snapped.

Donatello mumbled your name.

“I’m sick of it! I have never asked you for anything more important than to come to just one of my matches, the most important match, and no — April O’Neil and her camera were more important to you than I was. I am your partner, but I’m not going to stay with you if I always get treated like the second choice, I don’t deserve that, especially when all I have done to you was love you unconditionally and supported you through everything,” You let it all go, allowing a tear or two to slip as you spoke.

You expected Donatello to give his condolences, to turn around and leave. That had been his reaction to minor arguments in the past between the two, as if the genius was inept to normal conversations. You sucked a deep breath in as his gaze swapped from ceiling to floor, watching for any reaction he could have, minor or major.

You just knew it was going to end here.

And you weren’t ready for it…

The terrapin stood up from the edge of your bed, towering over you even at the slight distance you both had between you. Your gaze followed him as he walked over to you, standing in front of you for a mere moment before dropping to his knees and bowing over your feet. Startled, you stepped back and avoided kicking him in the face, but you froze as he started to speak, listening as your name slipped off of his tongue.

“I have been the worst partner to you, my dear. I have not put you first in my life and that is completely unacceptable. I don’t have an excuse for treating you this way, and I am so sorry for making you feel like you came last to me. I understand if you want to end our relationship, to find better than I have been giving you, but, if you’ll give me the chance, I promise to show you that you are my number one, that you are my person, and that you’ll never, I mean never, come last again.”

You felt your heart flip in your chest, your anxiety relieving itself that the situation did not have the outcome that you had expected.

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his shell and sat on your knees in front of him. You moved your hand from his shell to underneath his chin, ushering the turtle to look up at you.

“You have the chance,” you replied softly, causing his face to light up. He raised up from his bowing position and wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you into a hug.

Burying his face into your neck, Donatello mumbled multiple ‘I love you's' into your skin.

“Ya’ love me?”

“Well, of course,” he replied.

“Prove it,” you mumbled, a smirk crossing along your features, sending Donatello in for a loop.

“I’ll prove it, but only after I stitch your cut,” he winked.

————

You found yourself waking up in your bed, alone. Rubbing your eyes and knocking the sleep buildup away, you looked over at your nightstand to see a notecard along a packet of Tylenol and a bottle of water. You reached over and grabbed the packet, opening it and quickly downing the pills with your water before looking at the note.

“Good morning, my love. I left you some headache medication and water, you may need it after last night ;). I love you. -D.”

Rolling your eyes and making an attempt to stop the giddy smile forming on your face, you reached for you phone to glance over the notifications. You paused and read one particular text sent by Raphael not too long ago.

“For someone who is mad at Donnie, you sure left a lotta hickeys on his neck.”

You felt your face start to burn as you gazed over the text, tossing your phone aside before yanking it back into your grip and responding,

“Shut up, mind your business.”

Ding!

“Well it’s hard to mind my own when your business is covering him head to toe, :P”

You mentally cursed at the turtle, but what could you do at this point?

———

After making sure that your guardian was asleep, you dressed yourself in a casual attire and made your way down to the gym to talk to your coach about the incident that happened the night before between you and Eric.

“You ain’ got no worries! He was caught on tape from before the match to afta’.” Your coach explained.

“Eric is banned from our gym and we have let locals know. Howeva’ it’s up ta’ you if you wanna press charges or not,” he continued, looking to you and waiting for an answer.

Despite the evidence that you had, you shook your head. You had heard of way to many people getting hurt or more over situations such as this, and the only thing you wanted to do was to let it go.

Your coach asked if you were sure, and you were adamant on dropping the entire thing. You knew that you were unlikely to see the boy again, and you felt a great sense of ease knowing that you had the turtles on your side. Anybody would call you stupid for not pressing charges, but you truly didn’t have the means or support to move forward with doing so.

After speaking to your coach, you found yourself knocking on April’s apartment door.

You had nothing against the female, even if you and your boyfriend had had arguments involving her. You knew that she was never intentionally trying to cause you two to argue, plus you knew that she defended you because you had heard it in more cases than one when it came to Donatello venting. While you two were really only close because of the turtles, you knew that you could depend on her for anything, to be there for you.

You watched as the door opened up and she greeted you warmly, allowing you to come inside and asked what was up.

“I need a place to stay,” you stated, watching for her response.

She nodded, “Okay, I have an extra bedroom, is everything okay at yours?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s never been okay. My guardian is a raging alcoholic who is plummeting further into debt over their addiction rather than paying for household bills. Last night they got physical in a scratch we had and they hit me over the head with a bottle and I’m fearing for my life, but what’re the cops gonna do? They’ve never helped me in the past and kept me there with them.” You explained, allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

“Oh my, yeah, of course you can stay,” April replied.

“I can help with bills or groceries, whatever you need, at least until I can get my own place,” you stated, but she shook her head.

“Don’t worry about any of that right now. You are most than welcome to stay here as long as you like, but focus on getting out of school first.”

You nodded, allowing a breath that you had been holding in unknowingly to be released and smiled, “Thank you,” you spoke and hugged the female.

April hugged you back, waiting for you to pull away first before you left her apartment and headed back to your home.

Quietly, you grabbed a duffle bag and packed your clothes and shoes into it. You hadn’t realized how little that you actually owned until making this decision, and the duffle still had room for your toiletries.

You didn’t own very many personal belongings, not with how your guardian would snoop around your room at times and destroy it at others. So whatever you did own, you managed to stuff it down into your book-bag or your smaller duffle that you used for boxing. Whatever you had left could be considered junk for your guardian to rummage through, and you quickly scurried out of the apartment with your three bags.

April had already had the room set up for you when you had got back, and you took an hour or so to unpack and put away what you had brought.

“Looks like we’ll have to go shopping. The closet is hardly full and you haven’t touched the dresser, yet!”

“Hey, I’m content with the little I have!” You giggled, putting away your shoes and turning to April, revealing the half empty closet, “Annnnd, done!”

“Yeah, you need more clothes. Anywho, here is your key to the apartment,” she stated and held out a silver key in her hand. You took it and attached it to your keychain, thanking her in the process.

“Hey, I’m about to head down to the lair, want to tag along?” You asked, but April shook her head.

“Sorry, I’m working this evening. Tell the guys that I said hey!” She replied before leaving the room.

———

It was well into the late afternoon by the time you were heading to the lair. April had been long gone at work and so you took your normal shortcuts to get the turtle’s hideout. However, you felt a sudden grip around your arm that had yanked you into the alleyway you were walking by, with a calloused hand covering your mouth.

You looked up at the perpetrator to see that it was Eric, who looked like he was about to tear New York City apart.

“Missed me?” He asked, his bushy red eyebrows furrowed together as his body pressed against yours. He held his leg against yours to avoid being kneed like last night, and his free hand had managed to maneuver both of your wrists above your head in one swoop.

“I might’ve let you get away easily last night, but you won’t be as lucky today. I heard that I’m banned from all the gyms around hear now, but what I wanna know is did you press charges?”

You shook your head, a grin now growing along his features, “Maybe you should’ve, ‘cause I ain’t going away.”

You felt his breath hit your neck, and you trembled against his body. As much as you tired to fight back, Eric had you in a hold that you were struggling to free yourself from.

Slamming your eyes shut, you waited for this nightmare to be over, and suddenly you felt an over-looming presence in the air.

“Step away from my girl, or else,” you heard a familiar voice whisper, opening one of your eyes to see Donatello swallowing the two of you in his casted shadow.

Eric had yet to realize how threatening Donatello’s presence is, chuckling as he turned his head, stating to the turtle, “Yeah buddy, why don’t you just fuck off and find your own sl—,” the boy paused, his eyes trailing up to finally meet with the terrapin hovering over him.

An audible sound of liquid started dripping down onto the concrete below as Eric cried out, letting you go and running away from the scene of the crime, a trail of urine following suite as he screamed. Donnie had quickly scooped you up and made haste onto the closest rooftop to avoid detection. He then set you down, but you were shaken up.

Had you really been in that situation… again?

What if Donnie hadn’t of shown up?

Would anybody have helped you?

Donatello called out to you by your name, catching your attention by snapping his fingers in front of your face. You glanced up at him with tears welding up in your eyes and he quickly pulled you into a hug.

“Hey, hey, no need to cry,” Donnie spoke softly, running his palm against your back as you broke down. “I know it’s been a bad day or two, but we can make it better. Shhh, shhh, I love you with all of my heart, we are going to get through this together, me and you. I promise.”

[virgo-dream]

✨ dreamling / fluff / acts of service / mature ✨

SUMMARY: It's been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream's recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he'd been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for.

read ch 01: "may I" here or on AO3 (2021 words)

Dream’s eyes blinked open. 

He’d been laying in what seemed like a very comfortable bed. It was certainly more comfortable than glass and iron, so much so that it made him nearly uncomfortable to feel his body resting over the welcoming springs of the mattress underneath his frail body. He could feel the weight of soft, warm blankets over him. Softer than stale air, warmer than a room deprived of sunlight. Still, weighing on him, heavy. Too heavy. 

He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been there for. He remembered very little; the sound of breaking glass and gunshots, the sting of cold air and freshly spilled iron blood invading his nostrils, slicing him from the inside out. Nausea, pain. Fatigue, so much of it. Then, the feeling of the binding circle breaking, like a rope that had been tied around his chest had finally been cut, like he was allowed to move again. He didn’t have it in him, physically or mentally, to do anything about it. 

Next thing he knew, he was in this bed. 

He remembered waking up other times, during different moments of the day, or maybe different days altogether. He felt the burning warmth of the sun on his cheek, then followed by the sound of curtains being shut. He’d seen the blue glow of moonlight, and the gentle tones of dusk. While he’d been all-knowing for most of his existence, 100 years in complete isolation were enough to throw him completely out of the cosmic loop, and in his current state, even if he did want it, he would not be able to throw himself back. Telling the time was not in his current roster of abilities. 

Still, the bed. The blankets.

Dream didn’t dare to move. He was hesitant, confused. Scared, really. Everything felt good, and good could only mean bad, because bad was the nature of men, and good was the currency in which they traded. A soft bed with warm blankets was a transaction, just as immortality, riches and power had been the price for his freedom. He had no interest in trading. 

Still. The bed. 

The heavy blankets. 

Too heavy, too soft, too warm. Soft to the point of contradicting itself into a horrifying itchiness, the worn threading cutting through Dream’s paper thin skin. The pillow threatened to swallow his head, but not without chewing thoroughly first, while the blankets felt heavier and heavier, ready to crush him, ready to break him more than he’d already been broken, ready to— 

“Hey, hey— it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s over now.” 

Dream hears the voice first, or maybe last, he isn’t sure. It’s detached from time and the actions surrounding it, from the feeling of the mattress bending next to him as someone sat on it, a pair of hands taking one of his own, caging it like he’d once been caged. Dream fought back against the touch, but all the strength he’d envisioned was only translated in a meek shaking of his bones, twitching fingers and what he now realised were sounds coming out of his own mouth. Still, it seems to get a reaction out of his new captor. His hand was released, in an act of fake mercy. 

“…today is July 12th 2022. It is now 6:45pm. I’m Hob Gadling. You’ve been here in my apartment for 10 days now.” 

Ah. There it was. 

Dream’s eyes blinked open once more. So much came flooding back to him at once, it was difficult to not feel nauseous. His tear filled eyes were hard to trust, and when he brought his hands closer to wipe the stripes of salt and fear away from his cheeks, it wasn’t as difficult as it had been to move just a moment before. When he spoke, his voice was rough with sleep and the newfound tightness of his throat. 

“…h.. hob ?” 

How could Dream forget the kindness of that smile? The gentleness of that touch, the softness of his voice… the way those arms had carried him out of his imprisonment, hands that had bathed him, dressed him and fed him, tended to his needs and held him through the terrors that haunted him. How could he forget Hob Gadling? 

“Hey there, my friend.” Hob smiled, reaching to brush the strands of hair glued to Dream’s forehead with cold sweat away from his eyes, tucking them behind his ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was preparing your soup.” 

Hob had been taking care of him for a while now. His extraordinarily human friend, his saviour, his constant, the only light to ever touch that wretched basement. He’d bravely rescued Dream from an imprisonment that had nearly caused his current form to expire, and now aided his recovery, as patient and devoted as he’d always, in a way, had been. This bed he rested in was Hob's own, gracefully offered, tearfully accepted. The pillow his head rested on also belonged to his friend, as well as everything else surrounding him. 

Dream wasn't sure how long he'd taken to just. Stare at Hob. Long enough, surely, to warrant a worried frown from him, followed by a voice so gentle it almost felt like it asked permission before entering Dream's ears. "Let's breathe together, okay?" A simple enough request, now that Hob had already helped him ground himself somewhat in what humankind called reality , this awful state of existence he'd been forced into for so long. Now, he required breathing, as a child did, and reassurance that he could do it much in the same way. Still, he nods in agreement. 

"May I take your hand?" 

Dream ponders for a moment. They've done this almost every time he wakes with his mind scrambled, deep into terrors he can't escape. Still, Hob asks for permission to touch him, with respect and reverence he'd long forgotten. He tries his vocal chords once more, the biggest effort he can make in answer to the lengths his beloved friend had been going to accommodate his bleeding wounds. "...you may." 

Hob smiles again, in his sweet, understanding way, completely devoid of pity, but maybe injected with a little pride. Proud of Dream, perhaps, as he'd told him the morning prior. Dream remembers now, he thinks. 

You're doing great, my friend. Two full meals today. I'm proud of you.

He took pride in even the smallest of progress, it seemed. Dream remembered feeling the same way when his son sang out his first words. Danced away his first steps. Remembering hurts.

"Come back to me, Dream." Hob squeezed his hand, as gently as a child would, and Dream was hit with the realisation that his mind had wandered off into treacherous woods. Hob rescued him once again, and seemed to be willing to do it over and over. Blue eyes rimmed with red and liquid fear darted back to meet brown ones filled with kindness and patience. Dream nods once again.

Hob places Dream's open hand to his own chest, over his heart. He breathes in slowly, the movement of his chest calm and smooth. "...breathe in through your nose." He instructs, and Dream tries, how he tries. The air slips in staccato, and Hob needs to remind him to "..hold it in, for a bit. Now, breathe out through your mouth." It's difficult to adapt to calming oneself down through breathing when oxygen had never been a necessity, and understanding the calming properties of full lungs only came with the long, torturous 100 years he spent refilling them with carbon filled gas repurposed by his own tired breathing apparatus. 

They repeat this ritual about 5 times, and when Dream catches his own rhythm, Hob releases his hand again. Dream wishes he hadn't. 

"Good. You did great, Dream."

" Dream ."

Hob seems confused for a moment, before smiling at him again. So many different smiles, that one had. So many different meanings, all in the design of his features. "You've told me your name a couple of days ago. I can call you friend, if you prefer. Or anything else, really."

Giving his name to Hob was something he had the agency to do, after being barred from it for so long. He chose to do it, and regretted not doing it sooner. He'd rather Hob have it than anyone else, really. "Use it. I've given it to you. It is yours to use." 

"Alright, Dream." It sounded so sweet in his voice. So gentle, caring. Full of devotion. More than ever, Dream needed it. Desperately. "Would you like to eat now? I might have to reheat the soup–"

Desperation does not suit a king. 

"You dare–" Dream had no idea what possessed him at that moment, to speak that way. Memories folded atop each other, feelings seemed misplaced and hard to differentiate. Hob certainly did not deserve to be ordered around, but for once, he felt strong enough to take , take his own dignity back in his starved hands. Shame washed over him like a cold wave on a winter storm on the shores of the Dreaming itself, and Dream retreated back to his withering disposition. Not without asking for forgiveness, though. In his own deflective way. "...I would like to. To eat. I–"

"It's alright, Dream." Hob reached to take his hand again, without asking this time. He assumed his welcome was extended, and Dream was relieved to not have to grant it again. "If anyone is calling the shots here, it's you, okay? You want to eat, we eat. I'd love to assist you in it too, if you'll have me."

Hob seemed to have the workings of his fragile mind figured out, at least now. Maybe he'd seen this particular brand of rudeness stemming from desperation, maybe Dream had behaved like this every time he opened his eyes since being rescued. Dream would have punished rudeness like that if it had ever been directed at him, but Hob seemed to see beyond the offence and straight into the heart of the issue. "...you are too lenient."

His gentle friend chuckles, and Dream feels a tingling on his stomach. "Not leniency. Compassion." He begins to move to get up, but stops himself, turning once more to look at Dream's wondrous expression. "Would you like to eat here or in the kitchen? Might do you good to get off the ol' bed. A nice chance to change the sheets for you too."

Dream ponders. Hob would change the sheets for him. Would bathe him, brush his hair. Find clothing in a choice of colour that appeased him. He'd done so much already. So much . "...in the kitchen."

Hob's face seemed to light up at that. He always seemed excited when Dream was willing to try something new, and this was no exception. Now, memory fully restored, Dream could truly appreciate the sentiment. "How do you feel about walking?"

"I feel...unwilling." He'd give anything to walk, run, fly even, if he had the strength for it. But he'd give everything for a chance to be held. Of the many things Dream had been cruelly deprived of, touch was the one he was the most ashamed to admit he'd missed. Such a base need, an animal want, a desire , pesky thing. He did not need touch, he did not. Did not . He craved it . Craved affection how his physical form craved air, so desperately it almost sent him into a panic again. His unwillingness to walk might get him what he so desperately wants. 

"That's fine, my– Dream ." My. Dream. "May I pick you up?" My Dream . "Haven't been able to get you a wheelchair yet." My Dream.  Harder to get a hold of one in the area than I remembered." His Dream. 

There's a breathlessness to Dream's voice when he remembers he must speak to be heard in the Waking, unless he uses his powers, of which he currently is unable to do without considerable strain. Voicing things physically is more difficult than he'd remembered. It takes a sort of willpower he never quite understood and always underestimated. "...you may."

[silvernyxchariot]

The Swan Song of Heavenly Hound

TW/CW: angst, because it's sad hours; character death (not a canon character's, dw about that); blood🩸/gore (just a smidgen 👌); idk, out of character, but then again, this is CCxSelf-insert, duh; written at 01:30, posted at 02:45

Series: One Piece, Doflamingo x OPsona, End of series timeline/Eustass Kid is King of the Pirates

Word Count: 670

"I'm so very tired, Joker."

Explosions littered the battlefield. The ringing in Doflamingo's ears made it difficult for him to hear Manda’s already fading voice. Instead of his signature smile, a deep frown wrinkled his face. "You're always tired..." he said without even any malice.

Blood flooded out of Manda’s mouth and oozed out of one of their nostrils. Their under eyes were decorated with grey bags, utterly weary from the days long war Kid and Doflamingo got their combined crews into. That strange alliance always made other pirates and even the World Government confused and wonder.

"You..." they huffed out between breaths, "promised me... you would destroy everything..." Tears spilled from corners of their eyes. Little waterfalls they were. "Why haven't you done that yet?" Manda didn't really care for an answer. They only wanted to keep listening to their beloved's voice.

What they wanted to keep hearing was Doflamingo's sinister baritone voice rumble as they were held in his arms, close to his chest, and his arrogant laughter. "You don't want the world to end. You wanted to end your pain." But what they didn't expect was the truth that both of them had denied themselves.

Manda’s breathing hitched before slowing down to a faint but steady rhythm.

"Do you want me to end it for you?" He asked, plain as day, knowing full well Manda’s wounds were fatal and their body was nothing but a destroyed bundle of flesh and broken bones. An exposed rib cage, limbs cut and sliced open, missing half of their left hand, a chonk of their thigh was bitten off, and days without a moment to rest. One's devil fruit was only so powerful. They'll never recover.

Doflamingo's much smaller partner felt like a broken porcelain doll in his arms. They tilted their head side to side, sluggishly indicating "no."

"I just want to stay here..." their voice fading further into near soundlessness, "with you, Doffy."

After a brief moment, like the flicker from a matchlock being fired, Manda’s eyes shut permanently, and their head lulled into Doflamingo's already blood-stained chest. Veins popped out of Doflamingo's forehead.

Is this what Big Mom felt? Or Kaido when they were being invaded by the Straw Hats back in their day? Too many thoughts but not enough action. Doflamingo couldn't stay in this spot forever.

As much as he wanted to mourn the loss of his longest term partner, he could do nothing more than wrap their body in threads, in a protective cocoon, to retrieve later. For the war has not ended. And his age of piracy was over. It was a new generation treating them like the old has-beens of a bygone era.

Log notes... [After the war]

""Demon Dog," Jiruga Manda of the Kid Pirates has been eliminated and weakened their fighting strength significantly," the World Goverment recorded.

"Eustass "Captain" Kid, King of the Pirates?! The Kid Pirates are deeply wounded and have hidden themselves to recover from their losses," the News Coo would headline.

Yes, all his officers knew he was still mourning, after all this time, the only bitch who would put up with him and not just for beri, expensive jewelry, clothes, or status.

Doflamingo was left on his little throne at his small island base, one he had built with Manda after they had freed him from Impel Down. With an empty seat next to him. He wore his expensive suits again. Mostly black with purple accents. He rarely smiled like he did when he ruled Dressrosa and always showed his displeasure, never bothering to mask his feelings. And he usually brandished a firearm, one his beloved designed for him years ago.

Senior Pink, though... He noticed the changes, too, but he was the only one who understood why Doflamingo wore his best outfits again, why they were usually pink and black, or why Doflamingo would explicitly ask for white lilies to be brought to him in November.

"That hound from the Kid Pirates always loved Doflamingo in his business attire..."

.

.

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I have not yet edited my OPsona's name from "Manda" to "Nyx," and I'm honestly too tired to care.

[astr0logies]

since  i  can't  set  up  a  carrd  rn  ,  &  i  don't  wanna  make  my  pinned  post  be  an  eternity  long  ;  below  the  cut  is  my  official  muse  list  ,  as  of  01/29/24  !  : 

  ‧₊˚⋅  ♯   𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋   𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 !   :

  ੈ♡˳   𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

▹   adhika   ❝   addie   ❞   torres   ,   twenty   four   :   christina   nadin   ,   dead   by   daylight   .  ▹   danielle   ❝   dani   ❞   thompson   ,   eighteen   -   thirty   two   :   malina   weissman   /   dakota   johnson   ,   former   medium   +   youtuber   &   single   mother   .

     ੈ♡˳ 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

▹   liana   florian   ,   twenty   :   shin   yuna   ,   daughter   of   snow   white   . ▹   penelope   ❝   penny   ❞   blum   ,   twenty-one   :   dove   cameron   ,   daughter   of   rapunzel   .  ▹   sakura   tremaine   ,   twenty   :   fukutomi   tsuki   ,   adopted   daughter   of   anastasia   tremaine   .  ▹   the   caterpillar   /   aurora   oruga   ,   thirty   :   selena   gomez   ,   alice   in   wonderland   .  ▹   the   white   queen   /   seraphina   white   ,   twenty-seven   :   anya   taylor   joy   ,   alice   in   wonderland   .  ▹   xia   huang   ,   twenty   :   ning   yi   zhuo   :   daughter   of   maleficent   . 

     ੈ♡˳ 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

▹   alison   ❝   ali   ❞   pierce   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   eight   (   verse   dependent   )   :   brec   bassinger   /   hayden   panettiere   ,   eerie   hollow   group   verse   .  ▹   anastasia   ❝   ana   ❞   davis   ,   twenty   :   vanessa   morgan   ,   eerie   hollow   group   verse   . ▹   camila   rodriguez   ,   twenty   -   thirty   (   verse   dependent   )   :   paulina   chavez   /   lisette   olivera   ,   eerie   hollow   group   verse   .     ▹   clarissa   mcknight   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   eight   (   verse   dependent   )   :   greta   onieguo   /   zazie   beetz   ,   eerie   hollow   group   verse   .  ▹   morgan   evans   ,   eighteen   -   nineteen   (   verse   dependent   )   :   cailee   spaeny   ,   eerie   hollow   group   verse   . ▹   ophelia   warner   ,   twenty-three   :   antonia   gentry   ,   affiliated   with   @ac1num   (   w/   rowan   grayson   )   .  ▹   violet   ross   ,   twenty   three   :   zendaya   ,   affiliated   with   @wkdys   (   w/   dakota   mills   )    . ▹   na   youngmi   ,   twenty   one   :   huh   yunjin   ,   dead   by   daylight   /   affiliated   with   @idolpyre   .

    ‧₊˚⋅  ♯   𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍   𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 !   :

  ੈ♡˳   𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

  ▹   bridgette   summers   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   seven   (   verse   dependent   )   :   madelyn   cline   ,   total   drama   island/action/world   tour   . ▹   dawn   lizowski   ,   eighteen-twenty   three   (   verse   dependent   )   :   maisie   peters   ,   total   drama   revenge   of   the   island   .  ▹   eileen   cavarai-roberts   ,   twenty-three   :   maitreyi   ramakrishnan   ,   regular   show   . ▹   fionna   campbell   ,   twenty-three   :   emily   alyn   lind   ,   fionna   &   cake   /   adventure   time   . ▹   gazlene   ❝   gaz   ❞   membrane   ,   twenty-five   :   ariela   barer   ,   invader   zim   . ▹   mabel   pines   ,   twenty-three   :    maude   apatow   ,    gravity   falls   .  ▹   star   butterfly   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   four   (   thread   dependent   )   :   jeon   somi   ,   star   vs   the   forces   of   evil   . ▹   yasmin   ❝   yaz   ❞   perez   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   five   (   thread   dependent   )   :   isabela   merced   ,   bratz   . ▹   zoey   daniels   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   four   (   verse   dependent   )   :   katie   douglas   ,   total   drama   :   revenge   of   the   island   &   all   stars   .

  ੈ♡˳   𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘦   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

  ੈ♡˳ 𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰   𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

  ▹   hinata   hyuga   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   five   (   verse   dependent   )   :   suzu   hirose   ,   naruto   /   naruto   shippuden   . ▹   mei   chang   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   three   (   verse   dependent   )    :   song   yuqi   ,   fullmetal   alchemist   :   brotherhood   .

▹   kate   denson   ,   twenty-seven    :   haley   lu   richardson   ,   dead   by   daylight   . ▹   lisa   garland   ,   twenty-three   -   thirty-three   (   verse   dependent   )   :    meg   donnelly   /   candice   king   or   margot   robbie   ,   silent   hill   2   /   dead   by   daylight   .  ▹   alice   angel   /   susie   campbell   ,   age   unknown   :   camila   mendes   /   in   game   likeness   ,   bendy   &   the   ink   machine   /   bendy   &   the   dark   revival   .  ▹   maxine   ❝   max   ❞   caulfield   ,   eighteen   :   yoo   jeongyeon   ,   life   is   strange   .  ▹   mikaela   reid   ,   twenty   four   :   emily   rudd   ,   dead   by   daylight   . ▹   natsuki   kito   ,   nineteen   :   sakura   miyawaki   ,   doki   doki   literature   club   .  ▹   sayori   akibo   ,   eighteen   :   sana   minatozaki   ,   doki   doki   literature   club   .

  ੈ♡˳ 𝘵𝘷   /   𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   .

▹   brooke   thompson   ,   twenty   one-twenty   seven   (   verse   dependent   )   :   ashley   moore   ,   ahs   :   1984   . ▹   jackie   burkhart   ,   eighteen-twenty   three   (   verse   dependent   )    :   olivia   rodrigo   ,   that   70's   show   .  ▹   joan   starkey   ,   nineteen   :   jacqi   vene   /   camila   morrone   ,   fear   street   :   1978   . ▹   love   quinn   ,   twenty   seven   -   thirty   (   thread   dependent   )   :   victoria   pedretti   ,   you   .  ▹   nancy   wheeler   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   (   verse   dependent   )   :   natalia   dyer   ,   stranger   things   .  ▹   sabrina   spellman   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   one   (   verse   dependent   )   :   kiernan   shipka   ,   the   chilling   adventures   of   sabrina   .

  ੈ♡˳𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵   𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴   . 

▹   chloe   park   ,   twenty-three   :   kim   chaewon   ,   we   bare   bears   .  ▹   diane   nguyen   ,   twenty   seven   -   thirty   five   :   jessica   vu   /   hong   chau   ,   bojack   horseman   .  ▹   rin   yamaoka   /   the   spirit   ,   twenty-two   :   mori   koyuki   /   yuki   of   purple   kiss   ,   dead   by   daylight   . ▹   wendy   testaburger   ,   eighteen   -   twenty   (   verse   dependent   )   :   kang   seulgi   ,   south   park   .

[insanethrottlebikernews]

HERE'S THE TRUTH ABOUT UNCLE SHAGGY & THE INVADERS MC

#OUTLAWMOTORCYCLECLUB #MOTORCYCLECLUB #SHAGGY The interview with Miklo from Los Perros MC stirred up a lot of emotions. This was evident on the video that Uncle Shaggy did following it. If you look in the comments section you will find a thread of a person going after Shaggy and the Invaders MC. I address that today 00:00 What’s this all about 01:03 You really don’t know the United…

[minuyu]

undying love [yandere! prince! x female! reader!]

Warning: This story may contain dark and unsettling themes. Proceed at your own risk.

01: The Three of Swords.

               “The prince may be the finest man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He is so light-hearted and sparkles like the most expensive jewel in the spotlight. He truly is perfect. I mean, have you seen his countenance ¹? His face has been sculpted by the very gods themselves. Not to mention, he excels in everything that he does. If he so much as looked me in the eyes, I would reach enlightenment. I do not have a doubt in my very words. Oh, he has lips that were made for kissing a maiden’s rosy cheeks. He has eyes that hold me hostage with their beauty, by much greater than the night sky ever could. His accent and words roll off his tongue like silk rubbing against bare skin, so soothing. I tell you, he is the love that all women want but no woman can receive.” The young, golden-haired maiden spoke in a hushed whisper on the streets to a small group of friends who huddled around her. With every dreamy sigh she took between her description of him, white puffed from her lips due to the cold weather. Despite this, the miniature crowd of women were warm in their hearts and cheeks, just at the very thought of the young prince.

               “Can you believe that he has never looked at a woman with desire? Despite of this, I can’t blame him. Somebody who deserves their body to be placed in the stars as a constellation is much too good for me. Nonetheless, I still dream every night of him. His love must be the greatest treasure a woman can get.” One of the women among the crowd continue on. The women continue to swoon, packed on the side of the cobblestone street.

               The kingdom of they called ‘home sweet home’ was one of cold weather throughout most of the year. Resting on the top of the tallest mountain that was surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains, it granted extra protection from possible enemies. At the foot of the mountains, about a two day walk from the kingdom, laid a deep and dark forest around this ring of mountains that gave them a great advantage over invaders. Tales about the forest had spread around the kingdom like wildfire due to it being so mysterious, but longer than any of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Perhaps, one of the reasons that the people were hesitant to leave the kingdom by foot, was the dark forest. Despite this, Spring still managed to peak out and greet the people with warmth and gracious nature every year. The kingdom was freezing, but with technologies advancing everyday, such as better ways of insulation and heating of homes with radiators throughout the floors and much more, they only got better at surviving the extreme temperatures. One must grow accustomed to the cold before they even think of treading in the King’s territory.

               One may be surprised, however their King was one of the very best in centuries. He was one of great kindness and care for the people, a true father of the nation. In that respect, his son made the future of the kingdom seem brighter. Excelling in just about every field, prince Bastiaan, the only son and child of the King and the late Queen, seemed to be a promising leader. One subject of the kingdom could not even batter an eyelash at the royal family. Instead, she preferred to focus on those who were near to her, like other lower-class people who lived among compact housing.

               Across the street from where the women had been gossiping, there laid a place where one could get their fortune told to them at a low price. Despite not giving a care in the world for the dearest prince and his father, women often came to her for tarot card readings that would hopefully predict that they would become the prince’s future queen. The shop, rugged in appearance yet strikingly colourful was her home. A big, wooden door with prune paint chipping off due to being worn out by harsh breezes during the dead of winter. On the door was a wooden sign hanging by a thick thread on a nail messily put into the door, that read ‘ Fortune Teller’.

               Inside of this shop, their was a small table and multiple beanbags and cushions spread around the floor. Shelves were fulled to the brim of tattered books about astronomy, myths, tarots, readings and so much more. A small chandelier hung from a cracked ceiling, painted with a beautiful mural of golden and purple-toned flowers seeming to rain from the night sky. The chandelier had a purplish hue that made the shop seem all the more magical. In the back, through an empty threshold with a curtain of silver star-shaped beads, was a table higher off of the ground with symbolic carvings of gods and holy symbols in the purple paint of the table. Freshly lit incense stands in a painted ceramic bowl filled with rice, imported from the warmer climates down South, at the center table surrounded by the cloths design.

               At the moment, two chairs were occupied. One, was taken up by a frequent client. Her name was Abella, who had also been entranced by the prince but not as much as other women. She came every week to the fortune teller, as she was always paranoid about the future. The tarot card readings gave her a sense of control, or at least helped her to prepare for any events that would take place. Abella had wavy white strands of hair that looked like the snow that fell outdoors much too often. Despite her young age, the white strands of hair were natural. Her face was long and clean, with little makeup placed upon to hide things that she called ‘flaws’. She wore a large, red trench coat that complimented her ruby crimson eyes beautifully. Only her grey, wide-ankle pants were able to be seen under the large coat she wore. She leaned in over the wooden table with the purple carvings with anticipation.

               On the other chair opposite from her, sat a young woman with [hair colour] strands of hair. She wore a large and over-sized coat as well, except hers was made out of a porcelain white faux fur. Her [eye colour] eyes seemed like a maze easy to get lost in, and her black eclipse-like pupils focused on the cards as she swiftly laid them out with her [skin tone] toned hand. The back of the cards were identical, all with the same simple symbol of a round, golden circle on a plain, pitch black back. The cards were placed neatly in unison with ease that one could easily tell that the fortune teller, who was called [Name], was a master with the cards before she could likely even speak. Her soft gaze averted to the Abella, inspecting Abella’s face that was scrunched up due to the difficulty of thinking which card to pick. They all looked the same, but let to very different outcomes.

               ”Pick a card, any card. Your fate will remain the same. Choose the ones that call for you, and it will be true.” You reassure her. Abella was always terrible at making decisions, but with reassurance from the very person who she trusted to help her every week, Abella squeezes her eyes shut and quickly chooses three random cards. [Name] picks up with cards that Abella had chosen, and inspects them.

               “For your past, you have gotten Death in the upright position. Death means that you have moved onto a new era of your life quite recently. It may have required some sacrifice and difficulty.” You tell Abella, who looked at you with her eyes as wide as saucers.

               ”I guess the Death card isn’t too bad.. when it’s the tarot explaining my past. Please, carry on to my present.” Abella says, biting on her lip afterwards in anticipation for what the next card would be. You move your attention back to the cards in your hand and put down The Tower card. Abella had never gotten this card before, so she quirked up at the sight. “What does it mean?” She asks desperately, as if her life depended on it. You chuckle slightly, and gently remove your touch from the tower card, leaving it in front of her and beginning to tell her what it meant, after you could hear the card speaking to you.

               ”The Tower in upright position. It means that there are big changes coming your way. These changes mean that any part of your life can be affected. Relationships, your job, or even financial circumstances. The chaos that the tower unleashes in this position will usually only affect one part of your life, but quite thoroughly as well. If the structures of your tower of life cannot handle this disruption without collapsing, then I suggest that it is best for you to add some new structures into your life.” You tell her, keeping your gaze focused on her to see the reaction you would receive from such a card. It wasn’t the luckiest card to get in present, but it also wasn’t the worst. The Tower meant that a part of her life will be heavily impacted. And that may be a good thing, as it will also give Abella a chance to build herself up again and choose better decisions in that part of her life.

               To your surprise, Abella doesn’t speak out and shout in a blaze of worry, she continues to bite her lip and nods her head, seemingly accepting the card in front of her. It seemed as though she knew what you were talking about and knew that in the end, it would have a positive impact on her life. “Carry on, [Name].” She says, in a more serious tone. She was properly thinking about the road of her life and obviously looked like she wanted to take caution and just live the best life that she possibly could.

               Finally, with the last card in your left hand’s fingers, you place it down on the table and tell her what was coming in the future, “You have gotten Strength in the upright position. This is a very powerful card and is generally a good omen. It means that anything bothering you at the moment will seem like nothing in the near future. Time will deal with all of your problems, but this happens all the time. You are lucky, Abella. The Strength card is a very good card to receive.” You tell her, a smile on your face at the good news. You feared that all the readings would be bad omens, but it seems that the Strength card turned the whole table around.

               Abella smiles delightfully, tapping her shoes on the ground with joy. “What wonderful news! I was scared that The Tower would lead to more bad. It turns out it will lead me to Strength. I must go through the hardships against me, mustn't I? Thank you once again, [Name]. Knowing what is coming my way truly helps to calm my nerves.” Abella thanks you, before pulling her sleeve up slightly to show a silver watch, which produced the subtle sound of time ticking away. “I’m going to be late for lunch with my friend if I don’t hurry. I’m afraid I may have taken my sweet time.” She says before taking two silver coins out of her coat pocket and placing them on the table. “Thank you kindly for the services once again, [Name]. I’ll be back for another one next week, as per usual.” Abella says, a pleased smile on her lips, completely different to the serious and frightened expression on her face as she was biting her lip earlier. Abella rises from the wooden chair and walks towards the exit of the shop, her white hair looking like a waterfall of snow as it drifted to her tailbone. Soon, you heard the door open and slam shut, meaning that she had left. Now, you sat alone in silence, with the muffles of life outside barely able to be heard. You get the cards and shuffle them up once again before placing them inside a box.

               Standing up, you place the pack of tarot cards within a small wooden box on one of your shelves, where it was now accompanied by at least a dozen other decks in the box. Closing the box, you decide that perhaps it was time for yourself to grab of something to eat, after all you could hear your stomach crying out for something pleasant to the tongue. You walk to the other side of the back room and pull open a black curtain, revealing a dark wooden set of stairs to the second story of the building. In the kingdom, most people usually had a shop on their lower floor and their home on the upper one. You found it quite functional and began walking up the steps calmly, despite the planks of wood moaning out with the threats of snapping in two due to wear and tear for decades. You lived in quite an old building. While it was not the best, it still had cheap rent and was home to you.

               Alas, your home could never compare to the gleaming white palace of pearl and golden detailing. The palace had towers that stretched up to the heavens and large windows that could barely give one a peek at their lavish lifestyle among the riches that their ancestors had collected through the eras. It may surprise a newcomer, however they were the only family that had ever been on the throne. True, pure blood royalty.

               The main doors were large and plain white with golden detailing and a large star in the middle that was made out of stained glass. The stained glass changed, depending on who’s reign it was. During the current King’s reign, it was red with a white flower in the middle of it, standing for fortune, purity and hope. At the back of the palace however, things got even grander with a garden too large for one to walk around in one day and manage to admire every single beautiful thing that it had.

               In despite of this, the prince’s keen, dark pearl eyes stared into the forest from his bedroom window, wishing for some adventure, or at least something new. Being forced to try your best at everything was tiring, and it was more tiring having to live up to everybody else’s expectations of you for your entire life. The prince was tall, standing at about six feet and three inches tall, about 190cm. He had a slender build, but his black outfit hid his well-toned muscle that had been build up over the years. Nevermind the fact of him being the best in combat, such as sword fighting especially, he didn’t have a single scratch on his skin that was as pale as the snow. Naturally, his cheeks were dusted with red due to the cold weather and slightly around his eyes as well, that were narrow and accompanied with orbs that were dark like the night sky. His lips had a slight red tint to it, but so subtle that one could tell if they examined him for a moment. His jet black hair was wavy and medium-cut for a man with it split in the middle of his forehead. His hair was undercut as well slightly, giving him an even cleaner look.  His hairstyle was truly charming, and was one of the most trendy hairstyles every year. The prince nonchalantly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair and stood up from the window seat, the grey light peaking out from the clouds falling on his shoulders. The prince wore a long-sleeved black shirt was a button-up, however the shirt went past to be buttoned up at the left side of his chest. His buttons were also black. There was a golden dragon embroidered on the prince’s shirt, but nothing was embroidered on his pants. They were plain black as well, and his shoes were pointy-toed and gleamed with ever step, but could never out-shine the prince no matter how much one polished them.

               “Your highness, the king awaits you in the amber private tearoom. He wishes to discuss your future.” The prince, named Bastiaan was being spoke to by a man who was neat in countenance despite the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. This man was his personal royal adviser. He had his grey hair slicked back, and the usual uniform of a white dress shirt and black pants but with red detailing, showing that his status was high thanks to the fact he was working closely for the royal family. The only person in the palace who ever dressed to show off their wealth was prince Bastiaan’s father, Alaric Beaumont Marchand Oscar D’Aramitz, who’s old age didn’t restrain him from wearing heavy red cloaks and jewels and badges all across the sash he wore. His pale grey hair still held some black streaks from his early, younger days.

               ”Very well then.” Prince Bastiaan responds monotonously, face void of emotion. His shoes clacked against the gleaming floor with elegance, and as he reached the expensive door, it was opened by two royal guards on either side. Walking past them, the prince makes his way to his father, the king himself. He could feel a nervous lump in his throat.

               As Prince Bastiaan walks along the polished halls, the floor tiled with black and gold marble. The wallpaper was extravagant and light in colour. There were paintings of past rulers and paintings done by famous artists, some of the paintings centuries old. Soon, he regretfully arrived at the end of the hall at a door much larger and grander than the rest, so detailed by gold that you could barely see the canvas that the gold had been laid upon. Prince Bastiaan dusts his outfit off and fixes himself up before running his hand yet again through his dark, silky smooth locks. Then he clears his throat and stands still. At last, the guards open the grand door for him and he is wet with the conservatory. Despite it being winter, the glass was so thick that it was warm inside. The room felt cosy despite being fairly large due to the large fireplace that roared on viciously behind his father. There he was. The man of the era. The man that ruled the kingdom. The man that ruled his life. He sat deep in thought, not noticing his son’s glamorous arrival. Several of his knuckles rested upon his chin as he contemplated deeply about god knows what. The room was dim, most likely ordered to be by his father who disliked bright light, complaining about the strain it placed on his eyes. Instead, the orange light of the fire lit up the room, accompanied by several lavender scented candles scattered about the room.

               Prince Bastiaan coughs, gaining his father’s attention. The king turns his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, having not noticed him enter. “You wished to speak with me, father?” He questioned, looking at his father’s grey orbs that matched his hair like the grey stone walls that had protected the kingdom for decades.

               ”Indeed. Please, take a seat, my boy.” His father responds. The king takes a porcelain teapot with fine blue designs on it from the table, and pours chamomile tea into two matching tea cups. There was a small three tiered tray of savoury treats, all attractively colourful and delicious. Their smell mixed with the lavender, making the room that tiny bit more enjoyable. Following his father’s wishes, the prince swiftly sits down on a matching, large wooden chair that was cushioned with soft, velvet, maroon fabric.

               ”It is time to speak about a certain topic, my boy. Your future. However, I would like to focus on a specific part. Which is, love. Every king and every queen has had a partner by their side. Love makes us stronger. My son, you are a gift from the heavens. Everyday, with each new achievement you make, I think to myself, ‘Is he really my boy? He’s so talented, and capable, someday maybe he will be as great as me.” The prince’s father begins. The prince stays silent, grabbing his tip of tea gently with his left hand as he pays attention. The only thing interrupting his father was the slight cackling of the fire.

               “My son, I wish for you to find a beloved. Perhaps, even a wife. Or even, a meaningless fling with a noble lady to your liking. You must relax. Sometimes, I look at your listless face and ask myself, ‘What happened to the little boy who used to smile at every single thing, as if it meant the world to him?’. I do not wish to find you a wife myself, however I may feel inclined to if you do not find one within the next six months. Or at the very least, a love interest. Every woman in this kingdom rests at your feet, worshiping your status, beauty and intelligence. Surely, it will not be an issue.” The king states.

               ”Father, this is unfair. I hate to argue with you, I truly do, but I do not wish for any of these women. There is no challenge. They all fall to my feet and would willfully marry me if I so much as glance at them. They claim to love me so deeply, they claim that I am god’s lost child, however they do not know me at all. The noble ladies wish to marry and converse to me for the status and money. My looks and capability are just a bonus. If I marry women like them, what will become of me? I must set an example, and if I get married, my wife shall be an example to the rest of the kingdom as well. I refuse for you to control my love life. I am perfectly capable of ruling this kingdom on my very own. When the time is right, I will marry. If that time never comes, it is of no importance. It is only love.” The prince responds, hands tightening around the arm rests to restrain his temper. In his head he could hear multiple voices of those who have commented on his love life before.

               ‘Prince Bastiaan is perfect, so why doesn’t he marry already?’, ‘I wish he would look at me and realize that I’d be willing to marry him. He’s a gift from the divinity I tell you.’, ‘Have you seen the prince? He must be quite a loner if he hasn’t ever had a lover at his age.”

               You could visibly tell that Prince Bastiaan’s calm response had set the king off with rage. “You will marry. You have six months at most. Do not dare defy me once more.” The king threatens, his voice dangerously low. Full to the brim with anger and disappointment towards his father, the prince raises up to his feet and begins taking swift and large strides along the halls towards his bedroom. Once he reaches his destination, he opens the door himself, leaving the guards slightly confused, only to realize what had happened when the prince slams the doors behind him

               His back was now pressed against the door and he looked down at his feet. He knew that he couldn’t impress everybody. He knew that everybody admired him, or at least, everyone except his father. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to find a partner in life, and he truly didn’t wish for one. He had read multiple romance novels from the palace library and all seemed to be filled with heartache and tragedy. He was not about to sign himself up for something that he knew would inflict emotional pain on him. If he was hurt in any way, he couldn’t continue being the perfect man that he was, and it seemed that only god knew how difficult it was to live to people’s standards. With the marker set up so high, even if he was slightly off target, everybody would be disappointed. The prince clicked his pointy tips together before walking towards the window and inspecting the kingdom that lay before him. The kingdom that he was set to reign over.

               Prince Bastiaan had heard from whispers on the street that there was a fortune teller. One that could tell fortune with great accuracy, and who’s abilities brought those who didn’t believe in her to their knees. He gazed out, looking for his answer in his mind. If he hired the fortune teller, perhaps it would help with his love life. Especially if she would tell him about his progress every week and what is to come. That way, he could be prepared for any emotional storm that would come. That way, he would learn how to win a woman’s heart with his personality alone. Despite of this, the prince felt his hope slip through his arms as he realized that he did not know what his personality really was. He was a puppet, or even a mere doll that everybody played with. The doll had to be whatever the people wanted, and they wanted a true idol. One that could compete against the greatest gods. Before he could think any further on that matter, a loud knock sounded on the door.

               “Your highness, lady Isla from the house of Brodeur has come for your meeting. She is waiting for you inside of the amber private tearoom where you once were. Your father has retreated to his private quarters, so you two will have the tearoom to yourselves.” The royal adviser's voice informed the prince through the door, slightly muffled.

               ”Yes, I’m on my way.” The prince says. “That’s today?” He whispers to himself surprised. He sighs, deciding that perhaps lady Isla was his only choice at the moment. After all, she was obsessed with him. She stuck to him like glue and whenever they were at the same ball or gala, she would follow him despite the weaves and turns he would make. She often bragged to her group of friends with how she was childhood friends with the prince, despite him not considering them friends at all for that matter. Her affections were completely one-sided yet she never stopped chasing after him. The prince looked back at the kingdom and sighed. Perhaps he should gather some suitable choices for himself before making his final decision. He needed somebody suitable to be the mother of the country. He wanted them to be great, or even greater than his late mother.

               The prince spun on his heel and went through the same corridor and door to return back to the tearoom. He had managed to recollect his thoughts, and felt much more calmer now. However, he had no idea how he would appeal as amorous or even properly flirtatious to a woman. After all, he did not find Lady Isla even the slightest bit appealing, not as a lover or a queen.

               When the prince entered the room, he saw Lady Isla standing tall and joyfully. At first glance, she seemed neat and mature. She was quite tall for a woman, standing at around 5’9. Shiny dark brown hair cut into a bob. Her diamond blue eyes scan over the prince, taking in all of his beauty with a pleased smile on her face.

              “Your highness, thank you for meeting with me today. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She says thankfully, grabbing the back of the chair where the king himself had once sat, and curtsied, bowing her head much deeper than required to show how grateful she was. In all honesty, the prince had only agreed to this meeting in order to tell her straightforwardly that he was not interested in her. The love-sickness that was tied to him had grown annoying and was interfering with his work. Now it seemed that we had to do the complete opposite of what he desired to save face.

               ”You may sit.” Prince Bastiaan says motioning to the chair in front of him. Lady Isla blushes as she sits down on the maroon chair. The fact she was in his presence and could have his full attention for a small while made her feel like her heart was about to pound of its chest. The prince saw her as foolish, especially since she had sat down. Yes, he may have told her to, but she should know that it is required that any royal blood sits down first. It seemed that she had failed in the department of manners. How could a queen not even know the rules, manners, and laws of her own country? Prince Bastiaan sat down opposite Isla and felt pressured by her large eyes piercing at him intently, not leaving his figure for a split second. He felt uncomfortable but decided to use his confidence. He was a prince after all.

               The prince looked Isla directly back into her eyes with a listless face. She could feel that her heart was skipping beats like crazy, she was surprised that she had not fallen over with a heart attack. Though she didn’t know that the prince was testing out one of the moves he had learnt from reading romance books. His heart was supposed to flutter at the very sight of her, he was supposed to feel his heart skip a beat. But there was no warm feeling, no happiness, no sped up heartbeat. Nothing. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that he had been granted the gift of being talented in return for his ability to love.

               “How was your morning?” The prince asks, as a servant comes over and begins to pour them a pot of freshly brewed green tea. He breaks gaze with Isla and picks up his teacup, taking a small sip out of it to take the warm liquid in.

               ”It-It was alright. And yours, Bastiaan?” She asked, longing for his dark orbs to stare into hers again. Even if the interaction was over, her heart would not stop beating quickly. Prince Bastiaan put down his teacup as he tried not to flinch with repulsion and her poor manners. Was she a noble lady or a slave? He decided that she really was not the one that was worth the status of being Queen.

               ”It was lovely meeting you once again today. I have my studies to attend to. Thank you for coming, perhaps we could meet again in the near future. However, I am quite busy today.” The prince lied with his cold tongue. In whatever way though, the noble lady’s heart could not be cooled down.

               “That is...is quite alright,” She stuttered out, in disbelief that he had actually said that he hoped that they could ‘meet again in the near future’. Had something changed? Perhaps the prince was finally paying attention to the sort of things that other men his age would. Regardless, the prince just wanted to get out of this situation and as far away as possible. He didn’t want to appear rude after what he had pulled today, it may damage his reputation.

               “I’ll be off.” He vocalized, before standing and retreating back to his chambers. He rushed to the window and placed his hand on the clear glass, as if reaching out. Taking a deep breath in. He needed help, desperately. He was afraid to admit it, but this fortune teller seemed to be his only choice. If he was to find his perfect bride within six months, he needed to get help in avoiding women who didn’t live up to the standards. He needed hints. So with that, the prince walked over to the part of his room where a rope hung from the ceiling. Grabbing it with his hands and pulled, ringing the summoning bell. Several moments later, the royal adviser walks inside of his bedroom.

               “Summon that fortune teller near the compact housing. The one that the common folk and nobles alike speak of.” He demanded, not seeing any reason to justify his actions. He was simply complying with his father’s wishes, but not so much in the way that the king expected. He spoke with utmost certainty, determined to find the perfect queen, even if there were no feelings of admiration.

               The royal adviser simply compiled, slightly caught off guard by the request. “Right away, your highness. I will come back to you with them soon.” The adviser responds, before disappearing once again, the doors shutting closed silently behind him.

               Prince Bastiaan sighs sorrowfully, and sits down on a large couch in his bedroom. His room had a black and white marble floor, with wallpaper that was black and golden. Black was his favourite colour. It was practical and fit every occasion. Parties, afternoon tea, funerals, ceremonies, etc. Not only that, but the young prince swore to wear black for the rest of his life after his mother had passed, at the age of eight.

              Entering your shop, you move to take your coat off but are interrupted by insistent knocking on the front door. You open it a smidge and peek through to see a young man in full plate armor.

               “Are you the fortune teller of this shop?” He asks eyeing you down.

               “Yes…?” You answer, opening the door a bit more. You are about to ask what kind of fortune he wants to be read, when he speaks again.

               “Prince Bastiaan of the royal family requests your audience.” You stand there with a confused look on your face. You had just gotten home from finishing a late lunch, and several minutes later, a palace knight had come knocking on your door. To tell you that the prince “requests your audience”.

               ”Why?” You ask, hoping to get some answers. The whole scenario makes you scratch your head, wondering why the prince would want a simple fortune teller.

               ”You are expected at the palace by ten in the evening, tonight. A carriage will come to pick you up at nine in the evening. Have a splendid day. Long live the king.” The knight states, completely dodging your question. It seemed that your question was either confidential information or the guard did not care to answer. You sigh, seeing that you had no choice. You slam the door shut with anger at the knight who hadn’t even bothered to give you a simple answer. Now, your thoughts will wander until ten in the evening, when you were supposed to meet the prince. Then, you froze. Akin to a statue when you realized that you were meeting the acclaimed perfect prince from fairy tales that young ladies dream about. You had to look your best. If you looked the slightest bit scrappy, god knows what would happen to you. The prince may think that you are disrespecting him with informality and as a result, his father would behead you. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but it was still plausible.

               You hurried upstairs. It was already six in the evening and you only had three hours to make yourself look better than you ever have before. You admit, you didn’t care much about royalty or wooing the prince. However, you did care about paying respect to where respect was due. Though you hated to admit it, the prince had a heart of generosity. Not only did he give 90% of his homeless subjects homes and jobs, he helped fill their stomachs until they were stable and able to survive on their own without his aid. Prince Bastiaan had even risked his life in battle more times than you could count for the kingdom, returning without a scratch. He was the rightful owner of the title, Angel of Beauty and Blood. It sounded quite cliche to you, but you knew that it was true.

               Your wooden planked floors creaked with every step you made, begging for repair and threatening to break. You paid no mind to the creaks and entered your small box of a bedroom. It was full of herbs, orbs, and dried out vegetables, specifically for making medicines. The white wallpaper was stained yellow and was chipping off of the wall. Some of the wall was covered by a large tapestry of a purple eye, which was pinned up with two small nails. In the corner of the uncomfortably small room was a dresser, with your clothes hung up with thin, metal hangers. There was a drawer at the bottom, where inside were your underwear, tights, shirts, and pants.  You reached out for a hanger that held a purple and white dress. It was lilac and strapless, and the chest area looked as though it was a purple-toned water lily. The bottom was quite puffy and had translucent fabric stacked on top in order to add that extra volume. It had small, silver shimmers that seemed as though they could catch the moonlight, and overall, was quite cute and elegant. It had matching, long lilac gloves that went up a few inches past your elbows, and had silver ends with white flowers embroidered on neatly. This dress was once your mothers from what you could tell judging by the tag inside having the words ‘from mother’ sewed into it. You only wore it on the most special occasions, and this one was certainly a special occasion.

               You slithered out of your day wear, abandoning your old clothes on the floor before picking them up and placing them in a small laundry bag that hung on door’s knob, handcrafted from an old sack of potatoes. Afterwards, you proceeded to put on your special outfit. You admit that perhaps you had grown quite a bit since your last special occasion, as it was slightly more difficult to zip yourself up into the dress. As you put on the rest of your outfit on, such as the gloves and your white tights due to the cold weather. Afterwards, you went into the bathroom and stared yourself in the mirror. You wanted to give yourself a speech to psych yourself but as your lips parted, nothing came out. You had the lowest rank a person could have, and the second highest rank, only to the king, that belonged to the prince wished to get in touch with you. Yes, you. The [hair colour] haired girl staring right back at you in the cracked mirror. Perhaps you had the right to believe that broken mirrors granted you bad luck. If word got out you met with the prince, wouldn’t business become better? What if they gave you free snacks there? What if you were making a big deal out of nothing? What if you showed up to palace looking like a purple doll while the prince was in his pajamas? Wouldn’t you look like an idiot? In fact, what if business went south? What if people got jealous that you talked to the prince? What if all the women in the kingdom couldn’t accept you?

               You shake your head before the anxieties driving around your mind could come back to you any faster. You gripped the edges of the sink with your fingers turning white due to how hard you gripped it. You breathe in. “One, two, three. Breath out gently.” A young man with golden hair and snowy white orbs, looked you right in the eyes as you opened them gently. “Better, isn’t it? If you feel worried, then remember to breathe. I won’t always be here to remind you of that.” He says, a small smile on his rosy lips.

               “I feel much more calm now. My nerves.. aren’t as tense. Too bad the sweat on my hands can’t be taken back into my skin, I feel like I’ll form a river. I just.. I’m so nervous for this. I truly believe in this, Florian. I truly do. If I can make even the smallest change-“ You were cut off by Florian’s small, melodic chuckle.

                “Yes, I know, I know. [Name], you can change the world. You can do much better than your pathetic excuse of a friend. Keep your head held high. As a famous poet once said, ‘a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world’. Stay smiling bright like you always are. Now, get out there and knock their socks off!” Florian reassures you, his hands gripping the sides of your arms and encouraging you. His smile shone brighter than a million suns and you felt blinded by his beauty and grace. Your soft fingers gripped into the sides of his arms in return, with stress and darkness. It was as if there was a rain on your parade and the sun had come to personally greet and save you. You regretfully let go of his arms, your own dropping to your sides. You bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling determined.

               “You sway the heavens like the branches in the wind. Surely, you can sway this crowd of people with your talent.” Florian says, before squeezing your sides tightly then letting go.

               You pant, your eyes wide and shaky. Your legs tremble and you fall down onto your backside, colliding with the hard tiled floor of the bathroom. Who was Florian? Yes, it seemed like a memory, but you weren’t sure if flashbacks got that intense. Your hands felt numb and your fingernails hurt from how hard you had unknowingly gripped upon the sink.

               Though you did not like to spread the information, you had amnesia. The earliest memory you ever had was waking up on the side of the street completely stripped of any memory or coin, as though you had been brutally kidnapped then abandoned. You’ve been dealing with it for seven years. Seven years of never knowing who you were, where you came from or what your family was like. It did not make you too sad because you couldn’t miss a part of your life that you couldn’t remember. You occasionally got, what you believed to be, glimpses of your past. They put you through intense emotions, and left you feeling as though you had experienced a panic attack about a hundred times within a minute. Your head ached desperately as your fist weakly hit the floor. God, you wished that you could remember something. Your fist raised from the cold floor and onto the top of your head. However, your hit against the top of you head was weak as well. Your fingers, covered by gentle cloth intertwined with your [hair colour] strands that rose messily out the top of your head.

               Getting back up shakily, you stare at yourself in the mirror. There was a small, wooden clock that ticked sorrowfully in the lonely bathroom, signalling that it was already at seven in the evening. Had time really flown by so quickly? Well, time is a construct. It flies by when you long for it to linger for longer, and lingers for longer when you long for it to fly by.

               You pick up the brush that rested on the sink and brushed out the tangles in your hair, and styled your hair in a way so that it was neat and tucked behind the ears. Doing so gave you a clean look, as if you were a completely different class. You practiced smiling in the mirror. As you practiced, you suddenly halted. Had you become crazy? Why were you practicing how to smile?

               Slightly angry at yourself for wasting time by getting carried off on a tangent, you hurriedly finished up your hair, using all sorts of products to make it smell luscious and look better than it ever had in its lifetime. You finished several minutes after the clock had hit eight. Now, you lightly placed some natural appearing makeup and hugged your faux fur coat tight around your body. You looked at yourself and took out a pearl necklace. It was on sale, and perhaps fake due to the cheap price you managed to get it in, so you had bought it just in case something like this had come up. You slipped on some white flats, not willing to risk a mishap in heels.

               It was now half past eight and you were pretty much ready. All that was left was to pack the things you’d need. The prince most likely called upon you as audience due to your fortune telling abilities. You made your way downstairs, switching the light off in the bathroom.

               You picked up a white satchel with some embroidery done into it of purple flowers. You had gotten it for such a cheap price despite it being quite the steal, especially since there was purple. You felt connected to the colour, even if it maybe wasn’t your favourite. Your empty satchel felt like a feather as you wrapped it around your body, then proceeded to look around the shelves. The small, brown box called out to you from the shelves, driving you to pick it up. Inside, there was a small, glass orb. The glass orb could give the user a warning to one’s future at the price of a drop of blood. This let the orb know whose future to read, and helped it to accurately show a glance at one’s future.

               You began your course of action for the drab, amber box that held around about a dozen different tarot cards. You selected the one that stood out of the pile. The cards had a back of black with the national flower painted upon. It was truly a beautiful selection of cards, so you put it into your bag as well, with all the cards held together inside a black card box. It wasn’t in top condition with numerous scratches on the cover, however you didn’t pay any mind to this, considering it was the tarot cards that mattered.

               Deciding to not travel too heavily, you simply place your purse into the satchel, now ready to go. You wait several minutes while sitting at the round table in the back room, eyes straight at the rusty clock. It was ten minutes away from nine in the evening, which was when you were told to be picked up. However, you jumped slightly when you heard a loud, firm knock upon your wooden door, causing the door to threateningly shake, as if it were to fall any moment.

               Quickly, you advance towards the oak door, unlocking it shakily. Your hands shuddering slightly as the brass key in the lock turned. You opened the door just by a peak, to see the royal knight’s eyes shift from staring straightforward at the door, towards you. His eyes widened slightly, yet he was quick to conceal his feelings. The royal knight seemed to be around his early thirties, still looking fairly young despite signs of ageing beginning to form. He wore a cerulean and argent uniform with a plain white sash around his slightly built form. There were several badges on it, indicating that he was of a fairly high status.

               ”Greetings. I came here early to warn you, but it appears that you’re ready.” The knight says, able to see part of your outfit and how nicely you had done your hair compared to beforehand. “Well, I’m glad that we’ll have no rush. We can leave early if you’d prefer. That way, we can be positive, with the utmost certainty that you won’t be late.” The knight suggests, his grey gaze staring at you, waiting for an answer.

               “I guess that’s logical. Let’s be on our merry way then.” You respond, stepping out of your house and locking the door behind you. Afterwards, the guard leads you to a black car that was as spotless as a ballroom floor. Waxed so greatly and excessively that you would’ve mistaken it for some sort of gorgeous eclipse. The windows were lined with a pale gold and there were two small kingdom flags on either side of the back. The guard holds the golden handle and opens the door with ease, gesturing for you to go into the car. In all honesty, this felt a bit sketchy, as though you may be getting kidnapped.

               Despite your thoughts, you complied and simply stepped into the vehicle, resting against the fine, red leather. The front of the car was separated from the back with a wall, which had a screen inside, allowing the person at the back to open or close it as they pleased. You stay still and gaze outside the window, reality starting to come to you. You really were about to meet the prince. You really were in a royal car. You really were summoned. As all this was processed, you gulped nervously.

               “You did amazing, [Name]! I’m so proud of you.” Florian tells you, a bright smile on his lips.

               “I know this is a competition but my god, you are good. I don’t think I can win this.” Florian adds before gazing towards the mountains. Your gaze follows his, resting on how the snow fell gently, like a million feathers upon the ground. You smile gently to yourself, seeing the sunset paint the sky purple and red, all as though it was from an expensive painting brought to life.

               “I only did well thanks to your great advice. Remembering to breathe helped me much more than I would have thought. All of the methods you teach me are very helpful.” You reply gladly.

               ”Gosh, this is tiring. I guess we’re working together now instead of going solo. On the bright side, there’s only one more mountain to go.” Florian reminds         you before pointing his pale finger towards a tall, dark mountain. Clouds hid the top of the mountain, with shadows from the sky cast a cloak of mystery and dread.

               “Are you sure that’s the right mountain? I thought the instructors said that we wouldn’t have to go up a mountain that high.” You speculate, hand on your brow in confusion.

               ”Please, [Name]. My navigation skills are top tier. You’re lucky I’m helping you. Look at the map, I’ve read it perfectly.” Florian responds harshly, obviously stressed. He didn’t have the best map skills, but believed that he could manage. So, he handed the tattered map over to you.

               “Oh, this is supposed to be a competition. Why are you so supportive? Do you have some ulterior motive?” You interrogate him, your gaze breaking away from the frosty mountains and towards your friend with golden strands. His diamond eyes squinted slightly before turning to you. He pouts as he turns to gaze at the mountain again.

               “You’ll feel relieved to know that I don’t. I understand how this competition can benefit us both, however. Enjoying these moments with you along the way is much better. I’d be happy to let you win, [Name].” Florian responds, before his smile fades away and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. While you both chat, you continue to look at the map.

               ”Florian, the map is upside down!” You yell, before sighing heavily. “I can not believe this. This is outrageous. We’ve been walking for a week in the completely wrong direction, Florian!” You complain, a whine escaping your mouth as you kick your legs in a childlike manner.

               “What?! Since when-?” Florian is cut off by a knock. Wait, a knock?

               ”Ma’am, please wake up. I’m terribly sorry to disturb your doze, however we have arrived.” The knight tells you from outside the window, his knuckles gently acting as an alarm for you to wake up to. The knocking had brought you to your senses as your [eye colour] eyes examined the real world around you. Two flashbacks in one night? This was too much for you. You noticed you had a blanket of goosebumps on your skin and that you had been lying there in a cold sweat. Slightly embarrassed, you nod your head.

               ”Yes, it is no problem. Do not apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize for falling asleep in the car.” You reply, your fingers reaching for the handle, only for it to be pulled away by the guard opening the door for you. He had no need to bow, especially since your rank was lower than his. In fact, you were lucky that he was being kind to you at all. You heard many stories of knights who were disrespectful and rude to those in the lower class.

               You step out of the polished black car and as soon as you do, a butler steps inside and drives the cab away. You watch it for a second before following behind the guard towards the palace. As you looked up at it, you felt your jaw drop to the ground. It was more beautiful than the paintings or stories could have ever told you.

               The palace consisted of pearl and white marble on the outside, with gold intricately interrupting the sheet of white, adding more elegance. The palace was so large yet sparkling clean, as though there was a layer of fresh snow, glimmering with beauty and grace in the moonlight. Marble steps led up to the palace. Taking note of this, you were careful of each step you took towards the top of at least dozens of steps, especially as marble was slippery, and looked freshly washed. This made you thankful for the light blue carpet that extended from the landing at the top of the steps and through the closed doors of the palace that hovered over you.

               “We’ve arrived ten minutes early, so please wait in the staff room. Once the prince has summoned you, I’ll ensure somebody comes to guide you to his private library.” The knight informs you. As you both walk towards the main door, two other knights equipped with gleaming gold did some sort of knock on the door, signalling for it to be opened. As the large doors open, you felt all the luxury hit you in the face. Standing in shock at the perfect fairy tale scene. You had no idea that the inside would be able to compete with the extravagance of the outside.

               The walls of the palace were tall and were not shy to show off the expensive foreign wallpaper plastered upon them. The floor was made of black jade, with golden symbols detailed upon the jade. On the ceilings hung chandeliers as if they were made of the most expensive pure diamond, crying droplets of light that illuminated the hallway. There was a bright red carpet on the floor that led up to a set of silver and golden double doors at the end of the hallway.

                “Please follow me, ma’am.” The knight who was accompanying you stated, leading you down the long hallway. You were still in the hall, your eyes gleaming like a child eyeing their Christmas present and your legs nervously wobbly from the thought of the person you were about to encounter. One’s home reflected the person, and if the prince’s home was this grand, then perhaps, you had underestimated just how meaningful, important and powerful the royal family really was. You knew they had the power to kill you without a single person questioning the act, but you had never known that perhaps the empire was larger than you had thought. How were you supposed to know? Books were not exactly of easy access to you, as you had to buy them or pay the entry fee to go inside the public library.

               The knight takes a left, leading you down a different hallway. Stopping at the third door on the right. The door was extravagant, however looked less expensive than the others. The knight proceeded to open the door for you and stepped to the side, his arm pushing the door open.

               “Go inside, ma’am. You will be summoned shortly.” The knight states as you walk through the door, only to jump slightly as the knight lets it slam shut behind you. You look around to see several maids sewing and gossiping on a purple velvet couch. Several butlers and cleaners seemed to be resting as well. It seemed as though you had been put in the staff’s resting quarters. Your feet tapped against the grey and white marble floor. You approached a small, round table colored brass. You sat down on the matching chair nervously, hoping not to catch too much attention. Despite your attempt, one of the maids seem to notice your presence at long last and whispers to the other maids before putting down the scarf she was knitting to approach you. She sits down on one of the four chairs surrounding the table, and smiles kindly at you.

               The maid was wearing the usual black and white outfit, with her hair a shade of premature grey. Looking to be in her late twenties.

               “Hello there, I am Guinevere. I’m the co-head of the south wing’s maids. Are you here for work?” She asks, tilting her head with curiosity.

               “Actually, I’ve been summoned by the prince to tell his fortune. It is lovely meeting you by the way, I am [Name].”

¹ countenance ; a person’s face/expression

Status: Edited

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter six: no one but you

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 5.6K

A/N: i sincerely hope you guys like the way this ends, it’s always so nerve-wracking to end a story! the epilogue to this story is posted as well and linked.  thank you to every single person who sent sweet messages of support it means the world to me.  SMUT WARNINGS APPLY IN THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f), unprotected sex (only in fiction y’all) and hoseok thirst.

of course, i cannot post this story without shouting out some of the most supportive, killer people on this site.  you guys truly mean the world to me @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ @hobi-gif​

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*********************

There are perks to being the boss.

For Namjoon, it means calling the shots on the streets from his office in the sky.  Rarely does he leave the climate-controlled comfort of his pristine headquarters to get his hands dirty in the day-to-day business of the organization he runs.

Tonight, he’s making an exception.

Yoongi drives. Like a bat out of hell, as always.

It’s a thirty-minute ride from downtown Seoul to Incheon Port without traffic but Yoongi is on pace to finish it in just twenty.  Hoseok watches the lights on the expressway speed by from the backseat.  He tries hard to focus on the information Namjoon shares, the details he’ll need in order to ensure he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger tonight.  

But fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate with the taste of you still on his lips.  

He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath.  He forces himself to push the memory of your body in his hands and your skin in his mouth and your voice in his ear to the corner of his mind.  

Then he goes over the information again.

Namjoon wants to be in place at least ten minutes before the scheduled meet so he can figure out what’s going on before the Ssijog knows he’s there with his men.  

He wants guns to stay holstered unless he gives the signal.

He wants --

“You must have really scared the shit out of that guy, Jung,” Namjoon murmurs from the front seat.  Hoseok snaps back into focus to search for his boss’s reflection in the side mirror and finds Namjoon already looking at him. “He’s been blowing up his contact since last night, begging for personal protection.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t do worse,” Hoseok shrugs.  “I certainly could have.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Namjoon agrees.  “Someday you’ll have to tell me the story of how you managed to be outside of his apartment when his handler picked him up.  Here I was, under the impression you had the night off.”

Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just doing my job.”

There’s a twist to Namjoon’s mouth that Hoseok can’t read and it puts him on edge.  

“Well, I must thank you for your dedication to your job,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for this assignment.”

Hoseok looks away from the mirror.  “Yeah, sure,” he says quietly.  

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Yoongi clears his throat.  

“So anyway --” he announces loudly, “-- Jimin and Tae were able to track Kang’s texts through some internet bullshit they mess around with. Apparently dude flipped out after you left his place and wouldn’t let up until his handlers agreed to meet him tonight.”

“At Incheon Port?” Hoseok asks, glad for the redirect.  “That’s a hell of a drive for a chat.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Namjoon says under his breath.  

The car falls silent once again.

**********************

Mun Kiwoo has a reputation for being messy.

The man at the top sets the tone for the organization, and Mun is no exception.  His men are known for their brutality, his deals often go south, and by most accounts his syndicate is hanging on by a thread.

But it’s still hanging on.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watch quietly from their vantage point behind a shipping container as Mun waits in the dark, cigarette in hand. He looks like an unmade bed -- shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his wrinkled dress pants.  He lights one cigarette off of another as he answers a series of calls on his cell.  

His agitation seems to rise each time it rings again.

Hoseok takes stock of the two guards Mun has at his side tonight.  They’re bulky men with huge arms and round bodies -- the kind of guys who look dangerous due to sheer size, but would be slow to respond in a physical fight.  Namjoon holds up two fingers to confirm they’re the only men with Mun and Hoseok nods.

Headlights bounce off the pavement after a few more minutes of waiting.

A black car pulls up close to the water’s edge and Mun Kiwoo ends his call just as he lights another cigarette.  

Kang Donghyuk is the first out of the car, followed closely by his Ssijog handler.  Kang is dragging his ass and even from a distance, Hoseok can make out the bandage over the side of his face.

Hope it hurts, motherfucker.

“Mr. Kang,” Mun Kiwoo’s voice is clear now, loud enough for all three men to hear.  “You have been rather insistent about this meeting. I’m a busy guy.  What do you want?”

All three men strain to listen to Donghyuk’s response, but it’s too muffled to catch.  Yoongi brings his hands to his throat to make a choking gesture.  Can’t hear shit, he mouths.  You choked him too hard.

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“That sounds like your problem,” Mun laughs in response to whatever Kang has said.  “Not mine.”

Donghyuk gestures wildly as he tries to make his case, likely pleading for the protection of the Ssijog.   Mun Kiwoo looks unmoved.

“I’m not interested in causing any more trouble with the Gajog, Mr. Kang.  This entire situation has been a means to an end.  Stirring more shit with Kim Namjoon is not in my best interest.”

Namjoon signals to Yoongi and Hoseok that it’s time to move.  All three men step out from their cover behind the shipping container, hands in front of their bodies to demonstrate none are holding their weapons.

“Fucking hell,” Mun Kiwoo groans when he spots them.  “I don’t have time for this shit.”

His guards bow up at his side, both men reaching for their guns.  Mun has the good sense to raise a hand and stop them from pulling their firearms -- which keeps Yoongi and Hoseok from doing the same.  All of the men face off in silence for a moment, each side waiting to see if the other will do something to break the fragile peace.

Kang Donghyuk whines under his breath and Hoseok shoots a warning glare at him.  He drops his gaze to the ground and shuts his mouth.

“You say you don’t want trouble with me, Mun and yet --” Namjoon snarls, “-- you have this piece of shit working my sister. Explain.”

“You know how these rich boys are, Kim,” Mun chuckles.  “They develop a bad habit -- or in this idiot’s case, two -- and daddy’s money isn’t enough anymore.  They’re easy to buy.”

Donghyuk looks from Namjoon to Mun, panic in his wide eyes.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

“So what?” Mun laughs.  He smiles wide to reveal a mouth like an abandoned graveyard, teeth broken and scattered.  “This guy thinks we’re friends,” he jeers, jerking a thumb in Donghyuk’s direction.  “He’s too stupid to figure out that he served a purpose and now he doesn’t anymore.  Simple as that.”  

Namjoon sucks in a breath with obvious irritation.

“I’m still waiting to hear what any of this shit has to do with my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Mun says, stubbing out his cigarette and getting back to the task at hand. “Listen, I don’t have anything against your sister personally, okay? Lim Joowon is my son and I want him back.  He can’t spend the next 15 years behind bars. You understand that, right? Doing whatever it takes for your family?”

Namjoon utters a curse under his breath.

“I’ll give your sister some credit, though -- she’s tenacious.  I thought she’d give up after we took her digital files,” Mun admits.  “Instead she’s cost me a hell of a lot more money.  I’ve had to start cutting a lot more checks to ensure this shit goes away.”

“She’s not the type to roll over and play dead, Mun,” Namjoon growls through gritted teeth.  

“The pigheaded gene runs in the family, huh?” Mun grins. “Look, let me level with you Kim, man to man.  I don’t even need your sister at this point. I’ve paid enough people to fuck this case from the inside out.  But I won’t lie, she is my insurance.  If any of the higher-ups start asking questions about why this case fell apart -- who better to point the finger at than the sweet young prosecutor with the dirty family connections, hmm?”

Namjoon tenses, hand reaching for the gun at his side.  Yoongi stops him with a muttered warning.

“None of us give a fuck about what happens to your son, Mun,” Namjoon says. “What I have a problem with is you sending that piece of shit --” he points at the trembling Kang Donghyuk, “ -- into her fucking home. Invading her space.  You crossed a line.”

“You’re right,” Mun agrees lightly.  “It was rude. Uncalled for.  I’m gonna apologize for it right now.”

He pulls his pistol from his side and the sound of clinking metal bounces off the shipping containers as everyone pulls their guns.  Hoseok trains his pistol directly at the shaking Kang Donghyuk and silently prays for the chance to pull the trigger. Mun Kiwoo’s gun is pointed at Namjoon and Namjoon’s is pointed right back.

Then Mun’s face lights up with a bizarre smile. He swings the point of his pistol in the direction of Donghyuk and pulls the trigger twice.

Donghyuk sputters as he falls to the floor.

Hoseok and Yoongi exchange looks.  

Namjoon stares at Mun incredulously.

“What?” Mun’s nonchalance is comical.  “You wanted to do that too, right?  Besides, that guy owes everyone in the city money. I promise you, his own mother won’t even miss him.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. “This guy is fucking nuts.”

Mun puts his pistol away and his men follow suit.  Namjoon signals for Yoongi and Hoseok to do the same.  

“Consider that a goodwill gesture,” Mun says breezily.  “An official apology from me, to you.  And please pass along my consideration to your sister.  Please assure her that none of this is personal.  But I will make sure my son stays out of prison.  And like it or not, she’s going to play some kind of role in that.”

Namjoon stares off into the water.

“I can’t control my sister, Mun.  She makes her own choices,” he says after a moment.  “But let me be clear, this is the first and last polite discourse we’re going to have about this situation.  I don’t want you, your goons or any --” he glances at the bleeding pile of Kang Donghyuk on the floor, “-- paid help going near her.  Not in her office, not in her home. Nowhere. Are we clear?”

Mun Kiwoo lights another cigarette and smiles wide, the space in his teeth prominent against the gleaming ember hanging from his mouth.  

“Crystal.”

On the way back to the car, Hoseok hears the heavy splash of Kang Donghyuk’s body hitting the water down below.

He shuts his eyes against the rush of pleasure he feels as he climbs into the backseat.

************************

YOU

Something isn’t right.

You stare at the empty seat across the conference table -- the one where Hyejin normally sits -- and something twists in your gut.  She’s out sick today.  You can’t even remember the last time she took a sick day.

All morning, you’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s no big deal.  That you’re working yourself up for nothing.

But Donghyuk is out today, too.  

Vaguely, you register the sound of your boss’s voice at the front of the room. Any minute now, you’ll be asked to brief the team on the status of your case, but you can’t think straight.  You can’t focus on anything but the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong.  

Your thoughts race back to last night, back to your brother taking his men away for business in the middle of the night.

Back to Hoseok.

You try not to think about what it felt like to have his warm body pressed against yours. The way he smelled like fresh laundry and spice. The way you unraveled the moment he touched you.  

Your phone pulses with an incoming text.

namjoon: i’ve asked jungkook to bring you to the office tonight after work [ 1:25 PM ]

namjoon: a lot to discuss [ 1:26 PM ]

Your brain grinds to a halt as you stare at the messages.

It’s like everything is wrong and everything is right, all at the same time.

“Miss. Kim?”

You look up to see your boss staring at you, one expectant eyebrow raised.  You take a deep breath, line up your papers and stand to take your place at the front of the room.

****************************

The sense of déjà vu that hits you as you make the long walk across your brother’s office is nearly overwhelming.  This is exactly how this entire mess began weeks ago -- with you summoned to see Namjoon after hours, with Yoongi and Hoseok flanking him on either side.

But there is one thing different about tonight.

When you briefly lock gazes with Hoseok as you make your way to Namjoon’s plush chair, there is a warmth behind his dark eyes you can see from a distance. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you ever saw him, when you thought you could freeze to death from the ice in his glare.

You look away before anyone can catch the flush working its way up your neck.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you brother begins evenly.  “I finally have some answers for you about what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m ready to hear them,” you exhale, taking a seat.  Your eyes drift over the papers strewn scattered across his desk.  

“We’ve learned that the reason the Ssijog want your case against Lim Joowon to fold is because Lim is Mun Kiwoo’s son.”

You raise a brow.

“That’s news to me.  I didn’t even know Mun Kiwoo had a son.”

“Neither did we,” Namjoon admits.  “Apparently this is his only son and the man he intends to pass control of the Ssijog down to.  So it makes sense that he’s so hell-bent on seeing this case fall apart.”

He picks one of the papers off his desk.

“This is the more problematic piece of the puzzle,” Namjoon says quietly.  Your chest tightens in response to the expression on his face. “Jimin and Taehyung tracked a Ssijog account making payouts.  Payouts to people in your office.”

He holds the piece of paper out to you.

“There are six names on that list.”

You take a deep breath before taking the sheet from his hands.  

Your eyes scan down the document, taking in the blows, one by one.  Two receptionists.  One paralegal.  

Lee Hyejin.  

Kang Donghyuk.  

Park Soo.

You say nothing as you stare at the list, taking in the names again.

Someone you called a friend.  Someone you’d allowed into your bed.  The boss you’d bent over backwards trying to impress.  You stare at the black-and-white evidence of betrayal in your hands, reading the words over and over -- expecting to feel sadness or rage or humiliation or something.  

Nothing comes.

“Give us a moment, would you please?”

Yoongi and Hoseok file out of the room quietly at Namjoon’s command.  The second the heavy door to the office clicks shut, he clears his throat.  “There is something else we need to discuss, Amsaja,” your brother continues quietly.  “Kang Donghyuk is dead.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide at the quick, calm delivery of your response.

You stand to walk to his sideboard to pour a drink.  You have no idea what’s inside the decanter, only that whatever it is promises a burn you want to feel right now. You pour a glass and take a sip, leaning against the heavy wooden piece.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. The Ssijog beat us to it,” Namjoon admits.  “But Hoseok paid Donghyuk a personal visit at home to convey our -- displeasure -- at his involvement in this mess. He damned near choked that man to death hours before Mun Kiwoo put two bullets in him.”

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay.”

The words Hoseok spoke in your kitchen surface in your mind.  

They’d sent a bolt of pleasure through you at the time -- triggering a kind of primitive response you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud.

And somehow that response pales in comparison to what you’re feeling right now.

A normal woman wouldn’t find satisfaction in the idea of Donghyuk cowering in fear inside his apartment.  A normal woman wouldn’t feel warmth spread through her entire body at the mental image of Hoseok wrapping his hands around Donghyuk’s throat.  You slip a finger under the collar of your blouse and search for your scar -- closing your eyes at the familiar feel of the raised skin.  

You remind yourself that you are not a normal woman.

“Hoseok uncovered Kang’s involvement with the Ssijog even before we found the payouts.”  Your brother pauses, a wry twist to his mouth as he continues.  “He can be a very determined man when something is important to him.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for just a beat too long after delivering that statement.  You look away and walk to his office window.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, Amsaja,” you brother says.  You can hear the sound of him pouring his own drink behind you.  “Your silence has me concerned.”

You’re thinking about every time Hyejin feigned concern for you and tried to get you to open up. The days Donghyuk insisted he take you to lunch or to dinner when you insisted you were too swamped.  The bullshit little speech Park Soo gave you the night of the charity dinner about keeping Seoul from falling into the hands of criminals.

You’re thinking about what a joke they all are -- dressing up and looking down their noses at the criminal element they claim to despise.  Wearing their fake piety like a badge of honor and paying for their fine things with dirty money.  

You’re thinking that you’d rather choose a hundred street thugs over any one of their kind.  At least your brother has the balls to wear his sins on his sleeve.  

Namjoon joins you at the window, glass in hand.  

“What I’m thinking, Jaegyueo,” you say calmly, “Is that a lot of things are starting to make sense for me.  I haven’t felt this clear in a very long time.  So, thank you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your brother’s mouth and you return it.

You clink your glasses together in a toast.

***********************

You are two whiskeys deep when you leave Namjoon’s office.  

Hoseok is waiting in a chair in the hallway.  He stands to his feet when you appear from behind the heavy wooden door.  

You suck in a breath as you take him in -- the sharp beauty of his face and the soft curve of his mouth and the way his suit hugs the lines of his lean body.  You realize, with more than a little embarrassment, that you are staring.

“I’ve got the car warming downstairs,” Hoseok says carefully.  “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Yes. Hoseok, I --” you swallow thickly,  “-- I never apologized for what I said to you.  I didn’t mean those things. I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok steps close and reaches one hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear.  You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaling his scent.

“You’ve had a hell of a night,” he murmurs.  “We can talk about that some other time.  Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You open your eyes to look up at him just as Yoongi rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

“Glad this isn’t awkward,” he mutters, before turning to walk back the same way he came.

**********************

The air in Hoseok’s car is thick with tension on the ride home.

You’ve stopped pretending to not stare, eyes fixed on Hoseok while his eyes stay glued to the road.  He guides the car through a sharp turn and you catch the way he winces as his hand grips the steering wheel.  

A throb of guilt hits you square in the chest.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nah,” Hoseok deflects quickly.  “Just a little sore.”

He won’t look at you.  Why won’t he look at you?

“Namjoon told me you nearly choked Donghyuk to death,” you say quietly, studying his face for any reaction. He slows the car to a stop at a red light and rubs his fingers across his mouth, stares out of his window.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admits.  He takes his aching hand off the steering wheel and flexes his fingers as if reliving the memory of that night. “I almost did.”

That embarrassing reaction flares inside of you again.  This time it slides down your back and pools low between your legs and you have to squeeze your thighs together in response.  You shiver as you remember the promises he made while pressing his body to yours.

“Tell me what you want. I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you do Jung Hoseok right now.

*************************

You force yourself to wait for the elevator doors to shut.

The second they do, you crush your body and your mouth to Hoseok’s.  If you catch him off-guard, there’s no way to tell -- not with the way he immediately backs you into the elevator wall, slotting one knee between your thighs.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore,” he groans the words into the shell of your ear, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck.  “Just like no one gets to touch you anymore.  No one but me.”

The strangled sigh that escapes you is the closest thing Hoseok is going to get to a thank you right now.  You whimper in agreement, gasping when his fingers grip your ass to pull you flush against him.  The swollen outline of his cock brushes against your stomach and you shudder.

The elevator ride is too long and too short, all at the same time.  Hoseok backs you through the doors as soon as they open, fumbling in his pocket for the keys while you suck bruises into his throat.  By some miracle, he gets the door open and both of you through it in one piece.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears as you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against his insistent cock.  He has to drag you both into the bedroom as you press against him like a dead weight, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as you both stumble into the bedroom.  You drop out of his grasp when the bed hits the back of your knees.

Hoseok stands back, chest heaving with exertion.

“I need you to hear you say it,” he pants.  “Please.”

You sit up straight on the edge of the bed and unbutton your blouse, slipping it off without hesitation.  “No one gets to touch me,” you breathe, reaching to unclasp your bra.  You toss it away.

“No one but you.”  

Hoseok’s eyes darken to near black.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and slowly pulls off his holster and gun, placing both carefully on top of your dresser.  Then he turns back, body looming over yours.  He cups your cheek with one large hand, looking down at you with such heat that your breath hitches in your chest.

You lean into his touch, fingertips grazing the contour of his cock beneath his suit pants.  

“You promised to give me anything I want,” you whisper, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He nods slowly, the rasp in his voice betraying the calm on his face.

“Anything.  Name it.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say, pulling the hem of his shirt out of his pants.  Your fingers work the buttons open, one by one.  “Let me.”

Hoseok exhales a heavy breath as you open his shirt and stroke your hands down his chest. You give yourself a moment to admire the lean strength of his body, fingers stroking over the metal tags that hang just above one dark, flat nipple.

His stomach tightens and his cock twitches in his pants when you tilt forward to press a soft kiss to the golden skin just above his belt.  You work it open with unsteady hands and his pants follow just a moment later.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling the outline of his length with your cheek.  You push his boxers down his slim hips just enough to expose the head of his cock.  “I don’t want you to think about anything but this.”

Hoseok groans when you flick your tongue against him.  

His cock throbs under your fingertips through the fabric of his underwear when you dip down to tease the head with your mouth.  You lap at the salty moisture gathered at the swollen tip and his head drops back.

“Sweetheart, please --” he grits out, hands reaching for your hair.  He winds his fingers through the strands and jerks when you rake your teeth across the wet ridge under the head of his cock. “-- don’t tease me.”

Some other time you might play the delayed gratification game with him.  You might take hours to torture him and keep him dangling at the precipice of pleasure.  Tonight, though -- the only thing you want to do is make him come so hard he can’t see straight.

“I won’t,” you promise sweetly, pulling the rest of his thick length free from his boxers to wrap your warm fingers around him.  You flick your gaze up to appreciate the way his head is tipped back in pleasure, lips parted.

“Look at me,” you murmur, pumping him with languid strokes.

His eyes are glassy with arousal when he opens them to gaze down at you.  You make sure he’s watching as you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you draw your mouth across his length.  He gathers your hair in his hands so he can appreciate the unobstructed view of your private show.

“No one gets to touch you anymore,” you whisper.  You take him down as far as you can again, tongue dragging against the thick vein that runs the length of his cock.  You are panting when you pull off him, tongue running the seam of your lower lip as you catch your breath.

“No one but me.”

Hoseok’s dick jerks in your hand in response, hand tightening in your hair as you lick a long stripe up his shaft.  He chokes out a moan as you lick at the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, eyes fixed on his.

“No more,” he croaks.  

You pull your mouth away reluctantly, tongue swiping at the taste of him on your lips and the sight seems to set him off.  He grabs your face with both hands, groaning into your mouth as he claims it.

He pulls away, panting.

“Lie back,” he demands between breaths.  You comply without question.

Hoseok leans over you, arms braced on either side of your body as he drops his head down to take one nipple between his teeth.  Your hips jerk at the stimulation and you squirm underneath him, thighs slippery with your own excitement.  He laves at both nipples slowly, thoroughly, until they are aching and wet.  Then he trails a soft line of kisses back up to your ear.

“I want to taste what’s mine,” he whispers, and a pang of arousal hits you so hard you forget to breathe.  You lift your hips to help him pull your skirt away along with your soaked panties and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation.

Hoseok nudges your legs apart with his hands, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs.  His dark eyes are half-hooded with pleasure by the time he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he groans when you are fully spread open for him.  He drops a kiss on your mound and your body jolts at the sensation, every nerve ending standing at attention.  He moves lower, long fingers tracing the outline of your swollen cunt and you suck in a breath.  

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping one finger into your damp heat.  “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets as his finger flexes inside of you.

“Only for you.”

Hoseok makes a sound of satisfaction deep in his chest before sealing his lips over your aching clit.  You shudder against his mouth when he pulls back to soothe you with the flat of his tongue.  “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined how you would taste,” Hoseok groans, licking deeply into your wetness.  “It doesn’t even come close.  Nothing comes close to this.”

“Hoseok --”  your hands come off of the sheets to grip into his hair, “-- Hoseok, please don’t stop.”

Your senses are so heightened that just the pressure of the heel of his hand against your cunt is making you crazy.  His finger crooks deep inside you, stroking against your swollen walls while his lips and teeth toy with your clit.  You whine at the stimulation, at the wet drag of his tongue that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’re close sweetheart, I can hear it,” Hoseok’s voice is ragged with arousal. “Let me hear you.  Come for me.”

You clutch his hair between your fingers, moaning brokenly as the heat between your legs simmers to a boil.

“Hoseok --”

“That’s it,” he praises you with dirty words spoken in the sweetest way. “Let me taste you. Let me hear you.”

Hoseok is prepared the moment you come apart.

He grasps your hips firmly in those large, warm hands of his -- tongue and lips persistent as the live wire inside you tightens and snaps. The force of your orgasm shakes your entire body and leaves you begging and breathless. Hoseok savors every drop of your release until your hips sink back into the mattress and you protest weakly against the threat of overstimulation.

The mattress dips under you as Hoseok joins you on the bed, lips swollen with use and mouth marked with your taste.  His head dips into the hollow of your neck, nipping gently at the skin, while his fingers skate over the soft skin of your stomach and thighs.  

You shiver in his hold, closing your eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of his body on yours.

“I want to watch you come like that every day,” Hoseok whispers into your ear.  “Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you agree in a whisper, finding your voice after what seems like ages.  

You slip one hand between you, fingers wrapping firmly around the rigid cock pressed against your stomach.  Hoseok groans when you tighten your hand around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, feeling a pulse between your legs that seems to beat in time with the throb of his cock in your palm, “Fuck me please, I’m losing my mind.”

His hoarse chuckle sends a shiver up your spine as he moves to cover you completely with his body.  He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and you tilt your hips up into his.  

“Please,” you plead again, lifting your head to brush your lips against his.  “Now.”

He sinks his cock into you slowly, inch by inch, groaning at the tight fit of your cunt around him.  The stretch inside of you is nearly too much -- you whimper when he bottoms out and he drops his forehead to yours.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

His entire body feels like a rubber band ready to snap -- coiled energy waiting to be released.  But he holds back the instinct to move until you nod your agreement.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, nudging his hips to move with your own.  You stroke your hands down the slick skin of his back.  “I’m so full right now.”

Hoseok swears under his breath as he tentatively rocks his hips against yours, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you.  You wrap your legs around him as the discomfort subsides and the only sensation that’s left is the pleasant pressure of his cock against your walls.

Hoseok’s hips move harder as your whimpers melt into moans.

“Dammit,” he swears, head dropping low between his shoulder blades.  “So tight and wet for me.  So perfect for me.”

You look up to take in the sight of his perfect face slack with pleasure, mouth parted and face flushed with exertion.  His dog tags hang from his neck, swaying as his hips begin to piston in earnest.  You pull on them to force his mouth close to yours.

“Only for you,” you whisper, “No one else.”

Hoseok’s steady rhythm stutters when you whisper those words into his mouth and press your lips to his.  His hips jerk wildly as his release races up his shaft.  He laces his fingers into yours, fucking you deep into the mattress in those final seconds as he loses all control to chasing his end.

He comes with your name on his lips.

************************

Hoseok breathes deeply into your hair as you stroke your fingers across the lean lines of his chest, fingers tracing the metal outline of his dog tags.  You lie together like that for a while, skin to skin.

Your thoughts are loud in the quiet.  

You’re used to the bitter sting of betrayal by now.  

Long before Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk or Park Soo ever sold you out for a check, your own father betrayed you for the bottle.  You of all people know too well that most people aren’t to be trusted.

But then Hoseok’s fingers drag lightly across your back and they bring you back to the here and now -- back to the promise he made to you tonight.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore.”

And you decide to trust just one more time.

************************

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @jjeonjoon @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jalexa83 @livanthi @fantasybangtan @trviahope​ @mono-kookie@hauntedlilies @sugasaidbultaoreune @yeojaa @secret-alphabets @hodginss@parkjimin-persona​

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Apple's complicity in Chinese state oppression

Bruce Schneier coined “feudal security” to describe the dominant Big Tech security model, in which you surrender your autonomy by moving into a warlord’s fortress (Google, Apple, Facebook, etc) and in return get protection from the bandits that roam the badlands without.

The historian Stephen Morillo pointed out that this is more like “manorialism” than “feudalism.” As I wrote in January, digital manorialism works well (if the warlord wants the same thing as you) but fails badly (if they decide to sell you out).

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Google wants to kill third party cookies to protect you from randos doing tracking and targeting — but it wants to retain the ability to nonconsensually track and target you on its own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/fighting-floc-and-fighting-monopoly-are-fully-compatible

Facebook promises to defend you from the next Cambridge Analytica, but it threatens to sue academics who scrape its political ads to see whether it’s really living up to its promises to fight paid political disinformation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/05/zucks-oily-rags/#into-the-breach

Apple has rolled out the most significant consumer privacy tech in decades, changing the defaults on Ios products so that if you don’t give your explicit consent, no one is allowed to track you (surprise: no one gave consent!).

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/facebooks-laughable-campaign-against-apple-really-against-users-and-small

Apple is 100% committed to protecting its users from commercial surveillance. But it’s also 100% committed to accessing the Chinese market and maintaining its Chinese manufacturing. Warlord Apple will defend you from ad-tech bandits, but not the People’s Liberation Army.

That’s why Apple valiantly, laudably fought the FBI’s demands to back-door its OS to gain access to the San Bernardino shooters’ Iphones, but rolled over when the Chinese government ordered it to remove all working VPNs from the App Store.

https://www.cnet.com/news/apple-removes-vpn-apps-from-china-app-store/

It’s why Apple took good, brave stands on human rights in the US, fighting gender and racial discrimination in important ways but continues to manufacture devices with Chinese contractors like Foxconn, one of the most egregious human-rights manufacturers in the world.

Now, in an explosive NY Times investigation, Jack Nicas, Raymond Zhong and Daisuke Wakabayashi accuse Apple of giving the Chinese state effectively unfettered access to user-data, directly contradicting the claims of Apple CEO Tim Cook.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/17/technology/apple-china-censorship-data.html

The Times reporters say that this data isn’t just used to invade Chinese users’ privacy, but also to fine-tune Chinese state censorship, helping guide government operatives’ choices about which apps to censor and how.

This has resulted in the removal of “tens of thousands of apps… foreign news outlets, gay dating services and encrypted messaging apps…tools for organizing pro-democracy protests and skirting internet restrictions, as well as apps about the Dalai Lama.”

This is true of all firms doing business in China. The choice to do business there is the choice to be complicit in ghastly human rights abuses. But there are two ways in which Apple’s participation is different.

First, there is its carefully cultivated “Cult of Mac” identity that paints it as an “ethical” company whose paternalistic controls are part of a commitment to serving its users.

This has created a vast cyber-militia of Apple fans who consider themselves members of an oppressed religious minority and who lash out at anyone who crticizes the company as a “hater” (see, for example, the replies to this thread on Twitter).

And second, Apple arrogates to itself more control over its users and their devices than its rivals, asserting the right to block Apple device owners from making their own choices about which software to run, where to get their devices repaired, and even which parts to use.

Apple has distorted copyright, patent, trademark and import law to accomplish this control.

There’s an the army of defenders who’ll simp for Apple on this.

They oscillating between claims it’s all for the good of Apple customers, and claims that people who own Apple devices but don’t want to use them according to Apple’s corporate dictates “shouldn’t have bought Apple products.”

The Apple version of the No True Scotsman fallacy is the most creepily cultish thing that Apple’s self-appointed street-team do, especially in light of these latest China revelations.

Apple acts on behalf of its customers when that means acting on its own behalf. Apple — like the other warlords — cares ultimately about its shareholders, and if its shareholders’ interests diverge from its customers, the shareholders will always win.

That’s true of every tech firm, but only Apple has built an “ecosystem” — a great walled fortress that keeps the bandits out when Apple wants to, but once Apple lets them in, it keeps Apple’s customers from escaping.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 10

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | Crossposted to AO3

In the end, it was a compromise. Highwind’s fancy footwork and insane strategy of playing chicken with the targeting arrays managed carry her through the second target. The third one had to be taken out the old fashioned way, though, with lightsabers and blaster fire.

The Gnarls had been reclaimed, and the Imp’s command platform neutralized. Theron was still untangling the mess the invading force had made when they’d sliced into the shield grid, but they’d managed to open up the reinforcement’s approach vectors and they were able to get troops on the ground safely now. A quick glance over at Darok and the large holotable showed him that the second wave was just starting to land.

It was just a matter of retaking the temple. Highwind was still leading the way, blazing a path through Imperials and Flesh Raider like a wildfire through dry tinder. Now that Theron had his hooks into the system, he was able to monitor their progress on a map on the terminal he’d claimed, but he was still trying to get actual eyes on them in the field. It wasn’t much but it made him feel better. More part of the mission. Rather than just being relegated to tech support.

Most of the Jedi’s security cameras had been damaged in the initial assault, but there was one flickery feed from above the temple steps. Theron leaned back, pretending to stretch out the very real kink developing between his shoulders from being hunched over the keys for so long. The entire room was lined with monitors and terminals, all the metal surfaces shined to an exquisite military polish. Perfect for observing a target while leaving them unaware.

Darok was hunched over the holotable, gaze focused on all of the dots and figures of troops and ships as well as the enemy combatants. Occasionally he’d gesture wildly as he let out a terse string of orders. He was the very image of the perfect Republic soldier, dedicated to taking back the homeworld of some of their staunchest allies while keeping his men alive. After this, someone would probably want to pin a medal on his chest.

“The Savior of Tython” — he might have to wrestle with Highwind for the title.

It was too bad it was all an act. After it had been pointed out, Theron couldn’t not see it. The sudden rush of intel and push to raid Korriban combied with the simultaneous attack on Tython. It was too much of a coincidence.

He recognized the mark of a con — the tantalizing prospect of something too good to pass up, something the target desperately wanted more than anything else. A sudden press of urgency and a ticking clock was meant to bypass normal caution, to push the target into action. It was the tactics of grifters and spies, of someone manipulating things to their own end. 

Except that the target this time was the Republic, and whoever the mastermind of this was had used him as a pawn in this game. That was their big mistake — Theron Shan was no man’s puppet. No one could pull his strings and expect him to jump. Whether Darok was the mastermind, another pawn, or just some unwitting bystander he wasn’t sure. All Theron had right now was an instinctual and instant dislike to the man. Maybe it was just Darok’s grating personality. Or maybe it was gut instinct.

Either way, a good idea to keep an eye on him. Gather the data and surveil the suspects right now and sort through the details later. There was more going on than first met the eye here — something bigger simmering under the surface. He’d find out what it was — no one played him for the fool and got away with it.

Right now though, he needed to get eyes on the other player in this game as well.

Theron finished his fake stretch, satisfied that Darok was occupied at the moment, and returned to the keys in front of him. With a few quick taps, he had patched the feed from the staticky Jedi Temple camera into the HUD on his implants. There was probably no way that the single, damaged camera could accurately convey the havoc wrought on his mother’s home, but that same sick feeling started to churn again in his gut as he got a glimpse of the smoking temple grounds. The lush green rolling hills leading up to the temple had been charred to a dull brown, and dust, dirt, and smoke had kicked up a thick haze. The practice dummies and meditation spots that had been part of the serene landscape were gone, likely buried under the rubble. From the fluttering remains of a brown robe under a large chunk of stone that had fallen from one the large looming statues of knights old — it was possible the landscape wasn’t the only thing buried under the rubble. 

He blew out a long breath, gathered his focus, and analyzed the feed beyond the destruction to try and find his team. The dramatic billowing cape and striking purple hue of the twin lightsabers made Highwind easy to pick out even with all of the smoke and rubble. He turned the audio channel from her comm back up just as she finished slicing through several droids that had rushed the group. Kira bent down to examine them, and let out an anguished sound she couldn’t completely muffle.

“Kira,” Highwind’s voice was soft, pitched low to only where her friend could hear. Not measured and even this time, but both sympathetic and gently warning. “We can’t let—”

“These were Master Dentiri’s training droids,” Kira didn’t bother to disguise the anger and sorrow rising in her voice as she stood.

“I know.” The statement was still soft, and there was a thread of a deeper emotion trying to surface. As if Highwind herself couldn’t completely tamp it all down. Theron wasn’t sure exactly what she was trying to keep restrained, but it still struck something inside of him.

“They are merely droids,” Scourge cut in, disdain dripping from his tone. “There is nothing to mourn in twisted metal.”

Teeseven let out an angry whistle protesting that statement, and Kira stepped up to the Sith. Her expression wasn’t visible from the distance, but it didn’t need to be, because her entire posture radiated an anger and rage that was supposed to be anathema to the Jedi. Theron hated it, but he had to agree somewhat with Scourge’s callous statement — at the moment he couldn’t see any significance in the reprogramming of a bunch of training droids.

“Master Dentiri would never let them be reprogrammed like this! Not while he was alive.”

Oh.

“Kira, please,” Highwind approached her friend hand held out in a complacent gesture. “It’s difficult to see all of this, I know, but we need to stay calm and focus on the present—”

It all happened in the same moment.

Highwind cut her own statement off abruptly, and Theron watched on the feed as in an instant her entire posture changed. Back straightening and head snapping up as if some invisible string had pulled at her. Her outstretched hand jutted out forcefully, fingers splaying out into an expansive gesture as both Kira and Scourge were thrown several feet apart by some unseen force. Or rather, the Force. A barely perceptible shimmer rippled across the camera feed before a long vibroblade pierced the spot where the two Force users had just been standing, wielded by a figure Theron didn’t recognize.

He tried to enhance his visual from the feed, but it was pointless. The signal from the camera was barely operating as it was. He could only watch as purple lightsaber met with vibroblade from the new combatant: a bald woman with clearly visible implants, even from the distance. If he’d had time and a clearer image he would have fed her likeness through a database. Maybe he’d get a name, or maybe not. From the woman’s fighting style, the grade of the implants, and the reprogramming of the droids — maybe an operative from whatever was left of Imperial intelligence. 

More of the reprogrammed training droids joined the fray, engaging with the rest of the strike team. Theron could only watch the battle between the distant, flickering holofigures while hearing every clash and strike over the comm. That same feeling of uselessness started to creep up again. He could add nothing to this fight, the outcome was down to the skill of his operatives on the other end. He had to trust that they’d get the job done. And not die in the process.

Theron swallowed the bitter feeling and glanced back at the nearest reflective surface. Darok was still absorbed in his portion of the battle. Perhaps even unaware of the strike team’s close call. The embers of the fire burning inside him flickered to life, that flame of anger tempering his resolve like durasteel being shaped into finely honed blade.

He turned that fervor back into something useful, delving into the sensor data as the battle continued to play out in his HUD. With each crash of the blade, hum of the lightsaber, and shriek of blaster fire, Theron pierced through more of the Imperial firewalls separating him from the Temple. He flung every new layer of data onto the terminals around him, not bothering to hide his work from Darok. Let the bastard see who he was dealing with, let him know that nothing could hide from Theron when he turned the microscope to it.

Maybe he couldn’t lend his blaster to the fight raging on the temple steps, but he could scrape every single shred of data together. Find the location of every single Sith and Imperial trooper lurking inside and obliterate any chance of further ambush. They might have razed the temple and every single Jedi within it, but they would not keep their bloodied prize. That was for damn sure.

As the battle finished, silence settled over the comm. The flickering chaotic image on the HUD had almost stilled, and if he hadn’t seen the telltale cape fluttering in the wind, Theron might have been concerned about the fate of his operative. A dark mood had settled over the strike team, and he almost felt like he was intruding, but pushed it aside. There wasn’t time for that right now.

“Are you clear?”

“We are,” she said.

While they had been fighting, he’d managed to put together a patchy map of intel from the interior of the building. Without hesitation, he funneled that data stream to his feed to Teeseven, and the little astromech faithfully projected it out in front of him.

He heard a long breath exhaled on the other end of the comm. “Is this what we’re up against inside?”

“Yes,” Theron said, perhaps a little brusquely. “No more surprises like that one.”

“There might be still a few of those awaiting us inside,” Highwind said quietly, a weary note breaking through the practiced calm. “Even with this.”

Theron was a naturally suspicious man. It was a healthy trait in his profession to finely hone paranoia into a tool of survival. Whoever the mastermind was that had orchestrated this bleak tragedy would have be someone wily and almost Machiavellian — capable of seeing the lives of the combatants on the field as pawns on a larger Dejarik board. Unwilling or even unable to view them as people. If that exacted a toll on their psyche, would it even be able to be seen?

As Highwind had stalked out of the warroom earlier, Theron had considered her role in this. Logically it was best to consider and eliminate every potential suspect. Darok was first on the list, having been the one who found the opening on Korriban and suggested the operation to Jace. He’d planned that entire mission. It was only natural to suspect him, especially considering his nearly maniacal drive to get into the Dark Council chambers.

But right after Darok came Highwind herself. Theron still couldn’t figure her out or where she fell into all of this. If she had any contact or involvement with Darok prior to this, it wasn’t indicated anywhere in her file. Of course, there had been those missing six months — anything could have happened then. Including contact with a surly SpecOps officer. Of course, that had to have meant that Darok would have somehow engineered her involvement in the operation. Could he have planted the suggestion to Jace to have a member of the Coruscant Aegis? Perhaps but… that didn’t add up. 

Theron had been the one to make the decision on the recruitment from the Aegis. If the Aegis member was the lynchpin in the plan, Darok would have to had to find some way to have each person on that list under his thumb. It was technically possible — almost anything was with his lack of intel — but that was the thing about conspiracies. They worked best by keeping people in the dark. It was the nature of secrets — the less people who knew, the less chance of being discovered. 

Besides, Darok seemed to set Highwind on edge almost as much as he did with Theron. That kind of thing could have been staged. So could have their bristling anger and standoff over the slave pens on Korriban. All of her wild heroics could have been played up for the supposedly stupid spy observing all of this. Her kind and sympathetic Jedi act could be just that — a way to throw him off the scent. Maybe she realized Theron was observing her closely and she was trying to play to his sympathies. Maybe the stoop in her shoulders as she walked up the temple steps was just an act, and maybe the glimpse of the unguarded expression on her face was also part of the show. Meant to convey the anguish and heavy toll of someone whose home had just been destroyed. That tightly wound control slipping through her fingers was something he was meant to sympathize with because it was a mirror of his own state of mind.

Anything was possible.

But as her eyes closed, he heard the heavy, deep breath she took in, and caught a quick glimmer on her cheeks that was quickly scrubbed away before those following in step behind her could see — and that hard suspicion splintered into a thousand pieces.

Whatever secrets lay in her past, whatever the source of those missing six months from her file was… it had nothing to do with this. He felt that as sure as anything. Deep down in his gut, like those sure and certain feelings the Jedi might feel from the Force. Ngani Zho used to say they were one and the same, regardless of one’s affinity for it.

Theron hesitated, before he keyed in his subvocal mic. “Hey. You all right?”

“Yes,” she said almost too quietly for even the overtuned comm unit to pick up. “I will be fine.”

If they were more than strangers, maybe this would have been the moment for him to say something comforting. Or encouraging. As her handler, all he needed to do was get her to finish the mission. Beyond that, none of this was any of his business. He was a professional. They both were. So he swallowed back whatever that feeling attempting to creep up on him was, and pulled up the sensor data.

“There’s an ambush waiting for you at the stairs. Prepare to get swarmed.”

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll be ready. After that?”

Theron blew out a breath, sorting through the stream of code to pick out the relevance of all the data. “There’s shielding around the Jedi Temple Library. They’re up to something in there.”

“The library,” she echoed softly, footfalls slowing their ascent. “A raid on the Jedi’s stores of knowledge. Just like the raid on the Sith’s.”

If there had been any lingering doubt of her being some sort of clever and dastardly mastermind, that put it to rest. Her constantly putting together the clues of the mystery unfolding before them was not exactly the work of an evil genius, just the opposite in fact. She also had a point. The coincidences were starting to stack up, and the more of them they found, the harder it was to ignore.

“I’m sending the source of the shield’s power to Teeseven,” Theron said, not acknowledging her statement aloud. Too many ears here. “You’ll have to shut it down before you can see what’s going on.”

“We will get to the bottom of this,” she promised, out loud this time as if for everyone to hear.

“Communication is going to get patchy when you get inside,” he reminded her. “So watch your back.”

“I will. Thank you, Theron,” she said, not bothering to hide her gratitude. “We couldn’t do this without you.”

She disappeared off from the view of the camera, entering into the ruined temple. An odd tightness began to settle in his chest. It was both light and smothering, and ideally, he’d be able to be alone to try and sort through whatever the feeling was. Maybe it was nerves. It was probably nerves. Too keyed up about the fate of Satele, the rest of the Jedi even, and not having eyes on his operative as she entered the most dangerous leg of the mission.

He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and glanced at the reflection closest to him. Then stood back in alarm from the console, abandoning all subtly as he turned to face an empty room. At some point, Darok had slipped out without Theron even noticing.

He glared at the station that the colonel had taken up residence at, considering the merits of pulling the security footage from the room. Maybe bypass a few Carrick Station safety protocols and track down the errant officer. See exactly what he was up to.

Theron didn’t have time for that. He had people on the ground, and despite the mounting suspicion over the colonel’s involvement in all of this, the safety of those in the line of fire was top priority. Once the mission was over, it was going to be Darok’s turn under the microscope. See what sort of dirty secrets were just waiting to be dug up. The truth would come out, and Theron would see justice done for every single life lost today.

No matter the cost.

[phroyd]

The emails, which Miller sent to the conservative website Breitbart News in 2015 and 2016, showcase the extremist, anti-immigrant ideology that undergirds the policies he has helped create as an architect of Donald Trump’s presidency. These policies include reportedly setting arrest quotas for undocumented immigrants, an executive order effectively banning immigration from five Muslim-majority countries and a policy of family separation at refugee resettlement facilities that the Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Inspector General said is causing “intense trauma” in children.

In this, the first of what will be a series about those emails, Hatewatch exposes the racist source material that has influenced Miller’s visions of policy. That source material, as laid out in his emails to Breitbart, includes white nationalist websites, a “white genocide”-themed novel in which Indian men rape white women, xenophobic conspiracy theories andeugenics-era immigration laws that Adolf Hitler lauded in “Mein Kampf.”

Hatewatch reviewed more than 900 previously private emails Miller sent to Breitbart editors from March 4, 2015, to June 27, 2016. Miller does not converse along a wide range of topics in the emails. His focus is strikingly narrow – more than 80 percent of the emails Hatewatch reviewed relate to or appear on threads relating to the subjects of race or immigration. Hatewatch made multiple attempts to reach the White House for a comment from Miller about the content of his emails but did not receive any reply.

Miller’s perspective on race and immigration across the emails is repetitious. When discussing crime, which he does scores of times, Miller focuses on offenses committed by nonwhites. On immigration, he touches solely on the perspective of severely limiting or ending nonwhite immigration to the United States. Hatewatch was unable to find any examples of Miller writing sympathetically or even in neutral tones about any person who is nonwhite or foreign-born.

Miller has gained a reputation for attempting to keep his communications secret: The Washington Post reported in August that Miller “rarely puts anything in writing, eschewing email in favor of phone calls.” The Daily Beast noted in July that Miller has recently “cut off regular contact with most of his allies” outside the Trump administration to limit leaks.

Miller used his government email address as an aide to then-Sen. Jeff Sessions in the emails Hatewatch reviewed. He sent the majority of the emails Hatewatch examined before he joined Trump’s campaign in January 2016 and while he was still working for Sessions. Miller also used a personal Hotmail.com address in the emails and did so both before and after he started working for Trump. Hatewatch confirmed the authenticity of Miller’s Hotmail.com address through an email sent from his government address in which he lists it as his future point of contact:

“I am excited to announce that I am beginning a new job as Senior Policy Advisor to presidential candidate Donald J. Trump,” Miller wrote from his government email on Jan. 26, 2016, to an undisclosed group of recipients. “Should you need to reach me, my personal email address is [redacted].”

Katie McHugh, who was an editor for Breitbart from April 2014 to June 2017, leaked the emails to Hatewatch in June to review, analyze and disseminate to the public. McHugh was 23 when she started at Breitbart and also became active in the anti-immigrant movement, frequently rubbing shoulders with white nationalists. McHugh was fired from Breitbart in 2017 after posting anti-Muslim tweets. She has since renounced the far right.

McHugh told Hatewatch that Breitbart editors introduced her to Miller in 2015 with an understanding he would influence the direction of her reporting. For that reason, and because Miller would have regarded her as a fellow traveler of the anti-immigrant movement, McHugh sometimes starts conversations with Miller in the emails, seeking his opinion on news stories. Other times, Miller directly suggests story ideas to McHugh, or tells her how to shape Breitbart’s coverage. Periodically, Miller asks McHugh if he can speak to her by phone, taking conversations offline.

“What Stephen Miller sent to me in those emails has become policy at the Trump administration,” McHugh told Hatewatch.

Miller shares link from white nationalist site

Miller sent a story from the white nationalist website VDARE to McHugh on Oct. 23, 2015, the emails show. White nationalist Peter Brimelow founded VDARE in 1999. The website traffics in the “white genocide” or “great replacement” myth, which suggests that nonwhite people are systematically and deliberately wiping white people off the planet.

McHugh started the email conversation by asking if Hurricane Patricia could drive refugees into the United States. The hurricane battered parts of Central America, Mexico and Texas, and the media heavily covered the storm. Miller replied to her by underscoring the possibility that Mexican survivors of the storm could be given temporary protected status (TPS), a George H.W. Bush-era policy that would enable them to live and work in the United States for a limited stay:

McHugh, Oct. 23, 2015, 6:10 p.m. ET: “This being the worst hurricane ever recorded, what are the chances it wreaks destruction on Mexico and drives a mass migration to the U.S. border?”

Miller, Oct. 23, 2015, 6:12 p.m. ET: “100 percent. And they will all get TPS. And all the ones here will get TPS too. That needs to be the weekend's BIG story. TPS is everything.”

McHugh, Oct. 23, 2015, 6:22 p.m. ET: “Wow. Ok. Is there precedent for this?”

Miller, Oct. 23, 2015, 6:31 p.m. ET: [VDARE link]

The VDARE story by Steve Sailer, an anti-immigration activist who traffics in discredited race science, focused on instances in which the United States offered refugees temporary protected status. The article was posted the same day Miller shared it with McHugh.

In September, the Trump administration denied temporary protected status to residents of the Bahamas fleeing the destruction of Hurricane Dorian despite widespread destruction.

“I don’t want to allow people that weren’t supposed to be in the Bahamas to come into the United States, including some very bad people and some very bad gang members and some very, very bad drug dealers,” Trump said of Bahamians on Sept. 9.

The ethnic makeup of the Bahamas is more than 90% black, according to statistics from the CIA. The administration has also attempted to cut TPS for residents of other countries, including Honduras and Nepal. Sailer mentioned both Honduras and Nepal in the context of TPS in his VDARE story.

Emails show that White House senior policy adviser Stephen Miller recommended racist French novel "The Camp of the Saints" to conservative website Breitbart News in 2015.

Miller recommends ‘Camp of the Saints’ to Breitbart

Miller recommended in a Sept. 6, 2015, email that Breitbart write about “The Camp of the Saints,” a racist French novel by Jean Raspail. Notably, “The Camp of the Saints” is popular among white nationalists and neo-Nazis because of the degree to which it fictionalizes the “white genocide” or “great replacement” myth into a violent and sexualized story about refugees.

The novel’s apocalyptic plot centers on a flotilla of Indian people who invade France, led by a nonwhite Indian-born antagonist referred to as the “turd eater” – a character who literally eats human feces. In one section, a white woman is raped to death by brown-skinned refugees. In another, a nationalist character shoots and kills a pro-refugee leftist over his support of race mixing. The white nationalist Social Contract Press plucked the 1973 book from relative obscurity and distributed it in the United States.

At the start of the email chain in which Miller touts the novel, he sends McHugh and Breitbart editor Julia Hahn a National Journal article on Iowans debating immigration at 8:03 p.m. ET on Sept. 1, 2015. McHugh replies:

McHugh, Sept. 1, 2015, 8:49 p.m. ET: “‘Next America.’ We’re being invaded and talked into tolerating it.”

Miller, Sept. 1, 2015, 9:01 p.m. ET: “It’s treated as organic. No mention of voluntary policy which can be shut off.”

Miller returns to the subject of nonwhite immigration on Sept. 6, 2015. He sends McHugh a link to a tweet from conservative pundit David Frum that reads, “Half of all violent crime in Germany committed by ‘foreign youths.’” (Hatewatch reached out to Frum for more context about his tweet but did not receive any response.) McHugh responds to Miller’s email about Frum’s tweet with a follow-up remark about Europe, and Miller sends a link to a Vox.com article suggesting that SAT scores have dropped in part because of the inclusion of more “poor and nonwhite students” than in previous years. Miller then suggests Breitbart take a look at “The Camp of the Saints.”

McHugh, Sept. 6, 2015, 3:34 p.m. ET: “[Breitbart editor] Neil [Munro], Julia [Hahn] and I are going to do a series of stories on [nonwhite SAT scores] to break it down. Neil says it’s easier for people to digest that way and change their minds.”

Miller, Sept. 6, 2015, 3:41 p.m. ET: “On the education angle? Makes sense. Also, you see the Pope saying west must, in effect, get rid of borders. Someone should point out the parallels to Camp of the Saints.”

Hahn wrote a Breitbart story on Sept. 24, 2015, headlined “‘Camp of the Saints’ Seen Mirrored in Pope’s Message.” The article ran 18 days after Miller’s email on the same theme. Hahn is now an aide to Trump.

While “The Camp of the Saints” was relatively obscure then, websites such asVDARE and the white nationalist American Renaissance helped make it a fixture in the white nationalist community. VDARE created an entire searchable tag called “Camp of the Saints.” At the time Miller flagged the book to Breitbart, VDARE had run more than 50 posts under “The Camp of the Saints” tagline, including some referring to Pope Francis’ rhetoric about accepting refugees. Sailer, who authored the VDARE post Miller had shared earlier, ran a story on the pope’s statements about accepting refugees on the same day Miller raised the issue with Breitbart.

Elizabeth Moore, a spokesperson for Breitbart, responded to Hatewatch’s request for comment about Miller's relationship with editors at the website with the following statement:

The SPLC claims to have three- to four-year-old emails, many previously reported on, involving an individual whom we fired years ago for a multitude of reasons, and you now have an even better idea why we fired her. Having said that, it is not exactly a newsflash that political staffers pitch stories to journalists – sometimes those pitches are successful, sometimes not.

It is no surprise to us that the SPLC opposes news coverage of illegal-immigrant crime and believes such coverage is disproportionate, especially when compared to the rest of the media, which often refuse to cover such crimes.

No one in our senior management has read the book, “Camp of the Saints,” but we take The New York Times at their word that it is a “cautionary tale,” and the National Review at theirs that “the central issue of the novel is not race but culture and political principles.”

The Trump administration has said it will cap the number of refugees allowed into the United States at 18,000 in the coming fiscal year, drastically reshaping America’s role as a haven for people fleeing devastation and war. The White House has also said it plans to allow state and local governments to block refugee resettlement in their areas.

Read On ... 

Phroyd

[pleasurextreasure]

❜cutlass (17/?)

genre: Aristocrat!reader x Pirate!Jeno, ft. NCT Dream

warnings: all nct Dream members are above 18+, multi-chapter, swear words here and there throughout fic

word count: 1.1k

prompts: in which Jeno is cursed to live for three more years and only loving someone and expecting nothing in return can break it

a/n: here we go again ➵admin kiki

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | Current

Ξ r e q u e s t Ξ

Your fingers gingerly trace over the scarred flesh of your hand, remnants of past heartbreak crawling their way back into your chest. It had been thirteen days since you escaped, yet again, from your ‘home’. You had grown anxious with thoughts of being betrayed once more, and this resulted in counting the number of days that passed by whilst on this ship. 

During this passing time, you could say there have been quite a few eventful scenes that have unfolded. After coming back, the ship was set to sail to a town nearby as supplies were running low. Apparently, Captain Jeno was a very popular man in the Navy’s book. Needless to say, you were soon back on the ship, dodging stray bullets and flying bayonets. 

There had also been a noticeable stir between the ship’s occupants - their attitudes seemingly changing towards you in a positive aspect. There was one man who’s attention was focused more heavily on you compared to the other crew members, though.

Said man was leaning against your working station, a crooked table (made by Chenle and Jisung out of kindness) with overflowing fabrics and threads on its surface.

“They’ve gotten better,” Jeno notes, watching your movement with careful eyes. “In a few months, I’m sure they’ll be as good as gone.”

Meekly smiling, avoiding his gaze. You pick up the half-finished shirt you’ve been working on and prepare to get back to work when he sighs aloud. You ignore the noise at first, paying little to no thought to it. It’s when he sighs again, much louder this time, that you decide to look up at him.

“What is it?”

“Well, I was thinking of taking a break from duties for an hour or two.” He explains, the corners of his lips curling upwards.

“That sounds like it’ll be relaxing. Have fun.” Your simple response makes his smile falter. He had picked up on your curt responses and the subtle avoiding his invitations. Jeno assumed they were caused by his actions, but in reality, you were confused.

You were quick to notice how his actions became kinder - gentler - towards you, and you weren’t quite sure if they were simply out of guilt or something more. Inside the depths of your heart murmured that maybe, just maybe, he felt more for you than a Captain would for their crew mate. His promising words of staying by your side struck you in a certain way that was hard to shake off. 

“Y/N…” you were surprised to hear the sudden hurt in his voice. Jeno pushes himself off the table and brings himself to stand by your side. “Do you hate me? ...for what I’ve done?”

You’re shocked by the question, and you find yourself thinking for a moment. Did you hate him? What an ironic question to be asked. Of course, you didn’t. It was the complete, painful opposite of such a thing. 

“Have you given me reason to?” you murmur in response.

Jeno’s mouth falls agape, momentarily resembling a fish before he collects himself. “Of course, I have! You said it yourself, I abandoned you and threw you back into the place you had tried to desperately escape from.”

“But you came back for me.”

“For selfish reasons.” He admitted, and you raised your eyebrows at this. What reasons did he have where having you on board would benefit him other than the simple repair of clothing? 

You set the shirt aside on the table, and in a brash decision, reached for one of his hands. Despite his surprised flinching, you still make the move of gently grasping it and welcoming its cool touch. 

“Jeno, you came back. I will admit I was hurt at the time, I still am, but I’m still grateful you came to my aid.” You offer a smile.

Jeno had witnessed your smiles numerous times, but this one was beginning to burn its image into his head, and he was thankful for witnessing such a thing. In his sudden spur of emotion, he pulls his hand from yours only to bring both of his to grasp your face. His palms laid comfortably against your cheeks and you’re startled by the action. 

“Y/N,” your heart stutters at the way he calls your name. “I’ve said it before, but I will promise it now. I won’t leave your side. You have my word, as a Captain and as a man.”

Jeno‘s face, ever so slowly, begins to lean closer to your own. You’re too entranced to move, and with the rapid climbing of heat rising in your chest, you wistfully close your eyes.

You’re startled by the sudden entrance of Chenle, whose face is as pale as the shirt he was wearing. Jeno releases you and reels back, clearly taken aback by his appearance as well. The frightened look in his eyes and the way he holds onto the door with a death-like grip and its frame brings you to your feet.

“Chenle, what’s wrong?” You’re by his side in seconds, delicately placing a hand on his shoulder as not to startle him. “Are you alright?”

The lights flicker in the hall behind him, adding more to the unsettling feeling you were beginning to have. 

“They’re here.” His dreadful whisper barely reached your ears. His knuckles turned white as he twisted the doorknob in his grip. “We… We need to lea-leave.”

“Who’s here?” Jeno asks. 

Your stomach was being to churn. You couldn’t describe the feeling you were going through, but with Chenle’s startling appearance, you were trying to brace yourself for the worse.

Did the pirate crew have an enemy that managed to invade the ship? You didn’t deem it possible. Not with the crew that was on this ship and with the precise and careful way they managed things on their water home. 

Then what was causing Chenle to cower away with such fear? 

“Chenle, is anyone hurt? We can’t hide in here, we need to go see if the others are okay.” His Captain firmly stated, you felt his shoulder stiffen under your touch and you bite your tongue.

“You don’t understand,” he shakes his head, eyes casting downwards as he brings his arms up, landing his hands on either side of his head to cover his ears. “They’ll get inside your head. They’ll beckon you to the sea. What man doesn’t love the sea enough to listen to it?”

You instinctively take a step back, fear finally crawling up your spine to spread itself throughout your entire body. 

You understood now.

It wasn’t enemy pirates on this ship. 

It was sirens. 

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

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[rainsonata]

Doppelgänger 3/15

Chapter 03: Mind and Body

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; none Rating: K+ Word Count: 6,368

Summary: It was like looking into a mirror. What happens when one’s reflection talks back and throws uncomfortable questions? El Search Party struggles to find entrance into the Demon Realm, but Dominator has a plan.  

Alternative Title: Dominator fucked up and now everyone meets their alternative selves

AO3 Link / FF.NET Link

— [Chapter 01] [Chapter 02] [Chapter 03] [Chapter 04] [Chapter 05] [Chapter 06] [Chapter 07] [Chapter 08] [Chapter 09] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] — 

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Class Notes:

Canon Path: Knight Emperor, Aether Sage, Daybreaker, Rage Hearts, Code: Esencia, Comet Crusader, Apsara, Empire Sword, Doom Bringer, Ishtar and Chevalier (Innocent), Bluhen  

Alternate Path: Rune Slayer, Oz Sorcerer, Anemos, Furious Blade, Code: Ultimate, Fatal Phantom, Devi, Flame Lord, Dominator, Timoria and Abysser (Catastrophe), Richter

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Rage Hearts

A couple of dark elves were stationed when the El Search Party arrived at the outpost with heavy eyelids. The dark elf elder must have instructed them to stay behind if they were still in the process of evacuating the village. White masks obscured their faces, but their sharpened knives and bows positioned for an ambush made it clear they weren’t letting their guard down.  

The sentry guardians let them cram under a tent for shelter from the rain. Black clouds clustered together in an erratic array, thunder striking against Rage’s eardrums as rain overflowed the undergrowth. Lightning flashed in irregular intervals as he and his friends waited in painful silence.

Packing that morning was less than a hassle. Apsara only forgot to retrieve her spare weapons once and it took less than three trips to pack Cavalier’s elaborate tea set customized from Lanox. Being a soldier himself, he didn’t own a lot of possessions. He spent most of the morning making sure nothing was left behind and that everyone was present and accounted for. They were waiting for Aether and Crusader when one of the dark elves spoke.  

“Your party number seems to increase every time we meet.”

“I’m sorry?” Perplexed by what the dark elf meant, Rage did a mental headcount. There were nine of them, which was three short because Knight was gone and they were still waiting for two party members to rejoin. Did the dark elf mistaken?

“No, there are nine of us,” Apsara waved her finger in the air to recount their team members.    

The dark elf didn’t falter from her statement, “I saw humans in the forest last night. Elder Edith told us not to attack on her command, but if you are hiding more humans...”

“We’re not,” Rage said. “If there were more of us, we would have told you.”  

“How many people were there?” Code: Esencia asked.

“At least a dozen,” the other dark elf replied. “They were in smaller groups as you were.”

“Sorry for the wait,” Aether stepped under the tent. Her staff raised above her head to form a magical barrier shielding her from the rain. In contrast to the El Search Party, Aether remained dry aside from a few wrinkles that needed to be ironed out. “It took longer than I thought to get here with the sudden rain.”  

“We’ll be outside if you humans need us,” the dark elf said. Her comrade nodded to the party and excuse themselves from the tent.

The dark elves have left the El Search Party with new information that must have been baffling for them because Daybringer had ceased talking to Bluhen, who had a sullen expression but nodded when she stopped to explain something. Empire, Ishtar, and Chevalier discussed among themselves on the implications of potential human allies. Esencia and Bringer were silent on the affair, deep in their thoughts and had nothing to contribute to the conversation.    

There at least a dozen humans beside them! Rage was shocked by the number. They haven’t had new members join the El Search Party since Cavalier and Ishtar, who arrived as a pair in Lanox. Regardless, with strict policies to outsiders, it was unlikely for humans to settle in Varnimyr without the dark elves’ notice. Who were those strangers and what were the chances of coming into contact with them? With their luck, very likely.

“What’s going on? Everyone’s quiet,” Aether frowned.

“Sorry, Aisha. I could hardly sleep last night.” Apsara wiped her eyes to dust away a tear, “It was hard to.”

“Sorry about the late letter,” Aether chuckled. “Didn’t want you to worry for not saying where we were.”  

“Where’s Chung?” Rage noted the absence of the young man.

The mage stuttered, “He’s occupied at the moment. Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon!”

Aether smiled, but her brows visibly twitching at an intensity that left little of her answer to be believed. Sitting between Rage and Apsara, she had her hands over the helm of her skirt, picking at a loose piece of thread she found. Worry and discomfort were apparent in how she crossed her legs with restlessness.    

“What did you want to tell us?” Empire sat next to the mage.

Aether hummed, “There’s a trail leading to clues that might tell us what happened to Elsword. You must have seen the forest before you arrived.”

It was unlike anything they have seen before. Unevenly burned and charred, the trees were stripped bare of their bark and collapsed at the slightest human contact. The smell of smoke was still fresh in Rage’s mind. Parts of it were still burning from yesterday when Bluhen found the battle site until the downpour started. It was no ordinary fire. The burn marks stopped abruptly midway through the woods and the destructive path it laid in ruins was too well calculated to be of natural occurrence.

Albeit the clumsiness and likely lack of control over their magic, Rage could see the power in what was leftover from how through the fire was. He had doubts they would find anything of use from the remnants of the burned down forest. Broken bottles and discarded glass jars told the mercenary the damage was likely caused by another human. An arsonist in the Demon Realm? The magic humans used for magic was different than the blue fire Ishtar and Cavalier used in battle. Not as destructive as demon fire, but just as unpredictable and difficult to control without proper training.    

“There were footprints, but as you may guess, most of it was gone by the time we found them.” Aether said, “Human footprints mixed with-”

“Corrupted Elrianode monsters,” Bluhen finished, long eyelashes brushing over green pupils. “Elsword wanted to assess the cause of the sudden spike in the presence of El. I agreed to go with him to ensure his safety, but we were split apart when we saw the monsters.”

That was new information for the El Search Party.

Bringer’s scowl grew deeper, uttering incohesive words that were less than savory. Apsara looked at Empire with concern as the red knight’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of her brother, clamping her gloved hands into tight fists. Quiet chatter spouted between some of the team members, words of hushed worry and fear.

Esencia wasn’t as transparent in her emotions, but the sadness in her eyes was apparent. The Nasod queen placed her weight on Remy and Moby, patting them with gentleness unlike one of a Nasod.  

“That idiot,” Aether growled. Red flashed across the mage’s features, a mixture of anger and regret, even guilt from how hard she gripped her staff if that was any indication. “He could have waited for us to help him with the investigation. Why does he think he has to deal with everything by himself?”

Knight would have taken their concern with a bashful laugh. Flustered but with an appreciative smile before covering his embarrassment with an apology, leaving one to wonder if the man was aware of the effect he had on others.

He was not the most intelligent of the bunch, but his impressive stamina and strive to move forward was admirable. That was what made Knight approachable and likable because he wasn’t threatening. Rare naivety for someone his age, yet it was his strength to explains why he had supportive friends willing to stay by his ideals.

“Um… The dark elves said they saw humans.” Apsara decided to change the topic to break the silence, “What does that mean? I thought we were the only ones. Did you see them, Aisha?”

The mage shook her head.

“It’s not improbable,” Ishtar said, the former demon monarch idly flicking her tail. “It would be naive to think we were the first outsiders the dark elves have met. Demons have invaded the human world before, so it’s not unlikely the same has happened in reverse.”

“Is it an invasion if there are only twelve of them?” Chevalier mused.

“Humans are capable even in small numbers,” Esencia stated.

That’s why humans won the Nasod War, Rage thought. Humans do not have half the abilities demons, but their adaptability and tenacity made up for it, as he had found out when he met the El Search Party. No one else was as foolish or stubborn as the children that were willing to put their lives on the line to rescue a bizarre cyborg experiment.  

“Should we warn the dark elves?” Daybreaker asked.

“We don’t know what kind of people they are,” Apsara argued. “We should watch them first before we do anything. They could be new allies!”

“Or they can be new enemies,” Bringer drawled. “But still, not a bad idea.”

“I sense their El,” Bluhen said. “But they share the same wavelength as us. They have better control over it than the demons do.”  

“What you described sounds like the shadows we fought in the Hall of El.” Aether crossed her arms.

The shadows’ physical appearances, movements, even their voices mirrored their real counterparts. They were manifestations of the El, whispering sweet promises and luring them into a false sense of security. It was a good thing none of them caved in because the El Search Party could have disbanded from missing members.

Daybreaker crossed examined the purple-haired woman with the eyes of a medic, taking note of the lack of open wounds or injuries. It didn’t appear that Aether partook in a recent fight. “You seem to be in good health, but what about Chung? Are the potions for him?”

“I guess you can say that,” Aether rubbed her forehead. “He’ll be here soon enough, hahaha…”

Her nervous and forced laughter left more questions than answers. She was going to leave red marks on her forehead if she kept rubbing it.

The mage mumbled, “What’s taking him so long?”

Rage narrowed his eyes. Aether was an intelligent young woman, but hiding information from the group was not what the mercenary appreciated if they were discussing the health of a fellow team member. Opening his mouth, he was ready to interrogate her before Empire interjected.  

“We can wait for Chung, but you need to be honest with us if he doesn’t come in fifteen minutes.” Empire warned Aether, “I understand if he wants you to lie to spare our feelings, but we don’t have the time to play these charades.”

“Right…” Aether’s eyes averted.

“Did you find the remains?” Bringer ignored the leers Bluhen was sending him. “We found the loser’s scabbard. Did you call this meeting to tell us what we already know?”

It was strange his scabbard was the only thing remaining. Where did Knight’s greatsword go? His scabbard was identified closer to their campsite than where Rage thought the battle between their former leader and the monsters took place. The ones Bluhen fought must have been the last of them because they did not come across any on their way to the resting station to reunite with their teammates. Those beings held no inhibition or motivation of their own unless controlled by a Henir cultist.  

“Remains?” Aether gawked at the brawler, “What are you talking about?”  

“Ow, let go!” A familiar voice whined from outside the tent.

A male voice exclaimed, “You’re going to reopen your wounds if you walk like that!”

“Your grip is going to reopen them!” They huffed, “When did you get this strong? Easy on the hand holding!”

The voices grew louder in a cacophony.

Drenched from the rain was a young man emerging into the tent. He wore an unbuttoned thin white jacket with red lining on the edges and belts, which was also soaked from the inconvenient weather. Metallic pieces plated over his thighs for reasons Rage couldn’t understand. What were those plates supposed to protect? Red runes etched over his bare tanned skin on his arms and lower stomach, revealing more runes carved into his palms when he opened them.

Behind him was Crusader. The ponytailed man had an umbrella over his head with a medical kit in hand. Destroyer was strapped to his back and one arm interlocked around the other. His determination was visible as Crusader tugged his elbow inward and pulling them towards the center to Aether’s fire to warm up.  

“If you don’t stay still, those scars will become permanent.” Crusader chastised.

“What’s another scar to add to the many?” He shrugged, “It’s not like we have a healer or anything.”

“We have Ain.”  

“Since when does Ain heal?”  

Aether groaned.      

Long tangled hair tied into a lower ponytail, bangs pulled back by a black headband that did little to keep his fringe out of his eyes. Eyes the color of fire matched his hair. Rage gawked at his choice of clothes. What was he wearing? Those plates weren’t going to protect him from anything unless the demons wanted to attack his thighs.  

“Why are you all so serious?” The man let out a nervous chuckle at his new audience, “You all look like someone just died.”

Empire stepped forward, eyes glazed over him. Arms across the newcomer’s shoulders, she croaked at the familiar face.      

“Elsword?”

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Devi

The sun warmed the frigid forest undergrowth with tenderness. Devi smelled smoke coming from the fire Abysser kept alive throughout the night, waking up in hourly shifts to rekindle the dying light. It was a commitment she admired from a distance, not wanting to bother the demon in his morning ritual. Pots and pans clattered in the background as Abysser gathered ingredients he had stocked in Elrianode in preparation for breakfast.  

Marigold glowed in the lower portion to indigo and maroon where the horizon was, a mild portion of the sky in what Devi assumed was what mornings were like in the Demon Realm. In contrast to the numerous moons rotating on their axis, the lonesome sun dipped past the hills. The forest’s chatter dismissed from activity as Devi examined her fingernails, curling them tight in anticipation with quivered lips.

She promised she would follow Flame.

Despite the inconvenience she had brought to the El Search Party because of Ran’s actions, Flame waited for her. What started as routine sparring sessions blossomed into more. They talked about their brothers, their hometowns, the food and people they saw, and the wonders they experienced on their journeys. Although the red knight wasn’t the brightest and sometimes needed things to be explained, her presence was candlelight when Devi was in a dark place.

Resting her head on her bag, Flame remained exhausted and woozy from last night fight, restless in sleep. Red strands fluttered past her face as she slept on her side, arms tucked into her body. Her chest rose with each passing breath, unaware of Devi sitting close by on a fallen log and watching over her.

The Rune Master meant the world to Flame. Devi understood the feeling of losing a close family member after finally catching a glimpse of them even for a short period of time. Raised in the army and asked to lead at a young age, Flame admitted that her happiest moment wasn’t reuniting with her father, but seeing Rune again and joining his band of oddballs in Velder. Devi couldn’t forget the rage and panic Flame had when she almost lost her brother to the El.  

It was unfair to despise the boy for playing martyr out of the selfless belief that it would restore the El and everything would be fine and dandy. If that was his idea of justice, Devi could respect that, but placing his life in danger shortly after affected her more than she had expected herself to be.

Rune could have chosen not to listen to her story after she had blocked them from attacking her brother. No one was forcing him to accept Devi into the El Search Party or provide her the resources to strengthen her spear. Kindness seemed to run in the family because Rune never judged her for her decision to pursue power over more noble goals

“It sounds important to you, so I trust you.” He said when Devi gave him a quizzical eye.  

Missing him? Eun asked.

Only because he brings her pain, Devi replied. She could hear the doubt in the fox spirit’s thoughts but knew better than to probe further.    

If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t have met Flame or the other party members, who were just as accepting. It was the kind of trust that could easily be taken advantage of by others.    

Devi smelled the eggs and steamed rice. She considered offering a hand and helping Abysser set the table, but arrangements were already made with plates and bowls ready, utensils lined up and ready to feed five people.

There’s only five of us, Eun reminded her.

Six if we count you, Devi held a blank expression on that line of thought. They were seven people short with Rune’s whereabouts unknown. Flame was insistent on regrouping with the rest of their friends. When Devi woke up for her shift, Abysser passed a message that Dominator had found a way to reach them over their communication devices. They were going to leave after breakfast.

Flame moved. Stretching her limbs, she reached for her bag to retrieve a hairbrush to untangle her hair and rolled to the side to greet Devi.

“Mornin’” The fire knight yawned. “Did you sleep well?”

Smiling at her, Devi shook her head. “You know I can’t sleep through the night as well as you can.”

Which was true, because the Demon Realm wasn’t free from crickets. Their loud chirps made the forest come alive and left Devi lying in cold sweat from moving in her sleep. Summers in Demon Realm couldn’t escape insects either, it seemed.    

“What’s on your mind?” Flame teased, “You look like Eun just told you Elsword ate the last steak.”

“I didn’t know he could eat that much!” Devi fumed, feeling her cheeks flush red and stuttered. “You should get ready for breakfast. We’re leaving after to meet up with the others.”

“You heard from them?” Flame was impressed. “That was quick!”

Devi thought about the effort Dominator must have put into making their means of communication functional despite Dark El tempering with it. His fascination with Nasods wasn’t something she understood nor did she care for, but if it helped them on their journey and made things more convenient, then she wasn’t going to complain. It wouldn’t surprise her if the scientist pulled an all-nighter.  

“Why stop when you can make more improvements?” Dominator would have puffed his chest with pride.  

Breakfast was a quiet affair with humble food and bread rationed among party members to last them for at least a few days for their upcoming expedition. With only five mouths to feed, although that would soon bump back to eleven, it didn’t take long to wash the dishes and clean up afterward. It felt like they were camping outside Atlas Station again, surrounded by a foreign environment and little known information to what was in their future.  

It started raining when they finished packing. Water droplets pelted them as Devi clenched her gown to the side to avoid getting it wet, grumbling to herself with dismay. It felt like years since their last experienced proper rainfall, which was when they stopped at Atlas Station. Clouds cluttered and darkened without warning, releasing a downpour over their group as they searched for higher ground to avoid the overflowing river.

“Where did you say we were meeting them again?” Flame pressed her forehead against her palm, rubbing her eyes.

“I told them where we were,” Phantom said. “Hopefully they can find out through this rain.”

Phantom had a baby blue umbrella over his head and a matching scarf. Equally blue eyes locked into Devi’s, still shorter than the older woman even with the added centimeters from his armor. Gray clouds reflecting off his pupils, difficult to read and unpredictable as the way he fought the Hamel demons on their first meeting.

The other half of their group contacted him when Phantom was on patrol duty for the night. From then, the message was passed down the rest of their small group with Devi being the last to tell Flame.

“What are you going to do once we find Elsword?” Phantom asked.

“The same as before,” Devi flashed a sharp-fanged smile. “Ran is still out there and those demons won’t slaughter themselves.”

Phantom didn’t flinch at the half threat, but the disapproval was clear. If he was requesting for a different answer this time, then the guardian of Hamel was in for a disappointment.

Devi let out a humorless laugh. Her brother was still a high priority on her list and taking down the demons that brought him to his fate was her answer. She wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t a selfish act. It was personal and had little to no involvement with the grander scheme of the El or those involved with it. Ran was but a mere pawn to the demons that wished to invade Elrios and use their resources.    

Strange how life played its pieces into place. She was on the same side as the man who wanted to take down her brother despite the risks that may jeopardize their relations.  

“I hope you understand what it means if you can’t make him change his mind,” Phantom chose his words with care.

“I know,” Devi gripped her hands around her umbrella. They would have to take him down, a thought that had her clenched her teeth on the possibility. “I see them.”

She made out the outlines of Oz’s hat and Dominator’s drones residing behind the scientist, their shadows obscuring the other half of the El Search Party emerging from the storm. They regrouped under the trees, laying their weapons and possessions against the tree trunks. Most of them wore raincoats that went down to their knees with matching umbrellas.  

“I hope there was no trouble getting here,” Phantom said. “Did you come across any demons?”

“Not as many as I thought there would be.” Anemos was apologetic, “Sorry for the wait!”

“Let’s not do this again,” Oz wiped her brow. “This place is big enough as is when we’re together.”

Devi agreed. They had wasted a day searching for each other and avoiding bringing attention to themselves because of their unceremonious entrance into a new world. Too many detours like in Elrios. They could be searching for answers on the Dark El, but time was running out.  

“Any signs or clues to where Elsword is?” Abysser asked.

Richter leaned closer to where Anemos was and averted his gaze when addressed by the demon. Long strands of hair combed over his eyes. The priest stood still under the tree, rain trickling down his pale neck as he engaged in a locked staring contest with Abysser.

Abysser was the first to blink.

“We didn’t find anything, but there are tents nearby.” Abysser took the lack of response from Richter and the others for a no. “I think we’ll have luck if we ask the residents living here.”

“I see.”

Displeasure appeared on Richter’s face not unlike her own, just as irritated on the suggestion of cooperating with demons. They have a poor track record with demons outside of Timoria and Abysser, although that was to be expected with their reputation for giving demons trouble.  

“Eve, is there a way you can search for Elsword?” Flame asked.

Gazing at her with sympathy, Ultimate said. “Remy and Moby can run a scan, but it will take time. They need time to analyze.”

“Thank you,” Flame was appreciative. “I guess that brings us back to square one on finding Elsword.”  

“Unless we run into ourselves,” Blade mumbled.

“What?” Devi stared at the mercenary with intent, waiting for Blade to say he was joking. Okay, the old man was as likely to start joking when Dominator would stop gushing over ancient codes.

“I...may have brought us into the wrong Demon Realm and we might run into ourselves,” Dominator admitted with a sheepish grin.

Devi groaned, “Is that going to give us problems?”

There were correct Demon Realms now? Devi covered her face with a gloved hand and choked on her saliva. There were only so many times she could handle dimension-hopping. First, there was Elysion, then Elrianode, she guessed Demon Realm was another to add to the list.

“If they’re anything like us, they might be helpful in finding the brat,” Dominator mused. “Assuming they don’t see us as a threat.”

How reassuring, Eun yawned.

Not if we take them down first, Devi thought.  

“Wrong Demon Realm or not, we still need a starting point to find Elsword.” Blade said, “I think Ciel is right in asking around. We can learn more about the Demon Realm and where we are.”  

“We can do that after the rain stops,” Flame stared at the gray skies. “I doubt we’ll find anyone in this weather.”

Devi gazed at the sky too. It was the kind of weather for her and brother to sit around the fire for a cup of tea after dinner. She was always careful not to add too many tea leaves after the one time she forgot and used all of them in one sitting. Ran wouldn’t stop laughing about it afterward, but it didn’t make her feel bad because he offered to make a new pot of tea. If they were in a different Demon Realm, did that mean this Ran wasn’t the one she grew up with? Devi didn’t know what to think of that.

Alternatives of themselves. What were they like? Would her counterpart be nothing but a shadow of herself like those manifestations in the Hall of El? Or would the look-alike be a mirror image for Devi to notice the visible flaws until she had enough and lose her mind? If there was another Flame, would they still get along? Devi laid her head down and sighed. She had enough of this dimension bullshit.

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

Knight Emperor

“Who are you?” Knight stared at the sleeping figure. A trap set by demons? What were they doing here?

That couldn’t be a civilian. They shared his face. Not an exact copy because they wore their hair like they left a late-night party and had questionable clothes, but that wasn’t the point! How could that be possible? They felt too real to be an imitation like the shadows he had fought in the Temple of Trials.

“Ugh, my head hurts.” They stood up, wobbling with their hand over their head. “Woah, did I hit my head that hard? I see two of me!”

“You’re telling me,” Knight crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, studying his look alike. The red markings reminded him of the runes he studied when he still bothered going to school before picking up a sword. Well, they couldn’t both call themselves Elsword, so his counterpart was going to be named Rune. Wait, he was getting distracted... “Why are you here?”

“Better question,” Rune laughed. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Knight groaned at the question flipped on its head and back to himself. “Earthquakes are going on and we still don’t know anything about the Dark El. I need to get back to my friends and-”

“Wow, you’re searching for answers on that too?” That perked Rune’s attention, “I guess you really are me!”

Knight wasn’t as keen on being associated with his counterpart. Past experiences with similar entities were unpleasant and often ended in brawls. Would that happen again with this one? Knight closed his eyes. He was still exhausted from the fight.        

“Hey, don’t space out on me. Are you okay?”

Knight jerked his head forward to the sound of rattling, his mind paused on the present and went to autopilot. Twisting his body, Knight threw himself in front of his counterpart and blocked a set of sharp teeth with his sword, shoving his counterpart to the ground with his free hand and away from the attacker. Knight opened his mouth to scream at Rune to leave, but nothing came out. He could feel the demon breathing down on him as it pinned him.    

The demon attacked.    

Water dripped from the high ceiling, echoing within the walls of the enclosure with no interruptions. The ground was damp and had a mossy smell to the gravel beneath Knight’s boots. He woke up to the sight of a sharp point of a crystal growing from the ceiling, pointing down to where he laid. Knight held his breath and pulled himself away before he could hurt himself from wanting to touch the crystal to see if it was as tough as his greatsword.

Fluorescent light radiated from crystals on the sides of the walls in pink, orange, blue, and purple, some as tall as a human adult. Some of the crystals sprouted from the ceiling and the ground up, forming an effective wall and blocking possible exits. Smaller rocks were placed strategically in the corners of the confinement. Shelves carved into the walls behind him with nothing but dust to greet Knight.

Where was he? Peeking through the gaps between the crystallized wall, repeated formations of crystals and boulders expanded with no end in sight. He was inside a cavern. A metallic smell stuck to the walls, one that Knight was well accustomed to by now. It smelled like blood.

Was this the Shadow Driller’s hideout? Knight turned around frantically in search for the demon that brought him here. It resembled the Shadow Snipers invading Hamel almost two years ago, but it looked stronger. Thorns protruded over its head and orange scales plated over its spine and limbs, standing on hind legs and claws reached out for him. It was easily taller than him by at least one to two heads. What was Knight supposed to do if there were more of them?

He needed to leave.

The Emperor Knight reached for his greatsword from the sheath on his back, feeling for his weapon and moving his arm back further when there was nothing. His blood turned into ice. The absence of his weapon was apparent.

He failed to keep his promise to his friends and got himself caught in a sticky situation. How long would it take for the El Search Party to figure out where he was? Knight himself didn’t know how far he was from his friends. He didn’t remember seeing a cave or a cavern close to their campsite.

Where did he drop his sword? It was by his side when Knight fought off the Elrianode monsters and found Rune, who was nowhere to be found.

A hollow feeling rose from his chest. Did Rune understand his intention and escape while Knight fought the Shadow Driller as a distraction? Or did Rune stay behind to fight and get caught as a prisoner?

His counterpart was less fazed by Knight’s existence than vice versa, but he didn’t seem to have bad intentions if his first response was to talk things out instead of attack. That was a change in pace for Knight after dealing with demons who felt more obliged to slice him in half rather than hold a conversation.    

Rune said something about researching the Dark El. It sounded similar to the resolve Knight made with his friends after they pulled him out of the El’s influence. Determination mirrored back when Knight looked at his alternative, purpose and responsibility weighing on the shoulders of an eighteen-year-old with battle scars. Those scars looked worse than his, making Knight gain sudden self-conscious over his body. If it wasn’t for Bluhen, would he be similar to his other self? They had minute differences, but their mind and body were the same.    

If Rune existed, then did the rest of the El Search Party exist as well? Knight tried to imagine meeting Aether or Bluhen’s alternatives, but the image of them wearing clothes as meager as Rune wasn’t something he was going to forget. Did it matter if they were different? They would still be his friends.

This was something Bringer would have enjoyed discussing because the brawler held a fascination for alternative dimensions and the like. Knight was sure he would explain how people like Rune were possible when they held more free will than any of the shadows they have encountered before. Until he could break his way out and find his friends, he was on his own.  

Lifting his head, Knight was greeted by a pale face.

“Aaah!” Knight knocked his head against the wall, covering his head in pain. Hitting his head on a stone wall was a bad idea.  

The small figure giggled, their face was well hidden by the hood they wore adorned with cat ears. A child? Not as tiny as Ishtar, they stood up to his shoulder in a one-piece suit and a jacket hoodie zipped up. Thin chains extended from their tailcoat with sharpened ends, matching the magenta-colored gloves they wore. The child’s clothes held no wrinkles, the insides of their hood patterned in purple diamonds and they weren’t sweating like Knight was. A recent captive?

Knight apologized and rubbed his head. “I didn’t know you were in there. Sorry if I bothered you.”

Were they always there? They looked so small with the layer of clothes on them. Assuming the silence for shyness, Knight didn’t push on the child and offered an encouraging smile. He had to stay strong. The child didn’t need to see him in distress or panic that he had no idea where they were. That’s what Empire did when they were children because she wanted him to believe in her. He would do the same for the new child.

“You don’t happen to know how to get out of here, do you?” Knight asked.

No response, not even nodding or shaking their head for any indication they heard him. They were holding something. The child held up a leather bag that was easily half of their weight, prompting Knight to accept it.

“You want me to open it?” Knight forgot to tell the child that it was his bag. How did they take it without his notice? Was he surprised to see another human being that he had let his guard down?

Knight emptied the bag and laid the contents side by side, gesturing the child to sit next to him. Snow fruits, desert sweet potatoes, and bulky carrots were bred to be sturdy vegetables, but he felt guilty when he saw how much they bruised. Expired tickets and flyers from COBO services came out of the back pockets, colors and lettering faded away and smelled like Sander Jerky. A leather sack held hundreds of millions of gold coins Knight had been saving to upgrade armor and weapons. Spices for food and fragment powder for crafting them into El Tear fragments were organized by color and type.

Initially organized into smaller compartments courtesy to Bringer, who complained about his habits for tossing everything together in the bag, well… Old habits are hard to break and Knight was back to square one. Elixirs, potions, crafting material, accessories, clothes, certificates, scrolls, and stamps cluttered his bag.

The child glared at the growing pile of trash.

“I know it’s a lot,” Knight was embarrassed. “There’s nothing to do here, I guess now is a good time to start organizing.”

He was never going to hear the end of this if Aether or Bringer found out that he forgot to keep his stuff clean. With two people, it was still a Herculean task sort out the trash and know what to keep. It was tempting to hold on to everything, but Knight felt a pair of eyes dig into the back of his neck when he suggested keeping the old coins the town alchemists no longer accepted for crafting services (1). Couldn’t a guy get a little nostalgic?    

“That’s the last of it!” Knight smiled when they finished cleaning. “You didn’t have to help me, but thanks!”

The child ignored him, turning their head away from the knight. The disappointment was apparent at the mess he was making. Knight laughed nervously when he saw where they were looking. Kept in a flask the color of the wind El, he made out the cursive writing on a label “Blessed Giant Hand Potion” (2).

Next to it laid a greatsword Knight didn’t remember owning. Bulkier in appearance, the crossguard was more circular than what he was used to and the hilt had red belts attached. The blade itself was as wide as his head but thinner at the point. When Knight tested the greatsword, he was shocked that it was lighter than it looked. At closer inspection, he recognized the symbols on the hilt and blade to be runes he couldn’t understand. Was this Rune’s sword? What was it doing here and how did he pick it up without knowing? But still, this was good to have something to defend himself when they make their breakout.  

“You think this will work?” Knight asked. What a dumb question, he thought, but he missed having someone to talk to despite their conversations being one-sided.

Knight sweated when the child smiled at him full of sharp teeth. They were going to break out with sheer force. That could work.  

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Knight chuckled, “Stay close to me.”

He choked on the breath-taking hold the child had, wrapping their arms in a binding hug around the waist. Knight gently tapped on their gloved hands to let go. The child loosened their grip, backing away and giving him room in preparation for their escape.  

Feeling his hand over the crystallized wall, Knight snapped his eyes tight, concentrating on the spot with the weakest support. Unbottled elixir in hand, his lungs were on fire like he had inhaled sugar into his nostrils. His hands enlarged and Knight breathed.  

One, two, three!

“Hyaaaah!” Knight charged.

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

Notes:

Old coins (1) - Once upon a time, Elsword had Secret Dungeon coins and separate crafting material for each Secret Dungeon set.  

“Blessed Giant Hand Potion” (2) - An elixir that causes the character hands and weapon to become bigger and have an increase in damage boost.

[dinoshaur]

[01] loosen my (tu)lips

title: loosen my (tu)lips characters: choi seungcheol x reader genre: romance, pining, angst, hanahaki au, friends w/ benefits, harry potter au warning: swearing, suggestive content, vomiting + blood words: 1835 part - one / two

your room smells of his cologne.

it’s overpowering - a cool, minty scent clinging onto the threads that line your sheets. the smell lingers, invades your nostrils as you take a shuddering breath. you frown; there is nothing you can do to get rid of it, but do you even want it gone?

as you stare at the bed, you wonder for a moment if this will be your life from now on. the haphazard pillows and bundled blankets are not an unfamiliar sight. in fact, you’ve seen this too many times to count. a haggard sigh trails past your lips and you press two fingers to your throbbing temple.

how long until everything collapses around you?

something itches at you, gnaws at your throat until you blink your gaze away; something about the display feels so … lonely. yet something else whispers at you to leave the site untouched. you exhale, take two minutes to level your head, and backtrack out your room.

it takes every inch of self-control you have to stop yourself from hurling a bowl at the wall when you smell the very same minty fragrance in your kitchen.

seungcheol stands next to you in the elevator at work, days later, pretending that you don’t exist. his head is held high, the easy smile stretching across his handsome face an image of cheeky professionalism. in the two minutes you stand side-by-side, there is barely a nod of acknowledgement.

you know this drill by now.

it doesn’t stop the tension from building in your shoulders, nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood, while you wait for something in the air to change. another minute ticks past yet he does not say a word.

when the doors open, ministry workers spilling out into the corridor, you keep your gaze on his side-profile; watching, no, waiting, for him to look at you. but today, just like every other day, seungcheol walks out without turning back. you ignore the dip in your stomach when his retreating figure disappears around a corner.

the secretary that works at the entrance to the auror department does not get a greeting as you make your way to your office. you square your shoulders with a scowl, trying in vain to ignore the residual anger lingering in the outskirts of your vision. the silence replays in your head over and over again but the bang of your oak doors cuts through the ringing in your ears.

you pause.

there he sits, legs propped up on your desk, pores oozing with charming authority. his wand sweeps through the air and the doors slam shut behind you. you want to scream, to scoff at the way he has shamelessly invited himself into your office; all you can manage, though, is a strangled ‘what’ before he crosses the room in quick strides.

seungcheol attacks your lips, tugging at them as though they are the oxygen he so desperately needs. you don’t argue when his hands tug at your robes, a frenzied task that soon has you shrugging them off at his growl. he shoves you against the wall, knocking the wind out of you for two split seconds; you don’t have the time to gasp for air before his lips are trailing hot kisses down your neck. he tugs your legs up to rest on his sides, your fingers twisting in his dark roots, when your hips collide with a ferocity that makes the both of you groan.

you feel warm, heat pulsing through your veins and you swear your body is throbbing. blood roars in your ears when seungcheol licks his lips, the glint in his eyes sending you down a spiral you vowed to escape - he’s a drug you can’t seem to be rid of, a curse you can’t shake. when he moans your name against your skin, you think that maybe life can’t get any better than this.

later, he slides his belt around his waist and places a gentle kiss against the small scar above your eyebrow; this is different. you stare for a moment, watching seungcheol’s lips finally form that smile you’ve been waiting for. he chuckles softly at your blush (and you swear that you’d give your life for this man if he asks). your eyes don’t leave his form when he pushes himself off your newly ruined desk.

“don’t worry,” he hums. “no one saw me enter, and no one will see me leave.”

your gut drops with regret; nevertheless, you force a grin, nodding as you watch him slip out your office. chest tightening, you realise that you’d still die for seungcheol, even if all you are to him is another quickie.

while you yank on your skirt, a cough fights its way out your throat, painfully rough and coarse. the fit does not stop until you’re on your knees, crimson staining the corners of your lips.

one night finds you curled into your blanket, nose buried into a pillow beside you in hopes of catching the remnants of his presence. you replay the way he throws his head back when he laughs, re-imagining seungcheol’s smooth fingers tracing patterns on your skin; but there is a sense of self-loathing, not wholly unwarranted, that taints the memories of your rendezvous.

something itches at his esophagus; you grimace - it has been a week since the coughing fit began. you massage your neck, cursing at the thought that maybe the potion you purchased from that vendor in diagon alley is a placebo, sold to you by a fraud.

the dilemma is quickly forgotten when a familiar owl swoops in through your bedroom window. you clutch onto the tiny roll of parchment, stare holes into neat cursive, and think that maybe things are beginning to change. with hope filling your chest, you fall asleep dreaming of his cherry-red lips.

you catch yourself before colliding against cold ivory that very same night. hunching over the bathroom sink, your body heaves alongside the shuddering coughs that tear its way out of your system. your fists are clenched so tightly that your knuckles are white. a shaky arm props your head up as fingers pull on your hair hard enough to pull your scalp off. when you gag, throat ripping itself apart, you realise that this might not be some common cold.

and then you see it.

chunks of yellow litter the sink, glaringly bright against dark red blood - the very same blood that stains the insides of your mouth. your breath leaves your lungs in wheezes; you poke at that stray piece of yellow and-

what the fuck?

it’s a flower petal.

according to a healer, three books, and your best friend - this is bad.

the leaky cauldron is filled with people shuffling in, but the tense air around the both of you is enough to keep curious eyes and ears away. minghao sits before you, nails drumming against the table, his face devoid of any color. you don’t think you’ve ever seen the boy look so troubled. he drags in a breath, runs a hand through his blonde hair. “tell me exactly what happened.”

you blink - once, twice, and then say, “i puked flowers two nights ago.”

he glares at you, watches as you roll your eyes and lean against the chair. you sigh, wringing your wrists together.  “i started coughing a while back, and i thought it was no big deal because it didn’t seem to be anything but a common cold. when it got worse, i went to diagon alley and bought a potion that was supposed to help.”

you look down when you deadpan, “then i started puking flowers.”

“do you know why?” minghao asks.

“the healers say that it’s hanahaki,” you whisper, looking away. you hear his sharp intake of breath and squeeze your eyes shut; you don’t want to see the pain on your childhood friend’s face. “it’s super rare, strictly genetic. according to jeonghan, who is doing really well at st. mungos by the way,  the disease is born out of unrequited love, growing flowers within your chest that-”

“i know what hanahaki is!” he hisses. you nibble on your lip as his fist clenches in what you can only assume to be frustration. “i can’t believe that a disease affecting one of thirty wizards ends up being the only fucking disease you inherit.”

you grin sardonically. “just shows the shit luck i have, huh?”

a coughing fit, violent and raw, interrupts your conversation. minghao jolts out of his seat, pressing a napkin to your mouth as you hack into his hand. you feel him rub soothing circles across your back and you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to cry. when it finally ends, he pulls the blood-stained napkin away to reveal a litter of yellow flower petals. you think you hear minghao mumble ‘tulips’ but you’re too busy sipping water to pay attention.

“listen,” comes the mumble after heavy silence falls between you both. he gulps, placing a hand on your shoulder; you’re sure he intends for it to be comforting but it only builds the dread that rolls in your stomach. maybe if you play it off, pretend that you’re okay… then minghao might be okay. “the hanahaki disease can be deadly - you’re going to keep coughing up flowers until its stalk tightens around your respiratory system, and you suffocate on its petals.”

“how bad can it be, hao? that healer already told me about my options, alright? option one is a magical procedure that removes the flowers from your system. they’ll give me a potion that will burn the flower out from within. after that, they perform a series of memory charms to remove all connections with that person. by the time everything is over, i won’t remember his name or his stupid face.” you rasp, waving a flippant hand. “sounds great to me!”

minghao swats at your hand, presses a finger to your chest, and scoffs your name. “you won’t remember how to love anymore.”

you shrug. “it beats option two: getting the person to fall in love with me.”

he doesn’t get the chance to retort; you launch into another bout of coughing. you can feel minghao’s frantic arms fussing over you as you choke up another yellow flower petal. after the heaving stops, you open your bleary eyes to see them lying on the floor, tinted crimson. your best friend holds the back of his hand against his mouth and releases a shaky exhale. it’s funny how he seems more affected by this than you. you nearly miss his question as you stare into the distance, trying not to think about death-by-flowers.

“who is he?”

staring at the petal, at its soft texture and bright-red splatter, you know what option you’re going with - you would rather let this disease kill you before letting yourself forget about him. you let out a defeated sigh and turn to smirk in minghao’s direction.

“our favorite gryffindor seeker, choi seungcheol.”

[bytheanchorarchived]

Rules: answer the questions you’re given, write 11 of your own and tag 11 people.

Their questions for me:

01. Why did you choose your muse?  When did you decide you wanted to begin writing for them?  (multi’s pick one muse of your choosing!  or all if you really want!)

J tagged me so, answering this for Seb. I actually never thought I’d write Sebastian in my life. I started out with Jesse, then moved on to Hunter for years, and I never felt the need to switch over again for a long while. But also whenever I did, I always felt like I wouldn’t be good enough at it, I didn’t think I was smart enough, or good enough a writer, or witty enough in another language, to write him. Finally, though, as the will to write him grew, I gathered enough courage to ask my partner, who did play Sebastian then, if we could switch it up for a plot and see what we could do. As it turned out, her character absolutely hated my Sebastian, and it didn’t work at all. I was so heartbroken, I swore I’d never play him again. But he just kept calling out to me. So finally, I asked a long time mutual of mine, who I knew played Hunter, if she’d let me test my Sebastian again, against her Hunter. And he just.... flew out of my head. I was still a nervous wreck for months about it, but the more my partner and her character liked him, the more confident I felt, and the more I wanted to write him. Eventually it became too little to have just that, and I knew I never wanted to join a gl.ee group again, so I created the indie. I was terrified at first, but it went really well, and I’d like to think I established my Sebastian pretty well in the fandom, before I decided to leave it. I wanted to write Sebastian because, through rping with amazing ones, I fell in love with the character, and I desperately wanted my own shot at bringing him to life. Sebastian was like the hot girl character I always admired, and I was tired of just loving him through my character. I wanted instead to make a version of him that encased all of the reasons why I loved him so much, and my appreciation for him, since, has only grown.

02. What would be your ideal concert?  And who would you go with if you could pick ANYONE but only one person?

Honestly, I think that a T.S. concert would be a lifetime experience. Just from everything I know, and all the videos I’ve watched, and audios, and such. I think she puts on a show that is more than a concert, whether it’s at a stadium, or inside a little theater, and I’d love to be there once. I think I’d just take someone who would appreciate it, and someone who’d help make me feel safe and comfortable, as I’d try to do for them, someone I could depend on.

03. If you had to pick one show to watch for the rest of your life..what would it be?  Why?

Mhm... This is a hard one. I think the show I’ve most watched on repeat is Gossip Girl, so maybe that, because it comforts me, and I love NY, and that upperclass world, and most of the actors.

04. If you had to pick one book to read for the rest of your life..which would it be.  Why?

Lord Of The Rings, no doubt. Because you learn something new about LoTR every single time you read it. Specially if you include the Hobbit and Silmarillion in it. It has so many layers of meaning, and story telling, and world building, and character connections, that you can read it five times and still find yourself figuring out new metaphors, and details you never noticed before. It was also the only world I wanted to live in as a pre-teen, and it saved me back then.

05. If you could have a conversation with anyone in history; who would it be?  What would be your first question?

J pulling all the guns, lmfao. Sorry but I’ve no idea tbh. I enjoy history as a learning experience, but I wouldn’t want to go back, I don’t think, and I don’t have many questions to ask, other than why were some of you so stupid, and how did two people think invading Russia in the winter was a nice idea.

06. Do you believe in the supernatural?  Why or why not?

I don’t believe in monster, magic, werewolves and stuff, but I do believe we are more than just pieces of meat, and the world more than a chunk of rock floating in space for no reason. I believe we’re essences building stories together, and I hope one day we find out that’s more important than everything we waste our time on, like thinking we can destroy each other.

07. Who would you want to play you if a movie was made based on you and your life?

Oh God. My life would not be an entertaining movie. But someone a lot more beautiful than me like Emeraude or Leighton.

08. What was the first thing that came to mind this morning when you woke up?

That I’d finally had a good night of sleep, after a good while.

09. What’s your favorite season?  Why do you love it so much?

Winter, because in the cold everyone’s fancier, cozier, your make up doesn’t run down and you don’t smell and look like a mess.

10. If you were in The Purge, would you commit a crime knowing you could get away with it, join the resistance, or hide keeping you and your loved ones safe?

First, I did not know what that was, lol. Secondly, I’d move out of America, because fuck that. XD Plenty of other countries in the world.

11. What has been your proudest moment in writing so far? 

I think the proudest I’ve been is of a Huntbastian story I wrote, based on State of Grace, by TS, because I just really liked how it flowed out as a sort of movie script, and I just think that whatever glitches aside, it makes for a great story.

My questions for you:  

01. When did you first start writing? What was the story about? Tell me about your characters, and how you felt writing it. 02. What was the first book you’ve ever read, that you picked yourself? What was the book you read as a child that made you feel good? 03. Tell me your favorite rping memory, a thread, a plot, you wished you could go back to, or a joke, or a great moment you were a part of, that made you feel in love with roleplaying. 04. What do you eat when you want to feel happy? What is the meal that makes you sing? 05. When you think of the future, what would the best case scenario be? If you could just have everything you’ve ever dreamed of? Where and how would that be? 06. Tell me about a story you read, that made you feel like they were writing it about you. 07. If you could meet your muse, would they be your friend, lover, enemy, or family? And why? 08. What was the nicest / funnest / most feel good / beautiful dream you’ve ever had? 09. What would be one skill your muse has, that you wished you shared with them? 10. What would you tell your younger self if you could? 11. What writers you look up to in the rp community, and published ones? And why?

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How to get rid of tom cat who is hassling my cats…..

This is page 1 of 1 (This thread has 21 messages.)

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You're reading: How to get rid of tom cat who is hassling my cats…..

arfy Mon 01-May-06 16:19:57

<<Sigh>>

Have been wondering why my 3 cats aren’t out enjoying the sun much, and why one has taken to pooing in the bathroom overnight (grrr)

Then we spied a neighbouring tom cat spraying the fence and ground right outside our cat flap several times – looks as though the pooing cat is now frightened to go out much.

How do I get rid of this blinking tom cat? Any ideas – will citrus work. Needs to be something that then doesn’t stop my cats going out. And WHY don’t people neuter their cats FGS, it is infuriating.

Also, it has become obvious that we are going to have to rehome our cats when we move to NZ in September

(we’ve decided the trip just isn’t fair on them) – how on earth am I going to find a home for a cat who craps in the bathroom?

fullmoonfish Mon 01-May-06 16:51:57

Keep a couple of loaded water pistols to hand and squirt this tom (up the jacksy is fun) every time you see him. He will hopefully get the message. Not sure whether vitrus works or not, but another tip I read is to spray aftershave round the catflap (outside) to mark the territory of your biggest and most dominant inhabitant (ie you or your partner) No idea whether this works, sorry, but was suggested to me by a barkingly cat-mad friend of mine when I had similar prob. I found water worked best and was greatly satisfying too

Miaou Mon 01-May-06 17:07:48

oh ditto fmf – we keep a loaded supersoaker by the back door and have been known to blast at the offenders through the cat flap … hehehe very satisfying!

arfy Mon 01-May-06 17:26:21

ooh interesting about the aftershave – not sure anyone here believes that DH is the biggest and most dominant person round here but never mind. I have never heard that before! but possibly worth a try

noticed some water pistols in the supermarket yesterday, may go back and get one and then hang out by the cat flap. what fun!

arfy Mon 01-May-06 17:26:41

oh and where’s me manners? Thanks!

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1Baby1Bump Mon 01-May-06 18:12:49

i dont think there is anything you can do about it.

Surfermum Mon 01-May-06 18:40:10

I looked into this as we had a problem with cats pooing in our garden. Apparently what you need to do is get some poo from a cat that’s bigger than the one doing the poo, such as a lion. Sorry that’s probably no help unless you’re on the doorstep of Longleat.

arfy Mon 01-May-06 18:42:18

ah yes, zoo poo

Thanks guys. Think I’m going to have to watch out for the bugger and then chuck some water over him. I feel really sorry for my cats, especially now I’ve got to look for new homes for them

. but also do not want cat crap in the bathroom and zoo poo outside the backdoor as the flat is going on the market in a couple of weeks!

twocatsonthebed Tue 02-May-06 19:03:43

two things that might also help…I had a similar problem a while back.

One is to really clean around the cat flap, as toms come back to spray where they have sprayed before. To get it really clean, you need to use biological washing powder, then wipe it down with surgical spirit, to get rid of any smells. This does work in the long run, but you might have to do it a few times.

The other is to get some Feliway from the vets (spray or a plug in airfreshner kind of thing) for your poor bullied cat – it’s a kind of cat pheremone which will calm them down and make them feel better (and hopefully stop them crapping in the bath!). Also, do they have a litter tray indoors – might be worth it for the short term.

HTH!

BadHair Tue 02-May-06 19:10:07

My cat is most definitely neutered and he sprays like a fire engine. It’s not always un-neutered cats that do it. Still annoying though.

tuppenceworth Tue 02-May-06 19:14:29

My sister has a tomcat that is coming into her house, spraying, getting the kittens pregnant (they’re too young to be neutured!) and then buggering off again!! (typical male?!)

A few weeks ago she caught him, put him in the cat basket and drove him 10 miles away. The cat was back two days after. She caught him again, drove him 20 miles away to the other side of Sheffield and the cooking fat (!!) still came back! It’s going to Aberdeen next time!

BettySpaghetti Tue 02-May-06 19:18:13

tuppenceworth -surely it’ll work out cheaper to take him to the vets to get his nads chopped off

Milliways Tue 02-May-06 19:18:31

My German SHepherd Dog happily clears the way of unwanted cats for our cat

I’m sure our cat lures them into our garden just to watch the fun!

arfy Tue 02-May-06 22:43:58

blimey tuppenceworth – what a nightmare!

Thanks everyone, and especially 2catsonthebed. I was hoping to get away with no litter tray as only one out of the the 3 is pooing indoors (and weeing in the bath – nice!) but think you right, might have to do it. Never heard of Feliway, will investigate – thanks for the tip

I didn’t realise neutered cats spray too – but this bugger is definitely a tom. grr

Mimmie123 Thu 23-Mar-17 20:35:11

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ElloDAAAVE Wed 26-Apr-17 11:02:13

I feel your pain. All my cats are done, but other people around here refuse to spay their females, and the result is feral rapey tomcats yowling under our window all night, spraying all over our front step, and not being able to open our windows in summer or we get invaded and sprayed.

Getting a few dogs certainly helped…nasty toms won’t set foot in our back garden now…but the front garden is a different matter. Which is why I’m often seen haring down the garden path, barefoot, hair flying, broomstick in one hand and squirty water bottle in the other, yelling “FUCK OFF YOU RAPEY PISSYCATS, I MIGHT BE ALMOST VEGAN BUT I’LL HAVE YOUR PISSYBALLS AS EARRINGS YOU LITTLE WANKER”

Related. All the neighbours think I’m mad.

Squirty water bottle works though. For a while.

Artyfartygaga Sat 03-Jun-17 18:55:48

I feel your pain. Since my , really very lovely neighbor moved in next door (genuinely- not sarcasm), about a year ago with her bully -self admitted- cat, who is neutered, my two cats have changed their behaviour big time. One, I’m not so worried about, he seems to try to stand his ground but the other ( they’re brothers) is very obviously not handling the situation at all. Next door’s cat is spraying by the front door, shitting in the front garden and getting in the back and middle garden a lot. My son has seen him in our house. There is a smell of cat pee in the house all the time, although I’m constantly washing the carpets and furniture. We live in a row of tiny cottages. My poor boy that can’t cope has taken to crapping in the living room and by the outside doors- I believe this is called middening; a visual sign to mark their territory. To add to the problem, this poor, sweet boy is epilectic, on a fairly large scale- can fit even in his sleep- and he’s obviously really unhappy. I just don’t know what to do. Can’t keep them in as it would be unfair on his brother. It would be difficult to speak to my neighbour as I don’t see what she could possibly do about it. As it is I think she only lets him out when she’s home. So awkward. What can I do? Any positive advice please? I love my cats.

Artyfartygaga Sat 03-Jun-17 19:43:46

Epileptic. Has fits on an irregular basis. Can be 3 times a day or nothing ( that we’ve witnessed) for 3/4 weeks. Otherwise healthy and very lovely and calm and loving.

MandaBee66 Tue 27-Jun-17 07:37:59

I hope that’s a joke because it’s a disgusting thing to do!

MandaBee66 Tue 27-Jun-17 07:40:10

This is what a boy cat did to my poor girl cat! He came in the house to find her. If I find out who owns him they are getting a vets bill!

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