#its the hesitant voice the fear the hard won trust completely gone

[lepidopteragirl]

this is honq this this this is honq this is the vision

[youbloodymadgenius]

One Step At A Time (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry for @geekandbooknerd​‘s 1K challenge. Congrats again love, you deserve each and everyone of us 💖 I hope you’ll enjoy it.

My prompt: I’m going to break your jaw if you keep talking.

the gif belongs to @kendaspntwd​

@inforapound​ - thank you 💐

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😉

Summary: In bed with Ivar, you wish he’d let you try...

Warnings: oral sex (female and male receiver); Ivar’s insecurities; fluff.

Words: 2000

Crying his name again and again, you scream loud enough for everyone in the great hall to hear, you come hard, back arched, your whole body shaking with his hands on your thighs.

"Gods Ivar, that was…" Catching your breath, your mind still filled with stars, you don't bother to finish as you slowly shift in the bed, his strong arms supporting you, your stiffened limbs barely working. But you both know how it was.

Amazing. Powerful. Prodigious. Could Valhalla be any better than that? You're not sure. Riding his mouth, his skilled fingers twisting inside you and his tongue driving you crazy, is definitely your favourite thing in the world, an addiction you want to keep. 

As you slowly lay down next to him, you kiss him eagerly, propping yourself up on your elbow before resting your head on his shoulder. Snuggling against his side, you release a sigh of satisfaction when his right hand works its way through your tangled hair, his left arm playfully squeezing your ass.

"Everything all right, my queen?" his cocky voice asks. His queen… You still have to get used to the title. You had been his little bird, his sweet, his loveling, you still are Y/N every time he's mad at you, but now that he's king, you're mostly his queen. You love the way it rolls off his tongue, and how proud he is. The truth is, he could call you anything and you'd love it. Ivar is your everything, your whole world, your chosen one, your endless love. The true king of your heart.

"How could it be otherwise, my love?" Smiling softly, you pepper light kisses all over his upper-body, your fingers grazing his warm skin, drawing random patterns from his navel, up to his chest.

"I love you so much." Ivar is usually neither soft nor especially talkative, yet sometimes, in the privacy of your shared bed, he just lets go, whispering sweet nothings for only you to hear. You cherish those moments, which vividly express his love and even more his unwavering trust in you.

As he mumbles against your skin, you just get lost in the moment, perfectly happy and still lightly dazed by your previous climax, your hand running along his side and sliding under the heavy furs. Ivar doesn't react at first, but when your bold fingers wander down to his sleep pants, playing with the strings, he holds his breath before grabbing your wrist, his grip soft yet firm.

"Please, don't." His pleading voice hurts you more than the rejection you're used to. You wish he could forget his shame and get rid of his doubts. You would convince him that nothing is impossible. You would want him to stop being gripped by his own fears. You wish he could see himself as you see him. Strong and whole. Perfect, no matter what.

"Just let me my love, please." Muttering, you raise your head, giving him a warm smile. He doesn't smile back, his jaw clenching as he closes his eyes, huffing out a breath.

"Y/N, you know I can't." Barely hearing his shaky whisper, you know he wants you to drop the subject more than anything. And gods, you hate it!

"No Ivar, I don't." Keeping your voice strong and stifling a sigh, you gently kiss his cheek. "I never got the chance."

Ivar had been your lover long before he was your husband. So long that you have trouble remembering what it was like before him. Despite this, however, your hands – let alone your mouth – were never allowed anywhere near his defective cock. His words, not yours. That hurt.

You can feel all his muscles tensing up. "That would be useless. You know how things went with Mar–" Cutting him off by putting your free hand over his mouth, you scowl, anger bursting through your mind, roaring as you prop yourself once again on your elbow. "Don't say her name, Ivar. And never ever compare me to that whore."

She mocked him. Belittled him. Destroyed him. Shattered what little self confidence he had. You hate her deeply, with all your guts.

"I don't." Ivar quickly retorts, a sigh falling out of him. "You know I don't." Releasing your wrist, he keeps his hand on yours, preventing you from moving it.

"If that's so, then let me try, my love." Your voice is soft and gentle, your heart hopeful, but when you look up into his eyes, Ivar clenches them shut, his breath hitches. Not willing to embarrass him further, you almost consider backing off for a moment.

You both keep quiet for a long time, Ivar's uneven breathing filling the silence, your head resting on his tensed shoulder, his fingers absent mindedly stroking your arm. More and more uncomfortable, you're afraid you've gone too far. You should probably be grateful for what you have, instead of wanting more. But you can't help it. You're frustrated, every day a little bit more. Not for you, clearly. For him. You wish you could give him back what he gives you, day after day, night after night. The bliss. That perfect moment when everything explodes, when nothing else exists, when there is nothing left but feelings.  

"I… I can't get it up." Shivering as his shaky voice breaks the silence, you answer him back immediately, your eyes locked on his, your voice soothing. "Ivar, my love, we don't know that for sure. That's why…" biting your lip, you speak hesitatingly, "that's why we should … you should really let me try. Please."

Inhaling deeply, Ivar squeezes your arm incredibly tight. "And what if…" his words catch in his throat, he's hard to understand, "what if it doesn't work?"

Your response bursts forth as you give him an encouraging smile, your eyes twinkling with love, your words firm and your voice steady. "It won't change anything, Ivar. I'll love you just as much, and you know that. I promise, nothing will change. Please, Ivar. My king. It's time. Don't admit defeat until you've tried. With me. You and me together, Ivar, we can make it happen. We've worked miracles before, we can do it again."

Hearing his breathing starting to shake and failing to even out makes your heart crumble. "You… you have too much faith in me."

"And you don't have enough." Glancing at him, you can tell he's hesitating, so you insist. "Ivar, if you don't trust yourself, trust me." You can be his confidence if that is what he needs.

Your hand grazing his lower belly, you look at him expectantly, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding as he faintly nods, his lips twitching nervously.

As you shift in the bed, a light smile on your face, Ivar stops you, his eyes full of doubts. "And what if… what if I hurt you?” he shakes his head no, leaning himself on one elbow, "I don't want to hurt you like I… hurt her."

Hiding how much the mere mention of Margrethe makes you cringe, you give him a broad smile, your hands resting steadily on his hips, waiting to take his pants off. "You won't, Ivar, I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" His voice is so frail right now, giving away all his insecurities, and you feel like you're melting, seeing your ruthless lover trusting you enough to expose himself completely.

Carefully choosing your words, you spread light kisses over his chest. "Because we'll take it slow, my love. One step at a time."

At the very moment when you see a twinkle in his eyes, you know you have won.

"One step at a time?" For the first time, you can hear hope in his voice. The fear isn't gone, but it doesn't matter. Instilling in him a sense of hope is all you need. All he needs.

"Yes, my love, one step at a time. As we did in York. You were sure you could never walk, and look at you now, tall and impressive as you move through Kattegat. You can walk, Ivar. It took us awhile, but we did it. You did it, Ivar. You can do anything, my love, all you have to do is believe."

Rewarded by a weak smile, you pull his pants down over his thighs as he raises his hips, his whole body shaking, his breathing still clipped and shallow. He doesn't need to voice all the doubts he's still feeling.

"Don't worry, everything is going to be fine, Ivar." As you know he is still terrified of hurting you, your voice is gentler than ever. "Tonight, it's all about you my love. I'll take you in my mouth. A first step." Grazing his flaccid cock with your hand, your eyes widen, amazed that you're finally getting the chance.  

Ivar may find this hard to believe, but you love everything about him. Every scar, every broken bone. And tonight you're determined to prove that you'll love his cock anyway, should it stay that way, limp and soft, because it is a part of him.

When you're about to wrap your fingers around his shaft, Ivar tenses again, his fists clenched as he asks in a halting voice. "Are you sure?"

This time you don't try to hide your annoyance, sighing loudly as you glare at him. "Of course I am. But we'll never get anywhere if you keep interfering, you know? So now my love, you be quiet. I love you very much, but I won't wait. I'm going to break your jaw if you keep talking. Seems only fair to warn you."

Chuckling, Ivar looks at you, somewhat flabbergasted, unaware that this is what you were looking for. A way to lighten his mood. "And how would you do that, woman?" he asks, his cockiness obvious.

Pretending to think about it, your head tilts to the side, you manage to suppress a smile but your eyes sparkle with mischief. "You shouldn't underestimate me, Ivar. I am a queen after all."

Without giving him time to answer, you wrap your hand around his cock, Ivar shuddering at the feel of your touch. Fingers running up and down his length, your thumb plays with the tip, and even if it's still soft, you can tell Ivar is enjoying it, his moans building as you lower your lips, lightly kissing his head.

It takes you a long time – not that you mind it – but eventually, as your hand touch his balls, your tongue licking, your lips sucking, you feel it. It is slow at first, faint, almost nonexistent and you're not sure Ivar is aware of it. Yet you know it's there, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride, getting back to work with renewed vigour as his cock gets harder and harder.

Suddenly, Ivar squeaks. Literally. An odd sound you have never heard before, something between a wail and a gasp. Looking up with concern, a frown on your face, you want to be sure he is all right. "Ivar, are you okay?"

Pushing himself upright, he blinks several times, clearly astounded. "No, I… no… yes, I…" he stutters, his breath getting caught in his throat when you release his erected cock for him to see. His jaw drops open in profound amazement. "What's… what's that?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he bites his lower lip, but his frown disappears quickly, replaced by a heart stopping smile. "Is that… is that magic?"

Giggling, you rest your hand on his, looking straight into his watery eyes. "No my love, it's not magic. That's the power of love."

Ducking down once more, licking his precum eagerly, you wink, "And now, my love, enjoy!", before engulfing his cock as much as you can, your hand squeezing his balls. Ivar lets out an almost painful whine and you know he won't last. The bliss is coming. You couldn't be happier. You couldn't be more in love.

First step done.

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @saldelys​ @waiting4inspiration​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @lonewolf471​

[certifiedskywalker]

Trust Me - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

shazam-levi

I don't know if you've already gotten this request, but I'll tell you anyway. Could you set it during episode 8 when they are battling moff gideon and when mando almost dies the reader force heals him. He tells her he loves her since he thinks he'll die but she stays and saves him. They already have feelings for each other, but both finally confess after the battle. Lots of fluff and angst. Please let me know if this works!

AN: Made a slight change in the request but I hope that’s okay. I don’t like the idea that Din just says “I love you”. I think Din shows his love rather than verbally addressing it. I hope you get the romantic subtext!

“We’re not leaving without you,” Cara snapped, her stern features pointed at the Mandalorian, at Din, who lay against a slab of stone rumble. 

“You need to protect the Child,” he choked out. 

You cringed at the sound of his hoarse voice. The modulator in the mask did little to make him sound the slightest bit hopeful. You leaned towards him, resting a careful hand on his helmet. Even without closing your eyes or actively communing with the Force, you could feel the severity of his wound. Din’s visor turned to face you.

“Y/N, please,” the desperation in his voice made your chest ache. “Leave me here...get him out of here.”

You shook your head at his order. You could never follow through on such a demand had been through too much with Din to just leave him to die alone. There was something you could do, you had to do, even if it meant exposing yourself. If Din was willing to trust you with the trust, you could trust him with your truth. “I can-”

“Whatever we’re going to do we need to do it fast,” Greef said, panic lacing his tone. It was hard to hear the ex-magistrate over IG-11 as the droid cut the sewer grate out of the cantina wall. “They’ll be coming in any-”

The roar of sudden flames cut Greef’s warning short. Heat washed over you like a dry wave of doom. You turned towards the door where a red detail, armored trooper lurked, a fire-turret in hand. The sight alone was enough to throw you back to the past.

In your memory, you heard the blaster-fire of Republic issued rifles as Clones fired on you and your Master, Stass Allie. The heat, so horribly similar to the deserts on Saleucami. Your forced your eyes shut and took a calming breath. Slowly, your heart rate steadied and you pulled yourself back to the present. There was no time to hesitate or get caught on past phantoms; there were people with you now who needed your help.

“Protect the Child.” Din’s voice was weak, a barely-there sound. Whatever he was clinging to was wearing thin. You opened your eyes and pulled your hand away from Din’s helmet. “I can fend them off...let you escape.”

“No,” Cara protested just as the pyro-trooper returned in the burning doorway. You looked over and felt a shock of adrenaline run through your body. Waddling confidently up towards the scorched remains of the cantina entrance was the Child. Before you could lunge towards the creature, the trooper released a fresh flame from the turret. 

With wide eyes you watched the Child raise its tiny hands up towards the racing fire. You felt a gust of pure power in the Force, the kind that you once felt as a youngling with Master Yoda. Sensing the Child’s strength and intentions, you threw yourself over Din’s chest in an attempt to protect him from the incoming heat. You felt one of Din’s arms around your waist as if he wanted to press you as close as possible. When flames didn’t envelop you all, you lifted your head from Din’s chest and smiled.

The Child, conducting the Force through his fingertips, was keeping the fire at bay. Strength of that degree was incredible, let alone the fact it was a young creature wielding it. You watched, wide-eyed and proud as the Child pushed the fire back toward the pyro-trooper. With a blood-curdling scream, the trooper burst into flames and crumpled to the ground. Threat gone, the Child fell back to the ground completely exhausted. 

You crawled over to the creatures’ slumped form and scooped him up in your arms. Careful not to trip or wake the Child, you walked back over to Din. Upon sitting at his side, Din reached up and brushed his fingers along the creatures’ ear. Before you could speak up, Din’s moving hand clutched your arm. He gave it a squeeze, the touch enough to pull your eyes to his helmet’s visor.

“Let me die a warriors death,” he choked out. You felt a burning in your eyes, the threat of unshed tears. Without hesitation, you shook your head.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you replied. As you spoke, the clanging kicks of the IG unit filled your ears. With one final metal crash, the way to escape was open.

“It’s open! We have to go!” Greef shouted and you looked up. He was already filing into the cramped tunnel passage while the rest of you lingered. Even the IG unit waited, red optical receptors trained on the Child. In a flash, you stood and held the Child out to the droid.

“No,” Din coughed, but you ignored him.

“Take him and go, we’ll be right behind you.” Without questioning your order, the droid took the child and followed after Greef. Content with your choice, you turned and face Cara. “Can you go with them?”

“What about him?” Cara tipped her head toward Din. 

“I’ll take care of him.” The shock trooper’s dark brows furrowed together but she stood anyway. Cara gave Din one last, worried glance before walking past you. As she moved, she grabbed your shoulder.

“Don’t let him…”

“I won’t.”

Cara nodded gratefully and you turned to watch her as she followed the droid into the sewer. When the four of them were out of sight, you rushed back over to Din. You crouched down at his side and took his hand in yours. His helmet turned to you and you could feel his life, ever-present in the Force around you, begin to wane. 

“Why are you doing this?”

You ignored the truth that threatened to spill out of your mouth and answered him with another question. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” There was no delay in his reply; no pause or doubt. The trust between you and Din was deep, akin to the trust between you and your late Master only stronger. You gave Din a half-smile and hoped that, beneath his helmet, he made it whole. 

Just as you were about to continue, the cantina entrance became to crumble. The stone ceiling fell in, blocking the doorway to the village outside. If you did manage to patch Din up, the sewer would be the only way out of the ruined building. You turned your attention back to Din and found his free hand reaching out to you. For a moment, you considered pulling away, letting him go out in the Mandalorian way. But your Jedi way would not allow you to leave him behind; that, and your heart, your feelings for him.

“I need you to take off your helmet.”

“It’s forbidden,” Din said, without missing a beat, “no one has seen me since…”

“I won’t see, not really,” you explained, “I’ll have my eyes closed.” 

You could feel Din’s nervousness through the Force but the trust he had in you eventually won out. Slowly, you watched Din’s gloved hands reached up towards his helmet. A quick, thankful smile danced along your features before you closed your eyes. The hiss of the helmet’s release echoed in your ears and you found yourself fighting temptation. You wanted to see him, really see him, but you had made a promise.

Instead, you reached out, let your hands brush against his matted hair. He was sweaty and you could feel him pull away from your touch, only for a moment before relaxing. The weight of his head fell against your hands. It was then you felt the blood, all thick and warm. You took a deep, shuddering breath before channeling all that you could into the wound. 

With the best of your abilities, you tried to replicate what you had seen the Child do with Greef’s wound only a day before. You had only read about Force regeneration in texts hidden deep in the Coruscant Temple’s archive. 

“Y/N.” 

The sound of your name in his voice, now unaltered by the helmet, was nearly enough to get you to open your eyes. How soft his voice sounded, how small. It was as if the mask he wore carried with it everything you thought he was. Now, Din was laying bare before you but you couldn’t see him. It was torturous, not being able to look at him.

Viscerally, it felt like you were being drained. Although that could have been the life Force you were melding into his wounded flesh. Draining a piece of yourself and giving to Din was simple in principle; no more confusing than wedding vows. Physically the act was something else and you understood why the Jedi often guarded against using the Force to heal. 

“Y/N,” you shook your head and tried to refocus, “Y/N, please.”

The instant you were finally getting through, when the wound was just beginning to mend, you felt the rough texture of Din’s glove against your chin, then your cheek. You fought to stay focused. You fought to keep your eyes screwed shut. “Y/N.” Suddenly, you were losing the battle.

“Y/N, let me see your eyes.”

Whether it was the desperation or the pleading nature of Din’s voice, you gave in. Slowly, your eyes opened and you took in the sight before you as if it were your first time seeing anything. You studied Din’s face intensely: the mixture of fear and adoration in his dark eyes; the patchy scruff along his jaw; the curves of his lips; everything. Somewhere, you found more strength, whether it was in Din’s eyes or in your own heart. That strength was enough to channel the Force that whirled around you both and heal Din’s head wound.

The cuts and bruises in his face sealed up and the flesh returned to its natural color. Never once did your eyes leave Din’s. Not even when he took a full, gasping breath. Not even when you felt your energy being drained. You channeled every teaching Stass Allie had taught you. One such teaching from your late Jedi Master came to your mind.

“You can never trust someone without looking into their eyes. Eyes never lie, my padawan, neither a friends’ or a foes’.”

Looking into Din’s eyes, in that moment, you knew you could trust him with anything.

The Force seemed to slip from your fingertips as Din’s wounds healed. You let yourself fall back on the dirt, careful not to get too close to the flames. Heat had grown and spread around you; a frightful reminder that you needed to get out of there.

“We need to go.” You reached for Din’s helmet and handed it to him.

“What did you-”

“We can talk about it later. We need to get to the Child.” At the mention of the little creature, Din grew stoic. His brows furrowed slightly and his lips pursed. You had to swallow the smile that threatened to spread along your lips. To mask it further, you stood up and extended a hand to the downed Mandalorian. 

Without hesitation, he took your hand and got to his feet.

“Why didn’t you have one of those before?” You asked Din as you landed. Even with your feet on the ground, you still clung to Din’s arms. Flight via jetpack was new to you. Although the Child, wedged between you and Din, was still squealing with excitement.

“Not enough beskar,” Din said coolly. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight to his chest. The Child, fastened in your jacket, began to paw at your chest as if begging to fly again.

“Alright, alright,” you let go of Din’s arms and plucked the Child from your coat.

Its wide, dark eyes were alight with joy despite all the trouble you had just fought through. You smiled at him and set him on the ground. When he started to waddle over towards the Razor Crest, Din punched in his code to lower the boarding ramp. The Child chirped giddly as he wandered into the ship.

“We better watch him,” you scratched the back of your head nervously. “He might try to fly without us.”

You turned to walk towards the ship but felt Din’s hand grasp at your arm. His touch was light, yet desperate, and when you turned to face him, you could feel his questions. Din’s scorched helmet did nothing for you now. You had seen the face and the eyes beneath and there was no turning back. The two of you had trusted the other with your respective secrets; trust went both ways.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The same reason you don’t take off your helmet,” you explained, “it is the way. The new, Jedi way.” Din took a step back from you.

“Jedi?”

“During the Clone Wars, when we all thought the Trade Federation was the worse thing to come to the galaxy, I was a padawan learner…” you swallowed hard at the memory. “I was being taught in the ways of the Force by Jedi Master Stass Allie.”

“You...the Child, you both have the Force.” You nodded and frowned when Din’s hand let go of your arm. “Your powers….”

“The Empire wasn’t a fan of the Jedi,” you sighed, rubbing at your wrist to distract yourself. “Wasn’t really a fan of anyone but themselves. They hunted my people...they...killed my Master and so many others.”

Din didn’t reply and you were too lost in your memories to notice when he took a step towards you. 

“I didn’t tell you cos’...I didn’t want to be alone again.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke. “Everyone I told tried to turn me in for credits and I...you are...were a bounty hunter. I joined the Guild to protect myself and then this Child…”

When Din grabbed your arm against it neither forceful nor mean. It was soft, tender, the kind of touch you seen other receive but never have yourself. You opened your eyes and met the visor of Din’s mask; but you could see his eyes. You could feel them on you and the trust they held in you. Something else had been shared alongside your secrets. 

“You’ll never be alone,” he said softly, “not again. I’m with you.”

You gave Din a grateful smile and rested an open palm on the cool surface of his mask. At your touch, you heard his breath hitch. Fear, you could feel it in the Force around him; fear that you would try to remove his helmet out in the open. Did he regret letting you see his face?

No, he didn’t. You knew him well enough to know that and the Force thrummed in agreement. Din rested the weight of his helmet in your hand. The small action carried with it a bond forged in the fires of the Nevarro cantina. Something immovable; something permanent.

“We better get the kid,” Din said as the sound of the ramp folding up reached your ears. You turned around and lifted a hand to stop it, unafraid of your power. With the Force, you gently pulled the ramp back down and you both started towards the ship in a sprint.

As your ran, you could feel the hilt of your lightsaber knock against your thigh. There would be time to show that to Din too. Right now, the trust, the bond between was enough. And there were bigger, more powerful things at hand. 

[sunflowershouto]

like this - shouto todoroki x fem!reader // pt. two: old wounds

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Hii!! I’m so excited to be posting part two of this story! I really hope you guys enjoy it, and I’ll be working on part three ASAP! Any feedback or comment on this story is welcome and encouraged, I really want to know what you guys think! This is part two of an ongoing story, so please read part one before this!

Before you read: Gomoku is a Japanese game played on a flat board, and is similar to Connect 4!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Part two of ‘Like This.’ Y/N and Shouto come in after class to finish their assignment.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.1k

// Pt. One // 

𝐥 𝐢 𝐤 𝐞   𝐭 𝐡 𝐢 𝐬

𝒐 𝒍 𝒅   𝒘 𝒐 𝒖 𝒏 𝒅 𝒔

//

It’s the things we run away from that always circle back in the end; everything we try not to be, every outcome that we avoid, it all manages to find its way back to us. Sometimes, we grow past those things. Sometimes, we become exactly what we fear.

“Y/N- Y/N, I’m sorry! Let me help!”

“Get away from me, Shouto!”

“Y/N-”

“I said get away!”

Again, and again, and again.

//

Y/N knew exactly why Aizawa-sensei was forcing her and Todoroki to come work on a makeup assignment after class, and she didn’t like it. They’d done just fine avoiding each other for the last three years, and frankly, she didn’t understand why that had to change.

Three years ago, something like this would have given her hope; she might have seen it as a chance to make amends and set things right, but Todoroki had never shown any interest in fixing things, and those chances all slipped away, one by one.

Needless to say, Y/N wasn’t exactly thrilled about her after-school assignment, but the sooner she got it over with the better. She walked towards 3-A’s homeroom through the hallways, lost in thought about what had happened earlier that day. Why had Shouto suddenly gone out of his way to show her a sign of kindness? Her hand moved up, her fingertips brushing against the bandage on her cheek.

She slid open the classroom door, met with the sight of Shouto already sitting at a desk, reading something and clearly waiting for her so that they could get this over with. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence, but his gaze never left the pages of the book in his hands. Of course.

Aizawa was sitting at his desk, glancing up for a moment as Y/N entered the room. “Good, you’re here. I have a meeting to go to, so I’m going to trust that you two will get this done without me looking over your shoulder.”

“Yes, sir.” Drawing in a long sigh, L/N took the seat next to Shouto’s and awaited instruction, watching as Aizawa pulled something out from under his desk.

It was a simple brown box, and when he opened it, her face fell flat. She didn’t need to look to know that Shouto’s reaction was similar, if not a bit more withheld.

“A board game...?” Y/N asked, trying not to sound disrespectful. “Aizawa-Sensei, no offense, but how is this an assignment?” There was no way she was going to sit here and force herself to play board games with the one person she dreaded the most.

“The two of you have shown repeatedly over the years that I’ve taught you that you can’t perform even the most basic of tasks without letting your personal business interfere. If either of you have any intention of going pro, you’re going to have to leave that behind. I figured that the best thing to do would be to start small. So.” Aizawa gestured to the box. “You’re starting small.”

L/N glanced over at Todoroki, trying to see if he would offer up any resistance to Aizawa’s so-called ‘assignment,’ but all he did was nod and watch as the box was placed open on his desk. 

“I expect you to talk to each other, understood?”

“Understood,” Y/N muttered, slumping forward in her seat and resting her chin on her hands.

The door shut behind Aizawa, and for a moment, Todoroki and L/N sat in silence, unsure of what to do or say. The air in the room was completely still, and the only sound was the hum of the heating unit in the back of the room.

“We should get started,” Shouto finally suggested, turning his desk to face Y/N’s so that they had an even surface to play on. “I suspect Aizawa-Sensei has a way to monitor whether or not we actually do what we’re told. If we don’t get this done, it will probably just result in more after-class assignments.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed halfheartedly, staring at the game as he unpacked it from the box and laid it out on the table. “Gomoku? It’s not even a complicated game...”

The game that Aizawa had selected was almost painfully simple; it was a tile-based game with a grid board, where each player had different colored pieces. Whoever connected a line of five tiles in a row first was the winner.

Todoroki shrugged, and began to distribute the pieces, giving her the black tiles and himself the white ones. “Who goes first?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He shrugged, then took one of his pieces and laid it down on the board, the tile clacking softly against the grid. “Was the cut very deep?” he asked, clearly just trying to make conversation so they could leave as quickly as possible.

Y/N’s hand came up to the side of her face again, and she glanced away once she’d taken her turn at the game. “No. Not very.”

“I was worried you had been burned.”

Her gaze snapped to his face, her expression souring into a bitter grimace at what he had said. “Oh, you were worried about that, were you?” 

Now it was Shouto’s turn to look away, eyes falling away from Y/N’s as he placed another tile down onto the board. “I thought you said you had forgiven me.”

She never managed to find the words to respond, and the two students continued on for several minutes in silence, placing tile after tile without ever looking at each other. 

Y/N’s mind wasn’t really in the game, her thoughts drifting elsewhere as she absently laid out her pieces. Honestly, this was more painful than she could have ever imagined it being. A simple board game was somehow enough to drag up every bitter memory and and festering scar she had ever received from him. She fought down a lump in her throat as they continued to play in silence, their instructions almost forgotten. She reached forward to place down another tile, no strategy in mind. 

Shouto’s hand found the same spot on the board at the same time, and the feeling of his fingertips brushing across hers pulled Y/N out of her tangled thoughts. 

She almost flinched at the contact, glancing at him before looking down at their hands on the board. Despite herself, she could feel her face getting warm and hoped that Todoroki wouldn’t notice the light trembling of her hands. 

“It wasn’t your turn,” Shouto reminded her patiently, gently brushing her hand out of the way to place his tile.

“Right,” L/N mumbled, choosing a different spot on the grid to play her next turn, her expression softening. “Sh- Todoroki, I don’t know if you would even remember, but... We used to play this game as kids, right?”

Another soft click sounded against the board, and Shouto nodded, finally meeting her eyes. “We did. You would always get me to look away and move the pieces.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, a pang in her chest at the memories of what things had been like before everything had fallen apart. “I never thought you noticed that,” she offered after a short moment, breaking their eye contact.

“I just pretended not to. I don’t mind letting you win.”

She frowned and examined the board, and upon inspection, found that he was right; there were at least five different points she could spot where he could have easily won the game. She didn’t want to think about why he hadn’t, because by now, it was easier for him to continue to ignore her. His tenderness only stirred up confusion and doubt, brought back memories that Y/N had fought tooth and nail to bury.

She would be lying if she said that a big part of her hadn’t missed this, hadn’t missed him. After all, how could someone not mourn a childhood that had been brought to such a violent and sudden end?

“Are you alright?” His voice was softer now, his hand hovering just above the board after he had placed his tile.

Y/N looked up in surprise at that, breath catching in her throat as she realized that her eyes had been watering. 

“I’m fine,” she stammered out quickly, bringing up a hand to wipe her eyes. No, no, no! He didn’t get to do this. He didn’t get to see her cry, to see just how badly she was hurting because of him. “Why? Why are you doing this now?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you care,” L/N finally replied, knitting her brows together as she stared down at the pieces in front of her. “Is it just because of what Aizawa-Sensei has been saying?”

Todoroki’s posture stiffened, and for the first time, he hesitated before moving another piece onto the board. “It’s not just Aizawa,” he finally replied, turning the small white disc over in his hand. 

“You didn’t answer,” she pressed, drawing in a long breath to steady herself.

He just shook his head, and Y/N let out a sigh. She should have known that this would go nowhere, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t disappointed; the least he could do was explain himself after all these years of tension and regret.

“I-” Shouto had started to say something, but just as he began speaking, the classroom door slid open, and Aizawa stepped inside.

The teacher eyed his students almost cautiously; it wasn’t hard to tell by the looks on their faces that something had happened. “Looks like you two had a nice chat. You’re free to go. Next time I give you a training assignment, follow directions.”

“Yes, sir,” L/N and Todoroki said in unison, both standing and pulling their bags over their shoulders.

Shouto grabbed his umbrella at the door and nodded a goodbye to Aizawa.

He and Y/N were walking to essentially the same place, and neither of them knew how close to walk next to the other. They headed for the front of the campus at an awkward distance, not quite walking together but also not walking separately.

When they reached the door leading outside, the rain pouring against the glass door was audible, the pavement slick and reflective as water pooled in the cracks. 

Perfect.

Y/N wasn’t exactly thrilled about her lack of an umbrella in this weather, but she gave no indication of that to Shouto. Without hesitating, she stepped out into the rain and headed for the front of the school to wait for Takashi to pick her up to get something to eat.

Todoroki opened his umbrella upon stepping outside, but before he turned to head to the dorm rooms, he stopped to watch her walk towards the front gate. His dual-colored eyes flitted up towards his umbrella, and he let out a heavy sigh before doing something that was probably only going to get him yelled at.

Y/N was freezing, cold droplets of rain trailing down the back of her neck and soaking into her clothes as she stood, waiting. She was starting to regret the choice not to just suck it up and walk back to her dorm to get her umbrella, even if it meant walking with Shouto for five minutes longer. Just as she was about to turn around and admit defeat, a simple black umbrella appeared over her head, and someone was at her side.

“Todoroki, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine. I wanted to.” Shouto cut her off before she could shoo him away, his gaze scanning the horizon. One hand was holding the umbrella up, and the other was in the pocket of his jacket. “Do you have a ride? I thought your parents both worked through the day.”

Y/N glanced over at him scrutinizingly, unsure of what exactly his deal was, or why he was acting like this so suddenly. Her mind ventured back to their conversation in the classroom. What had he been about to say before Aizawa walked in?

“Yeah, I have a ride. My boyfriend picks me up on Fridays.” Her tone was casual, no malice to be found. What would he care about her dating life? Until today, he had been perfectly content to pretend that she didn’t exist at all.

“I see. Takashi Hirano, right?” Todoroki knew exactly who it was; it was Takashi Hirano, the breakout new pro who had graduated U.A. just last year, and at the top of his class. He knew, but he couldn’t help himself from asking, if only to gauge the tone of Y/N’s response.  “Yeah. Taka-chan.”

The nickname burned at Shouto’s insides like salt in a wound.

He didn’t reply, and the two young heroes stood in silence until a grey car pulled up to the curb, and Y/N began to step away. “Thanks, Todoroki.”

“Sure,” he answered, watching as she stepped forward and opened the passenger door, leaning over to kiss the boy in the driver’s seat. 

The door shut, the car pulled away, and Shouto Todoroki was left standing alone, with only the rain to keep him company.

//

//

𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: I really hope you enjoyed! Please please please let me know what you think and if you would like this series to continue!

[toloveawarlord]

Sheep Among the Wolves (Ch.1)

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

Characters: Karina, Diavolo, Barbatos

Tagging:  @plumpblueberry  @starry-starry-night24​ @youreawizardharr​ @gay-noodle-clan​

A/N: Day 12 of the 12 Days of OCmas! A lot late and out of order but here it is! Diavolo becomes a dad, basically, to a half-angel.

The ritual had gone wrong.

Searing pain radiated from the branding on her chest. Creaky bones were stretched to the brink of their breaking point. Sour, metallic taste of her own blood dripping into her mouth from the wound on her forehead was nearly too much for the child to bear. Once pure white wings stained crimson on her back.

Her entire being begged for release, battered to the edge of death but not granted that mercy.

No, she lived in utter agony as her body tried to heal itself.

“You are not valuable to me dead, child.” A witch cut her binds, leaning over the girl to check all her injuries. Utterances in foreign tongue removed the sense of feeling, leaving only a comforting numbness. “Your natural healing will soon relieve you of the major wounds.”

And so it did.

A creature of her lineage regained its natural state quickly. Merely an hour had passed, and her ability to move her limbs, stand and walk were returned to her. The pain dulled but ever present.

The scene around her caused only by her hand. A release of strong power had massacred the coven of witches. Their mangled bodies strewn about the room, splattered blood over the walls. The girl couldn’t remember how it had happened, only screaming in agony for it to end.

What did this witch want with her?

“Don’t think me as weak as these.” The threat given with narrowed eyes of a powerful being.

A portal to another realm opened. The witch tugged her along, no concern for the poor state she was still in. Blood caked into her skin, myriad of blue and yellow bruises littered across her body. All that was needed was to deliver her to the Demon Prince for the witch’s pardon.

The air was heavy in this place. Atmosphere darker than that of the human realm she’d been used to. Yet, a glittering castle stood before her, growing ever closer with each stumbling step took as she struggled to keep up with the witch. It was taller than other buildings and even grander on the inside.

Two awaited them in the throne room. Their forms were one that the girl had only read of in stories and seen pictures in books.

Horns. Dark, bony wings. A serpent tail.

Demons.

“Artemisia, I began to think you’d not return.” His voice deep, sounding nothing less than absolute authority as he sat upon the crimson throne. Golden eyes cast an intimidating gaze down upon the witch, muscular arms folded across his broad chest. 

Her head bowed, and she replied, “I promised the nephilim child, Lord Diavolo. I wouldn’t dare attempt any tricks or to run.”

The child wanted to flee. Body so tense it ached. A spell actively keeping her under the witch’s control.

Diavolo assessed the girl from afar. “And you bring her to me in such a pitiful state?” The power that ebbed from that small body astounded him. Quite useful, indeed. His attention moved away to the other demon. “Barbatos, escort the nephilim to her chambers and see to it that she is made presentable.”

“As you command, my lord.” Steps silent as he approached. Barbatos knelt to get a better view of her, assessing how stained and bloodied she was. Mismatched eyes of violet and mint were trembling with fear. “I’ll ask you to release your spell.”

Her body became her own again. The instinct to run, to preserve her existence flared. Yet, her legs refused to move. Being in the demon realm snuffed out any escape. She couldn’t control her powers enough to open a portal back to the human world, and even if she did, she’d only be hunted by humans, witches, and angels once again.

She tired of it all.

“Please allow me to escort you, miss.” Barbatos offered her a gentle smile, holding out his gloved hand. It wouldn’t do to force her, as she already feared them. If they ever wish to have her cooperation, her trust would first need to be won.

A room had been previously prepared in anticipation of her arrival. The prospect of a living nephilim, especially a child, had truly intrigued the demon prince. Barbatos could agree that her power could be useful, but raising a half-angle that was no older than eight or nine physically would prove challenging.

He drew a bath, watching her fidget from her spot next to him. If what the witch Artemisia said was true, a coven had tried to sacrifice her for power. “It’s prepared. I shall take care to clean your wings as well.”

The girl complied, the bite of the near scalding water turning murky red as it eroded the blood from her skin. The silence broke with a meek question. “Why are you...”

Aren’t you going to kill me too?

Her true question unable to pass her lips.

“The young master has no such intentions. You are now the ward of the future King of Devildom. My lord has placed you under his protection,” Barbatos answered, delicately removing the crimson stains from her wings. Her head bobbed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks. His statement like permission for the child to allow herself to relax.

Heavy exhaustion fell over her body. Though healed nearly completely, the aching lingered in her mind. Too many days had passed since her last opportunity to rest. The young girl fell asleep right there in the crimson bathwater.

Barbatos took expert care of her. Drying her off, dressing her in clean clothes, and tucking her into bed. Her features showed the most peaceful expression he’d witnessed since her arrival. “Shall I wake her?”

“That’s not necessary. I expected this after the tale the witch gave. We’ll have plenty of time to welcome her properly after she’s rested,” Diavolo answered in a whisper. She was quite an adorable child, now that she wasn’t drenched in dirt and blood. Truly one with angel blood coursing through her veins.

He expected her to be quite useful, indeed.

*****

A lavish dinner had been prepared and set elegantly on the table. Even from the doorway, the little girl could smell the delectable aroma. She shielded a yawn with the palm of her hand. Even after a peaceful nap, the tiredness continued to plague her body.

Her clothes were new and not worn as the ones that she had been used to. A muted gold dress that fell to her knees and a pair of silver flats that were properly sized. Blonde hair brushed and tied back in a loose ponytail.

“I’ve yet to learn your name. You may call me Diavolo. I am the Lord of this domain, although I’m sure Barbatos has already told you that.” He folded his hands, elbows leaned against the table, and rested his chin on them.

Her gaze fell away, only peeking at him out of the corner of her vision. Although no one had harmed her, the girl would not trust demons so easily. The stories passed down from the humans painted a grim picture. She muttered quietly. One word.

“Karina, huh?” Diavolo pondered for a moment, and chuckled. “A fitting name, as you are the purest thing in Devildom.” He’d amused himself.

Inviting her to eat whatever she wished, Diavolo simply observed. Such strong power locked inside that small body. A timid child. Mismatched eyes darting around the room to find the source of the smallest noise. Yet, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she nibbled at the warm food on her plate showed her innocence.

What he knew of nephilims was that they aged quicker than normal angels until they reached maturity, although it still took a significant amount of time. Their powers were hard to control, but not too much was known as their kind had been hunted down and killed. 

“This place will be your home. I do hope you’ll come to be more comfortable.” She was adorable, petite like a little doll. He awaited the day that he could show her off to everyone, let them bask in all her cuteness. Patience was necessary but not what the young king was used to. “Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask myself or Barbatos. Anything at all. Books, toys, clothes. Whatever you wish for, it will be yours.”

Without his wings and horns, he wasn’t as intimidating as before. The authoritative gleam behind those golden eyes had disappeared, replaced with.. something she hadn’t received from anyone is so long...

Kindness.

He meant his words. She sensed no deception, no manipulation. It wasn’t clear what he wanted from her, and they all wanted something. 

“I suppose words don’t mean much to you after all you’ve been through. Take all the time you need.”

His smile almost made her feel safe, like she might be able to trust him. Karina had thought those feelings to be lost to her, security and assurance; comfort and warmth. How did a demon make her feel what angels could not?

Diavolo excused himself from the table, having a late meeting with some lesser demons. He’d much rather spend time marveling at his new ward, watching her expression brighten with each new dessert she snacked on.

Barbatos cleared away the dishes, careful not to make sudden noises that startled the young girl. She’d slowed her eating, clearly full but wanting to indulge more in the delicious sweets in front of her.

The girl, however, took the next opportunity alone to sneak out of the large dining hall. Glancing down the seemingly never ending hallway stretching in both directions, she tried to remember the way back to her room, but she ended up wandering endless.

The pictures on the walls moved, some even sounded as though they were trying to speak. Anxiety rose up within her, creeping over her body. Her defense rising.

“Hey there! Are ya lost?” The little round, black creature with horns spoke with pep but it hardly mattered.

She screamed, releasing her angelic power in a huge burst. Wings erupting from her back, mismatched eyes glowing with the immense power. The floor quaked and the castle shuttered. She’d lost control, or what little of it she’d ever had.

All she saw was pure white. A color she detested nearly as much as herself. 

[sonicgetsrawed]

How Many Times Must We Play This Game, How Many Times Must We Lose

This was supposed to be a bad things happen bingo prompt but it kinda took a different turn than I expected. Inspired by some lovely art I saw of possessed Varian by @nightsky-wonderer! I’m going to try to link it here! Enjoy!

He couldn’t move, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried, he was stuck in place. His feet were frozen to the ground, his breaking heart weighing him down like an anchor. He was too late, too late to make up for his mistakes, too late to try and fix them, too late to save Varian. He had tried to wake him up, break him from the trance, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was shake with fear, eyes watering uselessly as he fought his own mental battle. He wasn’t like this, he never froze, so of course the one time Varian needed him, truly needed him, he couldn’t do anything. He could still hear Varian’s screams, his cries for help, begging for it to stop, crying for him to do something, and then the heartbreaking sob, the realization that Hugo wasn’t going to do anything, he couldn’t. The last I love you left Varian’s lips, he couldn’t even return it. Now he would pay for his mistakes, now it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, not when Varian was gone.

He stayed frozen in place, watching as Varian’s head snapped to the side, tilting dangerously to the side, his eyes no longer the blue he grew to love, but a sickly glowing green color. They held no warmth, no love, just emptiness. There was nothing when he looked into those eyes, no sign that Varian had even been there. Why hadn’t he done anything? Why hadn’t he fought?

He dropped to his knees, pressing a hand to his mouth in a futile attempt at holding back a sob. He knew what he’d be getting into. He knew that this would be dangerous, he knew that Ulla was dangerous, he knew exactly what he was going to be walking into. He thought he could handle it, he thought he could save Varian, but he couldn’t. The memories would be ingrained in his head forever. The magic snaking around him, Ulla’s hand caressing his face in a false sense of comfort, the terrible choking sounds as Varian clawed at his throat in a last ditch effort to get his mother’s magic out, and now he was nothing more than a puppet. And Hugo, well, he did absolutely nothing.

“Hugo, please, help me. I’m scared.”

He was scared too. It’s why he didn’t move, why he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose Varian, and by doing nothing is exactly how he lost him. There was nothing he could’ve done, nothing that wouldn’t have hurt Varian in the process. He couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t, so he didn’t.

“There was nothing you could’ve done, dear.” Ulla’s voice sounded off coming from Varian’s body, the way they merged together sent chills down his spine. Varian’s voice never sounded like that, it was wrong. This whole thing was wrong. He never should’ve come, they should’ve sent Donella, Nuru, Yong, anyone but him. He wasn’t strong enough, they lost because of him. They lost Varian, they lost the library, they lost everything, because he was fucking scared. Out of all the times, out of every possible outcome, this was what he was scared of happening, so of course it had to come true. There was nothing he could’ve done.

Maybe there was something he could do now, if he could just move, he could at the very least prevent Ulla from leaving the library. He could already hear her footsteps moving away, each step fracturing his heart a little more. He needed to do something if not for himself then for Varian. His fingers brushed a piece of splintered wood, it had broken off sometime during the possession, that word was terrible, it was terrible to think of it like that, but that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

He didn’t know if he was strong enough, he didn’t know if he could move, he just knew he had to, Varian didn’t want this, he had to end it. He gripped the makeshift stake, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the item. He pushed himself to his feet, the only thoughts that he allowed to fill his mind were thoughts of Varian, no self doubt, no fear, just Varian and his desires. He surged forward, the weapon catching on the fabric of Varian’s shirt. The tearing sound echoed throughout the library.

The weird mashup of Varian and Ulla turned slowly to look at him, an eyebrow raised delicately, as they brought a hand to the small cut across their arm. “You think you can bring him back with violence?” A harsh laugh came from their lips, wiping the small amount of blood onto their pants. “You foolish boy, you have much to learn about the heart.”

Hugo brought the stake up again, preparing for another strike. “I’m not the only one, bitch.” He lunged, they dodged, the blueish green magic lighting up their right hand. Hugo was furious, that stuff couldn’t be good for Varian, the cracks where the flesh met magic only proved his point. He was too caught up in his thoughts to properly dodge the strike. The magic collided with his stake, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. He was grateful for his glasses, several shards bouncing off them. He stumbled, letting himself drop into a roll in order to dodge the next strike, their hand coming dangerously close to his head, a few strands from his ponytail not being so lucky. He kicked their legs out from underneath them, smiling to himself as they hit the ground.

“Hugo?” He froze all over again, it was Varian’s voice, purely Varian’s voice, and for a second for a wonderful blissful second, his eyes were their normal blue. He looked dazed and confused, his eyes not really focusing on anything, Hugo wanted nothing more than to scoop him into his arms and get him the fuck out of here. Then the moment was gone, his eyes returning to that awful green. He wasn’t fast enough this time, the magic hit him square in the chest. He flew across the room, the wind being knocked from his lungs. He groaned turning over on his side, his chest felt like it was on fire, his head spinning as the pain fought to overtake the adrenaline running through his veins. He gripped a book, swinging it, not putting his full force into the attack. It hit its mark, their head snapping to the side. He took the opportunity to tackle them to the ground, his hands pinning theirs above their head. He was careful of the right hand, fingers digging harshly into their upper arm to avoid the magic.

“Let Varian go.” He hissed between his teeth, struggling to keep his grip.

They thrashed underneath him. “No! This is my only way out of here! I won’t die here.”

“But you’ll let Varian?” The words seemed to strike a chord, they faltered for just a second, but it was more than enough time for Hugo to slip the dagger out of Varian’s belt.

No sooner than he had a grip on it, he was flipped, head spinning once again as his back collided with the floor. “You know nothing!” Their hand was poised to strike, ready for the kill.

It hurt, it hurt so bad, but Hugo pressed the tip of the knife to their abdomen. “I would think about your next move very carefully.” He was proud of himself for keeping his own hesitance out of his voice, although the threat was breathier than he’d have liked.

“You wouldn’t-“

“It’s okay, I trust you Hugo.”

He blinked as their eyes flickered, changing from green to blue at such a rapid pace he almost couldn’t keep up. Their words slurred together forming half sentences as they fought each other for dominance. It was all he needed to know. Varian was still fighting, and he’d be damned if he’d give up so easily. He kept the knife between them as a safety precaution, moving it instead to their neck as he pulled the front of their shirt down. He stared intently into their eyes, only speaking when they turned blue. “Come back to me, goggles. I love you.”

He pressed their lips together, putting all his faith and passion into the kiss. He pulled away reluctantly, smiling as he stared into a pair of wide blue eyes. Varian opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, whatever it was would never be known, instead his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed against him. He moved as carefully as possible, laying Varian on his back, a small line across his neck from where the knife had accidentally cut, it wasn’t deep by any means, but it would be a cruel reminder of their time here for a bit. He watched as the magic slowly faded from the younger, his right arm sporting a nasty burn from it. The green energy gathered, swirling in the air, he gripped the knife tighter, ready for another fight should it come to it.

Ulla turned to him, her form made completely of the energy. She looked sad, defeated, but also content, a soft smile gracing her lips as she looked up. “He cares a lot about you.” He eyed her suspiciously as their eyes met, any malice they previously held was gone. “You will take care of him, won’t you?”

Hugo lowered the knife, standing as tall as possible. “I will.”

She smiled again, tears falling down her cheeks. “That’s all I needed to know.” And then she was gone.

He stood there for far too long, looking at the empty space that once held Ulla’s form. It was a surreal experience, part of him wondered if it even happened, one glance at Varian told him it did. He was frozen once again, but this time it wasn’t from fear, this time he stood watch over the person he loved. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt him again, he would stay here as long as he needed. He was done playing these twisted games fate had in mind for them, he had finally won, and he wouldn’t lose again.

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 52

"Swiftcloud!" The voice called again, sounding like an echo in her ears. Swiftcloud hardly reacted, remaining as stiff as an icicle. Was it her mind? Was it a Starclan warrior yowling at her to stop?

"Swiftcloud!" The third time the voice sounded, Swiftcloud broke from her rage. The world, once blurry and distant, came rushing back into her vision in vibrant color. Blinking, the patched she-cat turned her head. She took notice of her clanmates surrounding her now, wide eyed and bristling. Whitestar stood closest of all, a paw raised to her chest in shock. Instantly Swiftcloud's blood ran cold, fear tightening her chest. It had been the leader's voice which had been calling her name. The situation must look bad. Swiftcloud was standing on top of Grassclan's eldest medicine cat, ready to strike her without mercy. Without proper context it must look like she was trying to kill Snowfrost in cold blood. Like she was the clan's murderer all along. When the opposite was true. Oh how Swiftcloud knew it was true. I'm in trouble...

What would happen now, Swiftcloud wondered. Harming a medicine cat was an incredibly serious offense. Surely Grassclan would not want to keep her among their ranks. They'd never believe that she only attacked Snowfrost to avenge their fallen deputy; after all, what proof did she have? I'm probably about to be exiled; stripped of my warriorship and sent running back to Twolegplace. Or worse...I'll be executed!

"I can't believe you've done this..." Whitestar hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Her pale blue eyes shone with fury, a layer of grief masked behind her expression. Swiftcloud shrank in place, but did not dare to step off of Snowfrost. "It took so long for the clan to trust you. Yet you've betrayed us, after everything we've done for you."

Swiftcloud gulped, wanting to disappear. She tried her best to keep her trembling at bay but she knew the clan could probably tell how scared she was by scent alone. This is it...

"I knew we shouldn't have accepted you. And I knew...I knew I should have trusted Swiftcloud more."

Huh?!

"Guards, seize Snowfrost."

Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch came marching forward at once, expressions stone cold and serious.

"Step aside," Rabbitstorm commanded his friend softly. Swiftcloud remained still, unsure if she could even move at all. Slowly she tested her limbs, making each take a couple of pawsteps back until she realized that she had moved completely off of Snowfrost. Rabbitstorm seized the medicine cat by the scruff while Beetlepatch gripped her carefully on the other side.

"Bring Snowfrost back to camp so we may hold a trial to decide her fate. Sheeptail and Tigerfang, carry Chicorynose home with us. Cricketsong, Quailbelly, Swiftcloud, please join me at the head of the patrol."

At once, cats moved into formation, standing behind Whitestar as she waited for her sisters and Swiftcloud to stand beside her.

"Let go of me you rabbit-brains!" Snowfrost demanded with a snarl, trying to wiggle out of the guards' grasp. Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch gripped harder, tugging her in the direction of home. After another heartbeat of hesitation, Swiftcloud scurried over to Whitestar, still on edge. Whitestar glanced at her with a sad smile as they stood side by side, waving her tail and marching forward. The clan followed, soft chatter rippling through the patrol. On the opposite side of their leader, Swiftcloud could hear the heartbroken sobs of Cricketsong and Quailbelly, who pressed into one another as they traveled. Whitestar leaned into Cricketsong for support, and Swiftcloud found herself pressing her flank in the siamese molly's other side.

"Whitestar..?" Swiftcloud piped quietly. Whitestar glanced at her, humming in response. "You..believe I wasn't attacking Snowfrost maliciously?"

"Yes. For the most part, the clan and I saw what happened."

"H-how?"

"We heard you yowl and came over to see what had happened. Cricketsong was the first to notice the blood covering Snowfrost. And I knew you would never attack a cat without purpose."

Swiftcloud gave a small nod, turning her sights forward. The tremble had not left her body but relief came with Whitestar's words.

"I'm sorry that I did not believe you before. I did not want to mistrust a medicine cat. And I did not want to make an accusation without proper evidence."

"It's ok, Whitestar. I'm just grateful that you finally understand."

"As am I. Though I wish I had, before things had escalated to this point. All the destruction Snowfrost has caused...I wonder what other horrible things she's done over the moons."

The remainder of the clan who'd been left in the camp-the kits, Tabitha and Ashwhisker- were awaiting the patrol as they entered the clearing. They seemed eager to find out what the outcome of the battle had been. But when they caught a glimpse of the three distraught sisters, their expressions turned with worry.

"Have we lost?" Ashwhisker asked, voice flat and defeated. Swiftcloud straightened up to speak.

"No. Grassclan won the war, and we've marked the new border along the Thunder Path."

"But..?" Ashwhisker already knew there had to be more news.

"....We lost Chicorynose."

Ashwhisker's eyes widened, ears lowering. "To whom?"

Just as the question passed his lips, Rabbitstorm entered the camp, dragging Snowfrost along with him. Swiftcloud nodded towards the guilty she-cat, eyes darkening at the sight of her. Ashwhisker let out a growl, the fur along his spine rising.

"I knew we could never trust that fox-heart."

Swiftcloud was surprised by the Den Mother's words. Why did he feel that way? What part of Snowfrost's past had led so many in the clan to dislike her? Swiftcloud was tempted to ask, but held back her tongue. Perhaps she'd find out during the trial. If not, she'd be free to ask afterwards.

Swiftcloud brought herself over to the gathering crowd by Tall Stone. She sat herself near the center of her clan, settling into Shadowfang's side. Shadowfang gave her a loud reassuring purr, licking some of the blood off of the top of her muzzle while they waited for Whitestar to arrive.

Whitestar scaled slowly to the top of Tall Stone, her movements sluggish from fatigue and grief. A heavy weight set itself upon her shoulders. Though the clan gained it's full claim on the Forest Patch, they had lost something greater than territory.

"Today, Grassclan has achieved it's greatest accomplishment in years. After many hard battles, and a long bloody war, our clan has won the right to the Forest Patch up to the Thunder Path! This means a bright future for generations of our clan to come. But today is not all victorious. For this evening we have lost a very important and beloved member of our clan."

As Whitestar spoke these words, Goldensong and Mistyleaf brought Chicorynose out from the medicine den. Her body had been decorated with mint leaves to mask her death scent, her fur neatly groomed and fixed of any visible battle wounds.

"Chicorynose fought bravely in today's battle. And though I'd like to announce she died with the honor of a warrior, I'm saddened and sickened to say she has been taken from us for unjust means. Chicorynose has been slain in cold blood, and I shall see to it that her murderer faces justice. However, my focus cannot remain on that for this moment."

Whitestar stepped forward onto the edge of the Tall Stone, her eyes scanning the crowd as she continued with her speech. "As moon high approaches, it is time that I choose a new deputy. Chicorynose served us well for many seasons; from the moment I earned my nine lives. I have never thought of ruling without her by my side.... But I know that the cat who I shall choose will lead with me just as faithfully, and will make a fine leader of this clan in the future."

Cats among the crowd murmured to each other softly, everyone wondering who Whitestar may choose as her heir.

"I say these words before the body of Chicorynose, so that her spirit may hear and approve my choice..."

The clan drew just a bit closer to the leader, waiting with baited breath as she thought for a heartbeat more about her decision.

"Swiftcloud. Will you accept the position of deputy?"

Me..? Swiftcloud's fur bristled at the sound of her name, her skin lighting ablaze with heat. She had been the one chosen as the clan's next deputy? She was shocked to say the least. Nervous, excited, apprehensive, bewildered. But honored, surely and purely. Swiftcloud was more than happy to serve Grassclan as it's second in command, leading them and protecting them with every breath in her body. But was she really the right choice? Surely there were many cats who were more worthy of the position. Swiftcloud could name several off the top of her head. What made her so special that she could even compare to anyone else?

Swiftcloud stared up at Whitestar with wide eyes, unable to find the words she needed to give a proper answer to the leader's proposal.

As she looked on, the moon reached it's peak in the sky, casting it's light straight upon Tall Stone. The moon made Whitestar's creamy siamese fur glow with divinity, her essence seeming to radiate the energy Starclan had granted her for the ceremony.

For a heartbeat, in the moonlight, Swiftcloud could make out the shimmering transparent shape of a cat standing beside Whitestar on her perch. The spirit wrapped its tail around the front of the leader, hugging her to it's body as it's starry green eyes locked themselves upon Swiftcloud. Swiftcloud would recognize that figure anywhere. Chicorynose! Had she come back as a sign of her approval?

Swiftcloud blinked. No sooner she had taken notice of the fallen warrior, she was gone, leaving Swiftcloud alone with the decision she had made.

"Yes, Whitestar," she finally spoke as the crowd parted to let her step forward. Swiftcloud dipped her head respectfully then raised it once again as she settled in front of clanmates. She could feel the moonlight cast upon form, placing her right into the spotlight. In this moment she felt all of her anxiety leave her body. Starclan's will granted her courage. "I humbly accept this offer. It will be an honor to serve as Grassclan's deputy."

"Swiftcloud!" Shadowfang caterwauled with brightest smile on his face.

"Swiftcloud! Swiftcloud! Swiftcloud!" The clan began to cheer along. Swiftcloud's pelt grew warmer with every chant and cheer Grassclan raised in her honor, the purr in her chest unlike any that had come from her before. But her moment of joy was cut short as Snowfrost's furious caterwauls split through the camp. Rabbitstorm and Beetlepatch looked as though they were struggling to contain her.

Whitestar glared over into the prisoner's direction, her fur standing on end. Saying she looked displeased at the interruption would be an understatement.

"I suppose now we should move onto our next order of business." Whitestar sounded bitter, her voice dripping with venom. Snowfrost was dragged to the front of the crowd, making cats step aside to allow the guilty medicine cat some space.

Dewstone padded over afterwards, settling herself in front of Grassclan's prisoner. Her expression was dark, riddled with the betrayal she must feel in the face of her kin.

"Snowfrost. Tonight, you are on trial for crimes against the Land's Star." Whitestar began. She sounded as if she'd gone through this process before, the words passing her lips with a trained ease. "Dewstone, address the charges of which she is being held accountable for."

Dewstone lifted her muzzle. "The cat you see before you has committed a crime that is not only against both the Warrior Code and Medicine Cat's Code, but against what should be one's moral code. She has acted upon selfish whims, and has murdered a cat in cold blood. And not just any cat; but Grassclan's deputy."

"Do you have any explanations for what you have done?" Whitestar asked Snowfrost. "Do you have a justified reason for killing Chicorynose?"

"No, Whitestar," Snowfrost muttered coldly through gritted teeth. "I do not."

Whitestar nodded to Dewstone. Her tail lashed, as if she were trying to get out some of her anguish with this movement alone. "Please, continue."

Dewstone nodded back before returning her attention to the crowd. "Furthermore, evidence has been brought forward that perhaps, this may not have been Snowfrost's first offense. Thanks to one of our brave warriors, and confirmation from our medicine cat, Goldensong; we now have suspicion that Snowfrost may have poisoned several of our recently deceased. Waspwing, Butterflytail, Ambereye, and Dovekit. As well as the attempted murder of our new deputy, Swiftcloud, just a quarter moon ago."

Swiftcloud's eyes grew wide with shock. So Whitestar had taken her accusations seriously? Swiftcloud wasn't previously aware that the leader had discussed her theory with Dewstone. She honestly hadn't thought Whitestar believed her at all, by the way she had been acting. Or perhaps she made it look that way. Maybe Whitestar was suspicious too, and that's why she'd shared the information with the Code Keeper. Regardless, Swiftcloud was glad to see that Snowfrost would be rightfully punished if it came to light that she really had been poisoning cats.

"Snowfrost, do you have anything to say in defense of yourself? If these accusations of are false, then this is the time to speak up," Whitestar prompted. She looked down at the medicine cat, the smallest twinkle of hope gleaming in her blue eyes. Perhaps Grassclan's leader still held the slightest bit of faith in Snowfrost. Whether it was foolish to or not. Swiftcloud couldn't blame Whitestar for that. Medicine cats were the highest authority in a clan, with their special connection to their ancestors. A leader was meant to hold a strong bond with their healers for that very reason.

"Unfortunately, I've no way to prove my innocence. Nor do I want to. I have no shame in what I have done," Snowfrost responded, voice eerily calm.

Gasps flitted around the clearing. Angry clanmates whispered among themselves while some tucked their bodies into kin for support. The clan was collectively in shock. How could Snowfrost remain so poised, despite basically confessing to a multitude of murders?

Whitestar shut her eyes, turning her head away in shame. If one looked hard enough, they may be able to catch the slightest glints of tears at the corners of the leader's eyes. Whitestar took a deep breath to regain her composure. She placed her focus back onto Dewstone before speaking once again.

"All the evidence has been laid upon us. Now it is time to cast judgement. Dewstone, what is your conclusion?"

Dewstone stood tall, posture straight and head raised as she announced her verdict. "On the multiple charges of murder, this Code Keeper finds the accused to be guilty. Snowfrost's crime is an unacceptable offense. She deserves the harshest of punishments, such as name stripping, exile, or even execution." Dewstone looked up at Whitestar. "She has broken our Codes before, it would be what is best for the clan."

"Very well." Whitestar stepped onto the edge of the Tall Stone. "This cat has disgraced our clan by breaking the Codes of the Land's Star, using the name of a medicine cat to get away with these crime. Starclan has spoken their disapproval and have granted me the power to take this rank away, just as easily as it had been given to you before. Snowfrost, you are no longer to be known by this name, but simply as Snow. You have forsaken us, and no longer deserve to be a medicine cat of Grassclan. I say these words before the spirits of our ancestors, so that they may hear and approve of my decision." Whitestar yowled, "I hereby sentence the cat you see before us into exile!"

[nalgenewhore]

A Promise Is A Promise ~ Chapter Four

In a world in which Elide Lochan can only remember that she is someone’s prey and they will stop at nothing to find her, trusting Lorcan Salvaterre, a man whose past is as cloudy as hers is quite possibly the most sane thing she could do.

TW: Panic attack, PTSD due to sexual abuse, blood, gore, past trauma, death 

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He couldn’t tell what time it was when he finally woke, his head pounding the moment his eyes fell on the gray sky behind the window. 

Though it was cloudy, the sun hiding today it seemed, it was still light outside and he lurched out of bed, staggering to rip the curtains closed, the flimsy linen drapes barely blocking the outside from his little corner of the world. 

Lorcan couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this sick after a night out, always able to bounce back like nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t spent the hours drowning his demons until he could forget that they swam and would find him wherever. 

Every step out of his room had his head feeling like someone was striking a hammer on his brain, hammering out metal on his shattered mind. He felt her hands still on him, every second, every fall of the hammer had him remembering a new night, a new way she made to label him as hers. Nausea rolled through him at the sight of the bite mark on his hip, at the memory flashing behind it, her sheets like silken midnight but cold like the frigid depths of his dark god’s realm. 

Her lips, tracing over every harsh contour that made his body, his muscles trembling at the restraint it took to stay there and not rip her away from him, to not snarl in her face, to not tear her throat out with his teeth. 

It felt like someone was holding a brand to every mark she had ever made, searing into his flesh so that no matter how far he went, there was still a collar around his neck and shackles around his wrists, ones that she could yank on at any moment. 

Lorcan threaded his hands through his hair, pulling on it and using the sting of his force to bring him back from the brink of another flashback. His heart raced, his breathing erratic and chest heaving as he stumbled towards the sink, only slightly feeling guilty at the dishes piled in the sink and on the counter as he stretched his arm up to grab a new glass, filling it to the rim with cool water, the liquid cutting back the cotton in his head, lessening the blow of the hammer by a fraction. 

He raked his hand down his face, scrubbing his eyes as he stumbled to the couch, throwing himself onto it, swearing when the sudden movement sent a sharp burst of pain lancing through his head. He threw his arm over his face, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he breathed past the queasiness and let out the breath he had been holding for far too long, sitting up slowly to avoid setting off another wave of nausea. He sighed as he opened his laptop, clicking on the new email Vernon Lochan had sent them, more photos of the girl, Elide. 

He couldn’t quite put his finger on where he had seen her before, something about her eyes so familiar but not quite what he was looking for. 

The first picture he opened was one of her face and he did a double take, sure that he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was. 

No, no, it couldn’t be her. 

The one they called Anneith incarnate. 

But it was. 

Her eyes, he’d recognize them anywhere, the flatness of her dark, dark irises. The only time he’d felt fear in his life was around her, the pure ice that flowed through her veins, no matter the job they had to do. 

He’d seen her cut up men so viciously it nearly made him sick just thinking about it. He’d seen her kill with no hesitation, no mercy as she cut men and women down like stalks of wheat. She had never spoken in all the time he had spent with her, spent doing things he only ever wanted to forget. 

He had never seen her entire face, always hidden behind a mask that covered the bottom half of her face and she had never spoken, just a shell of a girl that had taken too many lives and dealt death like she held every soul in the palm of her blood soaked hands. 

The only glimpse of human he had ever witnessed was after a particularly gruesome and almost surgical execution, he had come out of the bloodstained tiled room to find her slumped against the wall, her angular eyes filled with an emotion so elemental and pure, he believed her to be human as she stared at her dirty hands, nails caked with blood. 

The sound of the heavy iron door closing had her snapping her head up and shooting to her feet, moving past him like a shadow down the hallway. 

Lorcan felt dread settle into his stomach, knowing why the price over her head was so high and why Maeve had sent him to find her. 

He was the best and even still, now that he knew who she was, he was doubtful they’d ever find her again. 

She had been kept as someone’s pet for far too long and he knew that she would fight tooth and nail to keep whatever freedom she had won, through blood and death and by selling her soul to whoever would take it, even if that was ruination itself. She would ruin herself, for any scrap of liberty she could find. 

The heavy silence of the apartment was sliced through by the shrill sound of his phone ringing and he picked it up, knowing who was calling. He began hyperventilating, his skin clammy while his hands began to tremble, a voice in his head hissing that he was weak and pathetic.

What kind of man lets someone do this to him?

How do you look at yourself in the mirror, knowing what she’s done to you?

How do you live with that weight? 

He picked up the call and before he could speak, her voice was pouring like oil into his ear, cold and suffocating. 

“Lorcan, dear. How are you?” 

He gritted his teeth, keeping his breaths quiet as he fought through this. “Fine.” 

Maeve laughed but there was no trace of joy one would expect from the sound, no, she would not know joy if it dropped dead at her feet, she had never known it, he knew that much. The noise that left her throat was a cacophony of something that was definitely not a laugh. “Oh, darling, it’s ok. You’ll be home soon enough.” 

He cringed at her calling that house home because it had never and would never be home to him. 

Home was the little cabin he had shared with his mother and sister. His entire life had been that cabin, nestled in the heart of the White Fang Mountains, the forests around them filled with other families like them. 

It was always warm and cozy and just big enough for the three of them.

His entire life had been in that cabin until that fateful day he had come home from school in Anielle to find the front door ripped off its hinges as it hung drunkenly. His stomach had dropped and he had thrown his backpack to the ground, sprinting through the threshold to find every surface completely drenched in dark red liquid, his eyes falling on the bodies of his mother and baby sister, the little girl barely even seven years old as she was strung up, her body so mutilated he had vomited before dropping to his knees, the blood soaking through his pants, sticky and cold. 

A woman he had never recognized had walked up beside him, smiling at him as if he couldn’t see the blood of his family on her pale hands and as though her pants weren’t soaked in it. He had been so broken, so defeated he hadn’t tried to fight her, everything he had lived for gone. 

He hadn’t fought when she took him away from the little cabin to her manor in Rifthold, far too big and cold for a house. 

He hadn’t fought when she forced weapons into his hands until he was the weapon and then he was able to avenge their deaths, imagining that every body he cut, every person he slaughtered had her immortal coldness and beauty. 

“Lorcan, are you even listening to me?” 

He snapped out of whatever he had been held captive in, “What.” 

Maeve sighed, “Is it the distance? Oh, my love, are you missing me?” 

He suppressed the gag he felt at her words, swallowing past it as he ground out, “Yes.” 

“Liar. You couldn’t wait to get away, could you, Lorcan?” She crooned,  “Is it hard, not being able to do the things you wish you could to me? The things I did to your mother? You poor, poor baby sister?” 

Lorcan nearly snapped, the thread of self control close to breaking when she said that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

She laughed again, the sound setting him on edge. “You’re a terrible liar, darling. It’s alright, soon, so soon, you’ll be here, right next to me in bed, you miss that don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re keeping to yourself, yes? No playing on the job, my love, you know that.” 

“The job is my only priority.” 

Maeve sighed, “You’re no fun. I’m getting bored and so is dear Vernon. Have you lost your touch?” 

At that he finally snapped, snarling, “You know who she is and you expect me to find her in three months? She’s a killer and has been let loose. She could be anywhere in the world right now.” 

She cackled, “So you finally figured it out, did you now? That’s fun, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever. You two always worked so well together, it was such fun watching the two of you break someone, like an art. Vernon says she’s been blessed by Anneith since birth, interesting, no?”

“No. It isn’t.” 

“Oh, surely it is,” she insisted and he could almost see her, sprawled over her bed, a viper’s smile pulling at her lips as she talked on the phone. She sighed again, “If you can’t find her soon, I might have to find a replacement for you. Maybe you’re worn out now, hmm?” 

“I’m fine. I don’t need a replacement. I can find her.” 

“Good. ‘Cause if you don’t, I’ll have to think of an appropriate punishment, won’t I?” 

He knew exactly what she meant by punishment and he shut his eyes, pulling away from the memories of past disciplinary actions she had taken against him, each one killing him just a little more, each one chipping at the childlike innocence he still had deep inside him. Lorcan didn’t answer and the only thing that kept him sane as Maeve began listing past measures she had taken against him was his eyes tracing over Elide’s picture, over the face of someone who knew pain like him. 

Minutes, hours, maybe even days later, the call ended and as he flung the phone across the room, watching it shatter after it hit the marble countertop and fall to the floor. He slammed the laptop closed, shaking as he stalked into his room and tugged on a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt, not bothering to lock the door as he left and began to run down the streets of the Witch City, moving until he didn’t recognize the names of the streets and stood on an empty bridge, his throat raw as he panted, leaning his forearms over the metal railing, eyes on the river below. 

He wouldn’t bring her back. 

He couldn’t be her damnation after she had gambled everything to escape. 

He would do whatever he could to keep her free. 

apiap masterlist ~ masterlist

A/N: if y’all wanna be tagged, lemme know and if you think of any other TW i could put, please please tell me!

tagging: @myfeyrelady​ @kandasboi​ @the-regal-warrior​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @rhysands-highlady​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @dayanna-hatter​ @lovemollywho​ @pilesoffriles @thephilosophyofblank​ @faellyrian-warriors​ @bat-wing-rhys​ @velarian-trash​ @chemicha​ @th-th-th-thats-all-folks​ @elorcanforever​ @littlehoneyybee @rowaelin-cressworth​ @mis-lil-red @lord-douglas-the-third​ @acourtofbookworms​ @ladydippinstone​ @flowerspringsea​ @sezkins79​ @court-of-fuck-me-daddy​ @blogdaydreamerblr​ @over300books​ @unapologetic-fangirl-4-life​ 

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 36 – Disorder in Order

‘I don’t get it.’

The man’s fingers clasped his biceps tighter as his arms were crossed.

The 3rd Elder was seated on his bed, his brain whirring madly in reflection.

The day that QuadraNet’s switch was supposed to be turned on – or rather, the day that according to Helga they would get to find the opportunity they have been waiting for, he fulfilled his mission.

That was the day for him to make good use of the mayhem everyone will go through and pick up any vulnerability or noteworthy factor they could use against the blonde scientist, who will surely prove himself as the tallest, hardest, and mightiest wall for the surviving Union to break through.

And on the D-day, Helga’s words came true.

Apparently all networks connected for the QuadraNet had gone haywire; not even Frankenstein could stay free from alarm.

No, he was more than alarmed; he was in panic.

‘As far as I know, he didn’t take part in the project. That day he was there simply to watch QuadraNet come alive. Which must be why he was so flustered, since he was in no position to do something about it, with no one to answer him, let alone help him.’

During the event, Frankenstein was basically stuck in the middle of his cave expedition, with all the lighting equipment mysteriously sabotaged, trapped in a pitch-dark space with the rest of his team too far away to reach, with no option other than emitting echoes of cries unanswered.

But Frankenstein was no idiot. In fact, when it comes to technology he is a virtuoso, competent enough to make Union covet and compete against him.

So to nobody’s wonder, Frankenstein eventually recovered the transmission and reconnected to the rest, incredibly fast for someone who was invited as a spectator.

Naturally, he could not spare his attention to anything else other than his computers.

Thus he gave 3rd Elder enough time to flaunt his skills in profiling and snooping.

‘Though I had to be extra-careful, in consideration of the person I was snooping about.’

As Frankenstein’s eyes were successfully diverted, 3rd Elder headed to the lab, to make use of the gear he was so thankful he had packed: a spray that reveals fingerprints, a development from a life technology company under Union’s possession, once used by civilians as well.

It evaporates over time, leaving no traces whatsoever once it is gone. And it conveys different hues depending on the time the fingerprint was first left, allowing its user to deduce the order and marking time of each fingerprint.

However, it can no longer be seen among civilians, as it was permanently discontinued following the public concern that it must not be led into the wrong hands.

And 3rd Elder could finally make it useful in order to track down Frankenstein’s most recent cognitive journey.

By taking a look at the files he submitted for the human scientist and files the latter had collected by himself, he would be able to pinpoint the main topic of the files or the topic Frankenstein is most interested in.

And ultimately infer what he is most deeply involved with and what he is planning, for the Union to prepare against in advance.

The 3rd Elder gave a little tip regarding this, by telling Helga that Frankenstein specified he intends to find out the reason behind the Noblesse’s mysterious return to life.

Which Helga did not buy.

Listening to you, now there is no doubt it is our gravest woe and fear that the Union had failed in making an ally out of him. Now that he is undeniably our enemy, we should be wary of his every word and action. And do you honestly think he was being honest with you?

He wanted to retort by correcting her assumption – Yes, you can trust him. He’ll never lie when it comes to his master – but he did not; after all, she did have a point.

‘By the way, how come I momentarily got so close to taking his side back then?’

The white-haired man shook his head to tune out a tiny voice within, to instead clutch his arms even tighter and reassess what his scavenging revealed for him.

He decided to add weight to Helga’s claim and delved into as thoroughly as possibly the files Frankenstein had been dissecting, to gain nothing in particular.

The volume and contents were beyond his imaginations, but all in all Frankenstein’s files were centered on similar topics.

Revival. Extension of life. Inducing coma or pseudo-coma state. Definition of biological death. And all that jazz.

QED, they were mostly related to life and death.

‘Which means he was staying true to the goal of his research he shared with me.’

Despite his disappointment, 3rd Elder did not deem his exploration a waste of time.

Which is why he was so puzzled.

‘For some strange reason, I found most of his fingerprints not on his files but on the cup he’d always place on his table. And on the equipment used to generate chemical drink. And he’s touched it very recently.’

To say “most of his fingerprints” was an understatement; for a moment 3rd Elder had thought he became a detective excavating a drug addict’s lair.

So he did not hesitate in pulling out a specially designed slip of paper to dip into Frankenstein’s cup for a sample.

All he has to do is to take the paper to Helga for analysis; this is where a problem arises.

‘The camera and recording device Frankenstein implanted in me may be dormant, but as of now I can’t send this to Helga. Not with Lady Lunark paying visits to this island. Not to mention no chance in hell will she ever trust me. Which means I must be the one to analyze the contents of Frankenstein’s drink.’

The job is neither impossible nor difficult, given that he is provided with appropriate apparatus.

He had trained himself in theories and practices in experiments, having orchestrated and participated in several experiments and projects at the Union.

‘But the only equipment I can use in this place all belong to Frankenstein. I’ll need distraction to use them.’

A single chance – that was all he needed.

A single chance of disturbance equal to the recent uproar affiliated with the QuadraNet. Or Frankenstein’s urgent trip to the werewolf realm.

‘Then it’d be less than a gulp to run the analysis,’ sighed 3rd Elder, his mind tracing back to the transparent plastic bag he had hidden, containing the paper slip safe from oxidation.

‘Should I place an order for disorder to Helga? She’s the one who commanded both occasions.’

Marveling once again at her leadership, 3rd Elder had yet to realize that his chance would come much faster than expected.

*****

It has been days since the night at a café by the beach of Incheon, Korea.

Because of which Yuigi has grown more comfortable around Takio.

The awkwardness and discomfiture she had been haunted with ever since she was parted from Union without consent were pretty much no more.

Nonetheless, Yuigi did not define her standing as better.

‘So let’s say I continue to help him locate Union’s facilities and gain his gang’s trust. And free myself from this choker. But then what? Once the last of the Union is gone, what should I do? What am I supposed to do with my life from then on?’

Driven by the searing guilt that she could not protect her brother and sister, Yuigi had lived a life of obsession with power.

Notwithstanding, she lost the powers she has so very feverishly nurtured. She lost the association and purpose that were entailed.

The life of Raciela, the sister of Arthur and Hailey, had long been disconnected from her.

The life thrusted upon her was the life of Yuigi, a member of the Cerberus, one of the top personal guards of the Union.

And Yuigi’s life was robbed from her over a mere day.

And she had no way to return to Raciela’s life.

She has come too far to indulge in ordinary life now. After all, she was now used to dubbing herself as Yuigi, surrounded by people who treat her as Yuigi, not Raciela.

She was reminded of a fairy tale she once read for her siblings: a story of a frog rejected by all animals.

The frog was born from water, to dwell in and dance across both earth and water once fully matured.

Alas, the frog’s gift of mobility in two completely unidentical domains won itself hatred from creatures of both domains. The creatures of water resented the frog’s ability to walk upon solid ground they could not even dream of; creatures of land were more than unhappy to see a native of aquatic dominion, reckoned inferior by the terrestrial-born, was treading along their footprints.

So in unison, they rejected the frog, to make sure it could find respite in neither the earth nor the water.

‘And looks like I’m the frog right now.’

Also, she had been plagued with void within, now that her life as Yuigi was lost as well. And she knew not how to get rid of the void.

She knew that she could not join what remained of the Union.

‘That’s just unimaginable, as long as this leash stays on me. Besides, even without this choker, I can’t possibly do that. Because...’

At then Yuigi fell heavily in silence, which was already hung upon her entire being.

Because?

Because what?

‘Why would you bring up the term at the moment? Don’t tell me you’ve grown a liking to that guy just because he’s been taking care of you.’

Yuigi violently shook her head, as if a bug had dived into her hair.

She shook her head so hard she thought she could hear her skull vibrating.

No, she actually felt like the entire safehouse was vibrating.

‘...Wait a minute.’

She reconsidered her thought, upon checking the water left in the cup on the table.

She could swear upon her life that nothing in the safehouse was moving, herself included, but the water was trembling, as if there were a quake.

As Yuigi fixed her eyes upon the cup, similar effect started to inflict the possessions within the safehouse, including the chair she was sitting in, the table she set her elbow upon, and the dishes inside the sink that were clattering in a nervous beat.

Just when Yuigi was trying to conjecture what could these be signaling, with a BAM the walls constructed to stand sturdy against majority of firearm and missiles spit out thousands of splinters, like a glass window hit by a brick.

Yuigi was swept in the aftermath and flung through the air, to be caught in the constructions and objects that had been composing the safehouse just a second ago.

Had she not been a modified human, and had Frankenstein employed materials less substantial, she would have never stood on her feet again.

Holding her head in her hand in a desperate attempt to do something about her eardrums, being bombarded with screeches due to the explosion, Yuigi could soon make out the highly likely suspect of the unappreciated delivery of disorder.

Fortunately her eyes were still functional, and she caught the sight of a huge man with hair the color of hay and face similar to that of a gigantic toad.

“...Could sme... I kn... Ver wrong.”

Yuigi had to squint to process what he was talking about, due to the noises that were still whipping up in her ears.

“...Was told... Ract tho... Not thi... Et you here.”

The man smirked, making himself look even more like a toad, with his eyes on Yuigi.

“No offe... Old to do... Be happie... Once I... Ally be... Anding at the spotlight!”

Before Yuigi could catch her breath after she was sure her ears have somewhat returned to normal, the man lunged towards her.

(next chapter)

I introduce you a new character - yes, he is an OC, and he is a supporting character. However, I added him for a reason, and you’d soon get to see why. Stay tuned for more!

[jimlingss]

Primae Noctis [M]

↳ aka. the right of the first night

➜ Words: 5.5k

➜ Genres: Smut, Porn without Plot (pwp), Medieval!AU

➜ Summary: Marrying Jungkook is your greatest fortune, but before you can leave the land forever, you owe one last favour towards Lord Min. As the lord of the land, he has the right to deflower you and you will happily allow him to do so.

➜ Warnings: 18+ ONLY, topics on virginity, depictions of sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, handjob, fingering, degrading, dirty talk, mentions on impregnation, cum play, idfk lots of smut shit.

Also disclaimer: there’s not a lot of evidence that Primae Noctis was a legit thing that happened in history - it’s more of a myth.

➜ NOTES: I’m struggling writing and posting for Jimlingss, so I’m taking a huge turn and from now on. I’m graduating from sfw writing and I’ll be writing pwp mainly. I’m doing what it takes to keep posting. Hope you understand. Thank you. Also shout out to @dovechim for encouraging me to try this concept out!!

Last night, you dreamt of him again.   It was nerve racking and when you awoke, your body had broken into a sweat, clothes drenched and your skin clammy. It was anxiousness that fluttered in the pits of your stomach and while today is a joyous occasion, you can’t keep your mind off of it.   “Are you well, child?” The old man stands at the doorway as you’re re-adjusting your overtunic, tugging on the coarse material to rid of its wrinkles. “You look sickly.”   “I’m fine,” you reassure him with a soft smile. You guide your father to the wooden stool, allowing him to rest his legs. Before you can pull away, he holds your arms, eyes saddened and glossing over.   His lips are downturned and with the frown on his face, more wrinkles crease and you realize just how old he is. It’s moments like these that you are all the more grateful. “I-I’m sorry. I-...If only I were more capable.”   “You are capable,” you ease your father with a bigger smile. “And Lord Min is a kind man. He gave me permission to marry Jungkook. He was the one who provided the dowry for us. And he waived the merchet for us. If it weren’t for him, I would be an unmarried old maid.”   He laughs and brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You’d still be my precious daughter, married or not.”   You hold his feeble hands within yours, calluses and scars all around his skin that shows the decades of hard labour he had to endure. The rough texture of his flesh brings tears to your eyes and you swallow the thick lump in your throat down. “From now on, I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to work the fields so much anymore. I’ll visit lots. Jungkook and I both will.”   “Don’t worry so much about me. I won’t be lonely without you. I’m grateful.” He nods and sighs in relief. “As long as I know you won’t have to suffer as much as I did, I can sleep at night. Jungkook, he is a kind, young man.”   “And I love him as much as he loves me.” Such a feat is miraculous. Many of your friends were married off at younger ages to other slaves and serfs who shared no amount of affection for them.   But for you, you’ve known Jungkook since young. Despite being a poor farmer, he is a freeman with his own cottage and he works on his own land. It is a less laborious life than your father who is a serf. Though social standing aside, Jungkook is also generous and gentle. The banter and subtle courting drawn out for years had won you over and just a few hours ago, you had finally wedded to him.   Being married to Jungkook, you no longer have to work the land anymore. Most of your time will be spent with at home trades like brewing ale. From having less laborious work to Jungkook’s endearment for you, you cannot count your blessings enough. You are beyond fortunate.   Especially considering that Yoongi, lord of the land has gone above and beyond for you. He granted you permission to marry, even going as far as providing the dowry and waiving the fee that is usually required. He is compassionate and merciful, recognizing your affections for Jungkook and aware of just how poor your family is.   But now that you were permanently leaving his land, there was one thing left to do — giving him the right of the first night.   As lord of the land, Yoongi has the right to deflower you. It’s customary, part of tradition as well as a sign of gratitude. You are more than willing to offer yourself for him one last time.   “Good evening.” Your father bows his head.   “This is the girl?” The maid of the house eyes you up and down, skimming your body and lingering on the curve of your waist to the swell of your chest. You’re in shabby attire, clothes brown and white. Your wool stockings are over your legs, strips of cloth below the knee knotted to keep it up. The overtunic is over your gown, string tied around your frame to add shape and you also came in your apron after much consideration if it was appropriate.   Under her gaze, you’re burning in embarrassment. You hope he won’t mind. You’ve at least brushed your hair until all the knots were gone and you took two baths, cleaning yourself completely.   This was the best that you had. The silks Yoongi gave as the dowry has already been passed to Jungkook who you’ll join tomorrow morning for good.   “Come with me.”   “Good luck, my child.” Your father’s eyes are softened with both sadness and relief. He looks at your face once more, cherishing you. And you give a firm nod to ease his worries, entering the manor.   You’ll work hard not to disappoint your family name or the kindness of Lord Min.   The lady leads you through the twisting hallways and you’re glad you scrubbed your leather shoes to not track in any mud.   “Have you bathed?”   “Yes. Thoroughly.”   She glances at you over her shoulder. From what you’ve passingly heard, you know that the maids are supposed to scrub you from head to toe roughly with a sponge and make sure you won’t dirty Lord Min. But to your surprise, the head maid turns back around, perhaps trusting you.   “You’re a pretty one. I believe Lord Min will have an enjoyable time with you. Don’t be so nervous.”   She opens the door, head quirking to signal you to enter. You swallow, taking a few steps in the right direction. “He will arrive shortly,” is what she tells you and the door shuts.   It’s a simple bedroom, most likely not his own quarters, but where a guest could stay. There are two paintings on either side of the wall, one of a sunflower and the other of an apple. Despite it being rather empty, it is still grand with a ginormous bed in the center of the room. You’re sure an entire family could fit on it and as you approach, the intricate stitching of the silk sheets are visible.   You’re hesitant to even lay a hand on it lest you soil the delicate threads with your peasantry fingers.   You wait ten minutes, looking out the windows all around and watching as nightfall slithers through the sky, causing dusk to break over the horizon, painting the room in golden hues.   As you glance at the beautiful scenery, the noise and increasing footsteps up to the door causes you to whip yourself over. The door opens and you immediately bow, head downcasted, eyes pinned on the floor. “M-my lord.”   “Be at rest.” He shuts the door behind him and you swallow hard, heartbeat quickening in pace as he gets closer. All of your nervous dreams have been of this very moment. “It’s been a few days since I’ve last seen you.”   “I...I believe so.”   The low hum from his throat rumbles the air. “And how was the wedding?”   “Simple, but more than I could ever ask for. Thank you, my lord. Without your kindness, I wouldn’t have been able to wed to anyone and my poor father would become sick with worry. I am eternally in debt to you.”   “Fear not.” His hand extends, signifying you to take a seat on the bed. “After this, you won’t be.”   Lord Min is a dignified man. His eyes and hair are dark, gaze always intense and overwhelming any time they’ve been pinpointed on you. Yet, despite his intimidating demeanor, his features are rather soft and gentle. His soothing voice and carefully chosen words are all the more inviting.   He wears a woolen tunic made from luxurious materials, embroidered around the hem and sleeves as well as belted at the waist. His leather boots clank with every step that he takes and his black cloak swishes in the air, fastened on by his shoulder with an expensive brooch.   You feel unworthy being in his presence.   “You can go ahead and strip.” He motions to you.   The word slips out unintentionally. “A-already?”   A soft smile spreads across his face. “Well, we can wait a little longer if you’d like.”   “N-no, I’ll do it now.” You swallow hard, hands twisting to your back and undoing the knots of your apron. The cloth flutters to the ground and you strip of your overtunic all the while he stares at you intently. Sweat builds at your forehead and you untie the string around your waist, slipping out of your leather shoes and pulling your woolen stockings off. Your legs are bare for his eyes and you slip the tunic from your gown, letting the pile of clothes build at your feet.   You close in on yourself, arms covering your exposed skin and you downcast your head. “D-do I take off this?” A linen smock is left, the basic undergarment clinging to your skin and covering whatever decency you have left.   A puff of air coming from his lips is audible and when you look upwards, he’s smiling. “It’s alright. You can keep it on if you’d like.”   You nod, sitting back down and he takes off his own cloak, throwing it onto a chair in the corner. He approaches, boots clanking against the floors and sits next to you. The bed dips and he eyes you up and down. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”   “I-I’m not. I’m just….not used to this, that’s all.”   “You’ll get used to it soon,” he reassures in a smoothing timbre. “Tell me if anything is unpleasant. I do not desire to take anyone unwillingly.”   Your head nods again. “Yes, my lord.” He is courteous and merciful. You’ve heard of other lords and nobles who would throw peasant women on their beds and pounce on top of them without warning. But Yoongi is gentle, cautious, and it’s more than you could ask for.   “I have no plans in harming you. I want this to be enjoyable for you as well.”   “Lord Min, there is no need to consider my own enjoyment.” Your head naturally lowers. “I am already indebted to you.”   “Nonsense. I’d actually like if it I use this chance to teach you.”   You blink in confusion, lashes fluttering several times. “Teach...me?”   The man hums in affirmation, sound rumbling in his chest. “But I can only do so if you tell me what you’ve done before. I need to know in order to judge how far I’ll be able to push you.”   “I...I haven’t done anything before.” You twiddle your thumbs, revealing the truth with heated skin.   Yet, Yoongi is undeterred by your shyness. “Has that young lad ever kissed you?”   “Umm….”   “Now’s not a time to be shy,” Lord Min coaxes, placing a comforting hand over yours in your lap. For a second, you jolt, but then you relax, still getting used to his touch.   You meekly nod, murmuring, “Jungkook’s kissed me before.”   “Did he use his tongue?”   “A...a little.” It’s hard to admit and you shuffle uncomfortably. If your father knew you did such a shameful thing before marriage, he would be devastated. But at this moment, Yoongi’s intense gaze holds no judgment.   “Then did he kiss you here?” His hand lifts, finger gently skimming against your skin, lightly poking at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You flinch slightly before nodding.   “O-once.”   Lord Min’s fingertip traces down to your collarbone. “Down here?”   “Y-yes.”   His tone is low, dropping in pitch. “Did he leave a mark?”   “N-no!” Your eyes are wide and in alarm. “He didn’t!”   The older man grins and he retracts his arm. “There’s nothing wrong if he did. You don’t have to be so afraid. I won’t tell anyone. I’m doing this to know how much you’ve been touched before.”   Despite feeling like a rabbit in front of a wolf, that you’re about to be devoured alive, you trust him. His calming presence unwinds the tension in your mind. “H-he didn’t kiss me any lower.”   “Okay.” His hand falls to your knee and then he pinches the fabric of your white cotton undergarment, pulling it up slightly. He gently touches against your lower thigh and the heat of his own flesh causes goosebumps to rise all over your arms. “Then has his hand ever touched you in this place before?”   You nod.   “Use your words,” he commands, “I won’t be able to understand if you don’t.”   “Y-yes. He’s touched me there before.”   “How about here?” Lord Min’s slips his hand higher, calloused fingers tracing circles on your upper thigh.   Your breath hitches in your throat and he gives the smallest smile at your reaction. “Y-yes.”   His hand fully disappears up your dress like he’s coping a feel in the middle of dinner. He spreads your legs, tapping against the apex of your thighs. “Here?”   “Yes, my lord.”   “And here?” He thumbs the top of your slit and you flinch at the feeling.   “N-no.”   “Hmmm….” He assesses you closely before drawing his hand back. You release your held breath, not wanting to admit that you miss it. It felt nice when he was touching you, more than nice, and ached that his fingers didn’t just graze you, but touched harder. You’d welcome it.   Lord Min raises his hand, lightly cupping your breasts over-top of the thin dress. “How about here?”   “Y-yes, but it was a little different,” you choke out.   “Different how? Show me. I need to know how much you know.”   “W-well, he moved his thumb back and forth right here.” You show him as best as you can. His hand is larger than your own and he relaxes his muscles, allowing you to mold it against your breast better. and Lord Min makes a sound of acknowledgment, knowing what you mean when you show him. He begins to move his thumb back and forth over your nipple, rubbing like it’s a sore spot he’s trying to relieve.   “Like this?”   “Uh-huh.” You hold yourself back while keening into his touch. Your nipple pebbles, sticking out from your thin gown in an unsightly way, revealing the soft pink hue past the white cotton. You hold back a moan, suffocating it into a desperate whimper.   “Does it feel good?” His voice is hoarse, dropping down into a whisper. He’s right next to your ear, hot breath skimming over your flesh and panting like he’s the one being pleasured.   “Y-yes.”   “Then don’t hold yourself back. I like the noises you’re making.”   “Yes!”   His hands immediately halt. “Yes what?”   “Yes, my lord.” The last word ends in a squeal as he begins to rub again and harsher this time like he’s playing and wondering just how hard your nipple can get, how much it can stick out.   “Very good, flower,” Lord Min praises with a sweet smile. The wetness pools between your thighs, making a mess on the bed sheets and staining them. His dark eyes lock into yours, making you feel shy when he’s drinking up your expression, lids drooping halfway and you fall into his touch.   You ache to be touched elsewhere, in places you don’t know yourself.   And much to your dismay, he pulls away. “Let me show you something else.”   Your lord stands and pulls his trousers down, underpants coming along with it. You tear your head in another direction and he laughs. “You can look if you’d like. I promise nothing will hurt you.”   Slowly, you turn back and your eyes stray downwards to what’s sticking straight out from his lap. It’s reddened in colour, slightly curved and leaking some sort of substance from the tip. He sits down again beside you and doubt fills every crevice of your mind. You’re unsure of the next step. You’ve merely heard of things from friends and you’re not sure if they’re entirely accurate.   The last thing you want is to make a fool out of yourself. “W-what am I supposed to do with it?”   Lord Min grins and lolls his head to the side. “It’s supposed to go inside of you.”   “This is supposed to go inside of me? H-how?”   “Right here.” He parts your thighs again, moving to where your dress has been shoved up. His finger grazes against your weeping slit and you shiver. “See? You’re already wet.” As if to show you, he raises his arm and you see the thickened substance between his fingertips, thin lines connecting between them.   “W-will it hurt?”   “Not if you listen to me.” He stares at you, quietly chuckling when you swallow hard again. “It won’t bite. You can touch it.”   “L-Like this?” Your hand reaches out, loosely wrapping around his cock, not sure if you’re doing it right. But he reassures you when he puts his hand over yours and guides you correctly. It’s warm to the touch and looks larger than you thought with your smaller hand on it. Your eyes flicker up to him and you give a squeeze.   He knocks his head back, groan coming from his chest and ringing pleasantly in your ears. “N-not so hard.”   “S-sorry.” Lord Min helps you move your hand up and down his cock and as it picks up speed, you oddly feel his cock harden underneath your grasps. You work hard to satisfy him, sweat sticking to your skin and face heated like a furnace. It’s uncomfortable in your thin linen dress and you’re not sure if you can get up anymore — you’ve soiled the bed sheets you’re sitting on.   “G-god…” He groans in his throat and it makes you clench. Lord Min is panting heavily and after ten more seconds, he peels your hand off of him. “You...can stop…”   You frown at the white stickiness clinging to your fingers. “What is this?”   “Taste it,” he urges with half-lidded eyes, watching, and you’re hesitant as you bring your fingers to your lips. Your tongue peeks out to lick at it before it enters your mouth fully and you suck it all up, making sure not to create a bigger mess than you already have.   You frown. “It’s bitter…”   “Indeed.” He laughs as if finding you cute. “It’s not scary up close, is it?”   “Not really,” you admit, looking at his cock again and feeling less apprehensive.   He hums. “Lay back. I’ll stretch you nice and wide for your husband tomorrow, hmm?”   You comply, feeling less nervous now that you know what’s happening. The soft petting has gotten you used to his touching as well. Laying on the soft mattress, you put your arms on top of your stomach, waiting patiently. The lord takes off his boots, ridding of his clothes except for his undershirt and he comes over, kneeling on the bed above your legs.   He gently pulls your dress up, pinching the fabric and peeking underneath it like he isn’t allowed to. Embarrassment eats you alive, but you let him have his way. “I’ll use you real well,” he whispers. “That way Jungkook won’t have to stuff himself so hard in you tomorrow morning, alright?”   “O-okay.”   “Look at that,” Lord Min, or rather, Yoongi murmurs. His fingers gradually travel up your thigh and he pulls your legs apart until his thumb collects the wetness at your slit. The light touch already has you squirming. “So sensitive and wet. I bet you’re warm and tight inside too.”   He slips his finger into your clenching hole and your head knocks back, a deep breath releasing from your lungs. It’s a strange sensation you aren’t used to and Yoongi watches your expression, every frown and twitch of your mouth. When you’ve settled, he locks his eyes into yours and he curls his fingers.   Your eyes shut tight and an obscene moan comes tumbling from your lips. “M-my lord!”   He gives his wrist a twist before curling his finger again and he hits a spot that has you dissolving against the bed sheets. “Think you can handle another one? We’re going to need to loosen you more if I’m to deflower you.”   Your own hand comes down, circling around his wrist, not to get him to pull him away but to bring him closer. At the exact same moment, he pushes another thick finger in, making scissoring motions that has you whimpering. Your brows knit tightly together and pleasure pulsates throughout your body.   It intensifies as he brings his other hand down below your dress and touches another spot you’re rather familiar with. It has you crying out desperately, calling out his name at a shrill volume.   “I wonder what your husband would think if he saw you now. Being a whore for some other man,” he mutters, leaning down against your ear. “I should’ve brought him along to watch. Bet he wouldn’t be too happy now would he?”   “M-my lord…” You’re hyperventilating, dizzy as he curls his fingers again and rubs circles on your clit at the same time. There’s a tug in your lower stomach and you’re so close, to what you’re not even sure of.   “But I’m doing him a courteous favour. He should be bowing down to thank me. I’ll make sure his innocent, little wife is nice and loose for him. He’d be able to stuff his cock in you without needing to prepare anything. Isn’t that nice?”   “Y-yes!” Your head is digging back against the pillows and he shoves your legs open again with a rough hand when they threaten to close. “T-thank you, my lord.”   Yoongi keeps going, faster, and you shamelessly grind yourself against his palm. With one more curl of his digits and hard rub on your clit, it has you sobbing out his name. Your toes curl and euphoria washes over you. You all your senses for a moment, overwhelmed with gratitude and brought to the brink of tears.   But there’s no time to recover when he’s removed himself from under you and goes up to violently pull down the top of your dress. The thin fabric tears, sound of ripping filling the room and your breasts are exposed for his viewing. Your nipples are pink and hardened, perky in the air and he smiles in satisfaction. He wipes his fingers soiled in your release on your nipples like it’s a napkin. Then he grabs your breast, squeezing until it hurts. Though it isn’t necessarily painful.   The head of his leaking cock brushes against your slit and you squirm back with a whine.   “Such a pretty thing,” he muses to himself and plays with your breast like it’s a toy. “Can’t wait to ruin you.”   The man’s eyes trace over your breasts and travel to your face where you’re biting down on your reddened lips. Your eyes are watery, a stray tear on your cheek and you feel warm inside and out. He savours your fucked out expression and purposefully nudges his cock against your slit again.   “Aren’t you glad it’s me and not some old fart? Imagine if it were my father who was still lord of the land and not me. Had it been that disgusting bastard, he probably would’ve bent you over the dinner table with my mother in front of you trying to eat her meal.”   His hands move down to your abdomen to your stomach and he presses down on the soft flesh. “He probably would’ve left behind a child in your womb too. I’m so much nicer, aren’t I?”   “Y-yes. T-thank you, my lord.”   “I could’ve taken you anywhere.” He plays with your lips, fiddling with the velvet flesh with an impassive expression. Then his thumb forces your mouth to part and he presses down on your tongue, letting you taste whatever’s left of yourself on his hand. “In the bathhouse or on the floor or rather yet, outside on the field.” A smirk paints on his lips and the kindness you’ve witnessed from Yoongi so far is replaced with some kind of hidden cruelty. “Could you imagine being spread like this in the farmland in front of your father?”   “N-no,” you mumble and saliva coats your lips as he removes his thumb.   “But instead I chose a nice, warm bedroom and a nice soft bed for you….” The usually level-headed man is losing his composure, becoming eager as he pants. Sweat clings to his forehead, strands of hair sticking to his skin and you wonder what you did to deserve such a godly sight hovering above you.   “T-Thank you, my lord.” You gasp when you feel the head of his cock grazing against your clenching hole yet another time. “I-I’m grateful.”   “You should tell your husband that.”   “I...I will.”   He smiles and it is less gracious and more from satisfaction with your compliance. There’s a dark glimmer in his eyes that makes your blood run quicker. “Don’t tense up.”   You nod, trying your best as he guides the head of his cock to intrude past your walls. But the stretch is too great and it makes you cry, writhing back. He sighs and leans forward, capturing your lips with his as a method of distraction.   Yoongi kisses you with his small lips, taking your mouth like it belongs to him. He is harsh and intruding, pushing his hot tongue inside your mouth and tasting you selfishly. The passion makes your blood run even faster than before and you get lost, easing into his taste.   You’ve never kissed anyone other than Jungkook before and it’s exhilarating.   As he continues to devour your lips, you feel something and you groan. He hums back in acknowledgment and continues, pushing the head of his cock into your cunt slowly. It burns, but at the same time you feel filled up as if it was an empty gap that you never knew needed filling.   Yoongi shoves your legs even farther apart and he enters deeper. You gasp and he exhales, situating himself in you all the way and taking you for himself. It’s warm and wet and he finally pulls his mouth off of yours.   “H-how’s that?”   “T-thank you, my lord.”   “You’re so tight.” He moves his hips and when you flinch, he stills himself with a smile. “You’re so sensitive too.” He flicks your nipple with his fingertip and gives you a moment, pressing his body against yours so your hips meet each other. You release a deep breath to relax yourself.   “Are you sure Jungkook has not deflowered you before?”   “N-no, he hasn’t.”   “What a shame,” he mutters and with one hand, he comes up to push your cheeks together so your lips pucker. He uses his grip on you to shift your face to the left and right as if he’s picking out fresh fruit at the market. He stares closely at you and hums deep in his chest. “You’re quite the beauty, aren’t you? If only you were born of noble blood, I’d be the one to wed to you instead. You’d live in this house and I’d fill you with my children.”   He releases your face and begins to move, unable to stop himself, all composure lost. Yoongi withdraws from your body and then crames himself back in, groaning as he claims you selfishly. “G-get you nice and pregnant. You’d always be carrying.”   “Y-Yoongi.” His first name slips out, but he doesn’t pay any mind to it. It hurts, but the pain is overcome by pleasure. Your wetness dribbles down his thick length and onto the bed sheets, making a small pool and accompanying the tiniest bit of blood staining the expensive material. It’s hot, atmosphere vibrating around you and you sweat as he fills you up.   “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, exposing your neck and making you cry out. You clench as he hits a particular spot and he grunts, increasing the harshness of his blows and picking up speed like he’s chasing after something.   “Y-yes. P-please give me your children. It would be an honour.”   A cold chuckle squeezes out of his lungs. “I wonder what your little husband would think of that, if he could see you now. You’d really want to have my child and not his? Huh?! Is that what you want, whore?”   “Y-yes!”   The corner of his mouth quirks into an arrogant smirk. “What would he think? Raising a child that isn’t his.”   You grab onto his forearms, anchoring yourself down. “H-he doesn’t have to know!”   The lord of the land above you scoffs in indignation. “Such a whore.”   He takes you for his liking, lost in pleasure and having half a mind to bring down his hand and circle your clit. It wrings squeals and noises out of you, making you sob his name out like it’s a prayer and you’re begging for forgiveness.   He presses against your nub, rubbing hard and he keeps moving. Yoongi bends your legs until your knees are meeting your chest and he’s hitting you at deeper angles. The obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin fill the room, escaping out the door cracks for the entire house to hear.   “You’ll visit your father, won’t you?” he asks out of nowhere and you don’t hear him well, mind broken in lust. “C-call you into my home and fuck you of my cum when you visit.”   “Pl-please.” Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he fucks himself into you.   “I shouldn’t have allowed you to marry. Should’ve put you in this house as m-my personal maid and use you all up.”   You’re sobbing, stray tears escaping from your shut eyes. “My lord!”   “But what makes you think I’ll want you again? You’re a dirty peasant and a whore. Walking in here thinking I’ll care for you and t-teach you? Please. You’re naive. Just have a bad habit of playing with my food before I eat it.”   You’re so close and he mouths at your neck, sucking hard and leaving bruises for Jungkook to see. You feel dirty and used, swollen cunt abused by his force and Yoongi grabs at your soft bits. He leaves blemishes in the shape of his fingers all over your thighs and waist. He happily makes his mark on you. “Drop you at his doorstep stuffed of my cum until it drips down your leg. Won’t be able to walk properly, huh?”   “Yes, please!”   You hold him close to you, skin sticky with sweat and the wetness between his cock and your hole drenching everything beneath you. He rubs at your clit one last time, twisting his wrist, and it’s enough for you to go over.   The moment you squeeze and clench, he releases himself. Yoongi’s spine straightens and he milks you with three thrusts. He cums, spurting it deep into you. He pants, chest rising and falling and once he’s done pleasuring himself, he pulls out.   You’re lying against the mattress, breathing heavily and trying to regain a sense of where you are. The dress you were wearing is in shreds, pushed underneath your breasts and before you can even make any attempts to cover yourself up, you wince as he takes his fingers and shoves the seeping cum back into your pussy. His fingertips trail down and he pushes it back in over and over again until he’s satisfied. Whatever’s left on his hand afterwards, he uses your thigh to wipe himself.   Yoongi gets off the bed.   You’re tired and exhausted. Night has fallen, the only luminescence from the oil lamp on the nightstand and the moonlight passing through the window. “A-are you leaving, my lord?”   Yoongi ignores you, taking his discarded trousers on the floor and pulling them on. He dresses himself in silence and once he’s finished, he runs a hand through his messy locks and turns over his shoulder. “You think I’ll lay in bed longer than I need to with a mere peasant?”   You’re taken back. “M-my lord…”   “You’re no use to me now and you’re no longer a peasant on this land.” His eyes are cold, skimming down your body and lingering on your used cunt. His cum dribbles down and his expression is a mix of disgust and disappointment. You try your best to clench, keep it all in to satisfy him. But he has no regard whatsoever and glances down at your discarded clothes.   “I expect you to be gone in the next hour or so. Don’t stay longer than you need to.”   “M-my lord.” You scramble upwards. “It...it is dark outside.”   “And? Your husband’s cottage is over the hill. Should take you less than three hours to make it there on foot. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you used like this anyways.”   Without any other glance or goodbyes, he waltzes out of the room and the doors shut. You rush to put on your clothes even when you’re struggling with your limping legs. You prepare yourself for the trek. And no sooner do you make it over the hill, showing up on Jungkook’s doorstep with Yoongi’s cum still dripping down your leg.

*IMPORTANT WRITER NOTES*

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS DAY!!!!!!

↳ it’s April 1st, 2019 for those who are reading on a later date.

You’ve been bamboozled. I’m not quitting sfw writing, don’t worry. I’m not going to do pwp ever again lol. This is my one and only porn without plot in the entirety of my writing life. I hope it wasn’t too atrocious. I’ve actually had this concept for a looong time and didn’t know what to do with it, but took the leap and tried it out and it’s not half bad, I guess. Still, I don’t think pwp is my forte. It’s not really my thing.

If you’re still reading this far, thank you. As a reward, you get the next Jungle Park chapter early. I secretly posted Chapter 12 on my ao3 account. Click here.

Stories will resume normally on Friday.

[createuntiltheendoftime]

Love is Found in Violence, and Humanity is Found in Inhuman Acts

    this is my secret santa for @silverswordthekilljoy

I'm sorry it took so long, I spent my whole day writing it cause i finished it then reread it and hated it so i rewrote it. I hope you like it!

“There is no way in fuck I am letting you leave the Zones!” Jet snapped.

    Party stared hard at him. “Why the hell not! What if there are other ‘Joys? We could build an army, free the City, like we’ve always wanted.”

    “Or you could find nothing.” Jet half-turned away. “An’ starve to death. Or die of radiation sickness.” 

    “C’mon. You and I both know very well that I’m gonna die of radiation anyway. Do you really think that BL/I was just happy with California and Nevada? That they wouldn’t control the entire world if they could? If you believe that, you are lying to yourself.”

    “Don’ tell me what’s truth, Party.” Jet snarls. “Don’ tell me what you think is real, because you grew up in the city! You’ve got no idea what it was like being alone out here! I know what BL/I wants to do. I saw it first hand!”

    The door to the Diner opens, and Kobra and Ghoul walk in, laughing at some joke one was telling. Both their smiles fade as they see Jet and Party in the middle of an argument. “What’s up?” Ghoul asked cautiously.

    “Nothin’, Party jus’ wants to run a suicide mission.”

    “It’s not! It’s a chance to end this.”

    “You asked him?” Ghoul looked surprised, and a little hurt.

    “You knew about this?” Jet rubs his face. “I’m goin’ to bed, and we’ll talk about this in the mornin’.” Jet turns and stalks down the hall.

    “What was that about?” Kobra looked at Party suspiciously.

    “We intercepted a transmission from outside the Zones.” Ghoul says.

    “We do have intel that BL/I is tryin’ to take a seventh Zone.” Kobra glanced sideways at Ghoul.

    “Not like that. Like Killjoys. Plus the expansion won’ happen for another six years at the very least. Ghoulie and I wanna check it out.”

    “As in, go outside the Zones? Hell no! There’s a reason the expansion’s goin’ to take years, it’s because a prospective Zone Seven’s completely unlivable.”

    “But there are people out there.” Ghoul protested.

    “I am not letting you two idiots die. The rest of the Zones will never know what happened to the two Crash Queens from Zone Six. An’ what if you go out there, an’ you die, an’ leave me an’ Jet alone. You wanna do that shit?”

    “Kobra—”

    “No. Come back to me when you don’ wanna be a dumbass.” Kobra turned and followed Jet’s steps down the hall.

    “Godammit!” Party yelled, and stomped out the door, into the desert.

    Ghoul sat alone in the Diner for a while, staring out a window, before deciding to follow Party. The back of his throat itched, and he suppressed a light cough, climbing up to the roof, where Party and him liked to hang out. “Hey Party.”

    “Hi.”

    “Are we still going?”

    “‘Course.”

    “When?”

    Party sat up, that stupid light in his eye, and looked out at the desert horizon. “We go now. Mom an’ Dad’ll never know what hit ‘em.”

    “Wait, you’re serious?” Ghoul grinned.

    “Yeah, dead serious. Pack your shit. We’re goin’.”

    Ghoul started down the ladder, Party following after him. “What about Kobra and Jet?”

    “We’ll be gone before they think we’re ghosted.” Party smiled, and the pair headed down to the ground.

* * * *

    The Trans-Am started up a lot quieter than Party had thought, still blaringly loud in the desert night, but Kobra and Jet didn’t come running out, so he figured they were good. They climbed into the car, turned the radio up, and headed out.

    Ghoul glanced out the window before looking back at Party. “We so did not think this through. No gas, no food. This is gonna go Costa Rica.”

    “Calm thy tits. We got some extra Power Pup, full tanka gas is gonna give us 200ish miles. When the pup runs out, we’ll eat lizards, and there are so many gas stations in the Zones, they gotta be outta the Zones too. We’ll be fine.”

    After an hour and a half, Party slowed.

    Ghoul put a hand on his ray gun. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s the edge of Zone Six.”

“Let’s go then.”

Party sped up again, and the edge of Zone Six flashed by. Ghoul coughed again, cursing himself for sounding so weak in between sucking breaths. Party glanced at him sideways, then glanced back at the road. “You okay? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We could go back.”

“No.”

Another hour and a half later, the radio starts to die. The music fades out, crackling and messy. “Party…” Ghoul says nervously. “There’s nothing around. No gas stations, no body bags. There ain’t shit.”

“Do a transmission.”

Ghoul nodded and pulled out his long range radio. “Name’s Fun Ghoul. ‘M with Party Poison, and if you believe in freedom, we’re lookin’ for you. If you’re BL/I, get off my goddamn frequency.”

He says this multiple times, over multiple frequencies, and by the last one, it’s lost it’s magic. Well, Ghoul’s voice was not lost on Party. That would be impossible. But the message was less dramatic the eighth time around. Party looked over worriedly as Ghoul started coughing again.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fuckin’ fine, leave me alone.”

Party reached over a hand and felt Ghoul’s face. “You’ve got a fever, dumbass. Drink some water or I’m turning around.”

Ghoul grabbed Party’s wrist and threw it back in his lap. “I said I’m fine goddammit, shut up about it.”

“Drink the fuckin’ water.” Party grabbed the bottle and threw it at him.

“Party. We can’t turn around.”

“No, we can’t, so drink.”

“No, I mean check your rearview mirror.”

Party glanced in the mirror, and slammed his foot on the gas, causing the RPM needle to go up alarmingly. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Party’s cussing caused Ghoul to grab his gun and stare at Party, currently scrambling for the reverse. “Fuck it! Get down, Ghoul!” He threw the car into drive and stepped hard on the pedal.

Thunder rolled as the engine grew so loud it sounded like it was going to explode, blasts flung through the open windows, and a low hum started to pierce his ears, then all of a sudden, the car slowed and stopped. “No! Fuckin’ shit!” Ghoul yelled.

“Be ready to put up a fight!” Party snapped.

“It’s an EMP. Our guns won’t work.”

“Theirs won’t work either,” Party growled, pulled a switchblade from his pocket.

Ghoul tensed as Dracs approached the car. “Fuck, this’s gonna hurt.”

In the split-second hesitation before the pair jumped out and rose hell, the doors opened, and the Dracs drug them out. Lightning flashed, illuminating Ghoul’s face, and sending flashing shadows across the Dracs’ faces, and fear shivered down Party’s spine

Ghoul sucked in a breath to start yelling, but he hit the ground with another coughing fit, and Party punched the Drac, trying to get away. “Get off me you fucking pig!” Party hissed.

Ghoul snapped his head back into the Drac’s face, looking smug for a moment before getting a faceful of raygun, the Drac slamming his raygun into Ghoul’s nose.

Party cringed at Ghoul’s yell, and the blood pouring out of his nose, the Dracs letting him go unsupported as he kneeled on the ground. 

A black haired SCARECROW stepped out from wherever they were hiding, a smug smirk on his face that Party longed to punch. “What are you two little Zone Rats doing out here?”

Party rolled his eyes, partly stalling because he couldn’t remember the Crows name. Flare? Fire? Something along those lines. He knew it started with an F at the very least.

“C’mon Flare.” Ghoul said. “Haven’ you had enough of stalking me? You know I’m no’ indo you thad way.” His grin and slightly muted broken-nose voice made Party’s heart flutter.

The resounding thud dropped his stomach, and Ghoul was on the ground, breathing hard. Flare kicked him in the side, and then again in the face. But Ghoul tried to stand, making it to his knees before swaying harder to stay upright. He got to his feet, then Flare kicked at his knee, sending him back to square one with a pained yell.

Party wrestled with his Drac for a second before snarling, “you don’t touch him.”

That was a mistake. Ghoul shook his head, and Flare smirked, “is that so?” He grabbed a handful of Ghoul’s hair and lifted his chin. The blood down his face and throat almost hid the bruise blooming over his cheekbone.

Ghoul grinned up at Flare and spat at him. Flare seethed, and twisted his hand, causing Ghoul to cry out. Party slammed his head into the face behind him, using Ghoul’s distraction to get the upper hand and knock one out. The next one came at him, and he grabbed its head, bringing it down to meet his knee. He turned to Flare, still holding Ghoul hostage, holding the knife close to his throat. His voice was steady, but his hand shook.

Flare laughed, “you don’t even trust yourself.”

Party smiled, a sweet, innocent smile. “It’s not me I need to trust.” He opened his hand, and the knife fell straight into Ghoul’s grip, who shoved it into Flare’s chest. Flare stumbled back, and fell off the knife, literally kicking Ghoul away. Ghoul hit the ground hard, the knife skittering across the rocks, and Party grabbed it, standing to face the Dracs.

Lighting and thunder accompanied his attempt at escape, and Party made short work of them; their guns were completely useless, so they didn’t actually have a weapon. Briefly, Party wondered why they didn’t carry knives, but then Ghoul groaned, and Party dropped down next to him. “Are you okay? You’re not lookin’ so hot.”

“I’m fine, ya bastard.” Ghoul snapped. “Where the hell is Flare?”

“He’s gone.”

“As in…?”

“Disappeared.”

“Thank fuck.”

Party pulled off his bandanna and held it to Ghoul’s face, and Ghoul put his hand over Party’s, taking the bandanna. There’s a huge flash, and everything goes white.

* * * *

    Party cracked his eyes open. The same desert light filtered through his eyelids, and stung as he got his eyes all the way open. “Ghoul?” No answer. Maybe he was still unconscious. Something knocked them out and—There’s no Ghoul. There’s no Trans-Am, and there’s no Drcas. “Where the hell am I?” There’s nobody around, but it looked like he was laying on some kinda road, an old dirt road, but the dirt looked freshly turned, like it was still being used. So Party stood, and he started walking.

    The air slammed out of Ghoul’s lungs and he gasped, the ground warm against his back. For a second, he just laid there, trying to get air into his lungs. After a moment, he rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to make it to his feet. “Party?” He yelled. Nothing. There’s no sign of him, or the fight they were just in. Party’s bandanna is still in his hand, so it wasn’t a dream. “Party!” Still no answer. A tiny-looking town is on the horizon, and it’s all Ghoul could do to stumble into it, and the moment he did, he stared.

The streets were dirt, and every building was wood, the sidewalk cracked and broken from various things. The women were dressed in dresses, like, actual ankle length dresses, and the men were dressed in pants and vests. Ghoul looked down at his own green vest. At least he was sort of in the right clothes. There were carriages along the street, horses tied up to various posts. Horses. Real live horses. Ghoul’s jaw dropped. “Phoenix Witch!” He walked up to one slowly. Party had told him about horses. He only had vague memories from before the Helium Wars, the four-legged animals in fields, with swishy tails. Party knew from what they had told him in Battery City.

Someone crashed into him and he turned, ready for a fight. The kid jerked back, his hands curled into fists.

“The hell’d you do that for?” Ghoul snapped.

“Who messed up your face?” The kid looked as ready to fight as Ghoul felt.

“None ya business.”

“Well ya crashed into me.” The kid leaned back on his heels and regarded Ghoul cooly.

“The hell are you on! You crashed into me ya fuckin china doll!”

“What does that even mean?” The kid looked at him like he was nuts.

Ghoul rolled his eyes. “If you really wanna know, it was a dude named Flare.”

“Messed up name.”

“Messed up dude.”

“C’mon. You look like you need some help.” Ghoul followed the random kid, and while he was aware that following the random kid was never a good idea, and never turned out well, he still needed answers as to where he was. “Wha’s your name? I’m Liam.”

“Ghoul.”

“What kinda names do your people have?”

“Okay, first of all, Flare is not ‘my people’. And we choose them. Well, Flare didn’t. But I did. And so did Party.” Ghoul followed him, all the way to a two story wooden building, titled “Home for Young Boys.” A newspaper vendor sat just outside, and Ghoul caught a glimpse of the date.

June 8th, 1899.

Ghoul’s mind raced. That’s impossible. But it made sense. Actual, standing buildings, weird clothes, weird slang, horses. He had time travelled.

“Who’s that?” Liam yanked him out of his thoughts, and forced him to keep going.

“My friend. He disappeared.”

“Outta thin air? That ain’t possible.”

“No, we came here, and he disappeared.”

“Fuck.” Ghoul looked at him in surprise. He didn’t seem like the type to cuss like Ghoul would. “Normally I wouldn’t say that, but ‘round here we’ve been havin’ some problems.”

“What kinda problems?” Ghoul asked.

“The kid-stealin’ kind.” Liam opened the door to the boys home and motioned him inside. “Six kids’ve been taken in the last two weeks. Looks like this Party is the seventh.”

“He wouldn’t let that happen.”

“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No, you don't get it.” Ghoul grabbed Liam’s shoulder. “Party’s the best Killjoy we got. He’s gotten his way out of plenty of claps before, and I guarantee they’re a lot worse than whatever plastic flower’s out here.”

“You talk so strangely.”

* * * *

    When Party finally made it to a town, it was dark, and the lights of the town are gas lights in the windows.

    There’s a scream, and Party’s fight or flight went directly into overdrive, and as normal, skidded violently past flight and into fight mode. He raced down the alley, where a kid his age, dirtied up and angry, fought hard against the guy who was grabbing him.

    “Hey! Let him alone!” Party yelled. He ran towards the kid, before someone else caught his arms, and held him back. The guy who was going after the first kid punched Party, and he gasped, feeling the blood trickle into his mouth. “What gave you the right to hurt a kid like that?” Party snarled.

    “What gave you the right to interfere in my business?” The guy hit him in the stomach and slowly Party sunk to the ground. He coughed weakly, and thought about Ghoul and his coughing fits, and his fever.

    “Ghoul…” Please be alright.

    The guy punched him in the face and his head snapped back. Slowly, the lights faded, and the world turned black.

    When Party came to, he was in a room with seven other kids, all dirty, all around Party’s age. “Hey. Um… Where are we?”

    “Dunno.” Someone responded.

    Another person pressed close to him and whispered, “thanks for trying to help.”

    “I wasn’t gonna stand by and let him take you.” Party muttered.

    “Who—Who’s Ghoul?”

    Party turned bright red, he could feel it. “Ghoul—Ghoul came with me here. I think. I don’t know where he is.”

    “Who is he? To you?”

    “I don’t—”

    The door opened, and someone dumped a plate of food on the ground. All seven kids scrambled for it, racing to see who got to it first. Party leaned back against the wall.

    The kid Party tried to help came back, with a scrap of bread. “You didn’t go for anything.” He observed.

    “There isn’t enough, and I’m not gonna take from kids who need it.” Especially since he had a lot of experience in starving from the Zones. “Besides, I’m used to it.”

    “Nobody should have to say they’re used to starving.” The kid tore the bread apart and handed one half to Party.

    Party paused, before taking it. “My situation is different.”

    “So what are you gonna do?”

    “I need to get out of here.”

* * * *

    “The police have been searching everywhere for these guys, but I think I know where they are.”

    Ghoul, Liam, and two other boys sat in a circle in a room full of bunks. They had explained to him what they were, and the whole boys home thing. They were newsboys, sold papers on the street, and most were orphans, so they lived in the boys home. Liam said they could get you anywhere and anything.

    “Where?”

    “There’s an old ghost town not far from here. I think that's where they are. It’s not even four hours ride.”

    “Ride?”

    “A horse?”

    “Oh.” Ghoul didn’t know how to ride a horse. “When do we leave?”

    “Now, I guess. We’ll have to borrow some horses, but we’re ready. Do you have a gun? Or a knife?”

    “Yeah. Although what good it will do.” Ghoul pulled out his raygun, checked the battery, and sniffed happily. “Yeah. It’ll work.”

    “What is that.”

    “It’s my gun.” Ghoul, very clearly, wasn’t gonna say anything more about it.

   

    Fifteen minutes later, Ghoul, Liam, and the two others, Gavin and Jeramiah, who insisted we call him Jem, had four horses, each on borrowed, except for Gavin’s who saved up an entire years wages to get a horse. He said he wanted to be a cowboy. Ghoul waited until everyone was already on their horse before trying to get up, hoping that he would be able to figure out how to do it. Finally he got up into the saddle—and almost fell off the other side. “Fuck! Fuck!” Liam laughed as Ghoul forced himself back up. Ghoul huffed, and they set off. Ghoul was super wobbly, almost falling off several times.

    “When we start trotting, we’re gonna have a problem, I think.” Jem says with a smile.

    “What the fuck is trotting?” Ghoul asked.

    Simultaneously, Jem, Gavin and Liam, started at a faster, bouncier pace. His horse started following them, and panicked, Ghoul grabbed the piece of leather sticking out of the saddle, Liam called it the saddle horn.

    All three started laughing, and Ghoul glared at all of them. “You know what you guys, shut up.”

    “Okay, we’ll lope then.” They started going even faster, but this time it was smoother, but Ghoul still felt himself sliding out of the saddle.

    “Heels down, pockets touching the saddle!” Liam yelled.

    “What does that even mean!?” Ghoul yelled back, right before he hit the ground. “Motherfucking shit!” Ghoul gasped.

    The three circled back around, Jem grabbing the reins and handing them to Ghoul as he stood back up. “That's gonna hurt tomorrow, Ghoulie!”

    “Don’t call me that!” Ghoul snapped. Only Party called him that. He hauled himself back into the saddle, and they all continued on, this time Ghoul stayed in the saddle.

* * * *

    Party stood as footsteps came to the door, and he darted behind the door. The second he opened it, Party slammed it forward, and heard a thunk as it hit his head. He threw the door open and kicked the guy in the balls, then punching him in the face. The kids cheered, and Party turned. “Shhh. You guys gotta be quiet or they’re gonna hear us. Any of you have somethin’ sharp?”

    None of them nod, so Party leads them out, slowly, and quietly. The first room he came to, a desk stood, and he searched every drawer, eventually finding a letter opener. “This’ll work.”

    “Listen, I’m going to take it one hallway at a time. I’m gonna go first, and I’ll clear it out. Then you guys will come with me.”

    There was no one in the building. Party saw his switchblade on a table and grabbed it, tossing the letter opener to the kid he had helped, who was the second oldest, as far as he could tell. “This your audition?”

    “What?”

    “Is it your first fight?”

    He nodded.

    “You’re gonna do fine. Move before you think you need to, okay?”

    “Is this your first fight?”

    “Not even close.”

    The group made it out unharmed, but that was when everything changed. There were two men guarding the door, and Party managed a strangled “stay there!” while he took them down, a lot bloodier than he’d like. “Don’t look.” Party muttered as he led the group into the desert town’s air. They looked a lot dirtier in the bright sun.

    “Get down!” Someone yelled, and Party automatically hit the ground, pulling down the other kids with him. There was a hail of gunfire, and pounding hooves. “Party?”

    “Gavin! Get to Strings and get us a sheriff! Go! Run!”

    “Ghoul?” Party yelled. More bullets hit the wood above him. “Guys, you have to listen to me. Do not stand up. Otherwise, you will die. I’m serious.”

    Some of the kids looked scared out of their minds. Party was okay with that. He grabbed the gun dropped by the guards outside the door just as one of the kids stood up, looking about ready to take off and run. A half-second later, he was writhing on the ground. Blood bloomed on his dirty shirt, and he screams as Party pulled him to safety.

    “Ghoul, we got injured!” Party yelled. “Alright kid.” He said softly, pulling off another of his bandannas. “You’re gonna be okay, but this is gonna hurt a lot,” the poor kid whimpers, and as Party pressed down on his wound, and he screamed louder than Party had ever heard someone scream. “You’re gonna be okay, kid, I swear. Ghoulie an’ I, we ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to you. I swear to Destroya.”

    “Party!” Ghoul screamed, sounding terrified.

    “Listen, listen, press down here. Don’ let go for the goddamn world.” The boy nods, and Party snuck around the side of the box, to see Ghoul, a knife at his throat, gun across the street.

    “Drop the gun!” The guy with the knife yelled.

    “Don’ move, Ghoul!” Party yelled. He aimed carefully, and with a bang, the guy fell behind Ghoul. Party started to run to meet him in the street, but something stopped him. Something being a loud crack, and a scream. It felt like he had been punched in the gut, but there was no one around him.

   

    Ghoul watched Party get shot, watched the yellow Keep Smiling on his shirt turn to red. “No!” Ghoul sprinted over to him, catching him as he began to fall. “Party, Party, please don’t do this.” Party was completely oblivious.

    “Ghoul… tell Kobra I’m sorry.”

    “No! No, you’ll tell him yourself, you stubborn bastard.” Ghoul tried not to think about how eerily similar Party’s blood was to his hair. 

    “At least I get to die here with you.” Party looked up at him with glassy eyes.

    “You’re not gonna die. I swear to the Phoenix Witch.”

    “Ghoulie… Ghoulie, are you crying? Didn’t know you cared so much.” It was true, Ghoul’s tears carved tracks in the dirt on his face, and the two were blissfully unaware of the firefight going on above them.

    The police had come.

    “Party you fuckin’ idiot.” Ghoul sniffed. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

    “I know, Ghoul. I have too.” Party whispered. His voice wavered, and he fell heavier into Ghoul’s arms.

    “No. No, please don't.” Ghoul leaned down and kissed Party, and Party kissed him back albeit weakly. Ghoul pulled away and wiped Party’s blood away. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” Ghoul pulled him closer, and Party’s eyes slid glassily to meet Ghoul’s.

    “Don’t… leave.”

    “I won’t. I’m staying right here.” Party’s head drops, and his eyes stare past Ghoul, somewhere far away. Ghoul buried his head in Party’s shoulder, before resting him on the ground and grabbing his gun. Ghoul stood up, glaring at the guys who had shot Party. He got a few effective shots off before he felt a hard hit, then again. He looked down, and his chest was colored red. “Fuck.” He fell next to Party, the lights already fading. “It’s alright. I’m here.” He took Party’s hand, and the world disappeared.

* * * *

    Ghoul woke up on the floor.

    The world was bathed in a dark red, and everything was fuzzy. There was a creaking, like a rusty wheel turning, and a figure came into view. They were covered head to toe in feathers, and hovered a few inches above the ground. The creaking was the squeaky wheel of a cart she was pushing, filled with masks. Killjoy masks.

    “I know who you are.”

    Ghoul’s voice echoed in the silence.

    “Do you now?”

    Her voice didn’t echo.

    “Yeah. I do. The Phoenix Witch. You’re her.” Ghoul looked up at her mask. “Why are you here?”

    “Because it’s not your time. You still have work to do where you’re from.”

    “What do you mean? How are you here? What’s gonna happen to those kids?”

    “Killjoys didn’t create me. But you believe in me. That gives me power. And I can be with you. I am with all of you, always. Even in a different time. A different dimension. As for the kids, that’s the past. It’s not about what will. It’s about what has.”

    “What happened?”

    “The boy who got shot didn’t survive. The rest went back to their old lives.”

    “Why us?”

    “Because you’re the hope for the future.”

* * * *

    Party woke up to Ghoul’s breathing. They were surrounded by dead Dracs, and Ghoul’s bloody nose was still bleeding. Everything that had happened in the last two days, had disappeared. Party pulled up his shirt. There was a scar where he remembered being shot. He remembered Ghoul’s kiss, and remembered how much it hurt to die. “Ghoul?” His voice cracked.

   Ghoul woke with a start, almost immediately breaking into a coughing fit, sucking in breath after breath. He stared at Party for a moment, disbelief in his eyes. Then he hugged him hard, and kissed him harder.

    “Ghoul, what happened?”

    “You were shot. You—You died. Right there in front of me.” Ghoul paused. “Party, I met the Witch. The Phoenix Witch.”

    “What did she say?”

    “They made it. The boys made it. Except…”

    “The kid who got shot.”

    “Yeah. Party, I’m so sorry.”

    Party didn’t look at him for a long while. Then, “we have to get back. Can you walk?”

    Ghoul tried to stand, then shook his head. “Not without you.”

    “Alright. Come on.” Engines sound, and Party groaned. “Please not more Dracs.” Instead, it was two motorcycles, and as they got closer, Party realized it was Kobra and Jet. “‘Joys. It’s Kobra and Jet.”

    “I’m half broken, not fuckin’ blind.”

    “What the hell are you doing?” Kobra shouted, jumping off his skidding bike in true Motorbaby fashion.

    Ghoul let go and leaned on the Trans-Am, and Party pulled Kobra in for a hug, not looking like he was letting go any time soon. Kobra pulled away, stared at his brother for a moment, before punching him. Hard.

    “I deserved that.”

    “Yeah. Ya did. You disappear in the middle of the fuckin’ night, you get yourselves in a clap, you’ve both got the shit kicked outta you, and you expect me not to be mad!”

    Now Jet breaks in. “You dragged Ghoul into this, and now he can’t even stand straight.”

    “Jet, you have no idea. He didn’t even drag me into this. I aske—”

    “Ghoul, it’s fine. You guys are right. I never shoulda even considered leaving the Zones. It’s my fault. All of it.”

    Ghoul knew he was talking about the kid. “No. It wasn’t.”

    “Forget it.” Jet snapped.

    “We’re going home.” Kobra said. ���And staying there.”

[evil-butterfly-man]

I made this post because the idea amused me to some degree, but then I wrote a fic about it, and... it’s just Adrien Agreste being sad. Very sad. And now I feel bad.

Read on ao3

***

Master Fu smiled at the sight of him. He continued to smile until Adrien set the ring on the table and pushed it in his direction.

“I can’t keep it anymore,” Adrien said. The speech he had rehearsed on the way here died somewhere on his tongue, so he took a deep breath and managed only: “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

The old man regarded him carefully, making no move to reach for the discarded Miraculous.

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that,” Adrien said. “But I can’t tell you the details. It’s just—I’m not the right person for the job. I never have been.”

Despite his best efforts, his vision blurred and his eyes prickled with tears. He wiped them with the back of his hand but it was only making it worse.

“Tell Ladybug—” he hesitated. But, no, he didn’t know how to finish this sentence. Saying goodbye to Plagg had been hard enough.

He stood up. The ring was right there on the table, and the past months of his life with it. Ladybug would find someone worthy to succeed him, he was sure of it.

***

“You okay, man?” Nino asked.

“Hmm?”

Adrien had been twirling a pen between his fingers absent-mindedly. The general commotion told him that the class was most likely over; on the desk before him lay the completely blank notebook. He should have been taking notes—and there was homework, and—

“Hey,” Nino smiled. “That’s cool, I can send you my notes later. Lunch?”

“Lunch,” Adrien repeated, the word barely registering in his addled mind. “Yes. Lunch. We should go—”

Wailing of police sirens cut him off. His head shot up, towards the windows, trying to discern the source of the noise. But it was no use, everyone else was crowding in front of him, partway between scared and excited.

“Another akuma?”

“Yeah, look—it’s on Twitter—”

“Damn, that’s ugly—”

He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to hear, either. Luckily, he had had some practice in sneaking out of the room unnoticed during an attack. But where should he go? What if Ladybug needed him? She was out there, all alone – he realized that when he heard distant cheers. Master Fu must have warned her that Chat Noir wasn’t coming. Besides, three days had passed since then, they probably already found a replacement.

He paused, looked down, and realized where he was going.

The roof. No. He didn’t want to watch; but he needed to. It pulled at him, dragged him up the rickety stairs and through the trap door that really, honestly should have been fixed by now. What if she was having trouble? And what if she wasn’t? How would she work alongside her new partner? A jealous part of him didn’t want to be so easily replaced, but he had quit. He had no right to be angry.

Wherever the battle was, it couldn’t have been far. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he could see the tiny red figure leaping into the air, deflecting the villain’s attack with a few sure, practiced movements. She was a joy to watch; confident, courageous, caring.

They moved closer. It wasn’t just the akuma – a sentimonster came to its aid, a creature made of trees and plants that tore through the pavement with its fast-growing roots… Ladybug vanished between the buildings, the new Chat Noir nowhere in sight. Maybe she hadn’t found anyone yet?

He heard a loud crash from the building nearby. There, right there was Marinette’s parents’ bakery, and there was the akuma, on the opposite side of the street, climbing the balconies. Plants grew were it walked, trees shooting up from between the cobblestones, thick vines crushing cars and keeping the police from aiding Ladybug.

It really looked different, observed from outside.

And then, there she was – Ladybug, his Ladybug, whom he had abandoned; she wrestled with a vine but was too smart to get caught that easily. Her red costume stood out amidst the greenery that was drowning Paris. He could see her clearly, could almost imagine what it would be like to stand beside her once again.

A shadow unpeeled itself from a wall behind her. Adrien cried out a warning, but before she could react, Mayura was there, and she had taken hold of her.

Adrien had been completely numb these past few days. Now, however, he felt as if a veil had been lifted; at once he knew perfectly well that it was rage, terrible rage that left him shaking, unable to form words.

The edge of the roof was right there. There wasn’t much else he could do to help Ladybug, but he could do this, right?

“Hey!” he yelled. Then again, louder, until the hero and the villain took notice. “Finally.”

He jumped.

His mind was perfectly clear – anger did that – and for a moment it was as if he was flying, nothing but the rush of wind in his ears.

It didn’t last, of course. Gravity took hold and the ground rushed towards him. Funny how—

The sudden stop pushed all air out of his lungs. For a moment Adrien struggled to breathe. He was standing on solid, blissfully solid ground, not squashed into a pancake but all nice and whole, still in shock after what had just happened.

Someone was holding him. Her hands were on his shoulders, and she was saying something, voice pitched high in panic.

“Adrien, why have you—what—” She pulled him into a tight embrace. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Regardless of circumstances, the hug felt—nice. Safe. The last time he had felt like this was when his father had, inexplicably, decided to come to the fashion show.

“Get away from him!” Ladybug said.

Mayura pulled back. Her pink eyes were wide, and he thought she might have gone a shade paler, but it was impossible to say with the weird hue of her skin.

“It’s okay,” Adrien said dejectedly. “She won’t hurt me.”

Except she had, and she would, and he hated her, hated them both, her and his father, for everything they did to Paris, to Ladybug, to Adrien himself.

Oh, but he enjoyed the look on her face once she realized he knew who she was. He would remember that look no matter how all of this ended. Let her suffer too, she deserved it—and now she was compromised, now Ladybug had the upper hand, and she would win, like she always won.

Mayura stepped away from him. Then she turned and run, the sentimonster covering her escape.

***

Ladybug defeated another akuma. Chat Noir’s absence had been commented upon, but he had been absent before. The remaining classes of the day were uneventful, although Adrien hadn’t managed to take even a single coherent note. This might hurt his class performance, if anyone was left to care about this sort of thing.

But then classes were over. It was time to go home.

He had been wondering—but no, his bodyguard showed up alone to collect him. Maybe he was in on the whole thing, but Adrien doubted it. Still, he was reluctant to climb into his seat. It was just that he didn’t have anywhere else to go to. And a part of him was curious as to what they had to say.

Father was waiting in the foyer, Nathalie right behind him as always. The bodyguard left, confirming Adrien’s suspicions.

“So?” Adrien said into the cold, dead silence of the house. “What happens now?”

Looking at father was a bit like leaping from the edge of that rooftop, Adrien thought humourlessly. At least back then he only had the ground to fear.

“I can explain,” father said quietly.

He was standing straight, hands folded behind his back. The uncertainty was in his expression, in the tone of his voice; in contrast Nathalie was barely keeping herself still, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy.

“I’m not sure I care about your explanations,” Adrien said.

“Adrien—”

“What is it about, father?” he asked. “Money? Power? You cannot possibly want any more than you already have!”

But he knew. He had known all along, because father was standing by that portrait Adrien hated so much, with just him and his father and the grief still fresh on their faces. He knew.

He had done the right thing, giving up his Miraculous. Later, when father took him to see mother sleeping in the glass coffin, Adrien became sure of it. Because, if asked right then and there, he would have given it to him without question.

[assortedfruitsnacks212]

Reylo - The Descent of Ishtar - Part Three

Read Part One

Read Part Two

Unlike the green light from before, the blue light wasn't a distant point for Rey to follow. It was buried in the walls, pulsing and dancing, like currents of energy. Rey walked forward slowly, eyes wide, fingertips reaching out to skim the glowing rock. The light seemed to be pulling her, she thought - tugging at her hair and clothes with gentle, unseen hands. It reminded her of the seaweed around the cavern mouth, and for a moment, she thought she heard the voices again. Rey, come. Come and see, Rey. 

Then another voice spoke, this one a deep, rich baritone. Rey, I need you. Rey hesitated, heart jumping into her throat. There was no mistaking that voice. Ben. Breath quickening, she stepped forward into the darkness. He was here somewhere, calling her. She had to find him. When the passage plummeted, spiraling downward like a corkscrew, Rey didn't break stride. She kept her hand out, using the wall for balance as she raced downward. The blue light rushed along beside her like a joyous river, its energy so potent that she could hear it roaring through the Force. At the bottom, hidden under the last curve of the corkscrew, Rey found another gate. Unlike the first, there was no light at the apex. Instead, the rivers of blue light converged at the gate, swirling around its edges and turning it into an otherworldly portal. At the gate's center, an eight-pointed star glowed a soft blue. The Guardian was nowhere to be seen, but Rey didn't let that stop her. Hurrying forward, she reached out and touched the star. Take me to Ben. Please. For a long moment, nothing happened. She blinked, eyes roaming the gate. Did she do something wrong? Then the ground dropped from under her feet. She fell, screaming, barely catching hold of the ledge where the gate had been. Above her, the entire cavern crumbled into nothing, and the blue light in the walls rushed out to become a hyperspace tunnel, blindingly bright, spinning into an infinite distance. Powerful gusts of wind tore at Rey's hair, her clothes, her grip. She cried out, terrified, even as a small part of her brain noted there wouldn't be wind in hyperspace. If she died here, in this Force-born dream world, what would it mean? No - she wouldn’t even think of it. Gritting her teeth, she gathered her strength and pulled herself up, screaming from the strain of it. Once she was safely on the ledge, she scrambled away as fast as she could, breathing hard, arms shaking. It took her a few seconds to realize the rock under her hands had turned cold and smooth. She looked down in confusion. When she saw metal, not rock, she twisted to look behind her. All traces of the cavern were gone. She was aboard the Millennium Falcon, sprawled on the floor in the main hold. She stared with wide eyes. Normally she would be happy to see the Falcon, but not this time. Not here. Then, without warning, an impact rocked the Falcon, knocking the entire ship on its side. Rey tumbled into the row of seats behind her, almost hitting her head. A roar echoed from the passageway to the cockpit - Chewie, yelling something about "First Order bastards" in Shyriiwook. The First Order. The Falcon was under attack. Rey struggled to stand, panic coursing through her limbs. She had to get to the lower turret and help defend the Falcon. Before she could gain her footing, another impact sent her crashing into the wall. A strange voice cried out from below, and klaxons started blaring through the entire ship. As Rey groaned, pushing herself up from the floor, she saw smoke billowing up the ladder from the turret bay. "Chewie," the strange voice cried, "we just lost our second gun! We've got to get out of here!" In that moment, Rey realized who it was. Shivers danced down her back. It's me. That's why the voice was strange - she'd never heard it outside of her own head. As if called forth by her thoughts, a form emerged through the smoke, coughing and cursing. Rey was unnerved to see herself, dressed exactly as she was now, with a few extra cuts and bruises. Clearly her other self couldn't see her; though Rey was in plain sight, Other-Rey ran right past her, heading for the cockpit. Rey hesitated only briefly, then followed after her. When they reached the cockpit, Chewie roared about the state of the Falcon. Catastrophic damage, he said. It wouldn’t take much more for them to disintegrate completely. And there were still three fighters left. As he spoke, he launched the Falcon into a downward spin, dodging red streaks of laser fire. Rey gripped the back of a chair as she took in the scene out the window. They were plowing through the ring system of a blue gas giant, weaving in and out of large chunks of ice. Rey had never seen anything like it, and for a second she could only think of how beautiful it was. Then Chewie pulled them into another hair-raising turn, and her stomach lurched. I will NOT throw up, I will NOT throw up, she thought angrily. “Check the scanners, there has to be a larger body around here somewhere,” Other-Rey cried. Chewie roared. “Good, take us there!” The Falcon turned abruptly, barely missing a chunk of ice half its size. Behind them, an enemy fighter ran into the chunk they’d missed, exploding in a fireball. Rey gripped the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. In all her time on the Falcon, Chewie had never pulled such desperate maneuvers. Things were bad - really bad. The next minute of dodging and spinning felt like an eternity to Rey. Just as she thought she couldn’t take anymore, she caught sight of their destination: a chunk of ice so huge it straddled the line between asteroid and moon. She knew instantly what Other-Rey was planning, and she smiled. It was exactly what she would’ve done - which made sense, come to think of it. When they reached the ice body, Chewie pushed the Falcon into a dive, pulling up just in time to avoid crashing into the surface. As they ducked through craters and valleys, evading enemy fire, they skimmed the ice so closely that Rey could see veins of blue beneath. Eventually a large crater loomed ahead of them. The scanners showed it was a tunnel. "That one, Chewie!" Other-Rey cried.  

Chewie growled and took them down in a sharp spin. The enemy fighters followed, and together they plummeted into the asteroid’s translucent depths. The tunnel was full of columns, spiderwebbing stalactites, and entire sheets of ice. Multiple times Rey cried, “Chewie!” - only to remember he couldn’t hear her. She just had to trust that this wasn’t a vision of their death. It wasn’t, right? Her answer came when they burst out of the tunnel, and both enemy fighters crashed into an ice column behind them. The sight of their fiery demise elicited a whoop from Rey and Other-Rey. They’d beaten the odds. They had won.

Immediately, Chewie slowed down the Falcon. As it settled to a gentle cruising speed, drifting out into the ice field, everyone in the cockpit breathed a sigh of relief. The blue planet glowed peacefully below, its light refracting through the countless bits of ice around them. The sense of peace didn’t last long. Reaching for the console, Other-Rey paged through a systems report. Her face fell, telling Rey more than she wanted to know. “It’s bad,” Other-Rey said. “There’s no way we can jump into hyperspace like this. If we don’t repair the Falcon...we’re stranded.” Suddenly, a new set of klaxons blared to life in the passageway behind them. Red and yellow lights started flashing on the console, and as Other-Rey frantically checked the source, Rey felt her stomach drop. “We’re leaking atmosphere,” Other-Rey said. “At this rate we’ll lose it all in thirty minutes!” Chewie bellowed and banged his wooly paws on the console. “I can fix this, I can fix this!” said Other-Rey. What happened next, happened in the blink of an eye. Other-Rey turned to run out of the cockpit and barreled straight into Rey. But instead of passing harmlessly through her, she made full-on impact, knocking Rey to the ground. In the split-second that she was falling, Rey thought she saw her double falling too. But by the time she pushed herself up on one elbow, holding a hand to her aching head, Other-Rey had vanished. Chewie turned in his chair, his dark eyes locked on her. With a jolt, Rey realized he could see her. Her. Not Other-Rey. He asked her what had happened. She stared at him, confused, until he got out of his seat and approached her. As he helped her up, growling his paternal concern, she caught sight of her hands. They had cuts on them... cuts she didn't have before. She put the pieces together then. Other-Rey was gone. It was her turn now. She blinked, straightening up. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing Chewie off. “Just...just stay here, make sure we don’t hit anything.” Then she stumbled out of the cockpit, mind racing. It was a test, she thought, hurrying down the corridor. This was the worst spot they’d ever been in. She had to figure out how to fix the Falcon. She had to— She stopped short at the entrance to the main hold. There, right in front of her, stood the Guardian - white eyes, cane, and all. A cold shaft of fear lanced through Rey. Oh no. But she squared her shoulders, refusing to show weakness. “Where have you been?” she asked accusingly. The Guardian was unruffled. “I never left,” she answered. Before Rey could think of a comeback, the Guardian continued, “Get in the escape pods. Abandon the Falcon.” “You—what?” The Guardian couldn’t ask for this. How could she? "No," Rey said. "This is my ship. My home. I won’t just give it up, not when there’s a chance I can save it.” “And that is why you must,” the Guardian replied. “At every gate, you must sacrifice something of value. You value the Millennium Falcon, therefore you must give it up. It is the only way." “But...” Rey cast her gaze around the main hold. Its endearingly grimy floors, the rust on its walls. “What happens if I give it up? Is this...” She swallowed. “Is this just a dream, or...is it...” She trailed off. The Guardian finished her thought. “Or is it more than a dream?” Rey nodded. When the Guardian said nothing, watching her quietly instead, it was answer enough. Panic chewed at Rey’s gut, and she looked around at the main hold again. Home, she thought. The word echoed over and over inside her. Home, home, home…

She blinked hard. Pain blossomed in her chest like a dark flower. "I... wanted to save it for Ben." She glanced at the Guardian, then ducked her head. "When he turns... if he turns... he'll need a home. The Resistance won't accept him. Not after everything he's done." "I know," the Guardian responded gently. "But think carefully, child. Which do you value more: the shelter this ship provides, or the man you wish to give it to?" Startled, Rey looked up at the Guardian. As she observed the woman's regal form, her white eyes, her painfully familiar face, she had the strange sensation of being seen. Not just physically seen... pierced to the core. Somehow this woman knew her better than she knew herself. It made her feel vulnerable, and yet, there was a comfort in it, too. One by one, her protests died. The next time she spoke, it was with a soft, shaky voice. "If I give you the Falcon... will you show me how to reach him?" The Guardian smiled, and it felt like a ray of sunlight. Stepping aside, she pointed to the corridor with the escape pods. Rey took a breath and started forward, only to freeze in her tracks.  "Wait... Chewie." She turned, intending to run for the cockpit.

The Guardian's voice stopped her.

"He is no longer here," the Guardian said. "This is your journey, Rey. No one else's.”

Rey stared in the direction of the cockpit, confused. But after a few moments, a sudden calm washed over her, and she turned to lock eyes with the Guardian.

She understood now.

In a way, this dream was just a dream. Somewhere out there, the real Chewie was safe, probably asleep in a bunk in the Resistance base. And he was no more aware of their current predicament on the Falcon than she was of his own dreams. And yet, as Rey walked past the Guardian toward the escape pods, she knew that didn’t make this - whatever this was - any less real.

The Force had heard her plea, and it had answered by bringing her here, to this reality beyond reality. Her choices mattered here - perhaps even shaped what reality would become. And every gate she passed through brought her one step closer to her destiny, to finding the answers for the Resistance, for Ben, for herself. It was exactly what she had prayed for. Still, when she settled into the escape pod, she couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to her eyes. With a hiss, the hatch closed above her, cutting her off from the Falcon. From the only place she’d ever felt at home.

Rey allowed the grief to wash over for her for a few moments, and then steadied herself. She knew what she had to do. 

I'm coming for you, Ben. She folded her hands over her heart, smiling through her tears. And this time... I'll be ready. 

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[panticwritten]

Writing prompt: “Quit stalling. Where’s your father?” Have fun with it!

Oh, RAD. I have the perfect idea for this, thank so much!

This is a situation that would take place somewhere near the middle of A Sequence of Regrettable Happenings. I’m not sure if this will actually happen in canon or not because I haven’t daydreamed this far, so we’ll just call it a crack scene for now.

Word count: 1760

Send me prompts for drabbles!

I knew the Cloaks would come after me eventually. I knew Damien would only be able to let me run around, knowing full-well that I’m alive, for so long without doing something. I knew all of this, and I’ve still been careless.

And I didn’t expect them to send K after me.

I try to reassure myself, even with my pounding headache and the knowledge of how thoroughly screwed I am.

The Baudelaires are safe, Connor is safe. Kane is keeping an eye on them, no one will be able to hurt them with the Scouts watching out for them. They’ll worry, it will hurt when they find out about what will happen today, but at least they’ll be alive.

They’ll move on without me. Kane will make sure of it.

I tug at the rope binding my wrists, remembering the day I taught him this knot. The smell of the woods wreaths around me, and I close my eyes. He picked it up like it was nothing, he was always deft with his hands.

He was better at knots, I was better with the dagger I drove through his hand that day. I deserve this, and I know it. For all I know, the little kid I trained volunteered for this job.

Well, he isn’t a little kid anymore. He takes his job seriously. Even if I wasn’t such a shit friend to him, I doubt he would hesitate to kill me.

Rule #1: Trust no one, especially not your friends. I’m the one that taught him that, all those years ago.

I open my eyes and the sounds of the sea return. I’m not sure where he’s brought me, or how long I was unconscious before now. All I know is I’m in a dark room and I’m here because of K.

A bottle of wine, one I’d bought myself, and the dizzy headache that comes with a drugging. I was alone, so obviously no one noticed. The last thing I remember is slumping to the floor, trying to reach my pager, and him coming around a corner.

A door opens behind me, a light flicking on shortly after. I jerk my head, trying to look over my shoulder, a task made difficult by my bindings and the too-soft mattress I lay on. I’m facing the wall, and it gives me anxiety.

A surprised sound comes, and I recognize it as K’s voice.

“You’re awake. You should have said something.”

I huff, trying again to turn around. “I’m not talking to you right now.”

The door closes again, footsteps tracking around the room. “I know. Why are you still tied up?”

I don’t answer, finally getting around to doing exactly what he was likely expecting me to do upon waking up. With a jerk and a sharp crack my left hand slips out of the binding.

I whimper, the fire of pain in my hand worse than I remember.

I don’t turn around immediately, pulling my hands from behind my back and holding them close to my chest. My left hand aches, my thumb twisted at an odd angle from being dislocated. 

I can’t feel my right hand, the one that was trapped under my body, and I quietly wait for it to gain feeling. K hasn’t killed me yet, I’m guessing he can wait a few more minutes.

“You should have tied it tighter,” I mutter. “It’s sloppy.”

“I’m not your apprentice anymore.” His voice isn’t bitter, like I would expect it to be, but it does hold a friendly challenge. He won’t even give me the decency of acting like he hates be before killing me.

I prop myself up and twist around, hindered by my still-bound ankles. My hand still tingles, but it’ll work for now. I don’t look around the room, not wanting to give him a reason to get on with this.

Instead, I shake the coil of rope from around my wrist and start picking at the bindings on my ankles with my working hand, the other held limply in my lap.

“And this rope. It’s slippery, lets your-”

“Jess. Look at me.”

My legs free, the offending synthetic rope threaded between my fingers, I finally look up.

A single light swings from the ceiling, a bright bulb lighting up the room. The room itself is bare save for the bed I sit on, a desk, and a matching chair. K leans against the doorway, opposite a window overlooking the see, watching me.

He’s not wearing the Cloaks’ uniform, which throws me off. I don’t think I’ve seen him out of that uniform in ten years.

“Did–” I pause, hiding my surprise by swinging my legs over the side of the bed to face him completely. “Did Damien send you?”

He nods. “Yeah. I would be here even if he hadn’t, though.”

I raise my brows, surprised. “Really? Why’s that?”

“I can’t get ahold of Kane. I need you to tell me where he is.” That shakes me even more. He doesn’t look at me, troubled gaze pointed out the window. “I have business with him.”

Business. I could count the times that phrase has been used to mean something good by people I know on one hand. His mention of Kane gives me the motivation I need to get out of here, though. I’m not selling Kane out, and I’m sure as hell not dying today.

I drop the rope, tightening my grip of the small knife I’d had tucked in my boot. K forgot the most basic rule, not to underestimate any target, when he left this where I could get it.

I flash across the room, colliding with him at the door.

He doesn’t fight back, not when I lunge for him, and not when my knife arcs through the air with crimson drops flying in its wake. Perhaps I misjudged him, he might be more sentimental than I thought.

With my left hand screwed up, I have to use my knife hand to open the door. I expect hands to fall on me, to stop me, but I get through the door and out of the room unhindered.

Stumbling out, the door slamming behind me, I freeze when I see the second room of the building.

Damien sits on a chair, his back facing me, and Dave sits on the other side of the kitchen island, bowl of cereal in one hand and waving to me with the other. A spoon hangs out of his mouth.

My equilibrium isn’t just thrown off, I think it just took a dive off the cliff into the ocean.

Damien turns to face me, and I wonder just what the hell happened to him. A dark bruise spreads from his left temple down to his nose, he looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks.

“Oh, you’re awake. Did K–” His eyes land on the bloody knife in my hand, and he sighs. “I told him to be straightforward.”

The door behind me opens, and K brushes past me. He doesn’t say anything, not about my technique admonishments, not about me literally slicing his arm up.

“What–” I lose my voice, not able to ask my question fully. What the fuck is happening? Damien seems to understand, though.

“We’re out on the edge of Lake Lachrymose, we figured we wouldn’t be bothered. I think you own it under one of your aliases, actually.”

I glance around and nod. I haven’t been here since I was a teenager, so I didn’t recognize it at first. I stopped coming when I got banned from Damacles Dock.

I turn my eyes back on Damien, critical. “What happened to you, and why are we here?”

He grins.

“I had a disagreement with our sector’s department head about your status. He tried to kick the shit out of me when I told them to leave you alone, but I won.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This asshole, championing for me? “So, yeah you’re off the hook there.”

“I’m out?” The words are barely audible, but everyone–even K, when he turns back from wrapping his arm up–smiles in response. “For real?”

“Yeah, you’re out, finally.” Damien stands and crosses to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Though, if you ever get bored, there’s no shortage of freelance work.”

“No, I–” I swallow hard, the idea of being done with the Cloaks still not sinking in. “God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, Jess,” K calls. I look up at him, not wanting to meet his eye. I just attacked him, and he was trying to help me.

Hang on.

“Why the fuck was I tied up?” I demand. Dave laughs out loud, and K just lifts his bandaged arm as if it’s an explanation.

“Do you think we wanted you to try to kill us off the bat?” 

“What was the point in bringing me here at all? I was busy, I have to–” I look back through the still-open door, at the lake in the distance. I was only supposed to be gone for the night, a single night to let out the frustrations of six years of fear. Connor and the kids must have noticed that I’m missing by now. The longer I’m gone, the more likely Connor is to do something that could give their location away.

“We saw some of Olaf’s crew on your block,” Dave explains. “We didn’t really expect you to be at your apartment, but we definitely weren’t the only ones looking for you.”

A chill runs down my spine, and I don’t argue on that front anymore. If Damien had showed up at my house asking me to flee with him, I probably would have run away from him. I’d have run right into Olaf, then, and this would be a much worse day than it already is.

“Quit stalling,” K says, his voice bored. “Where’s your father?”

What?

“Did you just–with a straight face–call Kane my father?” I ask, stricken.

He shrugs. “Don’t make it weird. Where is he?”

I stare at him, but I don’t see any reason not to let them in on the whole thing. They’ve all done a lot to help me, all without me asking them to. I sigh, finally wiping my knife on my pants and slipping it back into my boot.

“I’ll show you. We’d better go now: It’s a long drive and I’m not sure how long Connor will be able to stand not knowing I’m alive.”

[imaginesoverreality]

The Agreement: Part 4

The clock is ticking and the race to win Steve Trevor’s heart has begun. But with his memory of Diana completely erased, the warrior from Themyscira must find a way to gain his trust, and eventually his love, in a world that is completely foreign to him. Without the dangers of war and imminent death, Diana has to find a way to help her fellow soldier adjust.

Author’s Note: This is kind of a “filler” chapter. But I had to put in there or else the rest of the story wouldn’t make sense.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!

Rating: M 

Word Count: 1784

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

“I look forward to meeting you again, Diana Prince.” 

The words rang in her ears as she waited for Steve to wake up. Leaving the darkness of the cave somehow caused Steve to collapse onto the wet rocks. By the grace of the gods, she managed to catch him, avoiding any injury. Diana determined Hades must have enchanted the exit as part of their deal. The storm outside that was crashing all around them, had finally calmed to murky gray waters. Steve laid peaceful on his back, breathing at a soft and rhythmic pace. She couldn't help but reach out to stroke the prickly stubble on his cheek. She retracted quickly, however, when his long eyelashes began batting wildly.

“Steve?” Diana whispered, forgetting that she was now a complete stranger to him. Steve was finally able to open his eyes and came face to face with one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen.

“Wow.” slipped out of his mouth before he could even stop himself. Diana smiled, despite the twinge of pain from a long lost memory. “Are you hurt?” Diana questioned, checking his head for any blood or sign of injury. Steve shook his head no as he lifted himself upward. Together, they slowly rose to their feet. The spy realized he actually had no idea where he was or who the woman is who saved him.

“Who are you? Where are we?” Steve asked frantically. The last thing he remembered was a flying a plane into the sky and flashes of golden light encompassing him. Now he’s standing on a misty shore with a goddess of a woman. “Am I dead? Is this heaven?” He scrunched his dark brown eyebrows in confusion. “If this really is heaven”, he thought to himself, “it’s pretty hideous”. The woman who helped him turned from looking out into the distance, to face him. He noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and red, but somehow that still didn’t mitigate her beauty.

“My name is Diana of Themy-” Diana stopped herself. She wasn’t sure how much of her story she should tell him at the moment. Most of her history Steve understood because he was there, he met her people. But now, she was just another woman to him.  “My name is Diana Prince. We are on an island in the Mediterranean.” Steve looked at her in confusion. How did he end up in the Mediterranean? He was in Belgium before he woke up.

“I need to go back to my post. I am a pilot for the American Forces and I have to check in with my superiors.” He started descending down the rocky cliff to a wooden boat he saw sitting on the shoreline. Diana recognized the seal on its bow as Zeus’ lightning bolt. Diana called out to Steve as she fell in line with his quick pace. She grabbed his shoulder and stood in front of him.

“Steve, slow down.” the Amazon pleaded. The sound of his name caused the pilot to stop midstep. “How do you know my name?” He asked suspiciously. The soft blue eyes that Diana loved so much began hardening. Whatever trust they shared moments ago seemed to be dwindling. “You told me when you first woke up. You kept saying ‘Steve Trevor. Serial Number 8141921’. But soon after, you fell unconscious again.” Diana quickly fabricated, hoping it would be a satisfactory explanation. Steve didn’t fully accept her story but decided not to question it. “I have a home in Paris that you can stay in, if you would like. And I can explain everything on the way.” She stepped into the boat and began letting down the sails. Steve, deciding he could take another ship to London from Paris, agreed and pushed the boat into the sea, before hopping in himself.

The two sat under the same night sky, just as they did a hundred years ago. The dark waters lapped against the side of the ship so quietly, it was making Steve’s eyes grow heavy. But he was still a little suspicious of his shipmate, who was currently making them a place to sleep.

“You will sleep with me, yes?” Diana asked innocently. The pilot eyes were now wide awake and a rush of color graced his smooth cheeks. “Um, I don’t think that��s a good idea. ” Steve trailed off, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He started pacing around the boat and mindlessly pulling on the sails.

“Are you not tired?” Diana asked as she made herself comfortable on the makeshift bed. Steve, even more embarrassed now that she actually meant going to sleep, stopped moving. “Yeah, I guess. If you don’t mind me…” Diana quickly cut him off, “I do not mind”. Steve relaxed a little and walked back to the front of the ship. Once he joined Diana in what would serve as tonight’s sleeping quarters, the Queen finally decided to break her silence. She knew that they would be at the French border soon, and there would be no way of hiding the modern world from him. After a few beats of silence, Diana could no longer hold her tongue.

“Steve, do you know what year it is?” Diana whispered. Steve scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, but confidently answered “1918.” A sigh was slipped out, and the Amazon turned to her side. It would be hard for him to believe her without having actually seen the new world. But she hoped giving him an explanation would lessen the shock.

“There is so much I have to explain.” She paused “You have been away from this world for a very long time. The war you believe you are still fighting for, has ended. In all honesty, the world that you knew of, has ended.” Diana confessed to him. Steve looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. But the warrior queen kept speaking softly. “It’s the year 2018. You’ve been gone a century.”  

She waited for what felt like centuries for his response. Anger, confusion, sadness, something to let her know that he had fully comprehended what she was relaying to him. But she got none of that. Instead, she heard rhythmic breathing. Looking up at him, Diana realized that Steve had fallen asleep. Even though he couldn’t recount all the memories they shared together, it had been a pretty exhausting day for both of them. She decided to finally follow suit with her past lover, and let the melatonin take over her body. She had tomorrow to explain everything.

***   

“Who do you work for?”

The Amazon awoke from her slumber to find her hands and feet tied together. Steve stood a few feet away, clearly confused and anxious. Diana could easy free herself from her binds, but she didn’t want to alert Steve any more than she already had. All around him were buildings that were completely foreign to him. He wanted to believe that France had not changed that much since his last visit the month prior, but it wasn’t anything like he remembered. Something was different and the only person who could tell him what it was, was the stranger who brought him.

“Steve.” Diana tried to sit up straight, but as she moved, Steve, for the first time, got a real look at her armor. He didn’t recognize the symbols as war seals, but he had to be sure. “Who do you work for? The Germans?” She tried to deny it, but the spy still refused to believe her. Steve maneuvered his way to the other side of the ship, making sure to keep his eyes on her as he went. And before the worker on the dock could even tie the ship down, Steve hopped out of the boat and started running. He didn’t know where his legs were taking him, but he needed to find something he recognized or hear a familiar voice. “Candy!” Steve thought to himself. He’ll find a phone and call her, maybe she can explain to him what’s going on.

Diana watched Steve run away from her. As much as she wanted to explain the situation to him, it was too drastic of a change for him to understand without seeing it for himself. Quickly, Diana freed herself from the rope with a simple pull of the wrist and ankles. She followed him as best she could without being seen. She didn’t want her armor to alarm the citizens. Climbing up on the roofs of beige brick office buildings, the Amazon followed him from above. It wasn’t long before Steve ran into a busy main street filled with honking cars, zooming mopeds, and people. The overwhelming stimulates was such a  shock to Steve that he took a few steps back until he found a quiet alley. He stood there, hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. As much as he hated to admit it, he was scared.

Finally, Diana was able to catch up and didn’t hesitate for a second to be by his side. She put a gentle hand on his back and tried comforting him. When it seemed like his heart rate was back to normal, Diana softly explained again.

“Steve, the world that you knew of no longer exists. You’ve been gone a century.” Steve’s deep blue eyes looked at her and she could almost feel every ounce of fear in them. “It's 2018. The war you fought so gallantly for is over. And we won.” She smiled softly despite the few tears that slipped out. “Please believe me.” She begged. He had no other choice but to accept. Reluctantly, Diana left Steve’s side and took a few steps away from him. Pulling out her phone she quickly called her intern at the museum. He was the only one who knew her story. “Tim, I need a ride. We’re in Le Havre. Thank you” Diana quickly hung up and went back to Steve. Together they waited for the car to arrive in silence. Steve was still in shock, despite trying to do his best not to show it. He lost hundred years of life. All his friends are dead. The few members of his family that were left are gone. He was completely alone. Diana took a quick glance at the man beside her. The Steve she knew was confident but caring. Sarcastic, yet loving. But looking at him staring blankly at the brick wall in front of him. He was like a shell. And for the first time ever, the Queen of the Amazons began doubting her ability to win her bet with Hades.

[restlessmaknae]

Paradox [pt.2]

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Word count: 1997

Genre: angst, drama, a bit of fluff

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan); Yu Dayoung (OC)

Setting: non AU

Warning: mentions of character death, suicide, hints of depression

Chapter warning: -

They were so young, so talented yet so desperate.

Meno’s Paradox (Learner’s paradox)

Meno asks Socrates: "And how will you inquire into a thing when you are wholly ignorant of what it is? Even if you happen to bump right into it, how will you know it is the thing you didn't know?"Socrates rephrases the question, which has come to be the canonical statement of the paradox: "Man cannot search either for what he knows or for what he does not know. He cannot search for what he knows - since he knows it, there is no need to search - nor for what he does not know, for he does not know what to look for."

I wanted it to be as easy as the start. Without telling silly fibs, without hiding behind masks and without constantly being terrified. However, as trust exists, so does fear. Fear of the future, fear of failure, fear of the unknown. There are so many types of fear and you were only one of them. My greatest fear.

 Korea was famous for its year-ending festivals, music shows and award ceremonies. They held one almost every week as autumn slowly turned into winter and idols had no chance but to practice and practice even harder. It eventually paid off, especially when they won an award and went home with a trophy after a meal paid by their proud manager or CEO.

Lee Donghyuck was lucky to have such diligent and reliable members by his side, even though he sometimes felt like an outcast beside them. He was the youngest out of the NCT 127 members and he was aware of the fact that he still had a lot to learn. He was getting more and more annoyed when he couldn’t get a part of the choreography right or when he messed up his lines, despite the fact that he had only a few words to remember. At that time, he was promoting with NCT 127 as it was the first and only sub-unit for the time being that produced an album, thus he had the opportunity to perform with the group at those so-called ceremonies.

However, awards were a totally different thing. Whenever it came to receiving one, he was so astonished that he wished he’d be able to voice out what was going through him. The first Asian Artist Award was like a dream for him, he thought that he was still sleeping, tangled up in a beautiful daydream. It felt like it was just his own fantasy that he childishly made up for himself.

As time went by, it felt more and more surreal for him. Not only did he almost pass out when he heard that they had won the Best New Male Artist at MAMA but it was then and there that he caught sight of Yu Dayoung for the first time. She was standing amongst her sunbaenims whom she was supporting, tiptoeing in a pretty black dress that softly followed her curves and emphasised the parts that should be emphasised. She joined the newly debuted YG girl group – BlackPink – as a backup dancer for their special stage and tagged along in the backstage area.

The girls had just received the Best Music Video trophy, small wonder why the backstage interaction between the two bands and their staff mainly focused on congratulating on each other’s excellence.

“You have worked hard, Donghyuck-ssi,” Dayoung muttered as she bowed respectfully. He was so used to neutral congratulations and other good old lines that her words totally caught him off guard.

“You know my name,” he said in awe, totally baffled upon hearing his full name as most of the idols barely knew him or knew him only by his stage name. The girl was dumbfounded when she realised that Donghyuck was still talking to him, in spite of the fact that she was merely a backup dancer.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, biting her lower lip. Her big doe eyes - that resembled falling stars that he wanted to wish up on - sparkled so brightly that he couldn’t focus on anything else beside the glowing star in front of him. “We are actually in the same year at SOPA,” she admitted coyly and before he could say anything else, his members shoved him away and her voice slowly faded away. She became another unfathomable face in the bustling crowd, dissolving into the other idols like she had never been there in the first place.

Donghyuck was left staring at the spot where she had been standing, trying to scoop himself up after her surprising confession. It wasn’t new to him that he didn’t know the name of all his classmates because he didn’t have a good memory. Plus, he was always with Jaemin and Jeno when he even attended school, so he didn’t dare to glance at anyone else, especially not a girl. It was risky for idols as gossip would immediately start spreading like wildfire if they knew that he looked at a female student. He was old enough to realise that he shouldn’t cause any misunderstandings. It would do harm to his band, to his company and to all the people that constantly worked hard for their success. He didn’t want to let them down.

Nevertheless, after the ceremony, he couldn’t wait for the day when he could go to school again because he was so eager to meet her. It’s not like he knew that he would encounter her because Dayoung was also in the industry but something in his guts told him that it would be his day. He was right.

The familiar figure was sleeping peacefully on her desk, her head rested on the top of her exercise books. Donghyuck cracked up at the adorable sight and earned deadpan looks from his sleepy friends.

“What is it?” Jaemin asked as he sat down at his own seat, taking out his books from his bag. Jeno silently emulated his actions, knitting his eyebrows in question.

“Nothing,” he shrugged smoothly, a playful grin evident on his face.

“It’s good that nothing can make you snicker like that,” Jaemin snorted as he averted his eyes to his history book, soon totally indulged in the history of the Goryeo era.

Donghyuck himself didn’t know what struck him but he felt a sudden need to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. He must have gone crazy, he thought. He had to admit that he found the sleeping girl pretty attractive and it actually scared him a bit since he wasn’t actually the womaniser type. In fact, he was the opposite. He was still young, only 16 years old and didn’t really know how to approach a female. Especially not a trainee. Especially not an YG trainee. Good grief! What did get into him?

No sooner could he finally talk to her than the History class finished and he managed to convince the other boys to go without him.

“You go ahead. I need to ask something from Mr. Nam,” he stated seriously. His friends seemed to take the bait as they both nodded in agreement and leisurely left the classroom.

His heart immediately accelerated when she stood up and started walking towards the entrance door. He froze, not knowing what to do. What would be the most appropriate way to approach her?  Would she even want to talk to him? Oh gosh, what if she wouldn’t? What is he going to do then? He felt numb from the thought of getting rejected, especially by her.

In the end, he had completely thrown his thoughts out of the window and took a step closer to her, causing the girl to literally bump into him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered and flashed him a sheepish smile.

“My mistake,” he raised his arms in defeat, indicating that he was the one who made her run into his arms. Although he apologised, deep down he wasn’t sorry at all. He would definitely love to do it again. “You’re the girl from the MAMA’s, right?” he scratched the back of his neck in an attempt to hide his guilt that he didn’t even know her name.

“Yeah.”

Dayoung nodded and Donghyuck had no idea how he should act like a real men and ask for her name. Nevertheless, she picked up on his hesitance and held out her hand.

“I’m Yu Dayoung,” she said, her rosy-coloured lips slowly curving into a magnificent smile.

When he replied to her handshake, he couldn’t help but grin brashly when he detected how small her hands were compared to his giant, rough ones. Her soft touch brought chills and every of his cells were focused on the intimate skin-ship. He felt like he was being twisted, his mind was screaming that he should finally let her go but his heart was demanding for more.

“I’m Lee Donghyuck.”

“I know that,” he giggled bashfully and her laugh was as warm as the summer sunset.

“I know that you know that.”

“Then, why are you introducing yourself again?” she inquired, her eyebrows slightly raised in question. It was suddenly a different – a more comfortable – image that she was portraying than before but he couldn’t mind it. He decided to play along.

“I was just curious whether you would admit that you already know it or not,” he boosted a so damn proud smile and earned a jittery yet adorable glare from her.

“Okay, you won,” Dayoung flung her arms in the air. “I admit it, I know your name since you debuted with NCT 127.”

“Only since then?” he put his hand over his mouth and acted like he was hurt.

“What is so weird about that? You didn’t even know my name until I said it so.”

“Touché,” he clicked his tongue. She was right and he didn’t feel like arguing with her because it was true that he didn’t know her name. “But you haven’t debuted and I couldn’t ask anyone at the ceremony even if I wanted to,” he tried to justify his reasons and his childish behaviour made her smile like an angel.

Gosh, she was so beautiful. He would never admit it but he had already fallen for her. It started at the award show and today was the evidence that he was already head over heels for her. He couldn’t help; she was like a magnet pulling him closer and closer with every word and glance. He had no idea what was going on because he had never experienced love before but he knew that it was something different. Something peculiar yet something pleasant.

“Are you expecting me to say touché now?” she laughed, her eyes hinting at her gleefulness.

“Well, that would be nice.”

“That wasn’t worth a touché,” she countered but the joy in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. She was obviously amused by the situation and it was so fun because it was all due to the fact that he didn’t know her name.

But after he got to know it, it was never meant to be forgotten again. It was carved into his heart, leaving an unforgettable yet painful stigma. Her name was written all over his body, the syllables tattooed on his skin, the sound of the letters keep playing on and on in his head like an unstoppable cassette player. He was attached to her, once and for all.

How easy it was in the beginning, right? Joking around without being afraid that we might hurt each other’s feelings. Yet, when one starts to care, insouciance is not a definition anymore. We love, we receive love, we hurt and we get hurt. It’s all part of the system, it’s all how it works. It was just a matter of time until we discovered it for ourselves. After that, there was no turning back. We were trapped in the prison that was called ‘love’.