#they are chaotic as pit your honor

[lets-try-some-writing]

There are times i think when they work together to comfort or cheer her up when she's distant and quiet and grieving. I imagine when humans first used nuclear nuke she was shellshocked(She realized just how dangerous her beloved children are she thought the wars were just a phase)

Unicron: Young one? What happened? Speak to me. To us

Moon: Dear one? What did the fleshies do?

Humanity is full of love but it also blindly devours until there is nothing left. Cybertronians and humans are similar in that aspect

Earth never imagined that her dear children could do any true harm to her. They were so small and frail. Their wars and conflicts were such small things at the end of the day. The damage could be repaired. Forests could regrow. Seas could be cleansed. Blood would return to the soil and nourish the world's natural path to healing.

All the loss would pass with time.

That was what Earth thought.

She watched her humans build their bombs. She did not bother to learn the specifics of everything. She thought she knew what explosives her children would launch at one another in their fury. Centuries of burns marred her surface before. She was not afraid to have a few more cuts because of her children's brutality. And yet when her children launched their newest weapons of destruction, she suddenly understood the woes of Primus and the tears he shed as his children tore at his frame.

Nuclear weapons were unlike anything she had ever witnessed. They tore through soil and plant life, devesting and so unbalanced that the careful environment she cultivated stood no chance. The fires burned and ran deep enough to burn her plating where it was hidden beneath layers of earth. She screamed as her frame burned and her children did not even have the chance to scream.

Her spark rattled, and even Unicron sensed her cries as she wept for what was lost. How could her children do such a thing? Violence was part of their very DNA, but destruction of this scale? Not to mention harming her? It stung more than the burns did. She could not bring herself to do anything aside from cry as she tried to keep the radiation contained while warding away any fauna that wandered too close to the detonation zones.

Unicron tried to call out to her, as did her dear Moon. She did not heed them in her grief. After a while, they shifted to aid her in her recovery. Unicron shifted in his partial slumber, bringing more nutrition to the untainted ground and quietly targeting those involved with the nuclear weapon launches. Her dear Moon showered her in affection and offered to come closer to try and ease her sorrows. She denied him. She couldn't allow her children to suffer more than they already had.

She could do very little except bask in what comforts her father and her dear Moon could offer her without harming her children.

Unicron: I will purge all those who touch you in such a manner! This I promise you.

Moon: For once, I agree with Unicron. Earth, dear one, let me come closer so that I can direct my defense systems to strike down the fools who dared to hurt you.

Unicron: Defense systems? Are you mad? If you used your inbuilt weaponry, you would blow a hole through her and into ME!

Moon: A small price to pay for victory.

Unicron: YOU-!

Often their attempts at comfort turn into bickering, but Earth always has and always will appreciate it.

[nomoreusername]

Good Night

Pairing:Thomas x gender neutral reader

Summary:You and Thomas have never seen eye to eye, but one shared night in the pit may change that.

"I can't believe this Y/N. That was absolutely irresponsible of you. You are a Keeper,"Alby scolded.

"Chuck was having a bad day. Everyone was ignoring the poor kid. I wasn't going to stop him,"I defended.

"He started a food fight. He looks up to you. He would listen to anything you said."

"Chuck's a little kid. You want me to reprimand a little kid? He was doing what little kids do and being chaotic,"I pointed out.

"I know, but you didn't stop him. He needs to learn that he can't do that. It's clear that you can't be a responsible Keeper. So you get one night in the pit."

"That's not fair though. I technically didn't do anything wrong,"I pointed out.

"We can't punish him because I know you'll just break him out. Yes, I know about that. Think of this as being your punishment for that. Besides, you won't be alone."

"I won't?"I asked nervously. I wasn't sure I wanted to know who I was spending the next 24 hours with.

"Yes. Thomas, meet your best friend for the next day,"Alby announced.

"Isn't this a cruel and unusual punishment? I feel like this is going to end in blood and tears,"I kind of joked. I say kind of because Thomas and I don't see eye to eye, and that's putting it lightly. I call it teasing, and he calls it being rude. To each their own I guess.

"It better not. Maybe this will be good for you two. Hopefully, you'll end up getting along. Maybe you'll even become friends."

"Wow. You want me to become friends with Greenie? You haven't gone mad on us, have you buddy?"I asked with an exaggerated grin.

"Just don't kill each other, and no loud arguing. Everyone's going to sleep in an hour."

"Will do, old pal,"I promised. He sighed at the nickname but didn't comment on it. He gave up on me calling Alby a long time ago.

"Both of you just be reasonable people. We'll let you out tomorrow,"He sighed. I gave him a thumbs up, and he walked away mumbling. It was probably him wishing we'd get along. Honestly, I kind of do too. At the same time I feel like we have a good thing going. It's merely playful banter.

"Hiya Greenie. Are you having a grand time?"I asked, leaning against the wall.

"Can you stop calling me Greenie? I remembered my name like a week ago."

"But I like calling you Greenie. Technically, you are still Greenie anyways. Besides, think of it as a special thing. I've never called anyone else Greenie for so long,"I informed him.

"I am honored,"He deadpanned, rolling his eyes. I ignored the sarcasm and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He just looked at me as I gave an innocent smile. You know, I think I should actually make this a fun night for my good friend, Tom.

♡ - - - ♡

After about three hours of almost silence, and Thomas trying to sleep I was becoming bored out of my mind. Plus, he hadn't even become somewhat close to it. I heard him tossing and turning on the ground.

"It's almost impossible to sleep here. It's easier to just give up. Eventually, you'll doze off without realizing,"I advised.

"Wait. You've been here before?"He asked, seeming dumbfounded. I don't know why.

"Yeah. I used to drive the Gladers up the wall,"I shrugged.

"But you're a Keeper. Isn't that the job of the most responsible people here or something?"He guessed.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they have to be serious. Do you think all Keepers' are stuck up?"I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I just didn't think they'd be familiar with this place. Wait, what'd you do to get here this time?"He asked, now sitting up and looking at me.

"Chuck started a food fight,"I shrugged. He only had a confused expression on his face that admittedly made me laugh. There's just something about his thinking face that amuses me.

"What?"He asked.

"You have a very specific thinking face. It's kind of cute,"I explained. Instantly, despite the fact that it's the dead of night, I could see him start to turn tomato red. This only made me laugh again.

"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing to be mean. It's just genuinely amusing to see you flustered,"I explained.

"Oh, thanks? Moving on from this awkward topic how does Chuck starting a food fight get you here?"He asked.

"I was the only Keeper, and he always listens to me. Since I just watched it go down right next to him I ended up here."

"That still doesn't seem like you need to be here,"He pointed out.

"I've also broken him out everytime he's been here. It's only been like three times, and I'd put him back in before morning. Apparently, we weren't as sneaky as we thought since Alby knew. This was the only thing that he could think of,"I explained.

"Seriously? Do you just let him sleep in his hut or something?"

"My hut faces the sun first so he stays there, and I sleep on the ground outside it. I put him back here in the morning. Sometimes we'd talk, and other times we'd quietly crack jokes. He always looks so happy in the morning, and seeing his face light up when I would break him out warms my heart,"I rambled.

He didn't say anything, and I was slightly worried about this. I took a look at him to see him looking at me with an expression I haven't seen before.

"What?"I asked.

"Nothing. You're just, uh, a lot different than I thought. You're really cute. I mean the story is cute. Just the story."

"Are you calling me ugly?"I asked with a serious expression.

"What? No, no. Not at all. You're actually really pretty,"He answered quickly, clearly panicking.

"I'm just pulling your leg Tom,"I assured him.

"Thank god,"He said, breathing a sigh of relief. His shoulders visibly relaxed as he did. It was an interesting reaction, but it was still kind of adorable.

It looked like Alby got exactly what he wanted, and maybe just a little bit more.

[astroyongie]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Paranoid

Note: Sorry for taking so long to update this one. The angsty series continues with this one

Pairings: Mark x Reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST!!! mentions of suicide, mentions of depression and anxiety, drugs and medications, mentions of death.

Music: https://open.spotify.com/intl-pt/track/5hhxHo29bE78Y18gbhamlF?si=af661e1c52ca494e

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You entered inside your Massarati, locking the doors as you allowed your body to hit the comfort of the red leather. Your brain hammered inside your skull, the instant pulse making you regret every decision you had taken earlier that night. Pushing your thoughts aside, you sniffed your feelings away, starting the car.

The roaring purr came to life, as you drove the vehicle back into the street, leaving behind you the luxury hotel where the MAMA awards after party is being held. You just couldn’t spare another moment in their company, not when everyone was happy and laughing and you just wanted to scream on the top of your lungs. Entrainment industry was a pit of snakes, you name it, idols, actors, sponsors, managers all seeking for money and fame to the expenses of people's pain and blood.

As you sat behind the wheel, your grip on reality seemed to wane with every passing mile. The rhythmic hum of the engine blended with the erratic beats of your heart, echoing the chaotic dance of thoughts you fought to forget. You prayed that no police stopped you as your dilated pupils betrayed your altered state. 

The world outside blurred, while your mind teetered on the edge of euphoria and unease. You felt your body shiver, the aftermath of your reckless behaviors coming for you. Without thinking twice, you stopped on the side of the road. If you kept speeding in such a state you would end up hurting someone. Taking a deep breath as you tried to collect yourself, you hissed from muscular spasm.

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, hands gripping the wheel tighter. 

You looked at yourself through the rearview mirror. Your make-up was smuggled across your face, your eye shadow fading as your mascara tainted beneath your eyes. Seeing your reflection, made your stomach twist in disgust. You were Y/n, an idol of one of the most successful girl groups of your generation. You were loved and talented, earning jealousy from others. Yet you couldn't bear the sight of yourself. Despite all compliments you often received from others, you found it hard to believe them.

Little did they know that you were fighting for your life, each passing second. 

MAMA had been held tonight and without surprise, your group won best feminine group of the year. People expected you to be happy and screaming in joy, but you sucked at pretending. How would you exaggerate such an emotion when it was something that you were already aware of, as these shows were all planned out and rigged. What wasn’t planned out however, was the speech made by NCT 127 in honor of Mark Lee. 

To you, it had felt like millions of needles piercing your heart, as you had to stand there and hear about it without being able to show any hint of emotion. Betraying sadness would have made you look like a hypocrite in the eyes of the public. To them, you had no connection to Mark, mourning in public would be giving people reasons to gossip.

At the after party, you were hit with a wave of questions related to your relationship with Mark, having to hear the most pathetic excuses from rich sponsors. It had ripped your heart, and again due to your idol image, you had to pretend that you weren't hurt. You had ended up sniffing a whole line, in hope it would quiet your thoughts, numb the unstoppable pain and growing anxiety at the pit of your stomach.

If Mark saw you today, he would have been disappointed and the thought of it, made you want to sink deeper in anything that would stop such guilty thoughts.

“Fucking pricks” you cursed out again, your hands hitting without much strength, the wheel of your car.

You reached for your purse, grabbing your pills prescribed for your generalized anxiety. Without counting, you pour some into your hand, proceeding in swallowing the drug, hands shaking. You groaned at the feeling, praying to all entities that no sasaeng or paparazzi was around. A scandal was the last thing you needed at the moment. 

Being an idol has been the worst mistake of your life.

No. Not answering that phone call had been the worst fucking decision of your life. 

You still remembered it clear as water. It was a friday night, the rain poured outside. You and Mark had just got into a stupid argument because of another girl idol that was hitting on him. That night you had lost control of your anger, violently pushing Mark away and cursing him out with the worst insults without hearing his version. Slamming the door of his apartment, you had left back to your own place. You knew Mark had been having some rough weeks with promotions. He had barely slept in days, had not eaten much and you had thought of preparing him a date night would help with his own anxiety and inner turmoils. 

Instead, you had left him there after something egoistic that communication would have solved. You remember driving down to your place. Your phone had rang. His name appeared on the screen as you had ignored it. Mark had proceeded to call you two more times that you equally ignored, unable to digest your anger at that moment.

The memory made the air in your lungs knock you out. You felt your airways getting restrained as if something was blocking it. Seeking for air, you started hyperventilating, sobs coming out of your mouth. Hot, big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you cried. It was always the same goddamn thing. 

Mark had died tragically that same night, 3 months ago. The next thing you learnt was that your boyfriend had been taken to the emergency room but didn't make it out alive. His lungs filled in dioxyde carbone smoke from what his parents had explained to you. An accident, the doctors said, gas that had leaked. How, didn't matter to you. All you could think about was how he had called you that night, for help. But your own anger and frustration blinding your reason, declining his call–

You had killed him, you were convinced. If only you hadn’t been so caught up in childish feelings, Mark would have been by your side.

“Do it” 

The voice on your head echoed like a prayer, which made you stop breathing for a short seconds out of surprise. You looked at the bottle of your pills still there in your hands. Perhaps you had to pay for what you had done. Your hand tightened around the plastic bottle, tears streaming down your face.

You missed him so much.

You were tired of life. Nothing made sense to you. Perhaps, this was the best solution.

You took a few more pills, swallowing the lorazepam dry. You groaned at the feeling on your throat, coughing before the bottle fell from your hands, spilling the content next to your feet and pedals. You cried heavily. You didn't remember crying like this at his funeral, the emotions numbed by the denial of the situation. Your hand went to your chest, gripping at the fabric of your dress as you tried to rip away this feeling consuming you.

It took a few minutes. Between the alcohol consumed tonight, the cocaine and the unknown number of lorazepam, you started to feel your body getting heavy. Your crying eventually ceased and your breathing became constant. You close your eyes, dreaming of his touch, of his presence. You didn't know if you deserved such confort, but your mind was too messed up, too high to rationalize.

“Y/n”

The rough voice jolted you awake, its resonance seeming to penetrate your very consciousness. With effort, you willed your eyes to open, greeted by the sight of Mark seated beside you. Despite the haze of grogginess, a smile tugged at your lips as you acknowledged him.

“Mark” you murmured, unable to tell if the whole scenario was an illusion your brain had mastered “Am I dead yet?”

“No” Mark said. He was worried, the timber of his voice reminding you, you were amidst danger. Although you couldn't clearly see his face, you swore to yourself he was real. Sitting next to you on the passenger seat, he wore the same clothing from the day of his death. His face was a strange gray color but his eyes still held the warmness of his bubbly personality.

“My head” you whined to yourself, unable to move your body, lethargy taking over you. He wasn’t real, you knew it deep down. This was the drug's side effects, there was no other explanation for this. Your head felt light, yet, the need for sleep was taking over your body as you felt your eyes closing.

“Stay awake Y/n” Mark said in a hurried voice, stopping you from fluttering your lids close. You groaned, trying to rub your eyes but your hand was too heavy to move. Everything seems to be going slower than normal, as if the world was holding its breath.

“I am sleepy” you said but tried to move nonetheless, trying to reach for Mark’s touch. It was stupid really, you thought. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many words but your lips were not in sync with your mind. You needed to apologize, ask for his forgiveness. You moaned in pain, the dizziness making you nauseous.

“Y/n” he called again and you forced yourself to look at him. Your mouth was like papersand, you were thirsty. “breathe deeply, through your nose” he indicated and you tried to follow his indications. Your body felt on fire, as the effects of the dangerous cocktail coursed through your veins.

“It hurts”

“I know”

Waves of dizziness and disorientation crashed over you, blurring the lines between reality and hallucination. Nausea clawed at your stomach, threatening to erupt with each passing moment. Your heart raced erratically, its frenetic beats echoing the chaos within. Every breath felt labored, as if the air around you had turned thick and suffocating. 

“Why did you leave me?” you asked and the pain in your chest became more prominent. You were torn between throwing up and punching a hole in your chest to breathe properly. “Why did you left me”

You must have lost your mind. Deep down you knew this wasn't Mark, this was just a fruit of your imagination, one that your guilty paranoid self needed to see. So many nights asking for a chance of asking forgiveness and yet amidst your crisis all you could master was blaming him for these feelings.

“I am sorry,” Mark murmured, the words echoing against your eardrums. It hurted you, it felt like you were bleeding from the inside out. “Y/n, you need to wake up. You need to call someone”

No, you thought. by doing that you would have to go back to the reality which meant leaving Mark behind. Even if this wasn't real, it was the closest thing you had to seeing him.

“But I miss you” you said, the tears clouding your eyes. His bloodied face smiled down at you. 

“I know. But you can't be with me for now”

“Why?” The words left your mouth with a desperate sob. In the midst of this torment, a profound sense of dread settled over you, a haunting reminder that you would never be able to feel his touch, his laugh ever again.

“There's too much you need to do for me, Y/n.” In your mind it made sense. you and mark had made so many plans together, from trips to getting a dog, from getting an apartment together to going to that stupid Beyonce show. “Can you do that? Can you live for me?” The urgency in his voice couldn't be ignored even when you moved your head from side to side, crying.

You were getting paranoid there was no explanation. How could he expect you to live, to experience everything you had promised to do by his side, by yourself? you understood, to honor his memory it was important, to honor his love for you, you couldn't allow yourself to go through such a dark path. Your heart ached so much. Was love worth all this pain?

“Live for me”

You wanted to open your mouth but you couldn't. You had yet to apologize, but your anxiety was ruling over every parcel of your cells. Closing your eyes for a second, to recollect yourself you breathed. It felt like you were inhaling sharp needles, your lungs writhing in devious pain. Mark’s words repeated itself in your brain. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, before looking at the passenger seat. Mark wasn't there anymore. 

Instead, your phone layed there, abandoned next to your purse. You screamed in pain, forcing yourself to move your body, your muscles feeling like they were ripping  inside of you. As you reached for it, with trembling hands, you pushed yourself back to your initial position, swallowing the bile that had recoiled around your mouth. Then you pressed the emergency room, putting the phone on speaker.

“911, what’s your emergency” the masculine voice behind the phone asked and you sighed through your sobs.

“Please help me. I can’t die. I have to live. Please”

You didn't want to live. But you had agreed to one thing. The only way to be forgiven for your sin, was to live for Mark. To that, you would willingly give your life for. 

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

Hello, I am back! I'm going on a trip for a bit that starts tomorrow morning, and thought I'd ask what your hcs for the spooky gays would be when they go on trips.

-g

OOOH!!! That's a good one alright first things first

• Vee packs S O many long sleeves even if it's hot (He has like one or two tank tops in his bag resulting in Ree always hoping the hotel they're staying at has a pool)

• Pushing my "Ree is a lover of snacks agenda" by saying he definitely makes sure they are well stocked on them (Vee always has to tell him to not drink a lot of liquids while they're on the road cause they are limited on pit stops Ree of course does not listen)

• They vibe to their roadtrip playlist (They scream Emo lyrics Your Honor)

• When one of them gets too tired to drive they pull over and grab a blanket for the tired driver and have them nap when they swap places (When it's Ree's turn he likes to be a dork and tuck Vee in with the blanket when the Emo has his seat all the way back and gives him a lil forehead smooch before going to the driver's seat)

• When it's leg stretch break time Ree can and will S C R E A M and be dramatic as hell as he's laying on the road (The chaotic man can't sit still for long periods of time and Vee is very much hoping he starts feeling his legs soon cause he does not want people thinking there's a murder going on)

• They have a key chain souvenir collection for every trip they've been on (It's a tradition for them plus J I N G L E)

• They have chaotic Polaroid pics together on trips in their photo scrapbook (There of course are plain wholesome ones too but give Ree a camera and he will keep record of his chaos)

• And finally to not keep this too long everytime they come back to the hotel at night from going out to dinner, store, a place nearby, etc. they like to star gaze and have a good time before going back inside <3

[scorpius-major]

#class is now in session!

Ft: Hu Tao, Barbara, Zhongli, Childe, and Gn! Reader

College au!

in which each character gets their own major and school headcannons

𝙃𝙪 𝙏𝙖𝙤

Mortuary science major without a doubt

Gives off chaotic theater kid vibes as well

Has definitely brought an Ouija board to multiple different sleepovers on multiple different occasions

She’s that one friend that gives you oddly frightening fun facts. Facts that make you go “why does she know that?”

“Did you know that if you eat around 10 crushed black cherry pits there’s enough cyanide to kill you?”

Just leaves you sitting there like ma’am how do you know that?

Hu Tao would peer pressure you into joining theater with her

If you have stage fright she’d find a way to expel it from you

In class she can be very committed to work

If you sit next to her however, that’s a different story

has surprisingly good grades ngl

you sometimes wonder how she keeps up with the work while simultaneously goofing off in class

it frightens you sometimes

like she was dead asleep in class one time and nothing would wake her up

until the professor asked her a question

She sat up really quickly and answered it correctly

you just stared at her like🤨

needless to say you quickly stopped questioning her abilities as a student after that

Barbara

choir kid without a doubt

like no explanation needed

no fr barbs literally has the most angelic voice you’ve ever heard

you probably met in a music theory class

let me just tell you this lady is the most respectful roommate EVER

omg her room is always so clean and tidy it’s just like

miss please teach me your ways I beg🧎🏾‍♀️

stright A student without a doubt

her classes are probably all honors too

with the occasional AP

Not exactly a “teacher’s pet” but like is always willing to help them out

She probably becomes a teacher’s aid at one point

please let her tutor you, she loves it

Ayaka

Dancing major without a doubt

she’s taking a business class too

and also studies traditional Japanese calligraphy

listen I didn’t wanna be the one to say it but

she was the kid who reminded to teacher they had homework in middle school

IT JUST MAKES SENSE💀

if you’re a dance major too, she will always partner with you

another respectful af roommate

she cooks too

and it’s absolutely delicious

like she will cancel any takeout you order and will cook herself

another star student

it always surprises you how she can keep up her grades with her 17 different extracurricular activities

Zhongli

let’s be honest he probably is the professor💀

he’d teach world history without a doubt

that or AP English

i can’t see him as a math teacher

most def the teacher that everybody loves

he’s well aware too

i like to think he takes a little pride in being “the coolest teacher”

yeah let’s be honest he probably subtly humble brags ab it in the teachers lounge😭

he’s also the teacher that everybody trys to guess his age and terribly fails at it lmao

Struggles a LOT with technology

when he first tried to use a smart board he got so frustrated he never used it again

probably the only teacher who still uses textbooks and whiteboards

back in his college days I can kinda see him being a philosophy major

but he changed career choices and became a professor instead

Childe

STILL hasn’t figured out his major lmao💀

he fr changes it like every 3-5 business days

without a doubt he got in on a sports scholarship

med avg grades

i can see him struggling in math idk he just seems like the type of guy I can’t explain it

another one who is a really awesome cook

hes probably involved in a frat house ngl

if you’re roommates expect little to no sleep

heavy college fuckboy vibes

but in an endearing way

idk this is really random but in grade school he was the kid at the water fountain who would say “one, two, three, that’s enough for me” whenever someone was more than three seconds

He also would pick a fight with the 8th graders when he was in like 3rd and after he lost he’d tell his friends that he beat up an 8th grader

def a partier

he’d drag you out to parties late at night

but he always makes sure your comfortable and safe at them

love a respectful man fr

please help him in math he’s begging

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 2 - Post #4: Another Thrilling Tale of Emergency Medicine

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 4K (of 21K total in Volume 2)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

Flashback…

IV. The first time you met Ingtar, it was immediately clear he was not a man to fuck with. 

When Tigran brought you to Dorumaa to lay low, he promised that as long as you did what Ingtar said, the mob boss would protect you. The war had dragged you through some pretty dark horrors, and trying to survive its aftermath had kept you trapped in a cycle of toxic situations. What wouldn’t you do for a chance at security? Stability?

Do what Ingtar says, and don’t ask questions.

And really, what choice did you have? You were running out of places and people to hide you.

It was then that Ingtar promised, “I give you my word, I will never ask you to do something that might endanger you.” 

And to your surprise, you found you believed him. It was clear on some spiritual level that he was a man who honored his bargains.

Ingtar set up your practice in a seedy yet up-and-coming neighborhood. A part of town where domestic drama spilled out into the streets, where folks were always coming and going or passing through. The perfect backdrop for your business operations.

You didn’t live in the apartment, but as per your arrangement with Ingtar, you kept a communicator on you at all times. Whoever got a hold of the signal for that particular channel…

Well, it meant that they were highly connected within the organization and on their way with a medical emergency that they hoped to avoid documenting at the local hospital. 

While you didn’t spend much time socializing with Ingtar beyond an occasional drink at the casino when he wanted polite company, the mob boss held a very high opinion of your services. There were a fair amount of late-night calls to heal stab wounds and blaster burns, but mostly, he used you for the delicate stuff—overdoses and other regretful injuries that folks just wanted to go away and not think about later.

Dorumaa was a resort town, and of course, any city that catered to tourists had its network of vice and organized criminality that made for a steady clientele. 

The apartment was located in a trendy alleyway above a noodle shop that Black Sun used as a cover to run their private gambling tables in the basement. Not infrequently, you had to rush downstairs to pull someone back from the brink of death after a shoot-out over cards. 

Most often, you waited inside the apartment, ears perked for the sound of the gate buzzer, the shouts and grunts coming up the stairs, and the chaotic way everyone burst through the doorway carrying the limp body of a business partner, friend or lover. 

So it was confusing when you heard Ingtar’s firm but polite knock. You remember staring at the door from behind your exam table, wondering if you were about to be arrested. Or murdered. 

“Come in?” 

That’s when Ingtar kicks the door in. He was a big man and well-practiced. It came right off its hinges. At that point, the possibility of being murdered felt very real. But the dramatic entrance is simply because his hands are full, carrying a man clad in Mandalorian armor.

You recognize him.

How many Mandalorians did Black Sun have on the payroll? But, you’d seen him—just that once—walking across the pit floor toward Ingtar’s office.

You knew him immediately by reputation. The escorts and companions who worked the casino all claimed that he gave them the shivers, that his face must be horribly scarred under the helmet, that his hands were permanently stained with blood beneath those leather gloves. But you caught the eagerness in their voices and the way they tracked him with their eyes. Male, female, both and neither, he never visited them, though plenty would have been happy to take him up to their rooms.

“Doc, this is Mando. Mando, this is Doc.”

The man in Beskar says nothing, his helmet shifting from side to side as though he knew words had been spoken, but he could not make meaning from them. The dark ring of blood around his neck probably had something to do with that. 

Ingtar deposits him onto your exam table before adding in a low whisper, “Appreciate you getting here so fast.”

“Tamoi is on call. Why didn’t you take him there?” 

“Because,” he grabs your hand, reaching for the data-pad. “Tamoi can’t heal him the way you can, Doc.”  

“He won’t take off the helmet?” You ask, picking up on his meaning. “This could be life or death, Ingtar.”

The blood covering his neck and shoulders is brown and coagulated—obviously not an open wound. But that’s just the blood you can see. A brain hemorrhage or internal bleeding would be just as fatal as a knife to the throat. 

“Believe me, he’d rather die,” Ingtar says confidently. “You need to fix him your way, Doc.” 

“Okay,” you mumble, removing your gloves. “And what about the rest of it? Does any of it come off?” 

“He’s Mandalorian. Their armor is sacred to them.” 

“Is he human?” 

Ingtar shrugs. You roll your eyes and pick up a pair of scissors from your surgical tray. 

“Mando? As in, Mandalorian?”

He didn’t answer.

“But they do, like, have names, right?”

“I respect him enough not to ask,” Ingtar says pointedly in warning. “You’re not the only one who likes their anonymity, Doc.” 

Fine. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Cultural Sensitivity.” 

There were so many layers of thick quilted fabric and leather…everywhere. The axilla would be the easiest and most discreet part of his body to access. Assuming he is human.

“Mando,” you look directly into the view plate. “There’s a major artery that passes under your armpit.” You trace a finger from the length of your wrist to your heart. “I need to get to it.” Pointing to him, you grip the seam of your coat under your arm, then hold up the scissors and pantomime cutting.

He nods. 

After ripping the armscye of his flight suit open wide enough to slip your hand through, it occurs to you that maybe he’s not allowed to reveal any part of his body to outsiders. You’re not exactly an expert in Mandalorian customs. Some fought for the Rebellion, but not in your unit. 

You hold up a hand and motion sliding it into his now torn sleeve. 

Again, he simply nods, saying nothing. 

It seems pretty apparent that he can’t hear a word you're saying. Hell, he probably couldn’t hear anything over the screeching tinnitus in his ears…and there’s no simple way to explain what’s about to happen, so you just shove your hand into his flight suit.  

The Mandalorian lets out a startled gasp as soon as the touch of your fingers on his skin builds that psychic connection to his body, the bridge between your consciousness and his. There were few injuries beyond the scope of your abilities to heal, but first, you need to determine what's wrong.

It's a bit like running a diagnostic scan on a starship, except that you're searching for inflammation and cell death. Despite being painless, he did not respond well to the sensation of having you inside his subconscious.

His agitation and alarm at suddenly sharing his brain functioning with a stranger just makes your work that much harder. Most patients descended into a foggy haze of numb dissociation when their bodies went into shock. But this Mandalorian? His mind is a frenetic mess of flashing images as he tries to resist your influence. 

There’s a jumble of memories that form and melt away, finally coalescing around the figure of a woman reaching out. Only her hands couldn’t stretch into the murky darkness swallowing him. You sense his panicked struggle to keep his head above water, reaching for her. He was drowning—

“Can’t—ugh,” the Mandalorian chokes, sitting up abruptly and clutching at his chest.

“Hold him down!” 

“Can’t—ugh—breathe,” he gulps in panicked shallow breaths, hyperventilating. “Can’t—can’t—” 

You jump onto the table to straddle him, using your knees to pin his arms to his side. Sliding the scalpel blade under the strap of his flak vest, you rip the fabric apart between two clenched fists. 

“Doc—!”

“I can’t magically generate oxygen into his lungs, Ingtar.” You snap, applying your forearm to push the Mandalorian back onto the table. “Hold him down. His chest cavity is full of air, and I need to relieve the pressure.” 

“Mando! You gotta hold still.” Shouting in your loud, firm doctor voice. “This is going to hurt” is all the warning you can give him.

Lifting your hand up towards the ceiling, you bring it down like a hammer and plunge the chest tube into the third intercostal gap between his ribs. 

“Uuuuuuuugh,” he swallows in each heavy breath as though he’d surfaced from the depths of an ocean. “Ugh—ugh—ugh.”

“Good.” You smile down at him. You can’t see a godsdamn thing through that black view plate, but something inside you feels sure that you're holding his gaze. “You’re doing so good, Mando. Try to breathe normally.”

And for extra measure, you slowly drop him into a deep, restorative sleep so that he’ll actually relax enough for his body to heal. Sometimes, there's nothing for it but to put the big ones down.

“He’s lucky the blood is just from ruptured eardrums. I’ve started them regenerating, but it’ll take a few hours before he can hear again. Was there some kind of…blast?”

“Doc, you know better than—”

“No, you’re right.” It wasn’t wise to ask questions, and the less you knew about Black Sun's operations, the better. “Force of habit.”

“I have some things to clean up.” That's all Ingtar would say. “Do not leave his side. He’s…” 

“A friend of yours?” 

Ingtar had to suffer a lot of fools in his line of work, and there were not many on his payroll that he actually respected. Even fewer whom he’d personally ensure were taken care of. He admired this Mandalorian.

“This one doesn’t have friends,” he says, stroking the unruly bristles of his black beard. This statement was more a matter of fact than a source of disappointment.

“I’ve broken my promise to you. By bringing him here, I've put you in danger.” 

Yeah, no shit!

Leaving you alone with an elite bounty hunter was extremely dangerous, just not in the way Ingtar meant. The reward attached to your extradition order, payable upon delivery to the Hapes Consortium, is a small fortune. That's precisely why no one in this glittering city—including Ingtar—knew about it.

So, while the likelihood of this Mandalorian discovering who you really are is pretty slim…it also wasn’t zero.

Ingtar continues fidgeting with his beard, deep in contemplation. “You were in the war, Doc. What do you do with a P.O.W.?”

Are you harboring a fugitive? That was ironic.

“Keep them safe from the rest of the unit,” you sigh, starting to gain an inkling of what he’s gotten you into. 

“Right,” he says. “Don’t leave the apartment until you hear from me.” 

And with that, he was gone.

About an hour or so later, the Mandalorian awoke.

“Ugh!” He sat up sharply, heaving deep breaths, still caught in his last waking fears of drowning. 

“Mando? Can you hear me?” You ask in a gentle yet firm tone. “You need to breathe calmly, okay? One-two-three-four, in. One-two-three—”

“Where am I?”

“My apartment.” 

“You’re the healer,” he says. It wasn’t a question. 

“I am.”

The Mandalorian did a quick inventory of his surroundings, including the holster and bandolier tucked between his legs. The sight of the blaster seemed to calm him. “Ingtar said I could trust you.” 

“About the armor? Yeah, I understand there are rules.” 

He let out an exhausted sigh, “This is the Way.”

“Riiight. I’m just not sure about all of the rules…I’d like to check for fluid in your lungs…” You stammer, then peel off the right side of your coat in an awkward attempt to communicate that he needs to open his flight suit. “Can I see your chest? Please.”

He nods, reaching for the closures of his flak vest—then pausing.

“Sorry, I had to insert the chest tube, and I–uh–sutures are the only kind of stitches I know.” You’d done your best to mend the torn strap. “Nothing else came off,” you add hastily. 

That breathless assurance makes you sound like a bad date who wanted credit for not taking advantage of him. 

Why are you acting like this? 

Instead of blathering on, you pull the curtain closed around the exam table. 

He spends far less time than you expected removing the chest plate. You suddenly grow curious about how long it takes him to get the rest of it off. And under what circumstances he’s allowed to be naked.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, setting the modulator sizzling. “I’m…ready.” 

His voice suggests that he wasn't quite sure what else to say. At least you’re not alone in finding this whole situation needlessly awkward! 

When you tug back the curtain, you see him sitting upright on the edge of the table. There’s a weird impulse you have to step between the Mandalorian’s thighs, but you quash it instantly and stand to his left. 

You hold up the stethoscope, “I’ll just listen to your breathing to make sure there’s no fluid collecting in your lungs.” 

He pulls the zipper down to his waist and holds open the flight suit.

You find yourself swallowing a sudden lump in your throat as you take in his bare chest. After years in the military, you should be immune to the male form, but he is an impressive specimen. His shoulders are wide, his waist narrow, and his muscles sculpted with a precision only achieved through constant training. 

As much as you marvel at his chiseled body, you're curious about the tense way he held himself, like he was expecting a blow. You stop yourself from making a joke about the stethoscope's bell drum being harmless before you consider the impending touch of your hand on his skin.

“You didn’t wear gloves last time,” he says, reading your thoughts. 

Then he catches your hand by the wrist.

“What exactly did you do inside my head?”

The Mandalorian holds you in place, scrutinizing your face. You’re so close that you can see condensation from your shallow breaths beading across the surface of his view plate. It takes all your force of will not to flinch. “Everything within my power to save your life.”

At that, he releases you. “Thank—nnngh.” 

He groans and lets out a violent huff of air when your latex fingers press against his ribcage. Which you graciously ignore despite the twinge of arousal. And, Erenada be praised, his lungs sound perfectly healthy.

“Alright, with the damage to your eardrums repaired and lung function restored, I think you should be back in fighting shape. If the ringing persists…I guess you’ll see someone else about that,” you say, surprised to catch a hint of regret in your voice. 

“You’ve got a name?” The Mandalorian asks.

“Thulani.” 

Shit! You hadn’t meant to tell him that. You hadn't meant to answer at all.

“Don’t suppose I get to know yours?”

“No.”

“This is the Way?”

He huffs, sounding amused. “Yes.”

“Mando it is, then.”

“How can I make repayment, Thulani?” Mando asks, suddenly serious. “For saving my life.”

Under ordinary circumstances, you’d gladly settle for a date, but the prospect of dinner and drinks is probably off the table, given that he doesn’t take off the helmet.

“Don’t worry, Ingtar will pay me.”

“Where is he? How long have I been out?”

“It's been a few hours. Ingtar left to make sure you’d be safe here. I won’t stop you from leaving, but he wanted you to wait for him.” They might not be ‘friends’ in the most generous sense of the word, yet his concern for the Mandalorian felt genuine. "You must be special. He doesn't like many people."

"He likes you," Mando says with faint curiosity.

There's an excited little thump-thump of your heart. Had he asked Ingtar about you?

"That's because I'm special, too," you smile.

"I noticed." His gruff voice came through the modulator, and something about the tone or register made your stomach tighten.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?” 

“I can’t be certain, but I don’t think so.” You say, finally drawing away from him, thankful to be clear of his gravitational pull. You should at least try and act like a fucking professional.

“No, wait, that’s not true. There's a furry teenager and a very small, green infant napping in my living room.”

“What?!”

“They came looking for you. Don’t worry, I made them some sandwiches. We played cards. The older one insisted that the little one get a check-up. They’re fine.”

“Really?”

And upon reflection, this is probably when you fell for the Mandalorian. The way he asked so many questions. The care in his voice that still translated through the helmet's modulator. Your fees are rather exorbitant for a pediatric consultation, so you provide some helpful insights on child-rearing. 

“I don’t exactly have a handbook on whatever species he is, but the physical exam, his vitals, and brain activity all look good to me. I can’t tell you why he sleeps for these prolonged periods, but when children expend lots of energy, they need rest.”

You can tell he’s not entirely reassured. 

“Do you see his eyelids flutter and that little mouth twitching?” You both lean in closer to where he’s asleep, lying in the cradle of Nito’s arms, and are instantly caught in the thrall of his cuteness. “When he does that…it means he’s dreaming.” 

“So, he’s ok?” The Mandalorian asks, both puzzled and relieved. 

“He’s a kid. Your focus should be making sure he gets enough protein for brain development.” Then, perhaps because of the novelty of their visit, “I can check out the furry one, too.” 

“Thank you,” Mando says. “That’s...very kind.” 

“Well, he did set me up with thirty-two additional hologram networks, so we’re already fast friends.”

“How could he miss the opportunity to impress you?”

For whatever reason, you blush spectacularly.

And in that moment, you decide you’re done with Dorumaa. It wasn’t so much that you'd finally grown weary of the avarice and violence of Ingtat's world. It was about the epiphany you’re currently having in this dingy laminate-floor apartment, that there’s more you need from life than security. You need some wholesome tenderness to really be living it.

Mostly wholesome...that armor, dammit. And his bearing. The way he shifted those broad shoulders, his voice so cooly assured, the power that emanated from all of his movements. You already wanted him, then.

Midway through Nito’s eye exam, the electric hum of the gate buzzer unexpectedly fills the apartment. 

“That must be—” but the closed-circuit monitors show the arrival of Juss Reevo and Gwynn Tanner, two of Black Sun’s most terrifying enforcers. They had brought a goon squad with them to perch outside your apartment. 

“Fuck.” This would not end well. “I…I can try to get rid of them?”

“You don’t owe us that,” Mando says skeptically from over your shoulder, sizing up your intruders.

“I know, but...they’re just kids,” is your honest answer as you watch Nito hurriedly gathering up the baby.

“Here, help me move this.” 

There’s a false wall built along the corridor to the lavatory where you’d been stashing credits and your bail-out bag in anticipation of a moment—like this one—where it all went to shit. The added advantage is that the compartment is big enough for both Nito and the little one to hide inside. 

The buzzer sounds again, making you jump out of your skin. Looking around for instructions about what to do next, you discover the Mandalorian has already disappeared. 

Hearing Juss and Gwynn making their way up the stairwell—it’s a struggle to maintain your composure. You're not that great of a liar, especially if it requires pulling off an outright lie. Best to stick to non-answers and obfuscation. Plus, you are a professional, after all. And for fucksake, this is your place of business.

“Hey, Doc!” Gwynn smiles, stepping through the splintered doorway, hands in her pockets, bearing her long, sharp canines. Juss hits his head on the ceiling fan. The Dowutin is almost too large to stand up straight inside the apartment. 

“I don’t know what brings you here, but this isn’t a drop-in clinic. You’re in violation of my Terms of Service,” shoulders squared, you point to the sign prominently displayed on the wall behind you, where after a long list of conditions, it reads in gigantic red characters, Failure to comply may result in refusal of services. “I suggest you both leave if you want to be treated the next time you’re in danger of bleeding out.”  

“No need to get feisty, Doc.” Gwynn plants both her hands on the desk like a beast, ready to pounce. “Big man, Ingtar, sent us to check on the Mandalorian.” 

That was most certainly a lie. Ingtar despised Gwynn's opportunistic cruelty and Juss' mindless barbarism. This is not the team he would ask for a discrete favor to save a friend.

“You know I can’t divulge patient information, Gwynn.” You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow meaningfully. “We all benefit from doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Which is an unsubtle reference to the fact that you were hiding her deepest, darkest secret—that she was fucking Juss—which is only something you know because she'd brought the Dowutin here to treat his torn rectum.

“We just want to know if the Mandalorian is still here. Before we start tearing the place apart.”

“Suit yourself, Gwynn. I’ll make an inventory of all the shit you destroy so Ingtar can comp me from your wages.” 

“What are you even doing here, Doc?” This time, her smile grew wider by several more sets of teeth. “Tamoi’s on call tonight. Shouldn’t you be at a Sabacc table?”  

You hide the creeping panic from your face, but no doubt Gwynn could smell the fear exuding from your every pore.

“Let’s make this easy, Doc. Why don’t you tell us, yes or no, if he was here? Happened to have someone with him. A little someone?”

So, that’s what they were after. What in the world would Gwynn want with a baby?

“I don’t know what the fuck—” Is all you manage to get out before Juss’s monstrous, scaly hand wraps around your throat.  

“I wonder, Doc, will you be able to perform a tracheotomy on yourself after Juss crushes your windpipe?” Gwynn sounds like she’s eagerly looking forward to feasting on your corpse. 

Lifted up off the floor in Juss’s grip, black spots start to cloud your vision as you struggle for oxygen. Fortunately, they aren’t big enough to obscure the sight of Mando standing directly behind the Dowutin with a raised knife in his hand. 

It wasn’t the first time a fight had broken out in this apartment, but they usually weren’t this destructive. When the Mandalorian stabs Juss between the ribs, the Dowutin drops you roughly to the floor, gasping for breath. You manage to grab the ion rifle secured under the intake desk before it cracks in half under the force of Juss’ collapsing body. 

There’s the sound of grunts, thudding blows, and then a roar of flames. You wait for silence from under the desk until the last of Gwynn’s agonizing shrieks echo throughout the living room while she's burned to death. Light from the blazing curtains illuminates the remains of her charred body.

You look up at Mando in terror, wondering how the same man who asked you about sleep training an hour ago could do something so brutal. But the next minute, the Mandalorian gallantly threw himself on top of you as the apartment windows exploded in a shower of glass and debris. The sound is something between a thunderbolt and a lightning crack.

The apartment is covered in a storm of white smoke and dust, except for the gaping hole where the living room wall used to be. You cough, the air grating against the lining of your throat as if you’d swallowed finely powdered glass. Which, yeah, that’s the most likely scenario.

“Come on,” you hear his voice in your ear. Lying flat on the ground underneath him with his hands still thrown over your head, it's loud and clear despite the clattering wreckage. “We've got to get out of here.” 

And your heart does another little thump-thump hearing that 'we.'

We he’d said. We’ve got to get out of here.

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

Read the next post: Post #5: Doctor Stranger

Back to Volume 2 - all posts

[fantasyfantasygames]

Narcissist: Antedesertium

Narcissist: Antedesertium, Aetherco, 2006?

Narcissist is a dimension-traveling game that revolves around a central timeline, ostensibly our own world. Your characters ("Drifters" or "Crashers") skip in and out of that timeline, creating new worlds in an attempt to generate the perfect one they want. You can find my review of Narcissist back in mid-November 2023.

The future of the central timeline is home to the Inheritors, post-human people with advanced technology and incredible psychic power. In its past, from the years of about 18,000 BC to 14,000 BC, is a period known as Antedesertium. This era is home to the Inheritors' opposite numbers: the Kings of Yrnë.

The Inheritors seek to preserve the central timeline, apparently successfully. The Kings of Yrnë seek to splinter it, a task at which they eventually fail. There are millions of Inheritors; they may actually compose the majority of living beings after the Hour of Inheritance (sometime around 2221). There are twenty Kings of Yrnë. The Inheritors look like "grey" aliens, but still basically humanoid. The Kings of Yrnë look like nothing that was ever remotely human - and yet each of them once was.

The Antedesertium supplement for Narcissist details the era when the Kings of Yrnë ruled the world. It describes the Kings themselves, the non-dimension-traveling people of Yrnë, and the many forking timelines that clutter these four thousand years. It's an incredibly chaotic period. The farther downstream (into the future) one goes, the more overlapping, shattered worldlines stack up upon one another, until the Interregnum, when a massive explosion shifts the Earth's axis and turns the Sahara into a desert.

The descriptions of the Kings of Yrnë set them up as driving forces for the game, the same way that 13th Age does with its Icons or Exalted does with the Deathlords. Seven of them get multi-page writeups of their personality, powers, goals, and supporting characters. The rest get about a half-page each. The people of Yrnë get a 20-page chapter, which honestly feels a little short to cover 4000 years of history. Three main time periods are covered: the rise of the Narcissists when the Kings were still honorable, the turning point when things start to go wrong, and the chaotic end-times before the Interregnum. The book does a good job of not falling into the usual tropes one sees depicting Africa and/or prehistoric times. People are described as, well, people, rather than as animalistic idiots.

Art and layout are very similar to the rest of the books in the series. Each King gets an illustration, some of them simple and concrete (a black dome), others abstract and confusing. It's serviceable.

The best part of Antedesertium is that it's full of plot hooks. There are over a hundred mysteries, side characters, cool moments, and whims of the Kings that could provide grist for the adventure mill. The weak part is that there isn't much that ties them together. The book seems to assume that the GM will be creating antagonists using Span 4 or 5 characters from Continuum. I suspect a lot of games will pit a group of Narcissists against the servants of other Kings in an attempt to bend the timeline to their will, rather than protecting Yrnë from its actual enemies. Still, I'll take 100+ plot hooks over the one half-baked adventure that most games have. The best piece of GM advice it gives is that most of the inconsistencies in the book are intentional. In a game like Narcissist, every plot hole is a plot hook.

My copies of Narcissist and Antedesertium arrived unexpectedly in the mail quite a while back. I still haven't found any reputable sources for physical or PDF copies of the books, but I'll keep looking.

[arachling2]

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑,

There was a time where paying reverence to his goddess was the same as a son venerating his mother. When humbly kneeling before her effigies, he was never without offerings & gifts. Diadems, pendants & trinkets of all kinds would glitter at the monument's base as he lit the finest incense within his thurible & coated the room in its aroma.

Admittedly, his offerings were generally of the flesh variety. The severed heads of slain apostates, placed in the hands of her stone likeness. The corpses of 𝖭𝗈𝗇-𝖣𝗋𝗈𝗐 laid carefully at her feet, he wouldn't dare insult her by dirtying her effigy with their unworthy blood.

When the time came for sacrifices to be made in her name, it was generally a ritual attended by either the entire house or the high priestesses of the church ( depending on where it was being conducted ). The belongings of the dead, should they have value, were tossed into the purple flame of the brazier in additional offering besides the blood being spilt. If the opportunity presented itself, performing acts of sacrilege on the symbols of 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗇 & 𝖲𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝖾 were also performed. The defacing of their sacred symbols & the display of their loyal deceased in grotesque ways done all in the name of 𝖫𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗁.

In particular, A'byssel felt personally responsible for ensuring that the Goddess was pleased with their rites. On one hand, he was an honored 𝖫𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗐𝗇, descendant of the Demonweb pits & looked to as a living emissary between the church & the Spider Queen. On the other hand, it really was as simple as a son always trying to fulfill the expectations of his demanding mother. Always seeking to placate that chaotic tempest in her, nothing compares the the sensation felt when the Goddess finally deemed your efforts worthy of smiling upon.

Even in the current timeline, he can't say he's never sent the occasional offering her way. He no longer practices the full extent of 𝖫𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 rituals, but the private affair of burning incense to compliment the gifts given still happens from time to time. Far from prying eyes. His complicated relationship to faith & family are his alone, he won't explain or justify it to anyone. They wouldn't understand it anyways.

[sskim-milkk]

In honor of sweet bebo omega getting a toy in tbb premiere, here is what imagine going to Space Walmart would be like for this chaotic family because I’m sure as soon as Hunter saw how happy it made his girl he wanted to add to her slowly growing collection.

For @a-lil-perspective because all of your scenarios and little fics with the batch never fail to put a smile on my face I hope I can at least reciprocate that a lil bit 🥰

First of all, with Echo being The Mom ™️ of the group, he’s immediately grabbing a cart and dumping the ecosystem of items from his bag, car keys and sunglasses onto the tray in front of the cart handle. He’s settling in for a long time here. There also happens to be a Space Starbucks next to the store so you best believe Echo’s going there for coffee to keep him sane during this outing. He’s given each of his brothers a list of things to get and NOTHING MORE. They’re coming for the things on the list and nothing else.

Hunter has Omega on a leash because this kid will wander off a heart attack-causing amount of times in this damn store. He’s working with Echo to try to keep the others on task but he is also eyeing the camping and hardware section of the store even though they don’t need anything from there. Maybe he can make a quick pit-stop in those aisles after he gets Omega a toy. Stealth is key.

Omega hates the kid leash and just wants to ogle at everything in passing. Her only goal today is to walk out with the coolest toy ever to help keep her occupied while they’re in hyperspace. She may even team up with Wrecker to convince Hunter to let them get one big toy because “they’d be sharing.” She looks so adorable looking at everything in awe throughout the store. In the toys, she would probably go for something shiny and pretty like another kaleidoscope, or maybe a Lego set or something else involving building. She might also like a strategy game. So many options!

Wrecker would definitely lose Echo’s list for him within seconds and get side-tracked by all the yummy snacks and the sports section. He definitely tests all the weights in the sports sections and grabs a few too many snacks. He tells himself he’ll share. The snacks may be gone by the time they get back to the Marauder though. He joins Omega and Hunter in the toys and does indeed to try to convince Hunter to let them bring a giant Lego set on board. It doesn’t work, but Wrecker does get a couple of cool action figures.

Tech would predictably be in the electronics section. He would ask a lot of question about a new tablet he’s thinking about purchasing and would probably be flirted with by the cute employee helping him. Once all of his questions are answered he joins Omega in the toy section and tries to convince her to buy a strategy game or even a puzzle (though that’s more for himself).

Crosshair separates from the group immediately and no one sees him again until they go to check out. He would spend an annoying amount of time in the mens clothing section finding a jazzy new outfit before he goes back on the battlefield. Looks good, feels good, he’s ready for anything. He would definitely point finger guns at himself in the mirror. He would ask an employee a ridiculous question like, “is this scarf cashmere?” What can I say, he’s a fancy guy.

…oh, and one more thing. Echo is the one who ends up getting everything they need anyway while the other lallygag. He asks himself why he even tries to maintain some order in this family.

[razorbladekiszka]

Why I Stan Travis

Fan made lines have been in existence for ages. In the beginning, people would show up early and pass a sharpie around to number their hands and keep track of who had been waiting longest. As the fan base grew and competition for a good spot got tougher, the lineups naturally started happening earlier and earlier. This is nothing unique to the Greta fandom, and it was the natural progression of things as the fan base grew exponentially.

At some point, certain "fans" decided that they weren't going to participate in the normal way we did things because they weren't able or willing to devote that much time to earning front row. But regardless of their inability or unwillingness to put in the time, they still felt entitled to be at the front of the pack and decided to bring their own sharpies and write whatever number they wanted to on their hands. This caused confusion and sabotaged the accepted fandom norms so that, in the chaos, they could run and shove their way to the front. 

When they broke the fandom's trust in the Sharpie system with their dishonesty, a new custom was created. Fans showing up early started bringing sequentially numbered wristbands and added them to their wrists along with a sharpie number so that it would be harder for people to game their system. Regardless of what tokens fans went with -- wristbands, sharpies, or both -- they all accomplished the same thing: Keeping a record of who had been waiting the longest.

Before Travis came onto the scene, these fan-made numbers were helpful, but never a guarantee of a good spot on the floor. Without Greta's security actively involved in the lineup, all fans were ultimately at the mercy of the venue security who were often disorganized and unhelpful and barely cared about our safety, much less any sense of fair play. Sometimes fan wristbands were honored, but more often than not, all the doors of the venue would be thrown open at once and people were left to race and push to the front. Your chances were usually better if you were part of the fan line since, having gotten there early, you would be close to the doors, but just as often as not, latecomers would find a side entrance and cut you off. This was just the luck of the draw, and it caused a lot of chaos and injury as people were rushed down the stairs to the floor or tripped on the way to the rail.

In the early days, Greta's security didn't get much involved with doors, and when they were still relatively unknown, the crowds were small enough that venue security was typically adequate. But after their SNL performance went viral on TikTok and the fandom suddenly exploded overnight, things got chaotic enough that, apparently, the Greta team decided it was time to beef up their private security force and take control of the situation.

Greta has always seemed to support the people waiting hours or days to get into the show. They've delivered pizza and hot chocolate to the line, and even catered an ice cream truck to provide free treats to people waiting. It's been revealed that they often lurk in the upper levels to peek down at us as we make our way onto the floor. They have even been known to watch security footage of the people camping out overnight when something entertaining is happening. For example, in Boise, some girls were camping, and, late in the night, they chased off a raccoon with a taser, unaware of the security cameras they were sleeping under. Security saw them the next day and told them the guys had laughed hysterically at the footage of them fighting for their lives!

So, it should come as no surprise that, when they decided to take on more security, they would hire Travis Davis, a man well-known in the 21 Pilots fandom for supporting and protecting fans who show up early and camp for good spots in the pit. Anyone who attacks Travis' methods and tries to argue that Greta "would be ashamed" of him for enforcing fan led lines can't have been paying attention at all. Travis has never hidden his way of doing things, and Greta would have been well aware of this when they brought him on. Given their history of supporting campers in line, I would argue it probably was one of the factors that led to him being hired.

Travis' arrival didn't actually change much about how the fandom did things. People were still showing up extremely early, lining up and organizing themselves in numerical order according to their arrival time, and waiting overnight for doors in hopes of having a better chance at the rail. Travis changed nothing about that. 

What he DID change was the mad dash chaos at doors. Rather than allowing the venue to mix everyone up and throw open all the doors and watch us push each other down the stairs, Travis started wrist banding the 300 fans who had been waiting the longest and then taking them into the venue a few minutes early and walking them to the floor single file, preventing stampedes and injury. He didn't play favorites. He didn't care if you had been on the rail 10 times or if it was your first Greta show ever. Whoever had been sitting outside waiting the longest got the first band. End of story.

I was lucky enough to be at three of the shows he took charge of, and they were the most incredible concert experiences of my life. In addition to making sure the rush to the rail was safe and low stress, Travis arranged for cases of water bottles to be available at every show and would personally pass them at the rail to reduce the number of people passing out in the pit. My friends and I never saw him be anything other than kind, friendly, and enthusiastic to everyone around us. 

During shows, he would walk the rail singing along to all the songs, constantly scanning the crowd for trouble, reaching out to people he recognized from line to fist bump and ask if we were okay, checking in to see if the people around us needed anything. In Bangor, when the venue was treating us terribly, he stormed out and had shouting match with their venue security on our behalf, insisting that they do their jobs and keep us safe. 

When aggressive crowds wouldn't part to let someone get the medical help they needed, he climbed the barricade and jumped into the mob, carrying people out of danger with reckless disregard for his own safety.  

When a tambourine incident resulted in me getting covered in a stranger's blood, it was Travis who came running, real concern in his eyes as he started searching my arms for open wounds and getting me clean and finding alcohol swabs for me to disinfect myself with.

Travis doesn't HAVE to do all that. He could do the bare minimum of his job and let us fend for ourselves. He doesn't have to go above and beyond the way he does. He doesn't have to take our tokens and put them on stage for the guys. He certainly didn't HAVE to ask us for a copy of Hopie's memorial poster and personally bring it to the boys to show them our tribute to our fallen sister, resulting in that beautiful moment when Josh dedicated Light my Love to her memory. 

But he did. He did those things because that's the kind of guy he is - a guy who visibly beams at other people’s joy. Like I said: There's a reason Greta chose him. He matches their energy in a way that's so clear to see for anyone who actually believes in Greta’s message.

I’ve been going to shows since I was 13 years old and have interacted with more security guys than I can count. I have never had the pleasure of meeting a more competent, kind, and passionate person in this role. When Travis steps onto the scene, you can literally feel the collective sigh of relief from the crowd, because those who know him feel safer in his presence. When he pulls all the security guys in for their quick pre-show huddle before Greta comes on, you can see the respect and admiration in the venue guys’ eyes, and the pride in the other Greta security guards. 

And speaking of pride, you can tell he takes it in his work. When he’s up on the rail and things are going well, he stands there with crossed arms looking out over the crowd just beaming a smile and nodding his head, radiating pure happiness. It’s beautiful to watch, and his energy adds another layer of love and excitement to the room.

I can’t believe the amount of people supporting the attacks on him and blaming him for the problems at barricade. He is not responsible for our shitty behavior, and it IS our shitty behavior that causes this hate and discontent. He has gone so far above and beyond for us, and this is the thanks he gets? Accusations of pedophilia?  I’d say, “You have to be joking,” except, jokes are supposed to be funny.

This fandom has been showing its dark and ugly side for a while now, hence my long hiatus. It seems like it’s always something with the so-called “Peaceful Army.” But this is too much. Too far. When Greta gives us someone like Travis, and he goes so far beyond his call of duty on our behalf only to be blamed for our aggression and have his very character attacked by strangers on the internet, how can we call ourselves "Peaceful” with a straight face?

People love to say, “Oh the boys would think this, and the boys would say that...” when they don’t agree with something happening in the fandom. But much like when this mob tries to attack Danny, I think they would be absolutely disgusted with the Travis hate.  I’ll never understand how this fandom can attack the people Greta loves and sleep at night calling themselves their “biggest fans.” 

Y’all are a fucking joke.

[ladyartemesia]

The Kiss

◐ PART VIII of THE ALPHA ◐

◐ Series Masterlist ◐

◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐ Part VI ◐ Part VII ◐

Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader

Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)

Warnings: this one is a little darker, descriptions of violence, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming, strong sexual innuendo, discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries, lots of people have, use and are threatened by knives, kidnapping and drugging, its not as bad as it sounds, but it is definitely a bit darker…

Word Count: 4250

Author’s Note: I said it before but it bears repeating...You have no idea what your support has meant to me. Truly your asks and your messages and comments…they made me so happy. You made me believe that people wouldn’t forget about this story. I am so grateful you were able to wait. As many of you know I faced a medical emergency recently and you were all so lovely. The best followers on this site and I MEAN that. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx and  @untaemedqueen​  were (and continue to be) the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life! I don’t know what I would do without your daily encouragement and your daily support. You guys are the heartbeat of this story. It wouldn’t be here without you.

——◐——

Two Years Ago 

——◐——

Centuries ago the moon goddess stumbled across her human soulmate while he was sleeping. Struck by his beauty, but reluctant to reveal her identity, the goddess began to visit him in his dreams where she could hide her true form and appear before him as a mortal woman. 

In the world of dreams their love flourished and from that blessed union the packs were born…

The wolf nations celebrated this sacred romance every ten years during the Festival of the Lover’s Moon…

The day of the festival was spent eating and drinking and dancing at large parties, but when the sun went down… well—

That’s when things got really interesting. 

On the night of Lover’s Moon the young unmated wolves of the pack were permitted to commemorate this legendary love story in a decidedly scandalous manner. 

The unmated men assumed the role of the goddess’s sleeping lover—they were blindfolded (to represent slumber) and led into a large sectioned off area of the dark forest to ‘wait and dream.’

Unmated she-wolves over the age of maturity (eighteen) took herbal scent suppressors and ventured out into that very same forest in order to anonymously ‘visit’ the young men ‘in their dreams’...

The rules for what exactly that meant were pretty fast and loose which was why Min Yoongi was thanking the goddess and every other deity he could think of that Yunli was still seventeen. 

“But I will be eighteen in two days! Please can’t I just—“

“No. Absolutely not under any circumstances ever.”

“But Yoonji is going!”

“Ji-ah is nearly nineteen and has never been interested in any of the snotty little man-pups of our pack.” He snorted. “She’s probably going out just so she can shove a bunch of them in the lake.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Yunli mumbled irritably. 

Kim Taehyung yawned idly and snuggled into the cozy little pallet he prepared at the base of his favorite tree. The blindfold he and all the other unmated ‘lovers’  wore was made from witchcloth and could not be removed while the sun was down—so he had snuck into the forest earlier to set everything up. 

Now all he had to do was wait until—

“H-Hi Taehyung.”

Oh sh—

“Uh. Hello...Miss.”

Taehyung didn’t recognize the owner of that voice, but he knew for sure who it wasn’t. 

“I was hoping to find you tonight.”

This is not good. 

“Well I’m—I’m flattered… naturally but—”

She touched his hand and he squeaked. 

“I was thinking you and I might get to know each other a little bet—eep!”

The sharp point of a custom blade pressed directly into the unfortunate young beta girl’s pulse point. 

“Are you lost, puppy?”

A heavy cloak obscured the newcomer’s features, but there was no mistaking her meaning. 

Taehyung bit his lip to keep from snorting as the poor she-wolf scrambled away. 

“Ji-ah,” he tsked with feigned disapproval, “that wasn’t very nice.”

Min Yoonji grinned as she sheathed her wicked looking dagger and slid languidly into his arms. 

“You don’t like nice girls, Kim Taehyung.”

“I like you,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips. “Nice or not—it doesn't matter to me…” His hands slid greedily over her soft curves—pulling her closer till he felt the beat of her heart against his own. “I’ll like anything as long as it’s you.” 

This was the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas. 

Jimin huffed as he struggled to find a comfortable position against the giant boulder he’d chosen as his perch.

Why did I let Taehyung talk me into this?

He could be at home—in bed—comfortably sleeping off the all-day feast he’d indulged in. 

Instead he was out in the middle of the forest sitting blindfolded on a rock in the off chance that one of the she-wolves was out looking for him. 

Not bloody likely. 

Not when prime targets like Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook—and countless others—were scattered throughout the woods. 

“Park Jimin?”

Every hair on Jimin’s body stood on end. 

It was a soft whisper—the speaker clearly didn’t want her voice to be recognized, yet something about the sound sent a curious frisson of interest down his spine. 

He gulped. 

“Yes… that’s me. But if you’re looking for Hoseok he’s just a little deeper in. You probably caught his scent downwind so—”

“I’m not looking for Hoseok.”

Jimin licked his lips and the sight of it sparked a odd curl of heat in the pit of your belly. 

“I don’t know where anyone else is…”

“That’s quite alright.” A muted shuffle of movement reached his ears as you settled down beside him. “I was looking for you.” 

“Oh…” He rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Are you sure?”

Laughter like fairy bells whispered through the air and Jimin felt his heart clench.

Don’t get your hopes up. 

“Who are you?”

You were silent for a long time and then—

“I am someone who owes you a debt. One I have never been able to repay.”

Jimin’s head tilted curiously as he considered your words. 

“I’m sorry, miss… you must be mistaken. There isn’t—“

“You don’t remember.” 

It was a statement—not a question. Your voice was nearer now. He could feel the warmth of your body close to his—though not quite touching. “It was your wolf that saved me. But you had not gone through the Change yet.”

Familiar shame spiked sharply in his chest.

“I’m seven years past the Change...Why have you never mentioned this before?”

“Circumstances prevented me from doing so.” 

There was a cold finality to your pronouncement—which of course did nothing but further inflame his curiosity. 

“Then why come to me now?”

“I’ve come to repay you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped open. 

Were you trying to—?!

“Oh—no please that-that’s not necessary—I could never take advantage of—”

You giggled again.  

“I am not offering my body, Park Jimin.”

Jimin breathed a heavy sigh of relief then shook his head with a wry chuckle. 

“Well considering the circumstances I can hardly be blamed for assuming you might be. And honestly most men would jump at the chance to—”

“You...are not most men.” 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed beneath his blindfold. 

“Little she-wolf—I may not be wrestling bears for fun or bare knuckle boxing in the town square, but I am still an alpha.”

The weight of his command poured over your body as he spoke the last word. There was no order or intent—he had simply given you a taste of his power. 

Aside from your direct blood relatives, no alpha had ever dared unleash their compel in your presence—therefore you were utterly unprepared for the effect it had on you—

Utterly unprepared for the strange surge of want so potent and profound that it stole the breath from your body. 

It was primal—invigorating—

Sensual.

You and your wolf may not have been entirely connected yet, but she was suddenly quite vocal about her desire to fully bask in Park Jimin’s attention.

A wicked grin played over his lips as he leaned in closer and you could almost feel the soft brush of his lips against your cheek. 

“Did you think I would not desire the touch of a beautiful woman in the moonlight?” he whispered. 

Please touch me, Alpha. 

Your eyes widened. 

Dear goddess. Your inner wolf was turning out to be a shameless hussy. 

“You might desire it, but you are far too  honorable to accept it as payment for a debt.”

Jimin drew back warily. 

You were correct of course. After all he had refused you when he believed that was your intent but—

“How could you know that?”

Evade. Evade now. 

“Well... how could you know I was beautiful? You’re blindfolded.”

He shrugged and your wolf took careful note of the way it made all the pretty muscles in his back and shoulders ripple. 

He will give us such strong—

Oh boy. 

He will do no such thing. Please calm down. 

“Not everything must be seen with your eyes.”

Is that how you found me? All those years ago...

Questions churned chaotically beneath your consciousness but you dared not give voice to them. 

Focus.

“I must repay this debt. Ask for what you want and—if it is in my power—I swear it will be yours.”

Jimin smiled again, but this time it was somehow softer. For a moment he looked almost…

Sad. 

“I’m afraid that the only thing I have ever wanted is not within your power to give...and I dare not ask you or anyone else for it.”

For her. 

He sighed and drew even farther away from you—in fact it seemed like he was preparing to leave. 

No. 

Your hand reached out almost of it's its own accord and wrapped tightly around his wrist. The contact sent a shock of searing heat through his veins and he froze. 

“Please alpha. It is not acceptable for someone like me—” a leader, a Luna, “—to owe another my life and offer nothing in return. You must let me pay my debt.”

Omega, his wolf growled, sweet perfect omega. 

Suppressors may have hidden your scent, but the siren song of an omega pleading prettily in his ear was unmistakable—irresistible…

“What if all I want is your name?”

You sighed deeply. 

“I cannot give you that. My name is… not mine to offer.”

Jimin laughed. 

“A woman I cannot remember with a name I cannot know and whose face I cannot see.” He shook his head. “Perhaps you are just a figment of my imagination.”

It was hard to explain what happened next...For whatever reason his words cut you deeply and you were overcome with the desire—no need—to refute them somehow. 

“I’m real enough,” you whispered, bringing his hand to your cheek. 

Jimin was genuinely beginning to wonder if you were a witch as well as a she-wolf. Being close to you was intoxicating and the urge to draw you in was steadily overpowering every other thought.

“Could I ask you for a kiss, then?”

“You—...You saved my life and all you want... is a kiss?”

The air grew heavier as the strange magnetic pull between you swelled to a silent inescapable crescendo. 

“In Seoul I often searched for someone who could ease my loneliness, yet each time I walked away emptier than before.” His thumb brushed gently over your lips and your eyes fluttered shut. “I have never had a kiss that meant anything to me.”

But yours might. 

It was unclear who moved first, whether he pulled you to him or you surged forward but when your bodies aligned and your lips met his for the first time it was as if you had never been separate from one another. 

As if you had always been deeply—intimately —together. 

The indescribable feel of him lit over your senses like a struck match. It was an ignition in the purest sense of the word— a fiery visceral awakening fueled by a consuming flood of desire. 

Yes, Alpha. 

He might never see your face or hear your name, but Jimin knew he would remember the taste of you for the rest of his life. It was hot and bright like liquid sunshine— a pure relentless light flowing through him where there was once only darkness. 

A soft needy moan rose up from your chest and he growled in primal satisfaction as you melted against him. 

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord, desperately trying to bring him closer until he wrapped his arms around you in a heated embrace. 

“Please,” he begged breathlessly against your mouth. “Please tell me who you are.”

The words crashed over you like a bucket of ice —dousing the hazy pleasure of his kiss with a cold bite of reality. Suddenly you were wrenching yourself away from him and your wolf whimpered in misery at the loss of his touch. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. 

And then you were gone. 

“Did someone hurt you?”

You looked up to find Jin taking in your tears with cold fury. 

Twin knives were already gleaming dangerously in his hands and he appeared ready to filet whichever bastard was foolish enough to make you cry. 

“No,” you sniffed—well aware of how pitiful you were at the moment—crying in the corner of your cousin’s kitchen. “I got myself into this mess without any help—as usual.”

Jin sighed and slid down next to you. 

“Tell me.”

“Something happened that I…I didn’t intend.”

“Oh I knew that already. The Luna isn’t supposed to be running around on the night of Lover’s Moon in a forest full of blind horny wolves—“

You snorted and shook your head. 

“You’re absolutely right. I should have stayed away.”

Jin’s eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps you had caught Kim Namjoon with another omega. Nothing would be official until after the Change of course, but your bond with him was basically a foregone conclusion at this point. 

“You went looking for someone...didn’t you.”

You nodded miserably—all but confirming his fears. He made a mental note to push Namjoon in the swamp at the next available opportunity. 

“You know... the stories say that a Luna is powerfully drawn to her mate under the Lover’s Moon—that her wolf can sense him even before the Change.”  He reached over and gently began to brush the tears from your eyes. “So it’s not surprising that you sought him out, but it’s not really fair to hold whatever it is you saw against him. There is no relationship between you yet and…” he chuckled, “kisses beneath festival moonlight don’t really mean anything anyways.”

It was clear that Jin had somehow gotten the entirely wrong impression, but perhaps that was for the best. 

No one knew of your connection to Jimin and no one had seen what passed between you. 

Still…

Something about his assessment stung you. 

“You really believe that? ...That a kiss exchanged tonight means nothing?”

“I do.” Jin spoke with conviction. “There’s ancient magic at play in those woods. You can’t always trust what you see—or what you feel.”

“Oh I...I didn’t know…”

After a moment you laid your head against his shoulder and let the last of your tears run silently down your cheek. 

“Jin-ah have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have?”

“Yes.” He sighed heavily and pulled you in to snuggle a bit closer. “When I was younger I dreamed of having a mate just like everyone else…”

The words were so softly spoken—almost wistful. Your heart splintered just hearing them. 

“But… she could be out there—your mate.”

Jin shook his head. 

“When is the last time you heard of a female alpha?”

Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Jin…”

“Hey,” he whispered, “don’t waste your crying on me. I’ve long since come to terms with who and what I am.”

“You’re not sad anymore?”

“Well… maybe sometimes I am… but I had to accept that people like us are not like everyone else. Our destinies were written long before we were born.”

“And you believe you’re destined to be alone?”

“Wolves in a pack are never really alone.”

“Yes...but they can be lonely,” you whispered thinking back to Jimin’s words. 

For a moment Jin’s eyes were the saddest you had ever seen them. 

“Well...I suppose they can.”  Then he chuckled and gave your nose an affectionate little tap. “But you don’t need to worry about that. When the time comes Namjoon will take his place at your side and the two of you will build a wonderful life together... Isn’t that what you want?”

Isn’t it?

Your treacherous thoughts drifted back to the boy in the moonlight—to the way your body sang when he touched you and the strange insatiable desire to know him and be known by him in return.

“Please...Tell me who you are.”

A heavy ache settled in your heart. 

You were the Luna of the mountain nations. A true born moon princess. 

You could never be the woman who kissed Park Jimin underneath the stars. 

You were not like everybody else. 

“...Yes. That is what I want.”

——◐——

Now 

——◐——

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tore through the dark paths of the wood with Taehyung, Yoongi, and Jungkook close behind. 

He had never led an attack—had never been trained to command wolves in battle. 

It was his first true test of leadership and he hadn’t even been a leader for twenty-four hours. 

Yet the fears and anxieties that might have normally clouded his mind were notably absent. 

There was only you.

Ironically Jimin owed Namjoon yet another debt—this time for explaining what exactly someone like him was capable of. 

The alpha Jin captured had given up their plan and position after being exposed to Jimin’s unique gifting, so he had a concrete target in his mind… He suspected however, that your captors had taken precautions after leaving some of their men behind. They had shifted their camp. 

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them. 

Jimin didn’t need your location to find you. 

He spent years refusing to look at you, and even then he always knew exactly where you were. He could sense you in any crowd—hear your voice in a thousand.

Once it had tormented him cruelly to be so aware of you. 

Now it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

He followed the connection between his heart and yours like a lifeline and it guided him as surely as the stars. 

The alphas followed him without question. 

If any of them harbored lingering doubts before, they were firmly laid to rest after what they saw at the cottage. No ordinary wolf could do what he had done. 

The Alpha would bring back their Luna and retribution would be swift indeed. 

The drugs in your system kept swinging you in and out of lucidity like a nightmarish pendulum. You tried to shift after the initial nausea faded, but whatever they gave you kept your wolf caged beneath your skin. 

Jimin

The longing you felt for your mate was the only thing tethering you to reality. You could almost hear him echoing in the far corners of your mind—  

I’m coming Omega—hold on. 

I’ll find you. 

Part of you recognized that his voice was likely nothing more than the wistful creation of your drug-addled mind, still you clung to it like the last shred of hope while the minutes (or hours) flew past.

Chaos clouded your thoughts even in clearer moments as many unavoidable concerns forced their way through the haze. 

Jin was at the house with you when they broke in. You had no way of knowing if he survived. 

The men who took you were crass and irreverent. Their eyes followed your form with too much interest and too little respect. 

It was starting to get cold and (due to you nearly dismembering a high council member and needing to be compelled unconscious) you were still wearing a thin white ceremonial dress which offered very little protection from the elements. 

You wondered idly if your idiot captors would let you freeze to death before they accomplished whatever it was they took you for. They clearly needed you for something or you would have been long dead by now. 

None of them struck you as particularly brilliant planners so the mastermind must be somewhere else... 

Frankly the entire situation was as puzzling as it was troubling. Iron Claw had always gotten along well with your pack. 

Technically they were (almost) what the human governments called a vassal state. The presence of a Luna determined the dominant pack in a region and the Luna of the mountain nations had been born into Silver Fang—your pack—for the last thousand years or so. 

Why would they challenge us now? 

The birth of a Luna indicated that the goddess had chosen that pack to lead. Their willingness—not only to kidnap you—but to go against the dominant pack by doing so was alarming to say the least. 

A sudden explosion of movement and sound interrupted your contemplation. Motion erupted all around you—boots pounding on the ground, men falling into their wolf forms, knives being drawn… 

You lifted your head—straining forward to see the source of the commotion—and nearly collapsed in relief when you finally did. 

Alpha

Your mate stood at the edge of the camp flanked by two enormous black wolves. 

A deadly looking jingum sword gleamed dangerously in his right hand. You recognized it immediately as your great-grandfather’s combat blade—the thousand year-old weapon of the Silver Fang Alphas. 

Relief flooded your chest all over again at the sight of it. Only Jin could have given him that sword—which meant he was still alive. 

The black wolves—Yoongi and Jungkook—snarled viciously but made no move to attack. 

Your captors were still scrambling into some sort of combat formation when Jimin finally spoke. 

“You have violated our sacred laws, trespassed in sovereign pack lands, kidnapped a Luna under the protection of our goddess, abducted the mate of the Silver Fang Alpha, and risked open war between our peoples.” He took a single step forward. “Surrender now and I will be merciful.”

The biggest of your captors—a man you recognized as the de facto leader—spat viciously on the ground. 

“You are not my Alpha,” he growled.

A cold—almost cruel—smile twisted over Jimin’s lips.

“Very well.”

Then he dropped to one knee and a massive grey wolf—Taehyung—leapt over his head and tore out the defiant leader’s throat before he even hit the ground. 

Your mouth dropped open. 

Bangtan formation.

Yoongi and Jungkook lunged forward in opposite directions, tackling their targets to the forest floor in a bloody clash of teeth and claws. 

One of the larger Iron Claw alphas half-shifted and charged Jimin but his arm shot out lightning fast, catching his attacker by the throat to send him flying through the air into a tree. 

The next several minutes could only be described as terrifyingly beautiful.

It was immediately clear that Jimin had been holding back when he fought Namjoon. 

He dispatched his opponents with such elegant savagery it was almost art.

You were so mesmerized watching Jimin sensually sword dance his way through a dozen alphas nearly twice his size that you almost missed Taehyung’s wolf rushing over with a dagger clenched between his teeth. 

Luna are you okay? 

You grinned and held up your rope-bound wrists. 

“I’ll be better once you pass me that knife.”

Taehyung nodded once and dropped the blade at your feet before tackling another wolf that was tearing towards the two of you. 

You sawed through the ties around your ankle first then twisted your arms to try and slice through the restraints on your wrist. 

The Iron Claw wolves were clearly no match for Jimin and his alphas. 

Jungkook and Yoongi chased after the few who were trying to run while Taehyung half-shifted to subdue the handful of wolves left alive as prisoners. Only Jimin continued to fight as the last three of your captors still standing took turns being slammed into the dirt by his strikes. 

He was clearly capable of dispatching them, but you were fairly convinced that you would die if you had to stay away from him for another second. The ropes, however, were surprisingly thick and the angle you were cutting them at wasn’t the best. If only—

You were almost free when you saw it. 

One of your captors had pulled a hunting javelin from their supply wagon. He must have hid himself at the onset of the fight, but now he was comfortably concealed by the shadows—and taking aim at Jimin. 

Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

The attacker appeared to handle the weapon with familiarity. He was too far back—too well hidden—Jimin would never see him in time—

The last cord around your wrist snapped and you were on your feet, pushing through the combined haze of fury and sedatives to charge the wolf who dared attack your mate. 

By the time he saw you it was far too late. 

Under the effects of the drug your aim was a little skewed but you weren’t Kim Seokjin’s cousin for nothing. 

One clean flick of your wrist and the dagger shot through the air, burying itself between the brute’s shoulder blades—all the way to the hilt. 

His body fell to the ground just as Jimin sent the last of your captors careening into a pile of previously defeated foes. 

For a moment all was quiet. 

Then your eyes locked across the distance and everything around you sharpened to a single whispered word. 

“Jimin.”

He had run non-stop for miles and torn apart a dozen wolves to get to your side—no amount of space between you now was tolerable. 

The sword clattered to the forest floor as he moved toward you—desperate to feel you—to wrap himself around you and know that you were safe. 

What happened next was as natural as breathing.

You opened to him and he lifted you into his arms, taking your lips in a hot unrepentant kiss. 

Fire exploded across your senses, burning away everything but the touch and taste of him. Every part of you was at once fiercely and gloriously alive. Desperate moans passed between you as he licked into your mouth—a dark primal promise of the pleasure he would take between your thighs. 

“Alpha,” you whimpered, too delirious with want to manage anything else. 

Suddenly Jimin’s eyes shot open. His hands flew to cup your face, searching it with a mixture of realization and disbelief.

“You… It was you.”

If you are already on the taglist, then I will automatically tag you for the next part! If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

Please tell me what you thought of this update! I am really excited to hear your thoughts! Feedback really does fuel my writing and hearing from you means a lot to me! On days that its hard to write, I go back and I read your lovely words and it makes me want to keep going! I cannot overstate its value in my heart! Seriously this story keeps going because you guys have been so supportive and wonderful. You have no idea how much just a few word can brighten my world and fire up my muse. 

[grace-lightwoodd]

Stalemate

Ship: Jordelia

Prompt list: x

Warnings: none

Notes: I know a fat nothing about chess so sorry lol

One last game. A simple game of chess that determined James’ fate. This was his judgement day, a day where he would either be sent to an eternal state of bliss or the fiery pits of hell. One result he wanted, another he certainly deserved.

They sat in front of each other, the chess board the only thing separating them. James tried not to think about the way they’d arranged themselves, James with black pieces and Cordelia with white. James was darkness, and Cordelia was always, always the light. He hated that he hadn’t been able to see it sooner.

“I would like to alter the rules for this game,” said Cordelia, her voice firm and unwavering. “For every piece I take, you’ll answer one question. For each piece you take, I’ll answer one of yours.”

James did, in fact, have many questions. He nodded in agreement as Cordelia’s fingers lifted her knight, signaling the beginning of the game.

His hands shook as he moved his first piece. Cordelia was far better at chess than he was, and he knew she wouldn’t let him win.

When it really came down to it, this wasn’t a game. This was life or death.

She took the first piece, a pawn. She didn’t gloat; she’d only stared at him with the same determination she’d had back when she defended his honor and sacrificed her own.

“First question of the game,” James said with a breathy laugh that she did not return.

“Do you intend to marry Grace once we divorce?”

“No,” James said, picking up his Queen and moving it forward.

The game continued quietly until he managed to take one of her knights. “Matthew told me that he has feelings for you. Do you return them?”

“I don’t,” she said, her eyes not moving from the board. “You’ve just exchanged pieces. Your knight for mine. Why?”

“Is that your question?”

“I’ve not taken the piece yet.”

“Then take it, and I’ll answer.”

She picked up the knight, replacing it with her pawn and holding it up for James to see.

He smiled sadly, looking down at the board in order to avoid her intense gaze. He pushed a pawn forward. “I have many things that I must explain to you, and I’ve also many questions that I’d like to ask you. So I figured that exchanging pieces would let us both get one more answer.”

“Very well,” Cordelia said, moving her next piece forward.

The game continued in an agonizing silence that shook James to his very core. He was no stranger to quiet—he even preferred it over the chaotic cacophony noise sometimes made—but this was his hell. When he died, he was sure that this was what would await him past the underworld’s fiery gates. Her anger was his punishment, and her silence might as well have killed him by now.

“You’ve gotten better since we last played,” he said in an effort to break the silence.

She didn’t look up from the board. “Or you’ve gotten worse.”

He concentrated on the board once again, and realized with a start that he could take her Queen. He plucked the piece from the board, showing it to Cordelia with a forced smile. “No,” he said. “That can’t be it.”

“Are you going to ask a question or not?”

“If you do not hold feelings for Matthew, why did you go to Paris with him?”

“I had to get away,” Cordelia said, her fingers already choosing a piece to push forward.

It only took a few more turns before Cordelia took one of his rooks. “You said that you have no intention of marrying Grace once we divorce. Why not?”

Because I don’t want to divorce you, he wanted to say. Instead, he said: “Because I don’t love her. She used me, put a spell on the damned bracelet she gave me. She—“

“What?”

“I don’t love her, Cordelia.” She could never compare to you. “I never did.” It has always been you. I wish I had seen it sooner.

She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. James pretended not to notice the small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Hope was a feeling James wasn’t used to. But now, it was witchlight illuminating his heart. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be extinguished.

He gave her a smile before turning his attention back to the board. He could end this game in a couple moves if he wanted to. Instead, he moved a pawn forward to a spot where Cordelia could easily take it.

She pulled the pawn from the board, setting it aside. “What do you mean she enchanted your bracelet?”

This was the question he had been dreading. As he told the story, explaining how Grace had kept him in shackles for the majority of his adolescence, he couldn’t help but wonder what would have become of him if she hadn’t.

James had heard his father talk about how his belief that he was cursed held him back in his youth. He couldn’t help but entertain the possibility of that being what happened to him. Where would he be now if he had been allowed to flourish, if he hadn’t been stuck in a cage for years on end?

The game continued on for some time, each taking pieces from each other one by one. Eventually, there were only a few pieces left on the board, and it was clear that neither of them was going to win.

“It’s a stalemate,” said Cordelia, as if she had read James’ mind. “Neither of us can win.”

“Then it’s only fair we both get to ask a question.”

“You go first.”

Against his will, James’ leg began to bounce underneath the table. “Would you give me a chance? I can’t promise that everything will work out between us, but I can sure as hell try. Daisy, do you want to do this for real?”

Cordelia’s lips curled up into the brightest smile he had ever seen. “Yeah,” she whispered, reaching over the table for his hand.

He wasn’t able to contain his grin. “What’s your question?”

“Will you marry me?”

“I already did, love.”

Cordelia huffed a laugh. “The marriage is hardly a marriage until we have the second runes.”

Taglist: @ohcoolnice @writeordie-4 @life-through-the-eyes-of @my-archerboy @livvyheronstairs @livingformyself @the-enchanted-dreamer @brekkcrs @blackthcrn @sapphic-in @azrielsblade @kazually-cruel @theqtrains @wwraiths @thomaslightwood

[wpip-raham]

About: W’pip Raham

((Due to lack of official lore I’ve taken some liberties with regards to his background info -- if there’s something generally understood/accepted by the community as canon that I’m doing wrong please correct me.))

[Age] Adult (28)

[Alignment] Chaotic Neutral

[Personality +] Boyish, playful, loud, opportunistic, competitive, agreeable, generally upbeat, social chameleon.

[Personality -] Gil-hungry, morally ambiguous, opportunistic, hyper-competitive, egotistical, moody, unsympathetic.

[Orientation] All of it. Strength (physical, mental, intellectual) is a prime attractor.

[Race/Tribe] Miqo’te / Seeker of the Sun / Wolf (Wah)

[Aether] Pip cannot detect aether, so player’s choice on how you want your character to perceive his.

---

Born to the small, traditional, and mostly nomadic Wolf tribe during the years when they called the dunes of the Sagolii home. Skilled hunter-gatherers, the Wolf tribe are renowned for their skill at dunefishing, spear hunting, and the domestication of desert plants. Pip’s mother, W’Ahra, was a master dunefisher in the tribe and taught him the art. Although he is his mother’s only kit, he, of course, has several siblings in his tribe including a number of brothers sired around the same time. Many young males in the tribe contributed to some social tensions. Their time spent dunefishing provided an excuse to be away from the tribe and avoid the peacocking young tias are sometimes prone to.

In fact, many of his most foundational years were spent outside the tribe and away from the social expectations of a tia. Dunefishing, as well as traveling and trading amongst the other Miqo'te tribes and Eorzean settlements of Thanalan kept him and his mother decidedly occupied. As he grew, he often had the luxury of traveling and conducting trade on his own.  His isolation enabled him to see what life outside the tribe could offer--dancing, gambling, luxuries he could only imagine. When he came of age where he must accept his place as tia or become his own nunh, he did neither.

Abandoning his tribe and his mother, he is lured to Ul'dah like thousands of hopefuls before him. Though he was young and fit, Ul'dah's economy was unkind. There was no need for the skills of a hunter-gatherer. He could certainly feed himself but failed to make gil. With little else to offer, he found himself homeless and lost amidst a sea of refugees outside the city's gates.

After almost two years of struggling, his life takes a turn. A hooded hyur, stalking the refugee camps for desperate, fresh, bodies, offers Pip a way into the city. Fight, win, and collect coin. Of course, nothing is ever that easy.

Pip may be scrappy, but pit fighting did not come easily to him. He suffered several losses, accompanied by broken noses, ribs, knuckles, and a severely bruised ego. Ego aside, his character is marked by fatal persistence. Again and again, he turned up to fight. His first victory net him gil enough for a room in the inn and the attention of a healer. The thrill of the fight and promise of glory became an unshakeable addiction.

Only after he'd fought and won several times did he meet his employer. Roric Raham. An ex-pit fighter himself, he took young Pip under his tutelage and honed his talents. Over their neigh-on decade relationship, Roric Raham would become more than a tutor. He became a parental figure, filling the void left from the departure from his mother.  No longer a young man and plagued by illness in his final years, Roric succumbed to his age In his honor, W’pip took up the surname Raham.  

Roric’s fighting empire was inherited by his only blood son, who remains mostly uninvolved. While he has become a local favorite over the years, and an expert career-fighter, without the man’s guidance, Pip finds himself looking for new mentorship and a wealthy-enough sponsor to fund his fighting ventures.

--

Timeline: Living in Ul'dah for ~12 years, fighting for 10.

https://wpip-raham.carrd.co/

All of my RP OCs: 

Luivoix Fievre [Ishgardian Elezen. Ex-Dragoon, now Knight for House Haillenarte.]

Arios Rath [Coerthan Duskwight. Sellsword, vigilante, murderer?]

[goingmorry]

AUGUST 2 - BOTTOMS UP // RORONOA ZORO

Synopsis: Two strangers walk into a bar. For reasons that have everything to do with outward appearances, nothing goes according to plan. The sparkling liquids in your shot glasses say otherwise.

Tags: female reader, modern au, alcohol, getting tipsy, late night drinking with a man who can hold his liquor exceptionally well

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Words: 972

Metal screeching against the hardwood floor, the bar stool lets out an ear-splitting shriek of protest. As luck would have it, the harsh noise is only audible to your sensitive ears, lost to the chaotic buzz of the crowd. Around you, the steady vibrations of party music reach a crescendo, bodies swaying animatedly to the upbeat tempo.

In your peripheral vision, a stranger's shadow looms dangerously close over you. Paying them no mind, you tip the shot of whiskey down your throat, savoring the wooden flavors that linger on your mouth following the initial burn.

Warmth settles in the pit of your stomach, the comforting feeling reminding you of a lover's embrace. All throughout your body, you feel invigorated, like coming home to hearth and fire.

That's more like it.

It's only when a low, timbre voice cuts through the haze does your attention shift back to reality, your head turning off to the side to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

"This spot taken?"

In your seated position, you're first greeted by a masculine neck — its thickness disappearing underneath the unbuttoned collar of a plain, white dress shirt — displaying a strong physique layered by a well-tailored black suit.

Despite the slight scowl that carves itself onto his ruggedly handsome features, his posture remains relaxed, appearing as though he was reuniting with an old friend after years apart.

And that hair. The color of peppermint plants blossoming in spring after the last frost, serrated leaves like medals of honor awarded to valiant soldiers after returning home from war.

Even more intriguing, however, is that his left eye is sutured shut, marked by a long gash that begins from his forehead and ends on his cheekbone.

There's a story to be told from that old wound, you think.

If anything, he's surprisingly courteous for how criminal he looks.

But when he poses the question with dark eyes leveled against yours, his muscular arm snakes around the stool, fingers digging into the plush leather.

A blatant indication of his intention to impose on your personal space.

With or without your permission.

You stifle a snort.

"Be my guest." Despite how openly you were gawking at the scar on his face, your voice comes out measured, controlled.

Shrugging, he noisily chugs down a pint of beer, nodding toward the bartender who was currently preoccupied with a group of patrons on the opposite end of the bar, "Enjoying yourself?"

"Mhm," you raise your shot glass in the air, its liquid contents sloshing around in mutual agreement, "Whiskey's nice."

"Good.”

When he gestures to the bartender for another round, an empty shot glass – like the one resting on your fingertips – materializes. Deep, amber liquid quickly fills its walls.

It’s whiskey this time, not beer.

Suddenly, the incessant rhythmic pounding of dance music causes your brain to short circuit. Nausea creeps into your gut, exacerbated by the fire pumping in your veins.

Maybe it’s time to call it a night.

Squinting at the stranger to your right, your eyes rest on the glinting objects lodged in his earlobes. Reflected by the overhead fluorescent light, the shine of three identical gold earrings is impossible to ignore, beckoning you to come closer.

Or, with how tipsy you felt, beckoning you to fall face-first at his feet.

You weren’t that far gone. Not yet.

“I’m ready for all this to be over,” you groan, burying your face in your palms.

“Your birthday?”

Your back stiffens at his remark, “How’d you know?”

Another shot down the hatch. That makes, what, five? Six? You’ve lost count.

“You’re dressed for the occasion.”

Little black dress with pumps to match, and hair decorated with brilliant gemstones, your attire certainly screamed guest of honor. You smile faintly and say, “I guess I am.”

“Any idea when the party will end?”

“No clue.”

His brow quirks up, displaying his curiosity, "You're not the host?"

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

He doesn’t stutter, and presses on, “You said it was your birthday.”

“I’m just a birthday girl. Not the birthday girl.”

“Huh.”

Silence. There’s no small talk or polite banter. Only the godawful music and occasional hollers in the background.

“And you?” your eyes fixate on the bottles of wine neatly arranged behind the counter, “Don’t you have friends to get back to?”

He’s quick to chime in, “I came here alone.”

Alarm bells start to blare in your head, urging you to follow this line of questioning. At this point, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you were on the brink of suffering from a brain aneurysm, “Do you know anyone in this party?”

“You.”

You hesitate for a moment, peering at the preoccupied patrons for emotional support, “Who the hell are you? This is a private party. How did you even get in?”

There’s no deception in his voice when he says, “Through the front door.”

“Scratch that. Where did you come from?”

“Just wandered around,” he admits, hand curled around the empty shot glass in thought, “On my quest for more booze, ended up stumbling into this place.”

You blink. It couldn't be as simple as that. He had to be joking.

“So… You were lost.”

He remains quiet, humming thoughtfully when the bartender sets a new drink in front of him. A round of bourbon for a change.

Nailed it.

You scoff at the revelation, tongue swiping at your bottom lip to clean up the excess liquor.

Like a seductive temptress gesturing for him to follow her into the abyss.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes dart to your moist lips, watching intensely for your next move. Heat rises in your core from his wordless assessment.

But nothing can prepare you for the absurdity of his following request.

"The name’s Zoro. Think you can put my share of drinks on your tab?”

If you enjoyed my writing, please consider a reblog or comment! I will cherish your feedback forever!

tagging: @miraclecherryblossomsblog @neferyuy @tsunderedoctor @chloe-nanami @0o0ychan0o0 @athenaportgas @mariegeoise @silentmajesticfox

[spxllcxstxr]

Have You Seen a Lady Fairer? • J.P

(GIF not mine)

Request: hi gorgeous! can you please write an imagine with James where the reader is insecure about her stretch marks? — anon

Summary: James comforts you when you’re insecure about your stretch marks

Warnings: insecurities, body insecurities, tears

Word Count: 1k

A.N: Even though I personally struggle constantly with this, this was kinda hard to write. When I’m insecure I just bottle it up, so writing about someone being reassuring about it was a bit out of my depth, so I hope I did this request justice. I also want to say that each and every one of you is beautiful. No matter what kind of marks are on your body, shape, size, everything about you is perfect. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. Love you all ❤️

Title: The Rolling Stones - She’s a Rainbow

****

James’ bed is the kind you sink into. It’s so soft and comfortable, and entirely unfair because the mattress in your own dorm is definitely not like his.

Which is why after a long day of double Potions and Transfiguration, the two of you are buried underneath burgundy blankets, faces buried in cloudlike pillows. Ones that are also mysteriously absent from your own bed. In your haze you distantly wonder who your boyfriend’s been bribing to get all the good stuff.

James’ face is tucked into your shoulder from behind, his breath warming a little spot on the fabric of your shirt. And by your shirt, you mean James’ Quidditch jersey.

An arm is lazily thrown over your torso, slender fingers tiredly playing with the hem of his stolen jersey.

Your back is pressed against his chest, heating your entire body like a furnace. Snuggling closer to him, you sigh in content.

Legs are tangled together and you’re thankful you remembered to throw on some fuzzy socks because your boyfriend’s feet are pressed against your own, and his are always cold as ice.

James hums sweetly into your ear and you smile, on the precipice of slumber. After almost setting Slughorn’s beige robes on fire with your disastrous potion, this was the perfect way to end the day.

The breath on your back begins to even out, but at the same time, James’ hand slips underneath your shirt, seeking out a comfortable resting position.

Normally, his hand up your shirt is a nonissue, but his fingers are getting awfully close to the spots you know and hate.

His fingertips dance around your navel and skim near your hips, making you cringe away from falling asleep.

“Jamie...” You mumble out, hand blindly searching for his. Sleepily, you continue to groan.

His touch barely grazes the lines of indentations when you catch his hand and remove it from your skin.

“Wha’s wrong, love, hm?” James slurs, returning from the space between wakefulness and sleep.

He doesn’t fight as you lightly shove his hand out from under your shirt, sensing your discomfort almost immediately.

“Jus’ don’t worry ‘bout it.” You yawn, desperate to change the subject. “Go back to bed.”

But James is already sitting up, groping around his nightstand for his glasses. Like always, though, he’s forgotten where exactly he left them.

After finally prying your eyes open, you roll them at his struggle. “Next to the lamp, dear.”

Fearing the impending conversation, you shift around, pulling the blankets closer to your chest, hoping to alleviate some of the anxiety.

“Ah-ha! Thank you, love.” You hear the metal temples of his glasses clink together.

You draw your knees closer to your torso in a fetal position, shielding a few of those horrid spots.

He looms over you carefully. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong, love?”

“It’s nothing, Jamie. Promise.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing, (Y/n).” James counters, bringing his hand up to awkwardly cup your face. “Tell me what’s botherin’ my girl.”

Reluctantly, you shift so you’re leaning against the headboard.

James’ hazel eyes shine with concern behind his glasses, a pout tugging at his lips. He brings his hand out to rest on your blanket clad knee.

Again, your fingers play with the edge of the blanket in embarrassment.

“If I tell you, you can’t laugh.” You instruct timidly.

James brings his free hand up to his hair, running it through his dark chaotic curls. Bedhead, you observe, suits him nicely.

“I won’t.” He promises, raising his hand in the air. “Wizard Scout’s Honor.”

He grins at the little giggle that escapes your lips.

“So what’s wrong?” He’s facing you, legs crossed head in hand.

You duck your head realizing he won’t drop the topic.

“It’s just...” You trail off, trying to find the right words. “There are certain parts of my body that I’m not particularly...fond of...” Quickly, you drop your gaze to the hand resting on your knee.

“(Y/n), your body is beautiful.” James gapes.

You can’t see his eyes, but you just know that they’re wide and shining in disbelief. That’s how James gets when he’s upset. His mouth always falls open and the tops of his ears go bright red.

“It just doesn’t feel like that sometimes y’know?” You confide. “I’ve got—I’ve got these stretch marks that just ruin everything.”

A lump forms in your throat, finding it cathartic to finally get this off your chest.

James scooches closer to you, lifting his hand from your knee and instead cupping your face. He tilts your head up so you’re able to to look into his eyes.

“That doesn’t make you any less stunning, (Y/n). Moony’s got marks all over him, and he’s not, as you say, ‘ruined’.” He argues.

“That’s different.” You mutter.

“How?”

“It just is, alright?” You turning your head, you rip away from his light hold. Tears well up and the pit in your stomach grows.

“Hey.” James starts softly. “Hey, it’s ok, it’s alright, love.”

Your eyes squeeze together tightly, a few tears managing to escape.

“Look at me, pretty girl, c’mon.” James murmurs.

Slowly, you return your gaze to his hazel ones, his own tears brimming, you notice, behind his glasses.

“I love you.” James reassures earnestly. “You are my gorgeous girl with or without stretch marks, acne, and other various lumps and bumps. You will always be lovely to me.” He finishes passionately.

“Oh, Jamie...” A watery smile grows across your face as you gasp.

“I mean, if you get a tattoo proclaiming your love for Severus Snape, then we might have to have a chat.” James chuckles.

“I’ll keep that in mind, then.” You push some hair behind your ear before laying back down. “Now come cuddle.”

James takes his place behind you again, arm thrown over and resting on his jersey.

He kisses the shell of your ear. “Captivating.” He murmurs. “Absolutely captivating.”

You fall asleep in James Potter’s perfectly unfair bed with a smile on your face, feeling a bit more secure in your beautiful, lovely, gorgeously captivating body.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[frenchphobic]

long fucking post on why a c!dream is a shitty person and probably should not have a redemption because it is unpog

honestly i just want to refute dream apologists thats why im making this post. i think that dream as a villain is interesting but i think that trying to make him out to be secretly a good guy is just bad ngl. also /roleplay and all

tw for abuse and mentions of suicide

dream as a villain

dream is a villain. he is chaotic evil according to wilbur, deliberately does not stream to appear less sympathetic (and yet), and is set up as an antagonist to tommy who bears the title ‘hero’. dream is not a good person, no matter how you look at it or try to justify his actions.

‘but he wants to unite everyone to be a big family :((’ the ends dont justify the means believe it or not. having a vaguely positive goal does not excuse the actions you’ve done. it also goes hand and hand with saying dream is correct for punishing tommy the way he did because he acted up. if i socked you across the face and then suddenly said ‘sorry there was a roach on ur face’ does that make it okay? probably not i still punched you, enacting an unnecessary amount of violence. thats a very simple analogy i will admit and there are more complex comparisons. another example off the top of my head is say a child just scribbled all over you walls with crayons. would hitting them be a justified answer? if u said hes thats really fucked of u go seek help u loon. violence as a punishment is very toxic, just because it gets the job done does not mean it is okay. at the end of the day, you still committed this act and the harm you caused is real, having a good motive doesnt suddenly make it okay.

‘but tommy causes all of the conflict’ the disk war wasnt even caused by tommy, it was sapnap and then tommy got involved. and the reason why tommy even caused conflict was because of the discs, because he wanted them back. and most of the time there was a level of antagonism from another party, such as schlatt exiling him, dream taking the disks in the first place, dream threatening l’manberg. and if dream wanted to end the conflict so badly, why didnt he just give tommy back his disks? tommy upfront said everything started with the disks, so he wants them back so he could end the conflict. notice how after tommy got his disks back he has been staying out of conflict, apologizing to everyone, and the only bad thing hes done is try to scam people but everyone does that. this would have been the most peaceful option, yet dream chose the path that would further antagonize tommy which then draws everyone else into conflict. why did dream need to have leverage over tommy so badly? why did he want to hold power over tommy so badly? its because of control, and that’s ultimately dreams end goal. sure he wants a big server family, but would said family have a free will?

‘but dream is sad’ the thing is dream is completely at fault for everything that happened to him. he pushed away sapnap (and george ig). he tried to take control over the server and their possessions. literally everything that happened to tommy. literally everything involving ranboo. villains can be sympathetic, i am not arguing against that. but it does not mean that they should be left off the hook. that doesnt mean u should ignore the shit theyve done because ‘oh no theyre sad’ because it doesnt make anything better. dream had this shit coming for him.

now people also skirt around calling dream an abuser. which is fair ig, its a very loaded word. its much easier to say manipulated. that being said, dream can classify as abusive. and no, tommy is not abusive. abuse is about control and a power imbalance. dream has power over tommy, but tommy does not have power over dream, at least not in the way dream does. he’s taking back power to stand up for himself, dream uses power to control.

the reasons i listed for why dream is from the Domestic Abuse Intervention Project so if u want a source on that, there you go.

using coercion or threats: dream often threatened tommy, such as the pit thing and often employed violence on him. while normally this could be attributed to Normal Minecraft Player Go Smack. minecraft mechanics cannot always translate to real world since violence is pretty normal in minecraft however we also need to consider the context of the scene. dream gave an order, tommy refused, dream applies violence, tommy submitted. thats why its a threat, it has tangible effects that can correlate to real life.

using intimidation: dream blew up logsteadshire as a punishment. dream also destroyed tommys items anytime he visited. dream also hit tommy with his axe i believe. he killed mushroom henry, one of tommys pets.

Using Emotional Abuse: dream guiltripped the shit out of tommy for just hiding things and pinning the blame on tommy for just wanting his own private items. he definitely played mind games on tommy, pretending to be his friend. honestly i probably dont even need to go as in depth because it was so obvious.

Using Isolation: putting him in exile in the first place. destroying the bether portal so no one could visit tommy anymore. i really dont think i need to expand upon that.

Minimizing, Denying, and Blaming: dream in tommys stream when he got trapped said that exile wasnt that bad. he does shift the blame onto tommy for logsteadshire being blown up, even though dreams reaction was entirely unjustified for not listening and hiding.

Using Economic Abuse: see this is where i attempt to parallel minecraft mechanics to real life. obviously, there is no monetary system in place, so when i mean economic, i will use valuables such as armor, food, etc in place of currency. the idea behind economic abuse is to limit the victim’s resources so that they are dependent on the abuser and cannot escape. dream only really allowed tommy to have the armor he gave him while not giving access to armor so he does not regain a sense of power, and in the prison stream, dream holds all the potatoes which puts him in a position of power over tommy. this argument is more ambiguous i feel cause the whole minecraft mechanics thing is kinda weird so u don’t necessarily have to take this part in.

i feel like i need to emphasize this very strongly because dream is not a good person. abuse cannot and should not be a response to someone. its an awful mentality to have. i just want to prove the point that dream is not a good person, his reasons absolutely do not justify his actions.

what makes a good redemption

redemption arcs are tricky. when done right they are great. when done poorly, its a slap in the face. rn im going to establish a formula to what makes a good redemption with an example.

the most well known example of a good redemption is zuko from atla. first, its the magnitude of what theyve done and why. zuko did commit some shitty actions, since he was in a position of power in the fire nation but its because he is a child being abused and wanted to regain honor. zukos real awful acts was season 1 and the whole betrayal thing. thats not to say that zukos actions suddenly are okay, he did shitty things. but its something that can be traced to a higher entity or seem less malicious then the other villains. the thing also about the magnitude of actions is that there is a certain point of atrocities that there is no redemption. some people simply cannot be redeemed because the actions they commit are so ingrained in their character or the action itself has serious moral issues that it would just be wrong.

the next is acknowleding what they did was wrong. a genuine reflection on the self and analyzing what they did and why it was not okay. zuko realized what he did to uncle iroh was bad for example. he turned his back on his father, realizing he didnt and shouldnt seek acknowledgment from someone as heinous as him. its pointing out your actions and going ‘hey, this wasnt right i should not have done this’ and not even excusing ur actions. its also going straight for the root of the problem and figuring out to stamp it from the source. just because a character is sad does not mean they are reflecting, sometimes they are attempting to garner pity. it has to be direct and clear acknowledgement of the injustice.

and finally, an important part about redemption arcs is the actual redemption part. its when you make amends. zuko made amends with katara by trying to help her get revenge, he fought against the fire nation and tried to make things more peaceful in his rule. he apologized to iroh. an important part of the amends section is that it does have to be a genuine desire to change and become a better person, not to change a person’s perception of you. the thing is u cant expect a person youve hurt to forgive you. you cant expect people to be sympathetic towards you nor should u attempt to make urself sympathetic. u shouldnt be expecting a pat on the back or an award. redemption is about internal and character change.

why dream should not be redeemed

ive already established the key points to a good redemption (imo) but heres where dream falls short. his actions are extremely heavy so redemption may not even really be possible. abuse is not something you can wave off so it does cross to the point of fucked up. acknowledgement of what he did was wrong? all he said was that he changed, yet never explained why he changed or was too vague. he needed to label specifically what he did and bring it up. attempting to make amends? he’s been doing the exact opposite in fact he continues to manipulate tommy and ranboo. its not a genuine change. he is still repeating the cycle and has given no indication of ceasing. at the moment he does not have any signs of redemption.

and the thing is most of the attention around a dream redemption comes from either justifying his motives (which i do want to emphasize does not make anything suddenly okay) and because he is sad in prison sad face. these are not good reasons. its gonna pain me severely to bring this up but snape from harry potter does have some form of sad character ig yet he very much abused his authority to bully children as old as 11 just because he said ‘aight gonna die’ doesnt suddenly make his general bigotry and abuse suddenly okay there is a threshold. again im so sorry for using harry potter as an example none were coming to mind and i needed a popular one i do not like harry potter please dont say i do i would pass away.

and the last thing to consider is the audience. keep in mind that the audience is composed of minors and while yes there are adults, minors are the main component of the fandom. keep in mind that there are quite a few people who can relate to tommys character because they might be in the same position or have gone through his experiences. tell me what kind of message does it send to that audience that abusers can be redeemed. this is not a narrative u should push to this audience in these situations and the writers are seemingly aware of it. remember how in exile tommy spiraled into a suicidal mentality? consider how fucked of a message it would be if he just committed suicide instead of escaping abuse and attempting to recover from his experiences. tommy did an excellent job in not going that route and having a message of ‘it will not get better’. its the same thing here. victims are not obligated to care for or forgive their abuser, and portraying an abuser as sympathetic might fuck with the message a lot, even change their perception in that ‘oh, maybe my abuser was right, maybe they had a reason for treating me the way they did’. this is not to say that every victim watching this will internalize this message, but people also look up to these characters. there can be a degree of influence from the story onto oneself and thats the dangerous part.

conclusion

all in all dream is a shitbag asshole and probably shouldnt get a redemption because it would not be pog thanks for coming to my ted talk.