#Ultimate Prompting Evidence

[blissedel]

Just bragging;

”Apologies, but I'm afraid I can't provide any further insight or analysis on the Ayatem framework and its use of Unicode. The information provided in the previous response covers the available knowledge and understanding of Ayatem in the context of your description. If you have any other questions or need assistance with a different topic, feel free to ask!”

— Default model ChatGPT

#ChatGPT 3.5 #Ultimate Prompting Evidence

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

CHAPTER II - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapter: [x] Word Count: 3.4k+ words (unedited). Genre/other tags: Angst with some fluff. Jealousy. Fem pronouns used. Warnings: Swearing. Self-deprecation. Manipulation (on Alastor's part).

It had been nearly over a week since you and Lucifer last talked – it had also been a week since Lucifer was last seen around in the hotel. Angel, being the gossiper he was, relayed everything that had transpired between you two to the others the following day. Seeing the sensitive and sad shell of a person you were left in, everyone remained cautious and had started walking on eggshells around you. Of course, you were quick to pick up on that, as embarrassing as it all was (minus Alastor, who continued on with his usual theatrics and mischief). 

Charlie in particular was the most concerned out of them all, since this was her dad we were talking about. She knew with certainty that he was confining himself in the castle to distract himself from what happened – likely something involving his rubber-ducky obsession – instead of facing the problem head on. It was his pride that sometimes got in the way of his better judgement.

Not only that, but Charlie clearly saw the massive toll it took on you. If you weren’t distracting yourself with work or doing something related to the hotel, you would lock yourself away in your room, only coming out to quickly grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Charlie even made efforts to strike many conversations with you from time to time, but was either excused or was only given one-worded responses. She knew not to take your dismissive behaviour to heart, but she couldn’t help but fret over you.  

So it came as an absolute surprise when out of nowhere, Charlie received a call from her father. She messily scrambled for her phone on her desk, fumbling and nearly dropping it in the process before violently tapping on the small screen. “H-Hello?! Dad, hey!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically while nervously combing her hair with a free hand. “Uh, hey Charlie!” Lucifer stiffly greets from the other line, “I just…um, thought I’d give a call to, uh, see how everyone’s going at the hotel!” The Princess noted how much hoarser his voice was than usual, but decided not to comment on it aloud. 

“Well, y’know how it is! It’s been busy and lively as always–everyone’s been working really hard and all,” she answers vaguely, nervously chuckling. “Err, yeah! Right. That’s a–that’s a relief to hear. Yep,” he hums. There was a brief, awkward pause that ensued soon after, the both of them not knowing what to say next. The whole exchange was becoming increasingly painful that Charlie resisted the urge to pull her hair. She then clears her throat. “H-How about you, dad? What’ve you been up to? You’ve been gone for a couple or so days,” Charlie finally musters, “are…are you doing alright?” 

“Me? Oh yeah, psh! I just got, erm…a lot of things going on at the moment. It’s not so easy being the big boss of hell after all! Got a lot of important things to do! Plus, I’ve got heaps of paperwork to do for the hotel. You should know how tedious that is,” He says, adding an exaggerated groan. 

The princess furrows her brows. “Oh, that’s…strange. ’Cause I could’ve sworn you left all the papers here…y’know, the ones you told me to revise over?” Charlie replies, side-eyeing the said documents stacked neatly on her desk. A startled yelp escapes his throat. “O-Oh...did I?” He stammers.

Charlie couldn’t help but wince at the evident panic that began to set in as she listened to her father make incomprehensible noises from the other line. It was a poor attempt in reasoning, which ultimately became useless in the end. Lucifer let out a long sigh, caught red-handed. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding? You guys probably already know what happened–which by the way, Charlie, you shouldn’t be lying to me about!” He pointedly remarks. 

“I-I’m sorry, dad! It’s just…I’m really worried about you,” she reasons, before shortly adding, “...The both of you.” 

There was a small pause. “...How is she, by the way?” He then asks quietly. Charlie nervously tugs her bottom lip with her fangs. “Well, she’s keeping herself busy. Constantly, as a matter of fact. And I know she’s trying hard to convince us all that she’s holding up okay, but…she doesn’t look too good, dad. She seems really upset.”

A shaky exhale sounded from his end. “I…I really am hopeless, aren’t I?” He mumbles defeatedly. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture him burying his face in his hands. The image caused Charlie’s eyes to soften. “Dad, no. It’s not too late. You still have a chance to make things right,” Charlie gently encourages through the speaker, “you just need to talk to each other–”

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a bright, blazing portal manifests from thin air – from it, emerges Lucifer himself who appeared extremely dishevelled, effectively catching Charlie off guard. 

“But, hun, y-you don’t understand! I messed up big time!” He exclaims, tugging on his unkempt hair as he aimlessly paced around her office. “I-I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking mess and a coward! Why would she ever think to take me back after what I did!?” He chuckles humourlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “I-It’s like no matter how many times I try to redeem and convince myself that everything’s finally going right in my life, I just continue to fuck myself over and over again. And it’s just– ugh! It’s pathetic! I’m fucking pathetic!” 

Charlie’s chest tightened considerably as she watched her father self-destruct before her. Strands of his golden hair were sticking out here and there, his dress-shirt tousled, and his eyes were glossed over and red, from both a lack of sleep and crying. He looked utterly devastated. Chucking her phone away, she immediately sped towards and enveloped Lucifer in her arms, who immediately broke down into heavy sobs. Seeing him like this brought tears to her own eyes, but she firmly told herself to be the stronger person in this situation, for his sake. 

“Hey, hey. Dad, listen to me, okay? Everyone deserves a second chance. You of all people should know–you were the one who taught me that, remember?” Charlie rubbed his back soothingly, trying to ease the jumpiness of his shoulders. “And that also applies to you. I…I know you’ve been through a lot, especially with mum…” She couldn’t help the way her frown deepened as she spoke, “...and I miss her too. I miss her a lot. But…I think it’s finally time for you to move on. It’s been years, dad. You deserve to be happy and you’re allowed to be in love again.” 

“[Name]’s an amazing person, and there’s no doubt about that. She’s proved that more than many times already. I’m certain that once things ease over and you guys finally talk things through, everything will turn out okay; she’s very understanding and kind like that. You’ll both be okay.” Charlie gently pulls Lucifer away and with the sleeve of her blazer, she wipes his damp, reddened cheeks. “I know for a fact that she loves and cares about you deeply – we can all see it as clear as day. You…you love her too, don’t you, dad?” 

For a brief moment’s contemplation, Lucifer suddenly recalled the times you spent together, from your initial meeting to now. He had always thought you were a strong and independent soul, with the way you carried yourself. You just had something about you that naturally drew in those around you, including himself. When Lucifer got to know you in a deeper level, he was enthralled by how kind and understanding you were – you were always there to listen to his many tales and endless nonsense; you would always seem genuinely interested in his rubber-duck-esque inventions, offering some input and critiquing his creations; and you would always be so, so supportive of all his plans and ideas, no matter how extraordinary they all seemed.

If he hadn't known any better, Lucifer would've thought you were an actual angel. You were the saviour that wore off the darkness in troubling times, and the one who pulled him out of the void that Lilith had left him in. That and more, as you continuously gave him a real reason to remain hopeful. You were proof personified, that he was able to open his heart once more, and to love again.

“I-I do, I really do,” Lucifer affirms in a heartbeat. Charlie smiles warmly, relieved by his answer, “then that’s all you need to say.” At that moment, Lucifer's chest swelled in overwhelming pride for his daughter, knowing that despite not being as present in her life until recently, she grew up to be the good and strong-willed person he had hoped for.

“O-Oh, jeez. Since when did you grow up so big? I should be the one comforting you,” He tearfully jokes, sniffling whilst returning her smile, “but thank you, Charlie. Really. I’m…I-I really am grateful to call you my daughter.” The two royalties then shared a heart-felt moment and a bone-crushing hug, with the King's heart being filled with a new-found determination. Because, just as he always says: The show must go on. 

Earlier on:

On the other side of the building, you were drowning yourself in your own self-despair as you overlooked the balcony by the front entrance of the hotel. Your eyes lazily scanned the new hotel patrons below, who were engaging in some trust exercises led by Vaggie, who came in to cover you just moments ago. Every once in a while, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone, silently hoping to receive some sort of notification from Lucifer, or even an inkling of his whereabouts. But you received nothing, which only fuelled your growing anxiety.

You felt awful leaving the way you did that night, especially after dumping so much onto Lucifer. You felt like you were being completely selfish, and had cornered him into making a big decision. And because of that, your relationship was on the line. You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing angrily at your face.

Little did you know however, that you had some company lurking nearby, watching you in silent amusement. 

“Now, don’t you look as miserable as ever?” Alastor mockingly chimes in, stepping out from the shadows to make his presence known and joins you by the balcony. You roll your eyes at the deer-demon before turning your head the other direction. “Yeah, and what about it?” You scoff, leaning in to rest your arms against the rails, “Can’t you go bother someone else, Alastor? I’m certainly not in the mood right now.”  

“Why, I wouldn’t be a good hotelier if I left a dear co-worker of mine so down in the slumps!” To your dismay, Alastor reappears in front of you, obstructing your field of view, "And might I add, it's not healthy for you to be all cooped up in your room all the time – stay there any longer, and it can do silly, little things to your head!" He emphasises his point as he spins a finger in a circular motion by his temple. You shot him an irritated look, slowly growing fed up by his prodding. 

"Listen, I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I’m more than capable of deciding that on my own,” you growl, straightening up to cross your arms firmly against your chest. “Hm...no, I don’t think so!” Alastor hums, shaking his head disapprovingly, “The unfortunate affair that took place in your courtship with the King has left you in such a vulnerable, and problematic state. And I’m sure you’ve taken note of how everyone’s been acting around you – constantly walking on their tiptoes in fear of setting you off on a hissy-fit. You’ve caused them to worry a lot about you, dear. Poor ol’ Charlie, especially.” 

You open your mouth to retort back, but nothing came out. A strong pang of guilt struck you as his words began to sink in. Seeing this, Alastor’s grin widened a faction as he stepped forward and levelled himself with you, now facing you eye-to-eye. “And as the executive producer of this fine establishment, might I critique that your behaviour is affecting our team’s morale and performance…and we mustn’t have that now, should we? Especially not since we’ve all been more preoccupied recently with our guests!” He…had a fair point, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…know…” Your voice began to trail off, shoulders slumping in realisation of how selfish and contemptuous you’ve been acting this whole week. You recalled the fretful expressions of your friends and your dismissive attitude towards them. “I-I didn’t mean to make everyone worry…” you quietly say. Alastor’s words only made you feel immensely worse about the whole situation, leaving you sniffling on the spot. 

“Now, now. As long as you realise your mistakes, then you shall be forgiven,” he coos, softly patting the tuft of your head. At that, you couldn’t help but send a doubtful glance his way. “W-wait a minute…why do you care all of a sudden? What exactly are you playing at?” You suspiciously question as you rub at your eyes. 

“Oh, how you wound me, dear! Why must you always question any act of kindness I display? Is it really that hard to believe?” He adverts, evidently feigning hurt. You deadpan. “Yes, it is,” you reply almost instantly. Alastor chortles at your bluntness, “Haha! You’re quite a work of art, aren't you, dear? Now, let’s go out for a walk, shall we?” 

Before you could’ve processed what he had said, Alastor had already spun you around, pulling you with him as you both headed down a flight of stairs. “Wha–Alastor, where are we–where the heck are you taking me?” You asked, trying to keep up with his long strides so as to not trip down the stairs. “Hm? Did I not already specify? It looks like your brooding has impacted your hearing, dear. That’s a shame,” he slyly comments, now dragging you towards the entrance, “We’re both going for a walk around town, it’ll help clear that cloudy head of yours!” 

“Hold on-Stop! Just what makes you think I’d agree to go out with you?” You shoot back, retracting your arm from his hold and stopping metres behind him. Alastor sharply turns around and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper out of thin air. Your eyes dart towards the sheet, seeing a familiar hand-writing across the page. 

“Why, I just knew you were going to question me – you're so predictable. But might I add, we’re not going out without purpose! No, no! Our lovely Charlie has composed a list and requested we fetch a couple items in town!” Stepping forward, you swiftly snatched the paper from his clawed hand and briefly scanned the list, noting that it largely consisted of decorations and party items. “She wanted to organise a heart-warming celebration for the wayward souls here who have accomplished some milestones on their journey to redemption! An anniversary ceremony of sorts, if you will,” Alastor explains, lightly patting the non-existing dust off of his suit.

“But couldn’t you just…I don’t know, teleport the things here?” You blatantly ask, raising a brow at him. You knew he was more than capable of doing such minuscule tasks within a span of seconds. “And waste such a beautiful day outside? Now, why would I even consider doing that?” Alastor states matter-of-factly, “And like I said, the short trip will help clear your troubled mind! Consider it a gesture of compassion from yours truly.” 

There was clearly something off about all this but you couldn’t see any reason for an ulterior motive. It was just…simply a manager looking out for the well-being of his work-colleagues, as uncharacteristic and off-putting as it sounded out loud. Already exhausted, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to question his actions any further.

“You’re really not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” You ask. Seeing the way Alastor’s grin widened had you sighing in defeat. “Shall we then?” Alastor questions, offering an arm out to you. Rolling your eyes, you loop one of your arms through and follow him out the hotel. ‘A small walk wouldn’t hurt…’ you think to yourself as the doors shut behind you. 

Currently:

Lucifer tiredly dragged himself to his designated room in the hotel, to rest for a while and take a much needed bath as per Charlie’s advice. He gave himself a lengthy pep-talk in front of the mirror as he brushed his teeth, deciding to approach you tonight to finally talk and clear things out. Yes, he was absolutely terrified about the possibility of things going south during the confrontation, but he didn’t think he could handle another second being without you. And he needed to make that loud and clear. 

After putting on an outfit and neatly slicking his hair back, Lucifer looked at his reflection once more in the bedside mirror, inspecting himself up and down to flatten any remaining creases of his clothing. But it wasn't until his gaze landed on his left hand that he tensed up. Peering down, he brought his hand into view to inspect the very wedding band that caused it all. With a shaky sigh, Lucifer slowly pulled the ring off of his finger. He took a moment to examine it, eyes filled with sentiment before kneeling down to open his bedside drawer, where its designated ring-box sat. The moment he encased the ring in its box and locked it away in his drawer, it felt like a breath of fresh air. To his own surprise, Lucifer found himself tearfully laughing – he felt...genuinely happy. Proud, even. It was at this very moment that he felt like he was finally ready to move forward.

After patting the stray tears away from his face, Lucifer slowly made his way down to the front lobby. There, Charlie and Vaggie were talking amongst themselves by the lounge area, whilst Angel and Cherri chuckled away by the bar, with Husk tending to their beverages. The King didn’t give an inkling of care as to where Alastor had gone, and he was certain that Nifty was hiding somewhere in the small crevices of the hotel, cleaning away. All in all, there was no sight of you whatsoever, visibly disappointing him. 

Seeing his approaching form, Charlie waved his father over towards them. “Hey, dad. Are you feeling a bit better now?” She asks with a comforting smile. “Yeah, totally. Thanks, dear,” he says, patting her shoulder affectionately before turning his attention towards her partner. “Hey! How’s it going, Maggie? I’ve heard you’ve been working real hard lately, huh? Good on yah!” He commends, playfully nudging the said demon. “Oh, um…it’s–it’s Vaggie, sir. And uh, thanks,” she nervously chuckles, rubbing her arm. “Mhm, yeah…that’s–that’s great,” Lucifer distractedly hums, all the while scanning around the room. Noticing this, Vaggie shared a worried look with Charlie. 

“Erm, dad, she’s not here at the moment if that’s what you’re wondering,” Charlie starts, alerting her father. “Oh? Well, is she up in one of the guest rooms?” Lucifer asked, gesturing upstairs with a thumb. To his confusion, Charlie appeared somewhat nervous, her hands fidgeting with her suit. “Uh, no, she’s actually not in the hotel at the moment,” Vaggie steps in, “she’s been out doing a couple of errands for us.” Lucifer raised a brow at the slight edginess in her tone, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “...Um, alright. What the heck is going on right now?" He asks, pointing an accusatory finger at them both, "You guys are acting sketchy as fuck. Are you...are you guys hiding something from me?" He narrows his eyes. Charlie sucks in a breath, brows pinching together, “Well...dad, t-the thing is–” 

“She’s out with Smiles right now!” Angel suddenly intervened, calling out from the other side of the room, and causing Charlie to cower and duck behind Vaggie. Lucifer felt his shoulders grow rigid. “She’s…what now?” He dangerously asks, glaring at the arachnid. Before Lucifer trudged towards the direction of the bar, the front doors of the hotel abruptly flew open. He felt the vein in his neck nearly burst at the sound of your laughter interlacing itself with that god-awful, irritating radio feedback. What a wild coincidence.

As Lucifer turned around, his eyes nearly flew out of his head as he saw how close you were with Alastor, arms basically locked together. The radio-demon was quick to meet eyes with the King, and out of spite, Alastor flashed him the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

“Oh, fuck no!”

Chapter III - Finale [x]

Thank you for reading!

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar

[princesscait26]

Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

———————————————————————

Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

#alastor x y/n #alastor hotel hazbin #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #happy hotel #y/n #x reader #fem reader #y/n x character #reader x happy hotel #radio demon #radio demon x reader

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can’t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give? 

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage. 

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too. 

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring. 

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway. 

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep. 

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air. 

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?” 

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?” 

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child. 

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but- 

Namjoon would be a good father. 

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach. 

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button. 

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you. 

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in). 

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty. 

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image. 

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-�� Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

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~-~

Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

#bts x reader #bts poly au #bts omegaverse au #bts a/b/o #bts polyamory au #bts fluff #bts mafia au #bts gang au #bts au #bts #bts werewolf au #bts hurt/comfort #bts angst #bts hybrid fic #bts x reader angst #bts x reader fluff #bts x reader hurt/comfort #min yoongi x reader #park jimin x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #bts omegaverse #bts omegaverse fic #bts fanfiction #omegaverse fanfic #omegaverse #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook angst

[cyxnidx]

LOOK AT YOU!

KINKTOBER FESTIVAL : DAY 3 → KAZUHA.

prompt: you look so pretty, all whiny for me.

pairing: kazuha x afab!reader

rating: fluffy nsfw/smut

content warning(s): mirror sex, light nipple play, cockwarming and bodyworship if you squint, praise, petname(darling, dear.), nsfw under the cut!

"could you open your eyes for me, darling?" kazuha asks, keeping you in his lap as you turn your head away, an attempt to hide in his shoulder.

when you don't respond, he chuckles. softly, but firmly, he grips your chin and turns your head toward the mirror. "open those eyes, darling."

slowly, you open your eyes bit by bit. you admired yourself in the body mirror.

kazuha's cock safely and comfortably nuzzled into your cunt, his index finger toying at your cunt as he occasionally applied pressure.

just enough to get a reaction.

"don't you think you look so beautiful?" he asks, kissing against your shoulder softly. he brings his finger from your clit and allows his hands to roam your body.

lightly gripping at anything he could, playing with your thighs, lightly pinching your nipples. he chuckles when he feels you clench around him with each pinch.

"sensitive?" he inquires.

you don't have to answer - he already knows that you are.

he notices you look away again, closing your eyes and mumbling something against his shoulder.

something about a plea for him to fuck you already - but why?

"you don't like when i take my time, darling?" he questions, hands roaming every inch they can before returning his finger to your clit. "lemme adore your body.."

he adjusts your face to the mirror again, slowly pointing at your reflection in the mirror. "look at yourself darling. you look so pretty, all whiney for me. so beautiful," he kisses your cheek, wiping a tear from one of your eyes. "don't cry, look." he says, "you're so beautiful, darling."

you whimper quietly, watching his hands over your body. his slender fingers explore each and every corner he possibly can.

"kazuha," you say meekly, "i love you."

he kisses your cheek sweetly. "i love you too, darling. love you a lightyear and more."

he tilts your head slightly to kiss you. finger returning to your bud, he kisses you softly and passionately, almost not to overwhelm you.

with the stimulation, your cunt clenches around his shaft. you felt an orgasm approach - just needed a little more stimulation. a little more friction.

lightly, you began to grind your hips onto his, noticing his hand moving from your chin to your waist, encouraging you. "kept you waiting too long, i see?" he sighs, fixing your positions as you two stood together, your back against his chest and an arm around your stomach to ensure you don't go anywhere. "that's fine, dear. i'll give you what you'd please now."

kazuha set a slow and steady pace, keeping you close to him as he thrusted up into you. finally feeling more friction, you moan lightly.

slowly, his pace was set from soft and slow to fast and deep, bending you over against the mirror as your hands left marks he would later wipe away.

"kazuha!" you moan loudly, voice barely overpowering the sound of his skin hitting yours paired with his string of curses and praises.

"c'mon, darling. cum on me, make a mess of me, will you?" he coaxed, stretching his arm to play with your needy nub once again. "show me how much this pussy loves me."

his thrusts got sloppier by the minute as your moans got more evident and louder.

"g'na cum!" you moan, throat feeling dry as you continue moaning and crying out.

"cum on me, darling." he kisses the back of your shoulder blades, his thrusts getting harder my the minute. he was growing close as well. "cum with me, k?"

by the intensity of your moans, he takes it as an agreement and proceeds to fasten his pace. both of your orgasms reach an ultimate high, your essence mixing as he fucks you through yours while calming down from his own.

#cyxnidx #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #smut #genshin x reader #kazuha imagines #kazuha #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha x reader #kazuha my beloved #genshin kazuha #kazuha smut #kazuha kaedehara #kazuha x reader smut #october #kinkfest #kinktober #kinktober day 3 #cw mirror sex #cw praise kink #cw nipple play #cw bodyworship #suggestive cw #cw cockwarming #cw petnames #smutty smut smut #smutty

[ausetkmt]

Marion County woman accused of shooting Black neighbor dead is in custody, sheriff's office says

The woman accused of shooting her neighbor dead on Friday is in custody Tuesday night, according to the Marion County Sheriff’s Office and attorneys for the victim.

Investigators say 35-year-old A.J. Owens confronted the neighbor for throwing a skate at her children. Owens went and knocked on that neighbor's door and was ultimately shot through it.Civil rights attorney Ben Crump is defending Owens’ family. Crump tweeted, “The unidentified 58-year-old white woman connected to the shooting death of Ajike 'AJ' Owens has been arrested.

#JusticeForAJ.” Related: 'Why isn't she in jail?': Protestors demand answers after Ocala woman shot dead through neighbor's front doorAt last check, the subject had not been formally placed under arrest, but a spokesperson for the sheriff's office said, “that should occur imminently.”

Protestors went to the Ocala courthouse on Tuesday to demand the shooter be arrested. They say Owens' death was unjustified and that the neighbor had called her children racial slurs. Watch the protest below.The State Attorney's Office said in a statement earlier Tuesday, "Our office is actively working with the Marion County Sheriff's Office on their ongoing investigation.

When all of the evidence has been gathered and evaluated, our office will make a prompt filing decision on the case."Crump is expected to address the public on Wednesday at noon from Ocala.This is a developing story.

Sheriff: 'Neighborhood feud' led to Ocala woman being shot through door, killed

MARION COUNTY, Fla. —

The woman accused of shooting her neighbor dead on Friday is in custody Tuesday night, according to the Marion County Sheriff’s Office and attorneys for the victim.

Investigators say 35-year-old A.J. Owens confronted the neighbor for throwing a skate at her children. Owens went and knocked on that neighbor's door and was ultimately shot through it.

Civil rights attorney Ben Crump is defending Owens’ family. Crump tweeted, “The unidentified 58-year-old white woman connected to the shooting death of Ajike 'AJ' Owens has been arrested. #JusticeForAJ

.”

This content is imported from Twitter. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.

Related: 'Why isn't she in jail?': Protestors demand answers after Ocala woman shot dead through neighbor's front door

At last check, the subject had not been formally placed under arrest, but a spokesperson for the sheriff's office said, “that should occur imminently.”

Protestors went to the Ocala courthouse on Tuesday to demand the shooter be arrested. They say Owens' death was unjustified and that the neighbor had called her children racial slurs. Watch the protest below.

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The State Attorney's Office said in a statement earlier Tuesday, "Our office is actively working with the Marion County Sheriff's Office on their ongoing investigation. When all of the evidence has been gathered and evaluated, our office will make a prompt filing decision on the case."

Crump is expected to address the public on Wednesday at noon from Ocala. This is a developing story.

#A J Owens #florida #Marion county #Marion County woman accused of shooting Black neighbor dead is in custody #sheriff's office says #ipad #Black Lives Matter #ocala #ocala florida

[defectivevillain]

old habits die bleeding

pairing: Michael Myers/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: You’re kidnapped—and on the same night Michael Myers returns to terrorize Haddonfield. Just your luck, really.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood & injury; kidnapping, chloroform, smoking, burns, hospitals.

You’ve celebrated Halloween in Haddonfield for more than two decades. You’ve escaped Michael Myers a few times now. And you won’t let him drive you out of your home. This Halloween is no different, you tell yourself as you finish putting up the cheap decorations in your window. Trick-or-treating isn’t much of a thing in Haddonfield anymore, but occasionally a few brave (or just foolish) kids will stop by. Your heart always skips a beat whenever you look out your window, as you think back to that night years ago. 

It was your first Halloween in Haddonfield and, while you had been warned that the night often brought terror, you assumed it to be an exaggeration. You weren’t much of a party person (and you still aren’t), so you had settled in on your couch and spent the night watching television. 

At least, that was how things were supposed to go—until you felt a large hand close around your mouth and pull you up and over the couch. You fell to the floor, only to be pinned down with a knee to the chest and a hand on your throat. A man in a mask stood over you, taking the breath from your lungs. You tried to shove him off, but he was too strong. You kicked out and eventually managed to knee him in the gut, momentarily loosening his grip and providing you with an escape. From there, it was a series of increasingly close calls, until you finally managed to race out of your house, down the street, and out of sight. 

While that was your first encounter with Michael Myers, it wouldn’t be your last. The killer would come every year; and each time, your escape felt narrower and narrower… 

That brings you to tonight: Halloween. You’re still sitting on your couch, watching television as you normally would. This time, however, you’ve kept the lights on—and have monitored the shadows cast on the walls with vigilance. 

So, when a large hand covers your mouth, you’re ready to fight back. Except… it’s not just a hand. There’s a rag pressed into your face, forcing you to breathe in whatever drug is evidently laced through the fabric. You try to shove the person’s grip off, but your vision is spinning and your limbs don’t seem to be obeying your commands. You’re stumbling on the ground, desperately trying to keep your balance while you fight off your attacker. Their grip is persistent and you’re forced to take another deep breath, inhaling the mysterious substance once more. 

This doesn’t seem like something Michael Myers would do, is the last thought that runs through your mind before your vision quickly fades to black and you crumple to the ground.

You wake up to find yourself in a musty room with crumbling wallpaper. Your hands are tied behind your back and your legs are tied to the wooden chair you’re situated on. Your head is pounding and your ears are ringing as you try to get a better idea of your surroundings. Ultimately, there’s little else in the room save for you. You don’t see anything sharp that you could use to cut yourself free from the ropes binding you. 

You’re alone, by some miracle. Your head keeps dropping as you nod off, fighting off slumber. You can’t sleep here, no matter how much you may want to rest. You have to get out of here. You’re not sure what your kidnapper wants with you, and you don’t desire to find out. You grit your teeth and try to maneuver yourself so that you can reach the pocket of your pants. Smoking has been a bad habit of yours—one that you’ve been meaning to kick—but you’re extremely thankful you didn’t get around to it, since it prompted you to place a lighter in your back pocket. You manage to maneuver so that you’re holding the lighter in your bound hands. You flip it around with your pinky finger and manage to light it. 

Unfortunately, your escape method isn’t entirely painless—which you soon realize the hard way. You’re trying to burn the ropes, but you’re dealing some damage to the skin of your hands in the process. By the time you’ve successfully frayed the rope and pulled it off, your skin is rubbed raw and irritated from the lighter. 

Thankfully, now that your hands are free, you can simply untie the ropes around your ankles. Your hands are slightly shaking as you free your legs, but you still manage to set yourself free within a few moments. Immediately, you quietly step towards the doorway, pressing an ear up against the inside wall to listen for your captor. After several seconds pass in silence, you decide to risk it and step out of the room.

From there, you find yourself in a dark hallway—maybe a basement, of sorts? Your thoughts are confirmed when your eyes catch on a staircase in the corner. You slowly walk over towards the stairs, as quietly as you can muster. 

When you get to the top of the stairs, you’re foolishly deluded into thinking that you’ll get out of this unscathed. Then you take another step and a loud creak echoes throughout the space. Abandoning any hope for silence, you sprint towards the front door—surprised to find that you seem to be in a house of some sort. Your hands are fumbling for the first lock on the door—there are two— but just before you can slide it to the side, there’s a hand on your collar yanking you back into a hard chest. There’s a knife pressed to your throat and an unfamiliar voice in your ear. Instinctively, you pull at your captor’s arm in an attempt to create some distance between the knife and your throat. The knife is only pulled towards your throat tighter, until it’s drawing blood from your skin and a pained whimper from your lips. Just as the blade draws ever closer, you bring your knee up and slam your foot back into your captor—connecting with their ankle and successfully making them stumble long enough for you to twist out of their grip and run back towards the door. This time, you manage to slide the lock open, but there’s still the second lock lower on the door. You hear them get up and instinctively move to the right, just barely dodging their strike and sending them careening forward into the door. 

From there, you reach out and slam their head into the door again, before turning around and bolting towards the other side of the house—hoping there’s a door to the backyard. You hear the telltale shink of the knife getting pulled from the door and your heart drops to your stomach as you frantically look through an entirely unfamiliar house. You run through the kitchen, before doubling back to grab a sharp knife from the knife block. Your eyes then catch on a wooden door past the kitchen and you race over to it, flipping the lock and pushing it forward. But the door doesn’t open, no matter how hard you yank at it and beg for it to open. Suddenly you’re tugged back and slammed into the locked door. Your knife falls from your grasp. Blinking stars out of your eyes, you try to push your assailant away—but their grip is too strong and suddenly they’re jamming their knife into your abdomen before brutally ripping the weapon back out. You choke on a breath and slump forward, as blood drips down your chest and begins to splatter along the floor. You fall to your knees and slap a hand onto the wound, wheezing and fighting for breath. Your hands fall to the floor and your right hand falls right next to the knife you dropped. Through the blinding pain, you manage to subtly grab the knife and jam it into your captor’s crotch. They scream and you aim a bit higher, sinking it into their abdomen and shoving them away from you as they fall to the ground. You manage to push yourself into your feet and press a hand to the nearby wall to stabilize yourself as you look down at their body. They’re definitely unconscious, at the very least. That should give you enough time to make it outside and call for help. You stumble back through the house and towards the front door, unlocking the second lock and shoving it open. 

As you awkwardly shuffle across the front porch, you’re hit with a striking realization: you’re still on your street. In fact, you’re only a few houses down from your own house. The thought provokes a nearly infinite amount of dread within you, as you try to come to terms with the fact that there is yet another killer in Haddonfield. Eventually, you have to push the thought aside and focus on getting back home. You’re hobbling on uneven footing, your hand pressed against your side like a vice. Your breathing is ragged and loud in your ears; your entire chest is on fire . 

But the universe is smiling down on you—because you manage to make it back home. Your front door is unlocked and you’re quick to stumble inside, clumsily locking it behind you before moving towards your living room. Within a few steps, your knees crumple beneath you and you’re forced to crawl towards the sofa. What follows is an excruciating effort consisting of you pulling yourself up on the sofa and collapsing onto it with a pained hiss. Your vision hasn’t stopped spinning since you first entered your house. Worst of all, you can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the killer coming back for you—it’s very likely that you only incapacitated him. Despite your best efforts to remain awake and attempt to move, your vision is quickly giving way to an overwhelming, suffocating darkness.

You wake a few hours later to a knife pressed against your throat and a dark silhouette looming over you. You instinctively want to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the blade is pressed into your skin hard enough to draw blood and you’re forced to abandon the effort. It’s then that your vision clears to reveal just who is standing over you and, despite the sheer terror running through your veins, a laugh wrenches its way from your lips. 

“Michael,” you say, greeting the killer who has made a habit of visiting you every Halloween. This year is no different, it seems. He presses the knife against your throat pointedly, as if waiting for you to push it away. You can barely manage a pathetic attempt at shoving the blade away and you eventually settle for staring at him. 

(Michael stares back at you. There’s blood splattered across your hand, he realizes, and the skin is raw from what he can only assume to be burns. Not to mention the seemingly unending crimson stain marring your shirt. Something unfamiliar churns in his stomach, combined with that ever familiar rage that boils his blood.) 

You watch as Michael tilts his head to the side, before removing the blade from your neck. You blink at him in disbelief, and stare as he lifts his hand to tap his wrist impatiently. You’re late, he motions. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare in confusion. Then you realize he must be referring to this unfortunate tradition between the two of you: the cat-and-mouse chase that ensues every Halloween night, without fail. “...I was kind of preoccupied,” you mutter, motioning down to the wound on your abdomen that hasn’t stopped burning and stinging since you woke. 

Michael follows your gesture and stares down at the wound for longer than you’re comfortable with. Before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing, Michael places a hand on your wound and pushes. You can’t stop the pained outburst that leaves your lips, especially when he twists his hand and digs his knuckles into the tissue. Your vision is swirling again and you desperately try to push him away, but he’s too strong. Just when you’re on the brink of passing out, Michael releases his grip and leans back. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, as your vision slowly recovers. The pain is even worse now. You’re shivering and shaking, your teeth chattering and sending reverberations through your ears and into your very skull. 

Perhaps worst of all, you think you might understand what Michael was trying to say just now. If you die, it will be by my hand—and no one else’s. He’s prideful in that regard. He doesn’t need to capitalize on someone else’s work, or take advantage of your already wounded state. A shiver rolls down your spine as you come to the conclusion that he enjoys the chase—enjoys the hunt. 

Michael is still staring down at you. You almost wish he wasn’t wearing his mask, so that you could read his expression. Still, there’s an aura of annoyance and irritation emanating from his form—and it’s only further exacerbated by the tight draw of his shoulders and the way he stares at you impatiently. 

“Ruined your night, huh?” You ask wearily. Honestly, you’re not sure where you’re getting this sudden surge of confidence—you think it must be the adrenaline. Surely, if you live to see tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling immense regret. 

Michael is infuriatingly silent, as always. You didn’t expect him to respond, though. You’ve managed one-sided conversations with him before—even under much more desperate circumstances. This one is no different, save for the excruciating pain that binds you to your sofa and forces the most blunt and honest of words to leave your lips. 

“Same time next year?” You choke out sarcastically. You swear you see the mask contort, as if Michael’s brows are furrowing, but you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination. 

You’re not deluded enough to feel safe right now—with a killer towering over you—but exhaustion tugs at your core as your adrenaline quickly crashes. Your eyelids are stinging as you fight off sleep. Michael’s looming over you and you’re sure you’ve never been in a more unsafe situation—wounded and defenseless in front of him. But your fatigue doesn’t care, and your eyes are slipping shut within moments. 

For a while, there is nothing but darkness. Then, your eyelids twitch as a blade is traced along your cheekbone, dipping under your chin and nicking the skin underneath. You flinch and try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are sealed shut and you’re forced to remain entirely compliant and complacent. Your heart is thudding quietly in your chest. 

Thankfully, Michael must lose interest, because that’s the last sensation you register before falling into a deep and unburdened sleep. 

To your surprise, you don’t wake up in a giant pool of your own blood and a ruined sofa. Instead, you wake to bright fluorescent walls and unassuming white walls. Someone must’ve taken you to the hospital. Within a few minutes of your awakening, a nurse arrives and fills you in—apparently, one of your neighbors had called the police after seeing your front door ajar and finding you passed out on the couch with a bleeding wound. You take a deep breath and try to relax, but all you can think about is Michael. 

Why the hell didn’t he kill you? He had ample opportunity. Even if he is prideful, like you were first thinking, wouldn’t his bloodlust outweigh any egotism? You were entirely vulnerable in front of him—he could have flayed you alive and you wouldn’t have been able to resist or struggle. It would’ve been over in a split second. Michael could’ve been in and out of your home within a few minutes. 

You take a deep breath and try to clear your thoughts of the killer. The effort is, understandably, a lot more difficult than you think it will be—especially when you turn on the small television in your room to find a murder being broadcast on the news. The victim, you soon learn, was the same person who kidnapped you. You’re immediately torn between guilt, fear, and a shameful gratitude. They will never bother you again. 

As for Michael Myers, however… Let’s just say you’re already thinking about how to survive Halloween next year.

thanks for reading! <3

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#defectivevillain #halloween #halloween x reader #Michael myers #Michael Myers x reader #Michael Myers x gn reader #Michael Myers x male reader #Michael Myers x transmasc reader #nb reader #gn reader #male reader #transmasc reader #just trying to hit all the bases

[mickules]

Dangantober Ghost Photo breakdown

Dangantober Ghost Photos with some little behind the scenes ghost shenanigans

they may be ghosts for a while....

Full breakdown of each character below ↓ MAJOR DANGAN SPOILERS

The main idea was inspired by Sayaka, the avoidable tragedy of her death, and the vengeance that allowed her to name her killer from 'beyond the grave'

Each ghost is stuck, or trapped in some sort of loop, compelled to act according to certain 'rules', much like how they lived under monokuma within the Killing Game. Each rule has some connection to a ghost's talent, aspect of their life, or death. Reminding them of their regrets in a fashion that wouldn't allow them to pass on.

Sayaka "Don’t swap the dormitory name plates." Her fate in the game was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She was so scared of being trapped in the school, that she trapped herself. It seemed like a perfect stimulus for a ghost, going over the events of her death again and again, but never being able to break out of the cycle. She always leaves behind the message, as she'll never know if Makoto understood her regrets.

Mukuro "Don’t pick a fight in the gym." Mukuro's haunting is based entirely on how her death was a result of picking a fight with monokuma, and how she loses everything. Her lingering grudge creates an animalistic aggressive atmosphere like a Fenrir Wolf, her stoic soldier persona lost as she lashes out at people who remind her of her failure. She hides herself like she did in life, only visible in reflections as Junko's shadow - and will try stab you in the back, playing out her own betrayal.

Leon "Don’t play with baseballs near the hallway" It seemed like the worst fate for Leon would be being stuck, static in his unwanted role as The Ultimate Baseball Star. As with his murder, he couldn't help himself, but resorted back to those skills to dispose of evidence. His animosity making the game almost unplayable for everyone else, he releases all his frustrations toward himself, almost zombie like, at a scapegoat: baseball.

Chihiro "Don’t enter the locker rooms at night" Chihiro's murder and trial was mostly co-opted by red-herrings, like Genocide Jack and the location of the murder. So the idea is that the story got warped by a series of Chinese whispers; Genocide Jack miscast as a 'bloody Mary' style urban legend, Chihiro a forgotten footnote. Based on how Hina thought Alter Ego was actually Chihiro's ghost; I thought the haunting could work more like a séance or a ouija board; asking Chihiro questions beyond the veil much like how AlterEgo helped the class, Chihiro is only trying to help.

Mondo "Don’t eat the butter in the cafeteria" I REACHED for Mondo, I know! but he got turned into BUTTER! I wanted to incorporate his execution with his motive to murder, so his ghost is based on Calabar beans, supposedly able to sort the guilty and the innocent. If you swallow without worry the poison might not spread, but if you eat cautiously and chew; you'll die. He appears slowly, enough that you can ignore him, the same why you might ignore your guilty conscience. He may be a hypocrite, but in a way he's trying to save you from his own fate.

Taka "Don’t pass notes in the classroom" Not unlike Sayaka, it's another case of replaying actions when they were alive, but Taka is still continuing his role as 'Hall Monitor' His prompt is passing notes since that's what lead to his death, originally the note you were passed in class was going to be written by Taka but that felt like it broke his own rules. He disappears if he's ignored, much how he faded after Mondo's death. Ishida is only triggered if you interrupt his routine, disrupt his pace, and create disorder from what he sees as order, holding Mondo's pickaxe almost like a reaper's scythe.

Hifumi "Don’t play hooky in the art rooms" I know Hifumi is the 'Ultimate Fanfic Creator' in the english, but my brain always autocorrects that to 'Doujin Author' instead. And given his focus on fandom culture, I thought his haunting playing out like a video game, something in the zeitgeist like Slenderman the Eight Pages would be appropriate. Originally I had you collecting his artworks, with Hifumi hunting you down, blinded by the blood covering his glasses. He creates his own narrative much like how Celeste convinced him to go through with the murder. He certainly casts himself as a 'protector', expressing glee at being justified in his actions.

Celeste "Don’t default on your debts" As much as you could see Celeste's talent as unwholesome, she took absolute pride in it, and part of that was following through on a bet. Celeste does seem like the type to always find an angle; so she will find a way to exploit those around her into spoiling her, but that's not enough to dispel her stripped aristocracy. She's not in some vast ornate fireplace, she's in an incinerator where you burn rubbish. And the Versailles Witch won't let you get away if you get close enough to see her indignity.

Sakura "Don’t be disrespectful in the dojo" Sakura was very difficult since, like Chihiro, she's got no real impetus to become a vengeful spirit at all. But given her choice to betray the class to protect her dojo, it would be cold comfort being forced to watch over a facsimile of a dojo, at arms length, in a fashion like Tantalus. Her statue is based on Nio, muscular wrestler like figures who stand at the entrance of shrines to protect them from evil. She functions a little like SCP-173, she can only move if she's not watched.

---

Given that the sdr2 kids were all remnants of despair, and all had the potential to be as monstrous as Junko - I tried to link them each to an urban legend or a cryptid or similar, to make them another degree removed from humanity. Additionally, their rules are written to sound more like threats, than the THH kids' warnings, to make the distinction that they were more dangerous, far more active.

Imposter "Never copy someone else’s work" There's a common belief that everyone has a doppelgänger, a normal extension of the concept that there are only so many different faces in the world, so some are bound to be potentially near identical. But it's often seen as a bad omen to see yours - a signifier of your imminent death, or maybe a tragedy. The Imposter craves the sensation being someone else, so they don't have to be left with the void that is their own personality. By reducing you to the imitation they show you a fraction of their own personal despair.

Teruteru "Never take someone’s food without asking" Although it could be argued that all the ghosts are kinds of Poltergeists, but I wanted Teruteru to have less of a physical appearance but to express himself through the items in the kitchen - the thrown knives, the rattling pans, the food, much how he was truly himself whilst cooking, but outside of that he projected a false and vain persona, a persona which has been burned away. There's also a reference to the crimes he's implied to have committed whilst a remnant of despair, namely cannibalism.

Mahiru "Never record over something without checking" A large part of Mahiru's philosophy surrounding photography is in capturing the smiles and happy memories of her subjects. Writing over any of those would be unthinkable to her. She's based on Spirit Photography, ghosts and apparitions appearing in celluloid, with some aspects of the Ring, a ghoul able to cross over and reach you through a medium which something shouldn't be able to. The AV equipment she haunts is supposed to have been left behind by classes 77 and 78, the only other echoes of them that remain at Hope's Peak.

Peko "Never knock on an occupied stall" I know it's unfair! But she spends so much of case 1 in the toilet, and disposes of the evidence in case 2 in a bathroom.... Plus, I based her haunting on Hanako-san, a ghost who haunts a toilet stall, and only appears if someone knocks at her door. Peko cannot act alone - she can only act if she's called upon, if someone asks for her. Her multiple hands juggling the masks of the many identities she wears as she has none of her own. The colourful façade of 'Sparkling Justice' being her most memorable, and overriding her own face. Delicate yakuza tattoos wrap around her fingers, and she's missing her little finger on all but one of her hands - a common yakuza punishment for failure.

Ibuki "Never interrupt someone’s musical performance." If Sayaka is a siren, Ibuki is a Banshee, not only due to her singing voice, but also as she heralds the death of Hiyoko. Ibuki became trapped in someone else's elaborate web which lead to her death, so in her haunt she becomes twisted within the threads of her own vocal chords - as a reference to how she couldn't tell anyone what was wrong due to the despair disease. Her exceptional hearing helping her locate you, like a spider finds flies through the vibrations of the web. I was also inspired by the so-called suicide song, Gloomy Sunday, and getting such a song stuck in your head

Hiyoko "Never taunt someone with hurtful names" I wanted to make the rules more specific than just 'don't be a bully' so I used Hiyoko's vice of name calling as what makes her zone in on you; much how she picks apart insects when we first meet her. She's mistaken for a Zashiki-warashi, a harmless child spirit, a Japanese yokai in ode to her love of traditional Japanese culture. She's actually closer to a Usutsuki-warashi, a bad-omen, spirit of a child culled during famine when there wasn't enough food to go around - much like Hiyoko was culled to remove her as a witness.

Mikan "Never feign being sick" Mikan was partly based on Annabelle, the possessed Raggedy Anne doll, in how her innocent and clumsy nature belied the darkness beneath, but also how she was ultimately still just Junko's puppet on a string. Her only place of control is in the nurse's office where she can inflict her own feelings of helplessness onto her patients. (but there was also definite inspiration from the Silent Hill 2 Nurses, not just in the eerie way they move, but also how they are objectified, much like how Mikan is.)

Nekomaru "Never cheat in a sporting event" St. Elmo's Fire (witches fire not the movie) is an electrical phenom, an omen that precedes a lightning strike. Based on his appearance plus his transformation into the electrical Mechamaru, it also is reference to the electrical pulses that control the beating of the heart. Nekomaru essentially treating a bad-sportsman with the taste of a future where an infirmity forcibly retires them. Originally I had him drag them from underground to slow them to a crawl, but it seemed against Nekomaru's principles.

Gundham "Never harm an animal" Gundham would probably revel in the exaggeration of his myth; it's what he would do when he was alive. He's one of the more cryptid like, more of an animal than a person anymore, his transformation based on a Rat King. This phenomenon is where several rats get their tails tangled together with dirt creating a ring of trapped rats encircling their knotted tails in the centre. I originally thought to recreate it with hamsters, but given his beloved Devas survived him, I thought keeping it being rats was better.

Nagito "Never throw something useful away" Nagito is a difficult one since he would find no compunction continuing his test of hope vs despair, much as his role as servant in UDG. The Honest Axe parable has a woodsman drop his old axe into a lake, a river spirit offering him a gold and silver axe asking if those were the axe he dropped. If he refuses he is rewarded, but if he dishonestly accepts he his punished. If you accept Nagito's offer, you admit that you gave up on the item too soon, as a microcosm of giving up hope, you get a taste of his karmic luck as 'reward'. Nagito probably has a very good idea how to break their bonds as ghosts and allow them to pass on, but he won't give the ultimates the answer so easily.

Chiaki "Never delete someone’s saved game" Some of you were right on the money, Chiaki was based on Ben Drowned, I was originally going to draw her like the 'elegy of emptiness' link statue but it was so goofy, I went more classic .exe/doki doki style. Like many of the more positive characters, she's not really fit to be an evil spirit, and plus she was never actually a remnant of despair. The ominous foreboding feeling she gives you is a heightening of paranoia that would hopefully steer you away from contacting the other ghosts.

Junko Is the culmination of everything, the source of every rule. There's no despair after all if there's no one for her to torment, her vitriol enough to outlast her own death in canon by several games, she's dragged every victim into her purgatory. Like with the killing game, those she's trapped with her have the chance to 'beat her' but the game is rigged in her favour. She may be unable to manifest unless every rule is broken, but she's a master of manipulation. She's been the one to spread the rumours, so that people actively seek out to 'break' her rules, supernatural happenings being encouraging rather than deterring, making more people tempted to see for themselves. The ghosts were given just enough autonomy to believe they have agency, when they're trapped in Junko's loop.

If each ghost moved on, she'd have no one give her an endless stream of despair, no hauntings to spur on the thrill seekers/ghost chasers, no reason for all her rules to be actively broken by one person. She'd be slowly forgotten, slowly dissipate, and essentially disappear.

Originally I had Junko's haunting take place in the principle's office, She would call you over the tannoy, but I chose to make it more ambiguous. The idea was that, were she able to manifest, she was the only truly fatal haunting. Imagine the despair if they found a dead student in the principle's office.

I just wanted to thank everyone again, I had a lot of fun with this! It isn't a strict au, so if you wanted to play around with it, go ahead :) I hardly have a monopoly on ghost aus after all - there are loads of far better thought ones about, so if you liked this I'd recommend checking some out!

#danganronpa #danganronpa ghost au #dangantober #horror fiction #THH #SDR2 #thh spoilers #sdr2 spoilers #long post #I do wanna say this was an october drawing/writing challenge #I was fully flying my the seat of my pants #god this took me way longer than I thought lol #I had to retype this TWICE I love tumbl

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #82

So I found out that besides beating the absolute tar out of Jason, Bruce also dragged him back to Ethiopia to relive his traumatic death/revival in hopes of finding a way to bring back a recently dead Damian[???]

Mind you, I absolutely hate thinking about how abusive Bruce is towards his kids and would rather pretend he’s a parent who tries, you know? But fuck if that cursed kernel of knowledge spark an idea:

There’s been a couple of fics that play with the idea that forcing a ghost to relive their death is a major taboo in the Ghost Zone, severely punishable and all that jazz.

Now it’s the aftermath [however that was, Idk], peeps are probably rejoicing over Damian’s revival [right?] and Jason’s most likely somewhere, you know, coping I assume. 

Until Walker is knocking on their door and demanding their presence to the Court of the Dead [Don’t remember if it had a name, this sounded pretty cool lol] stating that Batman’s presence is required to receive his sentence.

As all things are when it comes to Walker, he doesn’t give them a choice.

Jason’s call comes a bit more peacefully, mind you, but given it’s an eyeball, it probably wasn’t much better.

Cue Jason poofing onto some chair in some courtroom, thinking he’s the one in trouble, cue Batman poofing in that giant glass cage [You know, the one Vortex was stuck in upon his intro]

Everyone, predictably, are unarmed.

Jason is unsure what to feel at the sight of them.

Walker in all his weird size shifting glory, steps forward to loom over Bruce, large book in hand and sneering down at the human trapped before him, “Bruce Thomas Wayne, alias Batman, founding member of the Justice League, you’ve been summoned to the Court of the Dead to receive your sentence.”

“On what charges?”

Walker’s sneer deepened, “On what charges?, he says.”

The book in his hands quickly sift through pages, one after the other until it comes to a stop, popping up in a screen for all to see its contents, Death’s Echo, the chapter title says.

“Why, you’ve committed the ultimate taboo, human. Victim of the Echo: Jason Peter Todd, alias Red Hood alias Robin II, date of birth August 16th, 1993, date of death April 11th, 2008, date of awakening October 27th, 2008. Date of the crime d/m/y.

You’ve forced a ghost to relive their death, violated the peace of their core, potentially destabilizing a ghost’s existence. Upon Death’s Sermon, or for the betterment of your puny human understanding: You broke a law, a law punishable by termination.”

“He’s not dead.” Despite what become of their relationship, all the bloody conflicts that have followed, Bruce can’t stand the idea of Jason dying. 

One of the many eyeballs that seem to take up the majority of the court, steps - ahem! floats - forward, and despite lacking any other facial features, gives him what is noticeably a look Alfred would give him when he’s being particularly bull-headed, “That is irrelevant. The boy still carries the mark of death with him, therefor is still a denizen of the Infinite Realms, therefor still falls under our jurisdiction.”

“And all rights to the Court’s defense.” Walker adds, closing the book in his hand with a pointed snap, “You’ve been out ruled, punk.”

The batfam are looking around them as the entire room full of ghost clamor for Bruce’s termination, angry and indignant alike.

Tim - despite all his years of training - panics and doesn’t think twice before standing from his seat and calling the large ghost’s attention, ignoring Dick’s frets, “And where’s your evidence? Where are your witnesses to back up these claims, do you even have any?" 

The sudden silence is almost smothering, and Jason can’t help but watch as all eyes turn to the boy in question.

In all honesty, he doesn’t know how to feel about all this, about Bruce being charged for what basically amounts to torture in these creatures’ eyes, not even over the fact that he still seems to be considered dead. 

"For a genius, for a detective, you don’t seem to know much about death, do you?”

The ghost all seem to straighten at the sound of the voice, almost like they’re a classroom being called to attention. Despite its calm volume, it carries throughout the whole room, demanding everyone’s attention, their respect.

The bats immediately zero in on the source, a large chair big enough to be considered a throne sits in the first floor, enshrouded by shadows, the lighting of the room doesn’t seem to touch it at all, only lit by the green flame of a crown. Showing them measly impressions of a man’s face. 

The man stands, steadily walking forward till he’s standing in the light. He’s tall, broad, looks about Bruce’s age, and is donning black armor. His presence fills the whole room.

He bothers Bruce only a glance as he passes him before he fixes his attention back on the boy. 

“Now I know you’re not naive, Tim Drake. Death is everywhere, no matter how seemingly clean, no matter how peaceful, there’s no place on this planet death hasn’t touched; death is my domain, I see and I hear the voices of those who have passed - do you know what that means?”

“You have eyes everywhere.” Tim concluded, uneasy in what this might mean.

“I do. Now I can show you and your siblings the whole event, but for the sake of Jason’s continued peace of mind, I will not. Point stands: This is not a trial, Timothy, this is a sentence - your father does not get defendants or supposed witnesses to offer evidence of his supposed innocence, there isn’t any.”

Tim doesn’t know what to feel when the man turns his attention towards Jason, who despite the harrowing experience, has remained utterly silent throughout the whole endeavor. Jason despite his mass and his known capabilities, looks meek under the ghost’s attention, bracing for whatever he might say.

It’s off-putting.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, detectives, that very much includes the victim in question. Now Jason, I want you to answer me honestly, and I promise you that you’re safe here, can you do that?”  

Jason’s eyes swept over the whole room, glancing at his siblings before stopping on Bruce, still silent, still ever brooding and angry, before offering a small shrug in response, “I guess.”

“Did he force you to relive your death and subsequent revival?”

“………He did.”

Jason thought it was a chance to join in on a collaborative mission, all hands on deck and all that jazz, hoping for reconciliation, to mend things.

“Did you give your consent on the matter?”

He just wanted to move on, to leave all that anger and resentment, all that pain, behind him. He thought Bruce wanted the same, but apparently not, Bruce didn’t seem to care about what he was asking of him, he just wanted some chance to get his son back.

Like Jason never mattered.

Jason offers a small shake of head in response, trying to ignore the way everyone stared at him, “No.”

The man gives him a reassuring smile, bowing his head in gratitude and Jason only feels relieved to be rid of the attention as the king looks towards the rest of the family

“Lucky for you, however, Bruce is still very much human. So he won’t be facing termination,”

“Your highness -” A swift hand silence the skull faced ghost

They don’t relax, they can tell there’s more to the offered appeasing.

The family sits in silence as this kings dishes out Bruce’s punishment. 

Any further interaction Batman has will be on Jason’s terms, he will not seek Jason out, he will not make demands, he will certainly not impose his will on him.

Along that, he is no longer permitted to step foot in Crime Alley and anywhere else that might be considered Jason’s territory [haunt, they called it haunt, it felt daunting being showed the ghostly significance in it.] without expressed permission. If there’s a moment in time where Batman’s presence suddenly becomes unwanted, Jason apparently possesses the power to evict him.

Bruce is stripped of any sort of control he might’ve had over his wayward son. The court is in Jason’s favor for once, it seems.

Batman is not allowed to use anyone else in his favor. 

Bruce Wayne certainly isn’t exempt from these demands. The Ghost King seems to know them very well [Eyes. Everywhere] and seemed to be prepared for them to seek out any loopholes.

Any attempts to disregard these demands and he will be guarded. Heavily. By shadows, and by his very own ghosts.

The ghost king derives a lot of pleasure in informing Bruce that his parents never left his side, watched his struggles, watched his successes, his relationships with partners and children alike. 

Jason almost wants to say it seems cruel to throw in Bruce’s face the disappointment his parents feel in Bruce’s…..less stellar parenting methods.

He’s still trying not to think about the fact everyone is apparently being haunted by the souls of the people most important to them.

Bruce remains utterly silent, looking for all the world like the weight on his shoulders has double, troubled as the time pressed on, until he utters.

“And how long will this sentence be?”

“Until you both can completely trust - no wait, scratch that, Jason already trusted you, had faith in you, something of which you had no remorse in taking advantage of. No, until you learn how to trust him.”

The bats try not to wince at that.

#bones submissions #dpxdc #uh hi bones here #hey homie what the actual hell this is a whole ass fic #im in awe #just casually drops over 1k like its nothing #i respect and admire you homie

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

An Analysis of Alhaitham’s Story Quest In Its Relation To Kaveh & Queercoding In Pride and Prejudice

An inherently romantic connotation can be found in Alhaitham’s Story Quest, as the last quest of The Illusions of the Mob is entitled ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Firstly, the content of Alhaitham’s Story Quest and how it can be related to Kaveh will be explored in order to further identify the romantic connotations present here.

Within ‘The Illusions of The Mob’ similarities exist between Ilyas and Kaveh, not only in their views on conformity, but also in overcoming prejudices formed around Alhaitham’s character. As The Illusions of The Mob story quest deals with Alhaitham’s views on the individual as compared to the collective, just as expounded upon in his character stories. Considering this, it makes sense that Kaveh be of relevance within this story quest, since, as previously discussed, Kaveh and Alhaitham’s character stories are written in response to one another, particularly on their respective ideas on individual talent and the collective. Therefore, whilst these parallels between Alhaitham’s story quest and Kaveh are speculatory – lacking conclusive textual evidence that these links are deliberate – it is still relevant to discuss Ilyas’s character development within this quest, as it can be seen to closely align with that of the narrative push for Kaveh’s progression.

Ilyas is part of Siraj’s Hive Mind, in which he functions as an extension of Siraj and is therefore subject to Siraj’s thoughts and emotions. Ilyas consented to becoming part of the Hive Mind due to his longing to conform to a mass collective after reporting the fraud of a revered researcher, was labelled as a ‘hero’, and therefore was shunned by other scholars, ultimately misunderstood by those around him.

In an attempt to avoid being singled out as ‘other’, he sought the collective as a means of comfort, and thus rejected his own merits and individualism. This mirrors that of Kaveh’s longing to fit in which stems from his prioritisation of others above himself, and with this, his rejection of the title as a ‘genius’, due to this ostracising himself from others.

After the dismantlement of the Hive Mind, Ilyas reveals that where he initially wanted to conform in order to fit into the collective, he could not perpetually commit himself to do so, as his own differing opinions still set him apart. He realises that the collective is not “powerful” like he had previously thought, and this understanding encourages him to aspire to not care about conforming, “just like Alhaitham."

In this sense, it is of note that Alhaitham asserts that the Hive Mind’s downfall was ultimately down to people’s differing thoughts and opinions, and that they were reminded of their own individuality due to Alhaitham’s promptings: “A few words were enough. Believe in the power of words...”

Ilyas opting to reject the collective in favour of considering himself more mirrors that of Alhaitham’s desire for Kaveh to better prioritise himself in order to be free of expectations and obligations forced upon him by others (this is discussed more in detail here). It is how Ilyas is able to realise this which is of particular interest, as it is ultimately through Alhaitham’s words to him commenting on his own merits which led to downfall of the Hive Mind:  “… What I said to Ilyas was the trigger for all of this."

Through Alhaitham, and through Alhaitham’s words, does Ilyas choose to prioritise himself. By drawing this parallel between Kaveh and Ilyas, a possibility can be surmised of what Kaveh could benefit from adopting this particular aspect of Alhaitham’s philosophy in the potential betterment of himself. However, this appears to only be possible through mutual understanding in expression (this is further explored here), as Alhaitham’s words and how he conveys his meaning can serve as the catalyst for Kaveh’s potential betterment, just as they serve Ilyas.

In terms of prejudices, there exists a link between the pride and prejudice propagated within Siraj’s Hive Mind and that of the relationship between Kaveh and Alhaitham. In this, Ilyas can be viewed as a narrative foil for Kaveh. Whereas Ilyas’ prejudices and his innate “loathing” of Alhaitham stemmed from the leader of the Hive Mind, Siraj, he recognises that these prejudices he holds against Alhaitham are, actually, unfounded, as he finds Alhaitham to not be someone he would dislike to such an extent.

Upon returning to the Hive, Ilyas’ personal perception of Alhaitham is introduced to the collective consciousness and thus contradicts the prejudices against Alhaitham that Siraj has propagated. This gives rise to “new conflict” as these two differing perceptions of Alhaitham struggle to co-exist. These juxtaposing impressions of Alhaitham act as the catalyst for the collapse of the Hive Mind.

This contradiction of perceptions is interesting in considering Kaveh’s dual versions of Alhaitham, in which he appears to recognise that there is a mutual regard between him and Alhaitham in that they are ultimately known only, through and through, by the other, all the while believing that Alhaitham holds “disdain” for him and his ideologies.

Ilyas’ prejudice against Alhaitham is founded on Siraj’s hatred of Alhaitham due to Alhaitham having once rejected Siraj’s research proposal. This caused Siraj to believe that Alhaitham saw himself as superior due to his perceived arrogance that comes from the title of being a ‘genius’.

However, Alhaitham states that, contrarily, he never looked down upon Siraj and instead exercised objectivity, which Siraj misinterpreted to his particular way of thinking, and ultimately his own arrogance due to his need to be correct, and therefore his dependence on other people’s opinions of him.

There are similarities present between the conception of Siraj’s prejudice against Alhaitham and that of Kaveh’s, both being formed from an assertion of their own ideals to be correct; that Alhaitham distancing himself from others is due to a perceived arrogance; and that Alhaitham’s rejection of their ideals is an assertion of this arrogance, and therefore a personal attack. Ilyas, then, harbouring Siraj’s hatred for Alhaitham is a prejudice, which Ilyas himself debunks once understanding why Alhaitham behaves in the way that he does, being that of objectivity rather than arrogance, and thus, this contradicts with Siraj’s impression of Alhaitham.

In this, Ilyas can be viewed as a narrative foil for Kaveh. Upon discovering that Siraj’s hatred of Alhaitham is unfounded, and that his prejudice is incorrect, Ilyas reinterprets Alhaitham through his own perspective, and decides, that he does not dislike Alhaitham, and ultimately, he admires that Alhaitham has no fear in not conforming to the collective in order to stay true to his ideologies.

With Kaveh holding dual versions of Alhaitham, his prejudices borne from a belief of Alhaitham’s arrogance must be surmounted in order to reinterpret Alhaitham, and with this, the meaning behind Alhaitham’s behaviour. Just as with Ilyas, as established, this has the potential to be achieved through communication, as with Alhaitham’s words does Ilyas understand why Alhaitham behaves the way he does. If communicated properly, it is possible that Kaveh can interpret Alhaitham’s comments on his detrimental philosophies as concern, rather than arrogance, and therefore forego the belief that Alhaitham holds “disdain” for him.

The parallels between Ilyas and Kaveh can further be drawn when the Traveler and Paimon are invited back to Alhaitham’s house, and Kaveh is introduced as Alhaitham’s roommate. Kaveh shows embarrassment over being discovered living with Alhaitham, due to his fronting as a successful architect, and begs the Traveler and Paimon not to disclose this information to others.

Alhaitham follows this by stating that he has books on “collectives” at home, referring to them being the reason he invited the Traveller and Paimon over. Kaveh’s desperation in avoiding his financial situation to be discovered by others, the collective that he seeks to conform to, is directly tied in with the nature of Alhaitham’s story quest, being that of focussing on the individual rather than the collective.

Returning to queercoding, romantic connotation can be located within a less speculatory aspect of The Illusions of The Mob and stems from its final quest title. The inherent nature of Alhaitham’s Story Quest pertaining to Kaveh and their miscommunication holds an explicit romantic connotation when considering the origin of the quest title ‘Pride and Prejudice’. This title serves as a reference to the novel of the same title by Jane Austen published in 1813.

To reference Pride and Prejudice within Alhaitham’s Story Quest is to make direct parallels between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy to Kaveh and Alhaitham, which are irrevocably romantic parallels. Elizabeth Bennet can be identified as the ‘Pride’ in the title, whereas Mr. Darcy is identified as ‘Prejudice’. Kaveh, then, can easily be assigned as ‘pride’ due to it being labelled as his shortcoming by Alhaitham in A Parade of Providence.

The role of Mr. Darcy can then be assigned to Alhaitham, who, although may not be blinded by prejudice, shares common attributes of Mr. Darcy’s character, in being socially adverse and blunt in his manner of speaking, despite having great awareness of social etiquette, thus allowing for others to easily form misconceptions of him.

Relating this to the analysis of The Illusions of the Mob, then, the parallels between Ilyas and Kaveh can be used to ascertain a potential future for Alhaitham and Kaveh. Kaveh overcoming his pride borne from the “correctness” of his ideals, in comparison to those that Alhaitham perceivably once asserted over him, goes hand in hand with the overturning of the prejudices formed against Alhaitham – just as Elizabeth Bennet must overcome the misconceptions formed of Mr. Darcy’s character in order to better to both understand herself and Mr. Darcy.

The romantic connotation here is conceived from the alignment of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett’s opposing viewpoints ultimately leading to matrimony. This future romantic attachment as a potentiality is generated upon the quest title of ‘Pride and Prejudice’, with Alhaitham and Kaveh being narratively assigned the roles of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Considering this, the purpose of identifying this queercoding is not to allude to a potential canonical confirmation of a romantic relationship between the two, but instead highlight the romantic speculation that can be garnered by the game's referencing this novel.

#haikaveh #kavetham #alhaitham #kaveh #haikaveh meta #genshin meta #i asked and you voted!! #this excerpt drove me crazy when i first wrote it because the more the dots kept lining up the more i was convinced i was seeing things #this is speculatory but its FUN #but the pride and prejudice thing is not speculatory pls #haikaveh are austen coded!! #ive written more about this in the essay!! that should be coming soon!! thank you for your patience hehehe

[maladaptiveobsession]

What if charlie found a soul that came to the hotel but had already sold part of their soul to some other overlord and this time sue actually fights the overlord and gets your soul back... But why would she give it back to you its safe with her anyway

“safe and sound”

yandere charlie x reader

contains: gn reader, obsessiveness, manipulation, brief implication of violence, brief mention of abuse/exploitation, charlie is slightly disturbed

word count: 867

a/n: i actually cackled when i saw this prompt. hope this is to your liking!

Your arrival at the hotel sparked great interest and intrigue for all the guests. Charlie was noticeably invested in your growth. Such unwavering support would have been alarming in any other context, but Charlie was well known for her compassion and commitment. You happily disregarded all concerns, taking her dedication as a testament to her caring nature. Above all, you felt grateful to have captured the attention of such a well-known figure in hell.

Charlie was most thrilled to have another guest, especially one who showed such promise. She took every opportunity to share her excitement, showering you in praise every step of the way. You were doing so well, after all! It was clear to all just how significant an impact you were making, not just to Charlie but to the entirety of the hotel’s occupants. Her unwavering enthusiasm and support were a constant source of motivation, fueling your determination.

It was evident to all who knew Charlie just how fond she had grown of you during your stay. The bond you’d built had become a dependency in a world filled with uncertainty and fear. As your redemption neared—so close you could almost taste it—something dark and heavy twisted in Charlie’s gut. The growing unease forced her to confront the harsh reality of eventually losing you. Disturbing thoughts clawed at her mind relentlessly, and guilt gnawed at her conscious. What was happening to her?

How could she claim to care for you yet still entertain the idea of sabotaging your progress? She grappled with the conflicting emotions. If you love someone, shouldn’t you let them go? Yet the thought of losing you made her heart heavy with ache, perhaps more so than the betrayal you’d ultimately feel.

With each passing day, her longing for you grew. You consumed her every thought, driving her to the point of desperation. She yearned for the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the comfort of your presence. Each moment without you became unbearable, leaving her feeling incomplete and adrift—lost in a sea of uncertainty and longing. The separation felt like a cruel and unbearable punishment. She had an insatiable hunger for your love and affection; her yearning for you only continued to escalate, a deep and unrelenting ache that threatened to consume you both whole.

Alastor, ever the silent menace, observed Charlie’s growing obsession with great delight. Who knew Charlie had such darkness under that joyful exterior? Such lovely entertainment you were turning out to be! He supposed she just needed a push to take initiative. Alastor was more than happy to provide that push.

How curiously she responded when informed of your well-hidden ordeal—your soul entangled with another overlord. He marveled at the unraveling emotions—the depth inconceivable—as she realized the extent of your suffering and how you endured abuse and exploitation with minimal complaint. The devastation and disbelief ignited a fire neither knew could burn so bright, quickly replacing those overwhelming feelings with chilling rage.

You’d been suffering this whole time in silence! Could she have been any more blind?

She’d refrained from using the power she wielded and had always disliked issuing commands, but now the desire to make your abuser pay consumed her. Alastor was more than happy to assist; the unfolding entertainment was more than satisfactory as payment.

The transfer of your contract was a simple ordeal, with the promise of sparing your abuser from her wrath. Of course, she happily neglected to mention Alastor in her deal. Whatever agony he had planned was beyond her control. The dark satisfaction she felt as she listened to their screams sent a tight grin to her lips. The sight sent a shiver down Alastor's spine and momentarily unsettled his demeanor. He wondered just how deeply that obsession was rooted and how far she might go to protect you. How entertaining indeed!

She hadn’t anticipated that once she had your soul securely in her possession, those sinister cravings would intensify.

Won’t you let her hold onto it for just a little while longer? It’s only until you’re redeemed, okay? There’s no safer place than by her side! No one would be able to take advantage of you again. She could protect you and treat you well! You trust her, don’t you?

Charlie had always believed in sacrificing her own happiness for the ones she loved, but now she couldn't help but entertain that selfish desire to keep you close. Together, you can build your own paradise—heaven in hell. She can offer you the same solace and peace you so crave. And in her passionate plea, she hopes you might come to understand the depths of her affections and the lengths she would go to protect you. Especially if protecting you means never letting you go.

She may have been hesitant of her creeping darkness at first, but has come to embrace it. She’s convinced herself she’s only doing what is best for you. Though she’s delusional, her affections are genuine. You’ll come to find comfort in her obsession; you lost that choice the moment you stepped into the hotel.

Make yourself comfortable; you’ll be a guest at the hotel for all of your enteral afterlife.

#yandere charlie x reader #yandere charlie #charlie x reader #charlie morningstar #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: manipulation #gn reader #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel #image description in alt #described #mal.mine

[starsreminisce]

If ever there were a couple ripe for exploring the dynamics of a rejected mates bond, it would have been Cassian and Nesta’s. Nesta could have been the conduit to demonstrate the process, navigating through the turmoil until she ultimately realized, post-Blood Rite, that Cassian was her chosen partner.

SJM could have delved deeper into Nesta and Eris's interactions, showcasing Eris as a potential alternative path for Nesta's journey. This approach could have provided valuable context for understanding how Elriel might function.

Instead, Eris was relegated to a mere plot device to facilitate Cassian and Nesta's acceptance of the bond.

The narrative focuses instead on Elain rejecting Azriel's affections by returning his present, while Azriel reaffirms his lack of intentions to pursue her.

Meanwhile, Elain and Lucien remain mates at the conclusion of ACOSF.

Moreover, considering SJM’s inclination for happy endings, she typically doesn't leave characters with strong feelings for others without laying the groundwork for acceptance and hinting at the possibility of someone better suited for them. This is evident in the introduction and development of characters like Gwyn and Emerie, rather than Vassa.

The lack of clarity surrounding Elain's avoidance of Lucien and Lucien's decision to give her space to explore her options leaves room for speculation. However, the reasons for Elriel not happening were practically spoon-fed to readers when Azriel failed to provide a convincing explanation for wanting to be with Elain beyond her being a sister.

Additionally, being told that their relationship was a mistake and receiving the returned gift from Elain leaves little room for reconciliation, particularly when Azriel showed no remorse for the actions that prompted Elain's response when he saw it the following morning.

#elucien #antie/riel #antielriel #gwynriel

[ravensliterature]

A Life Ransomed

A/N: Got a new request!

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

warnings: Some curse words, description of violence and blood

w/c: 1733

Prompt: Sebastian’s mate has been kidnapped. He will do anything to bring her back. 

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Sebastian hadn't seen you for a couple of hours which made him nervous. Sebastian Michaelis was one hell of a butler and this meant that not many things went under his radar.  You were one of them, especially as his mate. You were a maid for Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian was the one to recruit you after you left serving for the queen's guard. He thought that your skills as a soldier would be beneficial for protecting Ciel against his enemies and your training meant you knew how to take orders. You were probably the best employee of Ciel's besides Sebastian, which isn't saying a lot... 

For Sebastian, you were different than any other human. Your mind is so much more complex than he thought possible and it intrigued him to no end. He wanted to understand what thoughts go through your head at all times. Plus, you also had a deep affinity for cats which was a bonus.  And you are beautiful. He never saw an angel as pretty as you, with those locks, your soft skin, and those eyes which sparkle even when they're sad or annoyed. He adored you. You had come to care for him as well and eventually, he made you his mate. According to Sebastian, demons only have one mate for their entire life. Even if they don't fall in love with each other or their mate, they still stay with that person forever. You two were bound and luckily you did love each other.  You two would always do anything for each other. Sebastian would give you the world without hesitation. Ciel did eventually find out about you both.  At first, he didn’t know whether or not he should condone the relationship but Sebastian appeared to have more determination in his duties thanks to you. Ultimately,  Ciel decided to let the two of you keep being together even though he had concerns. 

It was becoming later in the day and you were nowhere to be seen. Sebastian's fears continued to grow and he was beginning to worry that something bad happened to you. He continued his duties but he made sure to look around for you each time he completed a task for the young master.  He walked to the gardens hoping you weren’t hiding from him. He stopped by every place that could be considered a meeting point between you two and there was simply no sight of you. His realization that you weren't at the Phantomhive manner made a pitfall in his stomach. 

He opted to ignore his fears contemplating the possibility that maybe Ciel sent you into town to retrieve something.  No...that couldn't be the case, because you'd be back by now.  The Phantomhive manor was vast with plenty of places where people might hide. Maybe someone kidnapped you? That thought sent chills down Sebastian’s spine. Ciel had many enemies, it was possible.  After thinking for several moments, he realized that there was no evidence of this either. 

One of Sebastian's last tasks for the day was retrieving the mail from the porch. Sebastian opened the long door to see several letters strung about.  He noticed that some were sealed tight with wax but most were addressed to the Ciel and some to other members of the household. Something out of the ordinary is that there is one addressed to him. Sebastian throughout his entire time at the manor had never received a piece of mail.  It must have been delivered earlier today while he was tending to Ciel.  Carefully, Sebastian opened the small envelope and began to read: 

Dear Mr. Michaellis, 

I apologize for contacting you on such short notice but please forgive me for interrupting your work today. I'm afraid my business is not very pleasant but we have a settle to score. My men have taken your partner and will take your life in exchange for hers.  I believe this is a reasonable bargain to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Come alone or die trying to reach her.  I have hired the strongest men so your little fiasco that happened once won't happen again.

Azzurro Vanel

Sebastian crumpled up the letter in disgust as anger bubbled in his chest and his eyes flashed fuschia.  Azzurro and his men were going to take his mate? How dare they! He would make them pay! Without waiting another moment, he ran towards the kitchen grabbing a handful of knives.  He needed to hunt down these bastards and kill them.

"Hey! What the bloody hell are you doing?!" Someone called out to him. It was Ciel. 

Before Sebastian could say anything, Ciel pulled him aside and started lecturing him furiously. 

"What in heaven's name are you doing with my silverware?"  

Sebastian looked stern as he continued to grab various kitchen items. 

"I was just taking care of some business." Ciel gave him a disapproving glare and shook his head.

"Don't think that I haven't seen your worried expressions all day." Sebastian frowned at Ciel's comment and sighed. "Y/N has been taken by Azzurro Vanel. I plan to return her home." 

Ciel nodded. "Well I can't fault you for wanting to bring home your lover but please be home before 10 PM."

Sebastian nodded before picking up a knife. 

--- 

Sebastian ran through the entrance of the run-down building on the edge of London, throwing a knife at the head of a hired mercenary.  Sebastian felt exhilarated as he watched the man fall to the ground with blood dripping off his temple. There was a slight pause as the mercenaries recovered from the attack but Sebastian took no time killing them as well.  He wasn't about to waste a second. As Sebastian reached the staircase leading towards what appeared to be the office, likely where Azzurro was holding you.  With all the energy he possessed, Sebastian kicked open the door.  Inside, Sebastian found Azzurro sitting behind his desk while two large men held guns at his head. 

You were tied up like cattle to a chair across from Azzurro. His face was emotionless except for his piercing gaze. A few candles illuminated the room allowing Sebastian enough light to see the way your face contorted in pure fear.

"I told you to come in peace," Azzurro said calmly. "So let's begin the fun." 

Azzuro stood from behind the desk and made his way toward your side.  Sebastian glared daggers at him until Azzurro grabbed you roughly by your arm.  Sebastian moved a step forward until a gun was placed to your head.  You whimpered in fear and squeezed your eyes shut. Sebastian froze. He hated seeing you this vulnerable, scared even, especially since he himself was feeling extremely upset.

"Don't try anything," Azzurro threatened.  Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him before glancing over at your scared expression. A shiver traveled down his spine as his heart broke for you. You were so fragile. His mate. 

Sebastian took one more step forward and a gunshot was heard. The smoke left Azzurro's gun but you were not harmed.  In fact, you looked like nothing had happened at all. Sebastian smirked slightly as he turned out to be now behind Azzurro, holding the bullet out to him. 

"I want you to know why you are dying Azzurro," Sebastian spoke quietly. "You tried to harm the woman whom I care deeply for and she didn't need or deserve it, therefore, I'll make sure you get the same fate as your men."

Sebastion removed your mouth gag and gave you a sad smile.  "Don't cry (y/n). Everything will be alright. This bastard will suffer. I promise... " You tried to respond but Sebastian interrupted. "I need you to close your eyes." You smiled back.  Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you closed your eyes. Sebastian took the bullet in his hand before pressing the barrel against Azzurro's forehead.

You heard screams, gunshots, and bodies falling to the ground.  Your ears began ringing loudly as your mind struggled to understand what was happening.  "You can open your eyes, my love,"  Sebastian said softly. Your vision focused and there he was standing right in front of you. Sebastian was alive but Azzurro was dead, bleeding profusely.  "We won't let anyone hurt you ever again," Sebastian stated. He moved behind you and uncuffed your wrists. 

You immediately wrapped your arms around Sebastian, sobbing hysterically. He rubbed circles into your back as he hugged you close to his chest and rested his chin atop your head, whispering sweet nothings into your ear to calm you down. Eventually, your breathing started to regulate and you began calming down a bit. You loosened your grip and Sebastian finally removed your head from his chin. You turned around and looked at the carnage that was in the room. Blood was everywhere. Even you were covered in it. Sebastian lifted your chin up and wiped the tears away with his thumb. "Are you ok?"  He asked.

You nodded slowly and sniffled as tears flowed down your face once more. "Thank you... thank you." You whispered. "For everything." Sebastian chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him. 

"Of course, my love."

--- 

Sebastian and you sat together on the bed in the guestroom as the sun slowly disappeared. You were still shaken by what happened. The only thing keeping you sane was Sebastian's presence next to you. Sebastian was rubbing your arm soothingly.   He had insisted upon getting the both of you cleaned up after your encounter with Azzurro which he refused to leave your side for even a moment.  Your clothes and hair were stained red from blood, sweat, and dirt. Sebastian had also cleaned your cuts from their rough handling as best as he could with alcohol.  

"How did you find me?" You asked.

"I followed your scent. I knew you were here somewhere." Sebastian replied. "I was... scared."  You nodded your head and kissed his cheek tenderly.

"It's fine. We're safe now," you reassured him. Sebastian leaned into you as he gently touched his lips against yours. You melted into his embrace as your body relaxed.

 He moved the both of you to lie down so you were resting comfortably against one another. Your eyes grew heavy as exhaustion overcame your system. Before you fell asleep completely, Sebastian slipped his arms under your head causing you to nestle deeper into him.

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Submit a request here

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian #sebastian michaelis #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x y/n #sebastian x y/n #sebastian michaelis x you #sebastian x you #black butler imagines #black butler one shot #black butler x reader #Kuroshitsuji imagines #Kuroshitsuji one shot #kuroshitsuji x reader

[neonscandal]

explain to me how bakugo is traumatized. the kid he grew up with was nice to him once and he immediately came to the conclusion that he should die. that's not trauma, that's being insane.

I'm going to start with the fact that, justifiably, there's never a reason to tell someone to kill themselves. Additionally, note that me saying Bakugo is traumatized does not mean that Midoriya is also not traumatized.

Regarding your question, the trauma that I mentioned on a recent ask, (I assume this one prompted your question) referenced the following:

Captured by the Slime Villain, effectively bound and suffocated in front of an audience (doesn't include the fall out after being someone who is publicly assaulted)

Muzzled, bound and robbed of autonomy in front of a national audience at the Sports Festival

Kidnapped and bound by the LOV (the forcible binding is recurrent through all the above)

Don't really have to go into the swath of issues he and Class 1A likely can and do develop from being child pawns in a war of adults but that can be applied as well re: survivor's guilt, PTSD, paranoia from the mole, etc. from the PLF arc and up until current manga events (I didn't feel like a spoiler warning).

Things that people don't tend to capture in the box of Bakugo's characterization:

He comes from a verbally and physically abusive household, demonstrably (you can jump down to the second paragraph of Bakugo's Strengths listed here for my thoughts on that impact)

Forced to defend himself against older kids from a young age and possibly on a recurring basis, as referenced in the above image. We could probably chalk the confrontation up to a consequence of his false overconfidence, sure. But does that justify 4th graders ganging up on what looks like a kindergartener/first grader?

As for Bakugo and Midoriya's relationship, we don't have much to go on. We know they were close and amicable as kids, things likely went to shit when Midoriya didn't develop a quirk, there's some beetle excursion in the woods that Bakugo refers back to a lot which is pending further context for readers/viewers, and then there's a fall in the river which really soured relations as Bakugo misinterpreted genuine kindness for condescension (see home life and such above). Again, none of this justifies the bullying we see at the start of the series or the way their interactions have shocking physical components. But what I do find interesting is that I've previously likened Bakugo's disposition to Endeavors but, in retrospect, I think he's a strong parallel for Dabi too.

Dabi's rage stems from being robbed of what he thinks is his inalienable birthright as the oldest son and heir to Endeavor's legacy. He disproportionately targets Shouto as the usurper of what is rightfully his. Dabi's claim, of course, makes more sense from a traditional and, probably, cultural standpoint. But the reason I mention it is that I don't think Bakugo was constantly telling Midoriya to take a swan dive off a roof. It doesn't forgive the bullying but it contextualizes why, that day, the bullying reached a new height when Midoriya was outed for still trying to get into UA. Bakugo saw this as an immediate threat to his position because, even though he didn't admit it at the time, if anyone could get into UA, quirkless or not, Bakugo knew Midoriya could.

Just as Midoriya has always seen Bakugo as being heroic and capable of being number 1, Midoriya proves time and time again that, even without a quirk, he's got the spirit of a hero and is successful in spaces where Bakugo is not. As the story progresses, we see evidence and the ultimate manifestation of Bakugo's remorse through his apology and other ways he's softened up. I'm not saying he wasn't a little shit but that's also not all he was (IDK if you've met kids but... without healthy socialization they can be little emotional terrorists). As things have unfolded, we see that, internally, Bakugo uses thoughts of Midoriya to galvanize his path forward and we've recently confirmed that when Bakugo spoke to Kirishima about strength... he was referring to Midoriya, you can scroll down to paragraphs around the last picture. I'm just gleeful about calling it. But, suffice it to say they've both been looking to one another this whole time.

There are still periphery pieces of their background missing because the story is largely from Midoriya's perspective. I don't think we'll get a comprehensive backstory but I think there will be some sort of meaningful explanation behind the beetle trip that may inform why Bakugo ultimately misinterpreted things so poorly at the river. I mean, maybe it's as simple as the fact that he couldn't fathom kindness because it's something not typically afforded to those who are perceived as strong. I don't know but I look forward to finding out.

#neon asks #anon asks #manga with me #manga with me mha #deku and kacchan #deku #kacchan #mha #bnha #class 1a #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo #izuku midoriya #anime #manga #bkdk #dkbk #ktdk #bakudeku #dekubaku #katsudeku

[nahoney22]

congrats on 3k! you deserve it! could I request the fluff prompt "what if I dreamed about kissing you?" with echo and/or wrecker? whichever you think fits this prompt the best! thank you!

3000 Prompt List Celebration

Echo X GN!Reader

word count: 1.3k

SFW

prompt:

“What if I dreamed about kissing you?”

warnings: brief mentions of nightmares, mainly fluff. Mutual pining and gender neutral reader. First kiss.

authors note: sorry for the wait. Enjoy.

As the days turned into weeks, your heart grew heavier as you watched Echo toss and turn in his restless sleep, tormented by yet another dream. Despite being cautioned by others to let him sleep through it, your deep concern for him made it impossible to stand idly by and think of what nightmares were plaguing his mind.

With courage, you approached his bunk and gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a tender, reassuring nudge. "Echo, darling, wake up," you whispered in a soothing tone. His eyes shot open, his breathing heavy and ragged, momentarily disoriented before realising he was safe in your presence.

He gazed up at you, slowly coming to the realisation that the nightmares had not transcended into reality. Instead, he was met with the comforting sight of your eyes, something he always found as a source of solace and understanding. "You okay?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and you nodded gently. "I could ask you the same question," you replied, stepping back slightly to allow him space to sit up from his bunk. "You've been having a lot of bad dreams lately."

Echo sighed, the gesture mirroring the weight of his troubles, as he rubbed the back of his neck in contemplation. "It's been happening quite often," he admitted, vulnerability evident in his confession.

"Would you like to talk about it?" you offered, letting him know you were there to listen.

He considered your kind offer for a moment, appreciating the genuine concern in your eyes, but ultimately shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. Thanks for waking me, though," he expressed his gratitude, a hint of a smile forming on his lips, a gesture that never failed to make your heart flutter.

Your feelings for Echo have evolved over time. What started as a casual friendship had formed into something more to you.

The way he looked at you, the care in his voice, and the unspoken moments of tenderness left you wondering if there might be something more between you. Though you didn’t want to overthink it, you couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t look at anyone else the way he did with you.

"Would you like to come on a walk with me? It's quite a nice morning," you suggest, hoping the invitation will provide Echo with some much-needed fresh air and a brief respite from his troubles. Besides, there are no pressing duties for you and the Batch today. After all, you wanted a break from seeing Cid’s face regardless. So, it makes it the perfect opportunity for a leisurely stroll.

A soft smile graces Echo's pale lips as he stands up, grateful for the offer. "I'd like that. Let me freshen up first," he responds sheepishly, wiping away the sweat caused by his recent nightmare.

"No problem, I'll meet you outside."

As you turn to leave, an inexplicable urge prompts you to place your hand gently on his forearm. The air between you becomes still, the silence deepening as you both acknowledge the touch. Your eyes meet, and a moment of unspoken understanding passes between you. Flustered, you clear your throat and release your hold, hurrying away to spare yourself any potential embarrassment.

Once you are outside, the morning breeze envelops you, providing a soothing backdrop for your walk with Echo when he finally joins you. Side by side, you both seem to appreciate the peaceful quietude that surrounds you.

"You're right," Echo says after a few minutes, breaking the tranquility, "it really is nice today."

You steal a glance at him, observing as he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath of the invigorating air. You can't help but just know that his recent nightmare has something to do from his past, something that still holds power over him.

"Company isn't so bad either," you respond a bit timidly, but the subtle smile that flickers on his lips reassures you.

"You're right about that, too," he remarks, tilting his head down playfully and offering a wink that sends a shiver down your spine. Your knees momentarily tremble under the weight of the innocent gesture, but you manage to maintain an outward appearance of composure, even though your insides were on fire.

As you both continue to walk together, the conversation takes a deeper turn, and Echo gently inquires about your own experiences with bad dreams. You slow down your pace to match his, appreciating his genuine curiosity and concern. “What do you dream of?”

"I suppose just random things," you begin cautiously, trying to find the right words to describe your occasional nightmares. "But when they are bad… I dream about the things that scare me the most. The unknown, losing the ones I care about, and sometimes, I dream of not being good enough."

Echo's expression softens, showing understanding and empathy, making you feel safe and heard.

"What about you?" you ask in turn, adopting the same gentle and compassionate tone.

Echo takes a moment, briefly glancing at the ground before meeting your gaze. "It's mostly memories from the past," he confesses, the weight of his emotions evident in his voice. "Things I wish I could change but can't."

You nod in understanding, recognising the pain he carries from his past. "I'm here for you, Echo," you assure him.

He seems to appreciate your comfort as he listens intently when you share a technique that helps you before going to sleep. "Do you want to know what I find helps before going to sleep?" you suggest, and Echo smiles, encouraging you to continue.

"I think of things I want to happen. Or, I think of things from my past that I love and just want to relive for a few hours," you explain with a fond smile.

He's a little skeptical but intrigued, asking, "Does it actually work?"

You shrug slightly, admitting, "Sometimes. Like last night, for example, I went to sleep thinking of the time you and I were hiding from Cid behind the bar to get out of work. It was only a small memory, but one I enjoyed."

As Echo chuckles, that cherished memory of hiding from Cid remains vivid in his mind. “What else do you dream of or attempt to dream about?”

You chuckle, half-jokingly, half-serious, "Well, cliché stuff like being rich and having a nice ship to fly around." You smile up at him. Then, you playfully prompt him to reveal what he might dream of if he were to use your tactic.

He contemplates for a moment before shrugging, seemingly uncertain. "Ah, I don't know."

"Come on," you urge with a gentle push to his arm, "there's gotta be something."

His next words catch you off guard, taking a moment to register. "What if I dreamed about kissing you?"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. A wild rush of emotions floods through you, and the blush on your cheeks intensifies. How long had he wanted to do this? Was it just him teasing you? But as Echo takes a step closer to you, and you don’t step away at all and think the latter.

"Why just dream it?" you whisper, the words leaving your mouth without thinking. Your voice barely audible but carrying an unmistakable invitation.

Without hesitation, Echo places his warm hand on your cheek, his breath brushing gently against your face as he leans in to gauge your reaction. You don't pull away; instead, you lean into the touch, signaling your consent. His lips meet yours in a soft and tender kiss, leaving you pleasantly surprised by the depth of feeling behind it.

The kiss is short but sweet, lips moving gently in sync, and you can't deny the sparks that ignite within you. Echo proves to be an excellent kisser, just like you had imagined for a long while.

As you eventually pull away, you gaze into each other's eyes and he chuckles softly, smiling. “I think that’ll definitely give me some good dreams from now on.”

Masterlist

Prompt List Works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd d @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @crystal076 @blustalker @by-the-primes s @the-bad-batch-baroness

#bad batch echo x you #the bad batch echo x reader #echo x you #echo x reader #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch #tbb echo x reader

[baskeigh-ball]

Ignoring the fact that ibis had the ai paint feature a couple years before this whole ai fiasco, after seeing your post, I decided to try it out to see if it really held up. I already knew what you said made no sense, as even stuff like ai painting requires heavy human input that isn't just someone typing a prompt in a thing and looking through thousands of images and somehow still calling it 'art'. Really, it's just some weird advanced bucket.

The ibis ai paint... really sucks. I'm pretty sure it hasn't even been touched since it was added. No matter what I did, I got random colours and whatever colours I had put there looked like it were from a filter, not to mention how my lineart bled everywhere like it was blurred out.

Ibis isn't problematic for adding that feature as not only was it added ages ago, but it was also just a gimmick only added because a few more popular paid programs added them, like Clip Studio Paint. I highly doubt even the company took it seriously considering how poorly built it is. This is actually the one time I'm glad some feature in an app sucks so much.

Another reason why ibis isn't problematic by the mere feature alone is that, when you look at the artists making content during the time of that update, it was received with humour. It was something fun to try, but ultimately dismissed for actual artwork, as nobody would use it to fully paint their works. Nowadays we see something slapped with the words 'ai' and think that it's instantly bad due to the latest issues with it and big corperations/ certain production companies but it isn't. It's just a lot of people abusing what was previously some fun gimmick, which it can still be, and for certain apps, still is. Nobody throws pitchforks at character ai, after all.

You can tell just by the size of this that I'm procrastinating on something. Ima go and let this rot away in your askbox now lol

You really thought this would fade away in my ask box, mwahahaha /j

I wanna start off by saying thank you for holding me accountable, I will admit that I got buzzworded pretty hard in this situation lmao

This information came as a surprise to me-- I was seeing posts pop up within the past week complaining about the ai feature on ibis, so I assumed it was recent. As it turns out, after reading your ask, I discovered that I got a few wires crossed! Because yes, the auto paint feature I referred to in my post has been around for years now, and was never taken seriously anyways

So that was my bad (and yea ur right it's completely unusable, lmao)

But as it turns out, the feature that people have been complaining about DID come out recently. It was called the AI Example feature, I think the idea was that you make a simple drawing and the AI adds 99% of the detail and color, which I've seen a bunch of other programs do.

...and then it was immediately removed due to some pretty major backlash, which, duh

^ This is the only evidence I can find of the 11.2.0 update that included the AI feature on the actual site; their update history stops at 11.1.0. But there's also the news page about the removal of the update, so it's not like they're trying to pretend it never happened.

So tl;dr, I jumped on the hate train a little too quickly and never did enough research to figure out what the actual update was, and that it's been removed by now anyway (which I couldn't have known until today, ofc, but i did kinda post that thing about ibis today so it's still a pretty major oopsie)

I think I can say with confidence now that I agree, ibis paint isn't problematic to use-- they made a mistake with this update, but they actually listened to their users and removed it LITERALLY the next day. So, thanks for letting me know! I'll also edit my last post to prevent any misinformation, just in case people make the same mistake I did :]

#its a big relief that i dont have to learn how to use an entirely new art program anyway #so this ask came as a pleasant surprise #asks open #ibispaintx #now i just gotta hope i didnt get anything else wrong about the update