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imagionationstation · 5 days

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Mismatched Twins AU - Take One

There are some things Donnie knows that he’d be better off not knowing. Such as, how the act of flesh coming together is equally as painful as the sensation of it getting torn apart.

It was like the first time Leo did stitches, but magnified by one million and all over his body. His limbs are still flickering as he gasps in the air that he’d momentarily spent an eternity without, fingers clawing into the rock under his fingertips to stop his swaying body from tilting over. His word is a whoozy mess of blacks, grays, and clouds when he tries to look up.

It doesn’t take his genius to conclude that he’s not in New York.

His eyes sting, lightning pains traveling down limbs as the bones form back before his eyes. He wants to pass out. He wants his brothers to appear out of nowhere to catch him when he falls, letting him loosen his grip on consciousness so he doesn’t have to feel or see the way red muscle is covered by green skin.

But he’s not in New York, which means they won’t be coming.

He can’t let his guard down.

Not until he’s sure his surroundings are safe.

And definitely not until he’s able to find a way home.

It’s what his Sensei would say. It’s what his brothers would do.

Donnie bends down, forehead against the coarse rock.

He gives himself a couple extra minutes to summon his bearings. The trembling calms under the pricking sensation left by the utter agony as it shifts out of existence. It feels like everything is “asleep,” blood flow finding it’s way back through his body, waking up systems that shouldn’t be able to work after getting erased from a reality.

Then he’s as he was before, fine and whole, with the rough surface under his limbs poking into his flesh. Brown pads cover his body and as he cautiously raises himself up, he sees that his straps have returned as well. He checks his belt and finds everything where it should be. He clutches his t-phone even though he has no signal.

Slowly, hesitantly, he touches his face.

His palm does not press against fabric. He lets out his breath, ragged and uncertain, the echo of his own screams taunting him. He can still picture every second, see her demented smirk, hear her apology before she tore him down to nothing.

She tore him down.

So why would she build him back up?

The beginnings of a ringing explosion has him unfurling from his safe position, looking up to the sky. He’s been in his fair share, and it sounds like that detonation range is bound to be massive, as well as destructive. His racing heart tells him that he’s glad to be awake, because otherwise he’d probably never wake back up.

The sky is fully lit, a sphere of colors brightening the gray atmosphere in a way that is both spectacular and obviously highly unnatural for this environment. It’s blinding to stare directly at, so he raises a hand in front of his eyes to cut off some of the glare.

Donnie can hear the reaching echoes of hard metal cracking under the weight of heat and pressure. The force of it would probably take out all of New York in a single blow. So unless it’s a mechanical sun coming apart, he’s pretty sure that he’s witnessing the blast of some kind of nuclear alien weaponry. It’s absolutely gorgeous and insanely brutal and he lifts his t-phone to snap a picture.

Then he spots the debris shooting away from the centre of the explosion, and decides that he should move.

Evacuation of the landing site, it is.

He gets to his feet, half expecting his legs to give out underneath him, but they carry him as he sprints. His instincts are good because a large piece of something lands where he’d just been, smoke billowing into the air.

He reaches a ledge, surface curved in an unnatural- or, maybe completely naturally for this dead habitat- way. He turns to go back.

Then he sees the ginormous, smoking ball of black headed towards him. Living his number one priority, he pulls his grapple from his belt, aims it at a rock and fires.

He tugs once it catches and then pulls himself up.

He reaches the curve off the top, panting, and looks up.

“yaAAH-” A spinning projectile appears out of nowhere and tries to take off his skull, but he brings his head into his shell, almost losing his balance as it whooshes over him.

He watches it, as the blur of silver and blue hits the ground and scrapes away from him. It’s a sword, plain as day with a hilt covered in collected dust. He moves toward it as blue markings glow faintly, reflecting in curious brown eyes, and he makes the choice to grab it for the road. If not for any other reason, then shiny.

The thunderous crash of matter meeting rock consumes his surroundings, quaking the ground underneath his feet as he spins to face the behemoth of a sphere. It drowns out the vocal roar of fury that reverberates with as much destructive power, warning him to get as far away as possible in a similar frequency.

He looks back, startled as he spots the tall creature throwing out it’s arms, and then faces the wreckage. The rocks crumble and bow back underneath the sphere, and if that is a shell of a radioactive alien bomb, he’d much rather be going in the opposite direction. Between the shadow of a figure over his shoulder and potential alien contamination, he thinks he’s more comfortable facing the anger.

An easy decision made, he darts for the leen, black figure that’s dotted in bright red. He’ll just go around. Ninja stealth, guy won’t even notice him.

It stalks towards the rock, lumbering steps swaying the body. It’s mouth doesn’t move but he can hear the bare inflictions of a voice from where he is, fist raised before it’s slammed down. He slows, momentarily, as he wonders why the creature is taunting the rock, before a limp form comes into view. It’s pale green with a plastron that cracks under the force of the blows, not even half the size of its assailant. The blue mask catches his attention and he changes direction without realizing.

The turtle is unmoving except for violent flinches as the creature unleashes a whiplash of pain, slamming down on the shell and face of the defenseless form over and over and over.

Donnie doesn’t know what’s going on, but he doesn’t think anything is worth that kind of abuse. He tosses the sword, grabs his bo, and reaches in his belt.

“YOU WRETCHED- LITTLE-“

Donnie crosses the distance, tosses his smoke bombs, and swings.

“PE-!”

Fists are combined as one and raised in the air, brought down as a smoke bomb slams into his face and shoulder. They explode upon impact and cover the body, sending the creature into a fit of coughs, stumbling back as arms wave to get rid of the purple cloud.

The admittedly intimating creature only seems to get bigger as Donnie gets closer, so he comes to a stop a fair distance away when it bellows, “WHO DARES-!?”

It whirls, locking its gaze on him, and he waves.

Either his presence or his action makes it pause, a blatant confusion on it’s disgusted expression, and Donnie takes in who he’s facing.

Evidently the face where a face should be is for decoration. It’s actually a purplish creature in the chest that’s dawning a metallic suit and beating another life form to its heart’s content. It reminds him of a Kraang with an insane growth spurt and a thirst for violence.

He points to the sky, keeping its attention on him. “That wasn’t either of you, was it? ‘Cause I don’t think that’ll help the environment any.” He looks around, at the endless expanse of rocks. “Not that there’s much hope for this place.”

The creature looks to the turtle at its feet and then back over to him, as if the notion that there might be two mutant turtles in existence was too much for it to comprehend. He’s in for a big surprise then…

“There are MORE of you?!” It moves, suddenly, slamming a metallic foot onto the turtle’s chest. It pins him against the rock, drawing a weak cry. “HOW!? How did you hide this from ME?! It’s IMPOSSIBLE! I saw his memories- I know EVERYTHING about your PATHETIC FAMI-!”

Donnie moves before he finishes his first line of questioning, launching himself at the metallic leg. He kicks, but that does not budge the grip like he intended, and he bounces back off, flipping onto his hands and then to his feet. The action turns it’s glare on him, snarling, and he laughs nervously, “That… Didn’t work.”

“YOU!” He looks to the explosion, and then back to Donnie. “How did you get here?”

“Um.” Donnie doesn’t know how to answer that. He climbed a ledge? There wasn’t exactly a fence keeping him out. “Like it’s hard?”

The turtle squints at him and the creature looks supremely ticked off. Now if only he could separate them…

Donnie whirls his staff into a defensive position, determined to get the cruel creature away from the poor mutant. “Also. Pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

“Then I will make it my business.” He tears the points of his feet from the rock- ah, that’s what prevented his momentum from shifting the metal. Duly noted- and he sneers at the turtle that falls onto its plastron, leaning on it forearms, breathing heavily. “Then I’ll come back to deal with you.”

The turtle doesn’t answer, and Donnie feels the rocks shake as the creature stomps towards him. The surface clearly isn’t stable, something that he makes note of as he puts a few steps between them. This isn’t going to end well.

Already died once today. Why not make it a second time?

“Now then.” It leers, smirking down at him. “Let’s see your failed attempts at heroics before I teach you true strength.”

“See, I could do that.” He muses because that’s a very likely outcome of how this fight is about to go. He pops his blade. “But I’m not really big on failure or pain, so I’d like to give winning a try. Or at least surviving. What do you say?”

The suit swings and Donnie raises his staff, the pieces coming apart in his hands as it hits his plastron. He stumbles back, yelping when it grabs his leg. It’s a lot faster than he originally anticipated and it hoists him up in the air, very likely about to give him a harsh introduction the ground. “OKAY! THAT’S A NO!”

Donnie reacts first, face to face with the sneering creature, blade meeting purple flesh.

It squelches upon impact and the mass of yuck screeches in pain, throwing him and allowing him to roll to his feet.

One of Sensei’s very first surface lessons.

Don’t fight the armor. Fight the man inside.

Or, alien, in specific cases.

He darts away and grabs the sword from the ground, hiding it behind his shell. He glances to the turtle that has risen to his feet, relying heavily on the rock for support, staring at him instead of running like any sane turtle would do in this situation.

Donnie looks to the furious alien as it places a hand over where the suit’s heart definitely is not and roars, “YOU DARE WOUND ME?!”

“You… Did try to wound me first.” He points out helpfully.

The creature charges. He throws a smoke bomb as it lurches for him, barely avoiding the claws. He crosses the distance while it swipes blindly at the smoke, overcome by fury as Donnie drops next to the startled turtle.

“Blue and blue.” He slips the hilt between the fingers not clutching something, and offers, “I’m going to assume this is yours.”

“You can’t beat him.” The turtle warns, staring at him with wide eyes as he bears his weigh on shaking legs. Donnie exhales in exasperation. Tell me something I don’t know.

But, if this turtle has a family somewhere in this wasteland, Donnie might as well make sure that he gets home to them.

The genius stands. “I’m only going to be able to distract him for so long. Get moving, don’t look back.”

He throws a smoke bomb far from the turtle’s position. When the creature looks towards it, Donnie is standing in the mist, smirking with a bravo that he does not feel. “I’m not a big fan of bullies. They’re all bark and no bite.” He points a finger in the air. “Lived with one all my life. I would know.”

“YOU WANT TO SEE BITE?!”

Donnie feels the blow before he realizes that hunk of metal even moved, an intense momentum brought against his shell in a blast of fire. It sends him flying, tumbling and rolling on the ground, only stopping because the creature appears in front of him, snatching him up to throw him into a tall rock formation.

“That-” His breath quivers, dizzily watching the creature split between one robot and two. “That was not fun. Oooh. Wow. Yep.”

“You will tell me how you arrived.” The creature snarls, finally only one armor. “Or I will pry the information from your brain myself.”

“Whether or not you do the torturing, information would be pried from me since I don’t particularly want-”

The metal fist swings down and Donnie rolls forward, jabbing into flesh seconds before metal fingers stab into his arm and wrenches it back out. It rips the blade from his hand, crumbling the wood between its fingers, metal bent when it hits the ground. Pain burns up Donnie’s arm and scarlet trickles down skin as the pinprick eyes lock on him, sharp teeth visible as Donnie kicks out, hitting metal chest and failing to get him to release.

“You pests never tire of your weakness. Filth does not deserve to rule with Krang, nor the sweet relief of death.” Donnie freezes, taking in the inflection in the name, watching as a wide grin locks him with deadly intent. “Let us show you how it feels to suffer instead.”

Donnie hits the ground. Once, twice, three times- his shoulder takes the force of the blow, and he’s sure it’s fractured by the time that Krang decides to forcefully return him the ground. His world spins, pain blossoming along his arm, and he knows that he only has one chance for survival.

“Oh please.” He forces, voice cracking with nerves. Please work. Please work. “Save the big bad routine for someone who cares.”

Krang slams a fist down, hard, and he hears the crack under his carapace. Lightning burns up his chest, igniting agony where metal met protective scutes, and it’s getting a little hard to breathe.

He almost regrets not choosing the alien bomb. Almost.

Donnie summons his inner Raph, rolls his eyes, and croaks, “You hit like a whimp.”

The Krang roars, fists combined and brought down in one brutal blow. Donnie rolls at the last second, the armor slamming the ground beneath him, splitting open the cracks that Donnie’s carapace had already made on the unsteady surface.

His grappling hook comes out and he swings as the ground opens beneath them and gravity drags the Krang down.

It’s deep, and if he goes down, there’s no way either of them are getting back up. He grabs onto a piece of the edge that hasn’t fallen in yet, painstakingly dragging himself up even as fire eats away at his shoulder and blood smears on rocks.

He cuts his leg but keeps going, dragging himself across the surface, deflating onto a large, cool piece of metal. He keeps his arm around it, grapple in hand, catching his breath and staring into the chasm of the Krang’s own making.

Something crumbles within it as the Krang roars.

Then, a blur of black is leaping onto the edge of the surface, dust billowing out with him. He lands, walking forward even as the ground crumbles behind him. Donnie scrambles back upright, hand on his shoulder as horror leaps from his racing heart and into his throat.

He retreats as the Kraang covers the space. “You tried to defeat Krang with a hole. How desperate. How utterly, irredeemably, weak.”

Donnie shakes his head in disbelief as the Kraang grabs the rock tainted in blood and raises it above his head. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

“Actually-!” Donnie is tackled, thrown onto the ground as his world flashes blue. He looks up in shock, to a blue mask faced away, grinning with bloodstained teeth.

They’re suddenly several feet away, but the Krang is catching up fast. “Would you look at the time! Places to be!”

“GET BACK HERE-!”

“Rain check on the brutal death!” The hand trembles as it tightens around the hilt. The turtle’s red stripes glow in tune with the sword, every mark on metal and skin lit with a power that seems to explode outward from the blade. “Adiós!”

Donnie is swallowed by blue.

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thetomorrowshow · 7 days

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seven

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this story takes place about a year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: light eye horror

He’s still new to the whole going-to-work thing. It’s kind of like school, and Jimmy had never liked school, but it’s different in the way that he’s getting paid for his work. And it’s a decent bit more enjoyable than school—he’s learning about cars, getting familiar with the inner workings of machines, and he hasn’t properly had the chance to pop open a hood since he was a teenager and would help his dad with checking the coolant and whatall.

It’s nothing glamorous, but Jimmy really likes his job—more than when he worked as a call service agent, at least. Today he’d learned how to even the weight of a motorcycle, and even though he’d pinched his fingers between the exhaust pipe and the engine, his boss had praised his efforts and let him off early.

Scott usually picks him up from work—they’ve got a second car, but Jimmy doesn’t take his driving test until this weekend so he’s not really meant to be driving himself anywhere—but Scott isn’t free for another hour, so Jimmy meanders around downtown.

He used to live on these streets, so it’s more instinct and less purpose that leads him down to the park across the block from his old apartment building—now closed, he observes, for renovations. The park is lonely at this time of day, two rusting swings hanging silently and a plastic slide gleaming in the sun.

Jimmy stops for a moment, stares at the yellowed grass and bleached plastic playground equipment. He’d never allowed himself to go anywhere near this park, a spot of joy for the kids living in the rundown neighborhood.

He can’t hang here long for risk of being chased off by some bathrobe-clad mother, accusing him of being a predator, so Jimmy turns back to the main part of downtown and heads back in the direction of the mechanic. Maybe Scott’s patrolling in the area, can show off some ice tricks.

There’s a handful of other walkers starting to appear when he makes it back into downtown proper, mostly those returning to work from lunch and high schoolers skipping out of school early. Once upon a time, Jimmy knew how to blend in perfectly with this crowd. Once upon a time, he could never stay in one place for too long.

He slides in among them just as easily as he once might have, moving at the same speed and keeping to the common footpath. He keeps his eyes down and dodges anyone coming from the other direction without issue.

Which is why it’s weird when someone runs right into him.

“Oh, geez—sorry, can I—”

“Well, isn’t it great to see you!”

Jimmy blinks, flinches as the man he’d run into slaps him on the back a couple of times. He . . . he has no clue who this is.

His mind instantly cycles through various brutes from Xornoth’s manor, but this face doesn’t match any of them. This man is a bit stocky, straw-colored hair hanging over his forehead, thin beard a bit darker in color. He’s smiling widely, even as he takes Jimmy by the hand and starts dragging him off.

Jimmy can’t help it—some strange man is pulling him away and he panics—with a snap of adrenaline—

The man jumps back, Jimmy coming with him, as a chair is thrown out of the window of the building beside them, narrowly missing them. He chuckles, taps his nose knowingly.

“You aren’t getting me with that one! Don’t worry, I just want to talk. How about in that deli?”

He doesn’t point anywhere, strangely enough, so Jimmy just glances around until he sees a deli.

All the well-trained alarm systems in Jimmy’s brain are firing, but. . . .

Now that he thinks about it, there is something familiar about this man. Maybe it’s his cadence, or his eyes—

And Jimmy realizes with a start that the man is blind, his eyes clouded over, faded scars stretching across them.

He’s shocked enough that he lets the man lead him into the deli, grab them a table, and order himself a sandwich.

That’s when he notices that the man is not only blind, but has earplugs in.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying loudly as the man tucks into his sandwich, “I think you may have mistaken me with someone else.”

The man winces. “You don’t have to shout, I’m right here,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And no, Tim, I know who you are.”

If that isn’t ominous. And also the wrong name, though it once again scritches at the part of his brain that finds something about this man so oddly familiar. “Jimmy,” he automatically corrects. “Not Tim. And I really ought to get going—”

“Back to Scott?”

Jimmy freezes, halfway out of his seat.

“Because I’m pretty sure he’s patrolling around the East side of the city, y’know. Unless you want to call Lizzie. Pretty sure she’s not busy at the minute.”

The man takes another bite out of his sandwich, scratches his beard.

Jimmy’s stomach goes cold. How did he—how can—it’s—

“See Tim, there’s not a lot that I don’t hear about,” the man continues. “However, there is something that I need to know, if you wouldn’t mind answering.”

He needs to get away. Fight or flight has fully kicked in, and Jimmy needs to run. Jimmy raises his hand, ready to do—something, shatter his chair or collapse the table or hurt him in some way—but the man only tsks.

“Come on then, none of that. The three of us have got to stick together, really. Wouldn’t be good to start fighting, especially with the way Nine acts.”

Slowly, Jimmy sits back down. It’s not because he’s intimidated, he tells himself. His fingers twitch. He could kill this man in an instant, and no one would ever know.

The man puts down his sandwich in its wrapper and leans in, head tilted a bit to the side. “So,” he says lowly, “did you kill them?”

Jimmy knows, instinctively, that he means Xornoth.

And it’s not intimidation that makes Jimmy answer. It’s some strange feeling that he knows this man, and cares about him. Something familiar in the line of his nose and the color of his hair.

“Yeah,” says Jimmy in the same low tone. “Yeah, I did.”

The man sits back, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Good. I figured you did, y’know, but I was sleeping when it happened. You could’ve pulled a runner, y’know? Could’ve been someone else to get them. That wouldn’t have been right, though. It had to be one of their . . . erm, what did they start calling them? Subjects?”

Jimmy swallows, then mutters an answer in the affirmative. He keeps having to remind himself that he doesn’t know this man, as familiar as he is. How does he know so much?

“Right. Back in my day, we were ‘participants’. What a joke.” The man shakes his head, then takes another bite of his sandwich. “Well, thanks for the info. I won’t tell anyone, promise—well, I’ll tell Nine, but Nine isn’t much of a talker, so it won’t get out or anything.”

“Right,” Jimmy manages. He checks his phone; Scott should be coming to pick him up soon. He casts his eyes about, trying to think of anything to say to the strange man with white scars and earplugs.

“What happened to your eyes?” he asks eventually. The man smiles ruefully, one hand going up to trace over the scars. They aren’t precise in any way, some smaller ones littered around the corners, long ones down the middle. If Jimmy looks closely, he can even see the places the irises are entirely missing along with the scar, leaving the man with cloudy white streaks through his eyes.

“Let’s just say—next time those scientists of theirs have you on the table, make sure and ask ‘em to strap down your hands,” the man says. “Not that that should ever happen to you again, but you never know, y’know?”

Well.

Jimmy feels slightly ill, staring at those scars. Most of his aren’t self-inflicted, nor nearly as visible as those. Sure, he has one across his cheek, and a small one above his eyebrow, but they don’t usually attract much attention. Scott even thinks they make him look rather dashing. He can only imagine the stares and questions this man gets on a daily basis.

The stranger finishes his sandwich, wiping his fingers off with the wrapper. He stands, tips an imaginary hat toward Jimmy.

“Well, I’ll be off. The city’s a bit loud, don’t you think? Oh, and thanks for footing the bill.”

And then he’s gone, and Jimmy sits there in stunned silence until he shakes himself, heads up to the counter, and pays.

He tries to forget about the man. As weeks pass, he moves on, his days taken up by work and Scott and his friends. And he mostly does forget about the familiar stranger, too busy to spare the mental energy needed to try and figure out who he was.

That is, until one night, nearly a month later.

Lizzie had managed to get a hold of their high school’s yearbook from when she was a senior and Jimmy a sophomore, and together with Scott and Joel they paged through it, laughing at Lizzie’s galaxy-themed outfit and Jimmy’s unbrushed hair.

They stop on the page of the soccer team, and Jimmy knows from the coos and laughs that they’re looking at him and his ridiculous hair, but his eyes are caught on a familiar face.

“Who’s that?” he finds himself saying, pointing to the boy beside him, the boy who has his arm slung around his shoulders, the boy who—in one small picture off to the side, is knuckling Jimmy’s head.

And then he remembers.

He pages through the yearbook until he finds him.

A senior that year. One of his friends, and one of the only people who tried to still hang out with him after his powers got out of hand.

He’d almost completely forgotten about Martyn.

Martyn, the dude with the new Playstation. He’d been powered—not strongly, but with some fairly average super hearing and far vision.

Jimmy thinks back to the man he’d met, blinded by his own hands, hearing so intense that he has to wear earplugs at all times.

And then he wonders, dreading the unknown answer, what kind of mistakes had been made with the experiments before his own—and who on earth Nine might be.

#empires smp #empires smp fanfic #empires superpowers au #esh au #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #flower husbands #martyn inthelittlewood #mas writes #051424 #finally. he's here #after all the fighting he did to get here #when i explicitly told him no #martyn: that sign can't stop me bc i can't read! im blind!#the number seven really just suits this man huh #somebody guessed that martyn would have been one of the subjects lol #you were correct! congrats!#lmk what you guys think #love you guys

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tai-janai · 2 months

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ok continuation of the protector au

most of the voices can no longer see any good in the princess, because the Protector (reminder that he's the Hero) already planted in our brain that she truly cannot be trusted.

The princess, whether you take the blade or not, does plan to end the world.

"The world put me down here. If you help me out, you will be spared when I do end it."

and your choice comes there.

The Voices all keep the same core aspects, but have different goals or motivations. The Arms represent the ways the Princess has left her effect on You. With almost all of them, instead of sending the vessel to the shifting mound like they usually do, they completely want to kill her.

The Paranoid becomes Repulsed by what the Princess becomes, afraid in a way he wasn't in the source material. He is more willing to attack her, but less confident in it. The Protector has to encourage him to help the body kill her.

The Cold becomes the Aloof, one of the least trusting of the Narrator because he still doesn't like the "reward" they are given, but the Protector doesn't hate that we ended ourself, so he is less standoffish towards the others because he isnt judged for how he feels. After all, it is a defense mechanism, and the Protector can recognize that.

The Stubborn becomes Enraged because the princess defeated him along with her. (She still says 'this was fun' but in a much more sinister way) He wants to kill her, but he plants the thought in our head that she can only be defeated if we die. His doubt affects reality. the Protector initially supports his enthusiasm, but becomes hopeless when he realizes that it is all in vain.

The Opportunist becomes the Plotting; cruel and twisted. He takes the Protector's words and twists them how he sees fit, wanting the princess to suffer as much as possible by befriending her before backstabbing her. The Protector is kind of afraid of this one. He may want the princess dead, but he doesn't wish harm upon anyone.

The Contrarian becomes the Errant, and wishes for something different. You know its fucked up when the Contrarian equivalent becomes the voice of reason. Unfortunately, the Protector isn't a big fan of this option until the Errant does show up and shows a way out that seems the most safe.

Unfortunately for the Skeptic, nobody here is willing to give him any answers. The Narrator has his Rules and the Protector knows what happens when the Long Quiet becomes aware of the situation. Most voices accept this, but the Skeptic becomes Vexed. He actually becomes similar to the Cheated, where he believes he deserves what everyone else has, but has no way of getting it.

The Broken doesn't change much. he will still fawn over the princess, believing her to be much more powerful than anything, and completely inevitable. He just doesn't want to be a part of it once it is gone; but that isn't an option for the princess. she needs the long quiet to reach her full potential. She wont show "mercy" to the Dismal.

The Smitten becomes fully blind to the Princess' blaring red flags, committing himself to her fully as long as she shows any sort of returned affections. In the Damsel route, i think id have an end where you ask her too many questions, and she attacks you, but the Hapless is blind to her danger, and lets her. She is only getting close enough so that you let her use you to enact her plans.

The Hunted becomes less of prey than he had been, enacting purely on instinct so that she cannot win against him continuously. From hunted to Ferine, he will keep the body moving and standing. The Protector is also kind of afraid of him and his determination. I think, in this Beast route, there would actually be a branch where you can defeat her.

Last but not least, the Cheated becoming the Steadfast. He becomes the closest to the original Hero, urging us to improve ourself, though his extent is unhealthy. Like before, he just wants one of the worlds to be safe. At some point, he has to beat the princess. The Protector tells him that they're doing more harm than good... but it isn't a win, so it isnt enough. Not until the Protector cuts them all off.

#stp #stp au #Protector AU #stp voices #the voices #Fell the Princess

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i-did-not-mean-to · 11 days

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MAY-U - Russingon

This one has been written for @urwendii! It was such fun to write a Modern!AU Russingon, which is, as everybody knows, one of my all-time favourite things to do!

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon

Prompts: University - Elevator Engineer - I can think of worse company

Words: 2 200

Warnings: Stuck elevator, daring rescue mission, some body contact :D (they're still half-cousins in canon!)

“Oh shit!”

Fingon stared at the screen of his tablet in dismay—how could he have missed so flagrant an error?

Beneath him, there was a faint screeching, scraping sound, but he was too engrossed in his calculations to pay it any heed until it suddenly stopped.

Another wave of blind panic and self-recrimination washed over him, but he tried to counteract that utterly useless instinctive reaction by reminding himself that nobody even used this particular elevator. Everything was fine!

Sweat beaded along his spine—the presentation of his thesis was only weeks away, and the current setback did not exactly inspire much confidence in his eventual success.

He’d wanted to revolutionise the field of elevator engineering; a humble and rather dull aspiration one might well think, but Fingon had devoted himself to this task with as much boundless enthusiasm as he put in any of his numerous other projects and dreams.

Brow creased and lips pinched, he thus gave his meticulous computations another hard stare. Ah! Yes, if he just…

His stroke of genius that would save his academic career and the rotten, old elevator was rudely interrupted by a muted banging, followed by a voice calling out in so polite a tone and wording that Fingon was quite taken aback.

He’d not believed ghosts to be so extraordinarily courteous!

“Hello? Is someone there? The intercom seems to be out of order! Hello? The button is not working!”

Intercom? Button?

Oh Eru! Setting his tablet aside, Fingon groaned. This was just his luck! On the one instance all his efforts failed, there had to be a witness, enmeshed against their will in his entirely avoidable defeat.

Moreover, he couldn’t remember ever having heard a voice half as rich and enchanting as the one rising like a swirl of enticing mist at dawn from the dark abyss of mechanical malfunction.

“There’s a little problem with the elevator,” he called back, half-holding on to the ludicrous idea of merely being haunted by the phantom of inadequacy. “Hang on! Are you injured?”

“I thought as much,” came the deadpan reply from below. “Do you think it could be solved within…let’s say thirty minutes? I’ve got a lecture to attend, but I’m otherwise unharmed.”

“Students are not allowed in this part of the building,” Fingon said smugly, biting his lip when he realised that he, at least on the face of it, was a mere student too.

“I’m aware,” the other answered levelly. “I’m the lecturer, not an attendee. It’s my first one, though, and I’d hate to be a no-show. So, I repeat my question, can this hiccup be ironed out within the next half hour?”

His mind racing through a quick tabulation of what had to be done for the elevator to resume function at all, Fingon came to the inevitable conclusion that he’d have to disappoint the poor wretch.

He was about to say so when he saw movement in the elevator shaft. A moment later, the top hatch flew open and a silken mass of reddish hair, gleaming like burnished copper, appeared.

“Erm,” Fingon mumbled hesitantly, perched precariously on the edge of the control room entrance as he stared, mesmerised, at the stuck cabin just a few meters away. He remembered vaguely that he’d been about to say something, but the exact words had momentarily fled his mind.

The impressive mane shifted, and a pale, shapely face became visible, gleaming like marble in the unprepossessing brushed metal window.

“Ah! You’re still there,” the beauteous man with the magnetic voice smiled. And what a smile it was—Fingon relied on his excellent reflexes to avoid toppling to his death in his eagerness to lean towards that discreet siren call. “I take your silence as a negative, am I right? Maybe…I could climb out and try to pry open the elevator doors?”

Blinking, Fingon struggled to make sense of the sentence he’d just heard; his whole mind and soul were too thoroughly consumed by the near-transcendental charm of the mysterious apparition to focus on anything other than the way those pale lips twitched, and these light grey eyes twinkled with determination.

“Won’t work,” Fingon then croaked miserably. “The many outdated and outright perilous features of the elevator are exactly what I’m trying to amend and improve.”

“Do you have to use the elevator to get down from there?”

A long, slender arm—clad in perfectly ironed grey linen—was swung over the lip of the hatch, slamming a heavy leather bag against the roof of the cabin.

“I’m Maedhros, by the way,” the stranger, now halfway out of his metal cage, wheezed.

“Fingon. Yes. No,” Fingon took a shivering breath; he couldn’t fully grasp how so deplorably static a situation could be “too fast-paced” for his befuddled brain to follow. “I would have taken the elevator,” he tried anew, “but there’s an old door leading outside. I don’t think it has been used in years, and I’d have to walk all the way around and through the building to get back to my office, but theoretically, it could be done!”

“Nice to meet you, Fingon,” Maedhros said, his inflexion just ambiguous enough to make Fingon’s eyebrow quirk in suspicion. “If that is so, I shall come up and use that door if it’s all the same to you.”

His mouth opening to let out an incredulous guffaw, Fingon felt his breath hitch in his throat instead as the other lifted himself completely out of the blasted elevator.

He was huge—Fingon gasped like a schoolgirl, and then, he realised that he’d heard other faculty members discuss the very man, shading his eyes to look up at him hopefully.

The gossip and envious praise surrounding the new lecturer, pretty as a summer day and cold as a winter’s night, had hitherto been buried under far more pressing considerations, and Fingon had simply failed to connect the dots until now.

“Antique languages and societies, right?” he muttered distractedly.

At once, Maedhros’s face lit up. “That’s me—I see I’ve made quite an impression. I hope in a good way.”

A muscle twitched in his left cheek, and Fingon realised with a jolt of incredulity that this man—so self-possessed in the face of adversity and gorgeous enough to be eaten raw—was insecure about how people might perceive him.

“Whatever I’ve heard, it does not do you justice,” Fingon replied before getting a grip on his thoughts. “And words like ‘angelic’ and ‘mouth-watering’ have been used liberally.”

“Ah, sometimes I wish I was interested in women,” Maedhros replied sheepishly, tucking his narrow chin against his chest as if embarrassed. “They’re always so kind and generous to me.”

“I’ve never said a word about the fairer sex,” Fingon commented slyly.

That off-hand remark managed what a defective lift and a very athletic escape hadn’t achieved—Maedhros was positively speechless.

This, Fingon decided, was the worst possible moment to suggest physical contact, but if that masterpiece of human anatomy wanted to make it to his lecture in time, he would have to go along with Fingon’s half-baked plan.

“I can come down and push you up,” he said carefully. “There is a desk, nailed to the floor, in the corner, and you might just be tall enough to wedge in your feet to keep you steady. Or…you can just leave me here—I deserve that.”

“Nonsense!” Maedhros laughed, extending his arms and broadening his stance. “Come down, I’ll catch you.”

Feeling like the maiden heroine in an old-timey novel, Fingon twisted and turned until he could let his feet dangle into the void while holding on for dear life to the sharp-edged rim of the square door in the floor of the control room.

Strong arms were slung around his thighs.

“Let yourself slide down slowly—I’ve got you,” Maedhros promised.

“Take care, I’ve been told repeatedly that my ass is a danger to society!” Fingon warned, mortified at the thought that his new, exciting acquaintance would find himself smothered in the bulging flesh of his rotund behind.

“Consider me duly warned,” the victim-turned-saviour chuckled. “Now let go!”

Sending an arrow prayer to whatever Vala was available, Fingon slowly unclasped his aching fingers.

For a heartbeat, he was floating on a wave of fragrant warmth before the tight rope of living flesh slid up along his body, leaving a lingering sensation of flames licking at his sensitive skin that drove him half-insane with entirely improper want.

“Good day to you, Fingon. I’m sorry to admit that, according to my various brothers’ assessments, my behind is disgustingly bony. You might have been wise to bring gloves if you plan on pushing me up!” Maedhros chirped when Fingon turned around, at once lost in the wavering grey sea of the other’s luminous eyes.

“I thought I’d simply give you a boost,” the prospected engineer mumbled.

“I might need more than that,” Maedhros said with a wink.

Fingon remembered only too well how that man had hoisted himself out of the elevator cabin without any assistance, but he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I wouldn’t dream of wearing gloves then,” he said with a crooked grin accentuating his dimples in a way his mother qualified as “unfairly adorable”.

Without further ado, he gave Maedhros a leg up.

Twisting his head to flash a mischievous grin at his flushed helper, the tall redhead purred, “Push, my man, push!”

As his blood seemingly couldn’t decide what vital organ to provision, Fingon felt light-headed and deliciously dizzy, craning his neck to observe Maedhros’s less-than-graceful ascent which soon came to a suspicious halt, leaving the long, svelte legs swinging like the pendulum of an enchanted clock.

A man of action to his core, Fingon brazenly cupped the perky ass dangling before him and heaved.

He thought that his mind was deserting him for good—Maedhros, instead of using the momentum, seemed to grow heavier. Even though he’d managed to get a handhold on the doorframe above him, he throned on Fingon’s trembling hands like a king of yore.

“Ticktock!” Fingon reminded him half-heartedly.

“Shame, really,” Maedhros sighed and pulled himself through the hole in one powerful, fluid motion.

“If you could throw down my tablet…I shall spend the rest of the day trying to fix this mess,” Fingon called dejectedly. He was profoundly disgusted with how his first meeting with the most talked-about man on campus had gone down, and—despite his cheery, optimistic soul—he knew that he’d gnaw on this humiliating day for a long while.

“I think you’d be more comfortable here,” Maedhros objected. “Throw up my bag, and then I’ll pull you up, Mister Engineer. Trust your plan—it will work out!”

There was the clanging noise of furniture being shuffled around and the old desk creaking in protest, and then those long arms dropped back into Fingon’s field of vision, bracketing a beautifully flushed face.

“Come on!” Maedhros grinned in a heartening tone.

With a soft sigh, Fingon extended his own arms. Maedhros had rolled up his sleeves, and Fingon’s clasped his fingers around lean, freckled forearms firmly at the same time as he felt long, cool digits close against his own skin.

Again, he couldn’t deny how embarrassingly marvellous and precious it made him feel to be lifted as if he was but a dainty, little thing rather than a bulky young man.

Pushing himself off with as much vigour as he could muster to contribute as much as he could lest Maedhros throw out his back in this ludicrous sequence of daring rescues, he shot through the hole and landed flat on a surprisingly broad, well-muscled chest.

Much of an engineer he was, he thought hazily before the slowly blossoming smile of the much put-upon victim of his idiocy rendered the very act of forming coherent concepts patently impossible.

“You owe me a dinner,” Maedhros smirked. “At the very least.”

“Anything for a new colleague,” Fingon squeaked, afraid that if he thought too long on how his breath intermingled with Maedhros’s, he’d be tempted to kiss that rosy mouth until both their careers were irremediably damaged by their failure to show up where they were needed.

A moue of disappointment distorted Maedhros’s hitherto perfectly amiable visage.

“Ah! Maybe you could score one of those ladies that speak of me so nicely,” he said cautiously without making any attempt to shift Fingon’s crushing weight off his pinned body.

“May I remind you, I’ve still not brought up a single ‘lady’. Either way, you better run to your lecture. If, once the rush of adventure has worn off, you still want to spend time with the unluckiest bugger in a ten-mile-radius, you know where you’ll find me.”

Ostensibly pacified, Maedhros hummed in agreement. “When I return,” he chuckled, “I’ll have all the time in the world. I won’t even object to being trapped in the same elevator again. I can think of worse company!”

Even though he mumbled some expected polite verbiage, Fingon was deeply flattered and felt his motivation to solve the technical conundrum reawaken in his inexplicably tight, palpitating heart.

“Until later, brave saviour,” Maedhros grinned. “Don’t fall in…before I’m back.”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one for May!

Lots of love from me!

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anthrotmnt · 3 months

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The Last Pit Part 1/

Thai BL Crossover AU with The Sign, Last Twilight, and Pit Babe.

Tharn was watching a car accident.

For the young officer, this was nothing new.

Tharn often experienced many visions of different events. And unfortunately, the notion of a car accident was not new to him. He often thought back to the night of his own family’s accident.

The night he became an orphan. The night he had argued with his dad, and then never spoke to him or his mom again. The night he survived, but which put him on the path to becoming a police officer.

Even if he took the test without telling his grandma, worrying her time and time again. But Tharn was unfortunately used to worrying his grandma, as being an omega in such a high intensity career path came with it’s own additional concerns.

Combine that with his reoccurring nightmares, and the occasional spacing out, if not outright collapsing, and he was lucky she let him leave the house at all.

When he thought back to that night, he was a child sitting in the backseat of his father’s car. But this vision was different, here he was an adult watching from the side of a road as the car drove by. Even if he wasn’t used to his visions happening at any given time, he would know this was one as the car seemed to be moving in slow motion. As it drove past him, he could see the silhouettes of two figures inside: the driver in the front, twisting in his seat to address a passenger, seemingly passed out in the backseat.

There was little to indicate when this was taking place (besides the night sky), or where (a general street), and so Tharn wasn’t sure why he was suddenly seeing this. Usually, there was something distinctive he could take from the vision to help, but it was like watching a show, and he had no way to pause.

He never did.

Time suddenly sped up though as a truck came careening into the car.

Tharn flinched, eyes closing, with the sound of the collision reverberating. He normally didn’t want to look away. Maybe this hit to close to home, as he couldn’t help but shut his eyes to the scene.

When he opened them, he thought maybe he had woken up. But, looking around at the abandoned warehouse, no, he wasn’t awake yet. It had been months since he was at the training grounds where he had reunited with Phaya.

A gasp of air sounded to his right and Tharn jerked around to see Chat stabbing Phaya.

No I stopped this. How?

His legs felt like they were made of lead and he couldn’t run towards Phaya, just watched as the man he loved held his stomach and staggered towards him. As Tharn tried to reach out to them, his form seemed to shift. Then he was someone new.

Tharn was startled to realize he recognized the general appearance of the individual. He looked like the driver of the car that had been hit just moments ago! But instead of clutching at a stab wound, he was clutching his head. And rather than their fatigues, seemed to be wearing athletic wear.

Even Chat was gone, replaced by a young man, who in turn seemed to be wearing a mechanic’s uniform.

But before Tharn could look even closer, there was suddenly a blinding light, and Tharn was forced to close his eyes again. It was so bright that even closed, Tharn shielded his eyes further from it. After a moment, where the light seemed to dim, he blinked his eyes open, and found himself in a different place.

A seemingly endless void of pink and purple with clouds like cotton candy swirling in the background.

This was new.

“Where?” Tharn whispered, and then jolted as he sensed another individual - an actual other person. Based on their scent - and when did his visions come with scents - they were an omega like him.

What is going on? His visions were usually just glimpses of things that could happen. He didn’t normally see himself as actually a part of them! But here in this space, here he seemed to actually exist. On instinct, he reached for his gun, but nothing was there. He had gone to bed, and put away his gun, of course it wouldn’t follow him into this dreamscape. Or where ever this was.

He looked around to where he sensed the other omega, and spotted a young man in the near distance to his left. Tharn thought he resembled the mechanic he briefly saw, but this guy was now wearing regular clothes. Comfy looking, versus the worn uniform. Upon catching his gaze, the other seemed startled at being spotted, and Tharn could sympathize. This was uncanny, and uncomfortable.

Neither individual called out to the other, as they both stared trying to comprehend if the other person was actually real. Or just a very intense hallucination. Could Tharn be hallucinating from too much to drink? He didn’t always handle his alcohol well. Had he even been drinking before all this? It was hard to think, or recall, what he had been doing before he woke up here.

Then Tharn felt another presence, tensing as this time there was the scent of an alpha about to his right. The sent they emitted, even here, seemed to bear down a bit on Tharn and the stranger, but they didn’t seem to be a threat. Neither of them did.

Tharn turned towards the newcomer and saw that he was also young, and seemed to be relatively fit. The biggest contrast between these strangers though is that this man seemed to be watching them with an eager - almost desperate - stare. Like he was trying to memorize what they looked like.

“I can see you?” however, despite their appearance, the voice was soft, as it seemed to echo across this pink wasteland. Tharn had expected that he would likely speak up, and watched him with a critical eye. The man to Tharn’s left (and standing across from the one who spoke) was startled, and was starting to step back.

But before either of them could respond, Tharn jolted awake in bed. The question echoed in his head for a moment before fading alongside the rest of what he had seen.

He wasn’t use to these visions invading his dreams. Waking, he could at least try and act on them, and sleep was usually his respite. Though, lately another type of…dream…had begun to take root in his mind. But he shook himself out of the reprieve as he tried to focus on what he had seen.

There were two other people in that dream.

The quiet man seemed terrified at the prospect that others were seeing what he was seeing. While the other had been excited - trying to engage with them.

The beginning had felt relatively normal - or normal as these recurring visions could be anyway. That this had been vision of something that was to come, but maybe it had happened already? The quiet man though didn’t resemble anyone he knew. He was confident that the one who spoke had been the drive he saw though. Either way, this was the first time he could interact with the individuals he saw while the vision was seemingly playing.

It wasn’t uncommon for Omegas and Alphas with special powers to continue to develop as they grew up, but Tharn had always been told by his grandma that his powers would be stunted. Likely as a result of the trauma he experienced as a child.

Recently, most of his visions either featured Phaya (both now and back when they were children) or something related to their current cases. But here he was sure he didn’t know either one of them people he saw.

Maybe his powers were developing after, maybe as a result of meeting Phaya and the intense training they had gone through. Enigmas had certain effects on both Omegas and Alphas, maybe since they got together Phaya had somehow…enhanced his ability.

Tharn blushed at the thought. In an attempt to distract himself, he got up and walked to his living room. Sitting at his desk, he opened up his laptop and decided to start looking into recent serious car accidents. Fortunately, after a few hours, he came across what he was hoping to find. Between both visions of the spoken man, Tharn recalled enough to recognize the photo he was staring at as the individual he saw. In the article, he found there was a photo of the man, wearing a sports headband with the word “Day” written on it, next to a blurry photo of a crashed car.

National Badminton Athlete Injured in Car Accident Thailand’s star athlete Danainat “Day” Kopnopphakhunis, one of the nation’s best Badminton players alongside his teammate August, is expected to make a full recovery following his car accident a few days. While there were unconfirmed reports that he had suffer some damage to his head and face, Day made an appearance coming out of the hospital looking as handsome as ever. Tharn saw the article was several months old and decided to do another search now that he had a name. A more recent article came up, with a much more somber tone. As Tharn got caught up reading he didn’t hear the door to his apartment opening and the sound of two men laughing coming in.

The End of a Career Earlier we reported that star athlete Danainat “Day” Kopnopphakhunis was suppose to make a full recovery following his recent car accident. Unfortunately, as witnessed by many fans, both on the scene and online, at the badminton nationals, the injury seems to be more severe. Reports are saying that the young athlete is losing his eyesight and his mother, renowned chef Ramon Kopnopphakunis, is currently seeking a caretaker for her son. Things arn’t looking good for this once renowned athlete, as videos have gone viral of his freak out during the nationals.

Tharn leaned back as he looked at this most recent article, though it was more like a tabloid than anything substantial. He could see there was a lot of activity in the comments section lamenting the loss for the sports industry. Before he had a chance to start reading them though, a pair of muscular arms came to rest outside Tharn’s own, bracketing him in against his desk and laptop.

Tharn knew that scent intimately now.

Phaya.

He also could sense that Yai was there too, but lately it felt like Phaya overwhelmed all his senses both in the waking and dream worlds.

Phaya leaned over to give Tharn a kiss on the side of his cheek as he took a look at the article he was reading. “You interested in badminton?”

“Badminton? Oh, are you reading about what happened to Day?” Yai asked coming over.

“You two know him?”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty popular athlete. Even before he presented as an alpha he was starting to get noticed on the national scene for his prowess. Then he started getting other kinds of recognition - you can see the comments talking about it” Yai said as he tried to lean in against Tharn as well. But Phaya nudged him away, and Yai backed off with a laugh.

Tharn looked at the comment section Yai had pointed out, and noticed there was one thread in deed that seemed particularly interesting. It was started by an anonymous user of course and read:

It’s luck that this “unnatural alpha” was struck down with the loss of his eyesight because now he could no longer use those devil eyes of his.

Devil eyes Tharn mouthed as he read, bewildered. Were there really still people like that out there? Jealous of those Alphas (and Omegas) born with special gifts? Alphas with special senses usually had to disclose them when they became celebrities, or at least they became open secrets. Tharn vaguely recalled Yai had also discussed this “badass racer” he knew about that had enhanced senses. But when you’re such a public figure, it makes sense that the sentiments surrounding you would range.

He read on as people wrote back that Day was one of the good ones because no one could ever lie to him, and now he would be faced with all this pity and judgement.

His power embodied the very essence of good sportsmanship! No one could be fake with him if he could spot it, or cheat against him. Him being an alpha just made him an all around great badminton player! This really is a loss T_T

What about August? His partner totally flaked on him. What a disgrace.

He didn’t ask to be injured! I just can’t believe this happened so publicly. Now they’re reporting he needs a caretaker.

Yeah I saw adverts that his mom is paying big $$$ too.

I would definitely take care of all.his.needs. ;)

Tharn sighed and closed the laptop. So he had at least the name of one of the individuals he saw, but he wasn’t sure how he could begin the process of investigating the other.

“Everything ok? Why are you looking Day up anyway?” Yai asked as Tharn moved to stand up and put away his laptop.

“I…had a vision. Not one of the normal ones though” Yai and Phaya shared a look as though to say “are any of your visions normal?”. That caused Tharn to smile as he walked over to his kitchen area for some water. He suddenly realized just how thirsty he was.

“Why are the both of you here anyone? Usually, one of you would try and call to let me know you’re coming”

“I did” “I did!” both Yai and Phaya exclaimed before looking over at the other. They hadn’t intended to arrive together but had happened to run into each other at the entrance to Tharn’s apartment complex.

Looking over to see where his phone was, Tharn realized surprisingly that it wasn’t dead. Fully charged even! And the ringer was on. Why didn’t he hear either of them call?

#the sign the series #The Sign #Last Twilight #pit babe the series #Pit Babe #dramas #Thai dramas #crossover #The Last Pit

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assortedvillainvault · 2 years

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Chance anon here! Fair enough, mental exhaustion from the wirewolf incident is a logical conclusion. Here’s an alternative then: what about headcanons for how he’d handle having a human s/o trying to comfort him through this whole mess? Like, there’s already a firmly established relationship in place. Would he just constantly be trying to hide from them, or would he actually allow them to try to help?

Muse is back for the Wirewolf HK AU so I can finally answer this! See posts here and here and here if you have no clue what we're on about here lads.

Wirewolf!Horned King x Reader:

The screams of his transformation bring you running and he is Horrified.

He's already got NOS4A2 by the arm and is ragdolling him around the throne room, blind with rage and newfound mechanical strength when your scent fills his nose.

NOS takes the opportunity to escape as he retreats and desperately tries to communicate that he is still him and not a threat to you but he is also unbeleivably angry so the overall effect is of an 8ft metal skeleton wolf trembling with rage sat at the foot of his throne with his head down.

You deliberately do not say that he resembles the men's hounds when told they can't eat off the table.

He can still understand you, but you can't understand him, at least verbally. Turns out body language is the great communicator and you know him well enough by now to guess his inclinations.

Kill the robot, avoid the men, treat Creeper like a chew toy if you come across him. From the way his ears prick up you think some kind of latent hunting instinct kicks in around the little goblin.

Or he just enjoys mauling the poor thing, but either way.

You are his rock and full support while you figure out how to corner and torture the cure out of the energy vampire.

He Does Not want to be touched at first, his whole body aches from the forced transformation. After a few fruitless hours though, he relents and lets you pet him.

He will die again before he admits it but your pets are Addicting and he completely understands why the hounds whine for more head scritches. Your hands are warm and soft and divine behind his horns and no he did not just headbutt you for more you must be hallucinating my dear come sit by the fire. With him. Formorepets.

He's large enough that you can sit astride his back with ease. He does not approve of this and hucks you off with a growl while you laugh.

If you get any skin or fingers caught in his joints he is going to enforce a 10 foot distance and Kill the Vampire Harder for making him hurt you.

We're going to magically make sure that tetanus is something that you can cure in medieval Wales becuase as stated previously - he be rusty. Sorry.

Oof that would be an angst trip that I do not have brain space for. Feel free to pick that up and run with it though!

Yours was the plan and well laid trap that caught the vampire and he is so, SO grateful and proud of you for assisting in his return to normalcy. You're going to have him hanging regally off your arm for weeks.

In the aftermath, in the sleepy hours of the morning, you're going to curl your fingers around the base of one horn and scritch.

A contented rumble comes from his chest and you squeal in delight as a leg suddenly kicks - inadvertently waking him.

He smacks you in the face with a pillow, mortified.

Doitagain.

#thalassa responds #oof finally got to this #sorry for the delay chance I hope you like this!#the horned king #disney villains #x reader #the horned king x reader #wirewolf au

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glitxd-shenanigan · 5 months

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Strix has a modern college AU and I haven't wrote anything about this AU at all. I've been stuck and absolutely skronkled so I decided to use my cards to set down some foundations for his story.

Here's how his cards fell;

__ Where they are in life as the story begins The Tower Reversed

The reversal of the tower indicates personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster, and delaying the inevitable.

As we are introduced to Strix, we could see that he seems to be in deep denial. His blindness is a constant reminder of abuse. On the outside he presents himself as a friend who deeply cares about his friends, but on the inside, this act feeds into his fear of abandonment. As his anxiety spikes, he'd succumb to his instinct for self defense.

He would prefer to avoid confrontation and follow others to hold a relationship together. When pushed too far, Strix would clam up, hoping things will pass.

Where they will be as the story ends Two Wands Reversed

To me, "where" is both about location and mental state. It's clear by The Tower that Strix is not as happy as he appears. Strix craves change in his life, but he has no idea where to start. He has no purpose. As the two of wands portrays a man with the world in his hands, when reversed we could imagine the world falling out instead.

Strix will be confused with no place to go both mentally and physically. He needs direction and help to set himself straight.

Combining this with our first card we could ask ourselves; how will he learn to let go? How will he finally learn to live in the present? What event will shake him up to help him "see" clearer? A new card or an oracle card will help, but I'm going to let this marinate in my docs and see what I could come up with. __

What kind of person they want to be as the story ends The Hanged Man

The hanged man is calm and serene despite his position. His arms and legs are tied, and he is able to keep his cool as once see things in a different perspective.

With this card we could sense that Strix craves tranquility. Strix wanted to be freed from his fears and embrace the present, he wants to learn from others so he could see things in a new way and help others find their paths, too. __

What do they want from their career Four Coins Reversed

In terms of career, this card symbolizes determination, honest hard work and generosity. Fours symbolizes stability and strength in collaboration.

I already predetermined that Strix follows his father's footsteps and he is currently working as a junior in the bio-mechanic industry. He wanted to help others in improving their lives and dreams that perhaps someday he could help in developing an implant that could help with degenerative vision. The money he receives from work are used to help his sister with her school. __

What do they want from their relationship(s) Ace Of Wands

Ace of wands represent new beginnings, passion, boldness, and growth.

This is a full 180 from our first card, whatever is happening in Strix's relationship with his friends and partner should be a good thing since this card represents fun and excitement. Even when this story starts before Strix met them, this card is a sign that he needs to bite the bullet reach out as their relationship will change the trajectory of his life.

Strix needs guidance and balance, and wands are the card of passion, inspiration, and energy (something he lacks in his first card). So Strix draws / will draw a lot of inspiration out of his relationships. Or at least, he wishes to...

How can they live in tune with their own interests, principles and beliefs? Six Wands Reversed

If Strix has a vision, he wants change, he wants to live a life of tranquility and self-acceptance, and he wants to help others find themselves too. How can he live that life he craves?

The six of wands advises Strix to check in with himself and open up. Confidence and peace often comes from experience, and once Strix tries to open up, he will make better decisions that are more in alignment with who he really is.

...but it isn't that easy. As he gathered up enough courage, perhaps he will not receive recognition, even shamed and neglected. __

What is their greatest strength and potential Ten Coins Reversed

In all honesty I'm pretty stumped with this card since the reversed ten of coins doesn't signify any strength nor potential... so I'll break the symbols down instead of reading the card itself.

Ten is a composite number; One (1) being the beginning represents bravery and initiation. Zero (0) represents potential. Coins / pentacles represents wealth, safety, body, and health.

Mentally, Strix has the potential to easily navigate his murky thoughts once he sets his mind to it. In a literal sense, Strix does this as he lives his life as he could adapt, navigate through his environment and even work despite slowly losing his eyesight. __

How can they get from here to where they want to be Strength

The strength speaks to the inner strength and the human spirit's ability to overcome any obstacle. It invites us to feel our fears and look them in the eyes, and from there we could find the power to persevere.

For Strix, his actions is for him to tame his thoughts, gut reactions and raw emotions. It's normal for him to feel shame, guilt, rage and sadness, but what he does with it and how far he'll go to understand them makes all the difference.

What is their first step Knight Of Swords

Strix's first step to get him from being a self-destroying wreck in the beginning to his goal in the end is a simple one; Change.

It's easier said than done. The road ahead will be a bumpy ride, but the knight is strong, focused and daring. Once this change happens there will be no way for him to turn back.

#GX Speaks #Strix Alba

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thehypercutstudios · 4 years

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This is Geoffrey Plumb...Reborn! Ya!

Geoffrey Plumb reborn is from Blinded with Mechanical Instincts AU, where Geoffrey Plumb becomes a Cyborg after an Accident that leds him to be dead, but he was revived with cybernetics! The speaker on his neck speaks for his mouth and he shows emotion through his mouth's movement, his cybernetic arm is a Swiss Army Knife and he has plasma energy! Even he is the same geoffrey plumb, one difference is that he has Right Hand Man Reborn's Rage adrenaline, So if he gets ticked off, you messed up for real!

#henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin au #geoffrey plumb #geoffrey plumb reborn #blinded with mechanical instincts au #BwMI AU

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legends-of-apex · 2 years

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What If…The Arashikage Clan were Vampires?

Headcanons

Rating: M (for blood mention)

Summary: In the movie Tommy told Snake Eyes that “blood is important to my family (the Arashikage)” I decided to take that a little too literally lol so have some Vampire!AU Arashikage Clan headcanons!

A/N: Merry Christmas @noobsaibots !! Hope you enjoy, oh loveliest 😌✨If anyone would like to see anything else related to this concept then please let me know as I’m a sucker (heh) for vampires lol

When the Sun goddess gave humanity the gift of the Jewel of the Sun as a means to test her people’s character, she also gave them another gift to help aid them in protecting the Jewel. This gift took the form of vampirism. A cosmic joke if ever there was one: give them the power of the sun, but they cannot use it. Give them the power of vampirism so they cannot even bear witness to her as she burns in the sky

Only vampire blood can unlock the mechanism that holds the Jewel of the Sun. Hence why Sen, Tommy, Hard Master and Blind Master have access yet Akiko does not as she is yet to turn

Vampirism is passed down from generation to generation if and when the next in line decides they want to go through with it. There’s no set age or obligation to go through with it whilst you’re young although most members of the clan do choose to as Tommy and Hard Master have

People who want children will have them before they turn as conceiving afterwards is exceptionally difficult. There are very few children in the Arashikage for this reason

Everyone in the clan has the option to turn, hence why they’re so opposed to letting in outsiders. The more outsiders in the clan then the greater chance that word of their them being a clan of the undead might get out

The ritual of turning is very secretive. Only the highest ranking members of the clan and those who studied everything about their own kind’s history and traditions are clued in on exactly how it is performed. These designated elders are also there to help and guide freshly turned vampires so that they can continue in with their undead lives once they’re ready to mix with other vampires and humans again. This is done both to protect the integrity of the clan but also to prevent loss of life as newborn vampires can be a little feral until their initial instinct to drain everything in sight calms down

The transition is painful and can sometimes take days. During this time the person being turned is incredibly vulnerable as they are essentially dying and being re-born again. Loved ones who are already vampires usually stay with a person being turned during this time to offer comfort as any human loved ones run the risk of being hurt

Blood is sourced relatively ethically, or as ethically as blood can be. Usually it comes from enemies of the clan who made the mistake of attacking them but in times of peace it comes from animals. Drinking from a stranger on the street is forbidden and the penalty for doing so is death lest any blood-drained bodies be traced back to the clan

The older they get the less bloodlust they have to satisfy. For example, Sen might only need to drink once or twice per year whereas Tommy needs to drink once a week or so given that he’s only been a vampire for a couple years

Blindmaster is by far the most ancient member of the clan. No one is entirely too sure just how old he is but he’s old enough to not really have any blood lust at all. He’s also one of the few clan members old enough to have mastered his special ability (his increased “sight”). Not all those who turn are given special abilities aside from healing, agility, enhanced senses and strength. These tend to only even begin to develop decades after being turned, even then they take years to hone.

They do have fangs but they only really ever come out when they get a whiff of blood or are about to drink. Their eyes also have an almost reflective quality under certain lighting. They can go outside in the day but only under cloudy conditions

Most of the clan don’t drink directly from someone unless they absolutely have to as it’s deemed improper. It’s not uncommon for someone going to be turned anyways to offer their blood to be partially drained for a loved one or clan’s blood bank before they go through with the turning.

Blood is usually treated, stored and drank as if it was wine

Human clan members can decide if they would like to be turned should they die prematurely of illness or in battle. Some people, such as Sen, want to live a full human life before turning. Sen waited until Kenta, her first grandchild, was born before being turned

Vampires and human members of the clan live in complete harmony with one another. Younger vampires are taught rigorous self control to ensure the safety of their human peers and there has only ever been a handful of blood-related killings or attempted killings in the clan. The penalty for such an action is always automatically death is bloodlust was the prime motivator

The younger vampires tend to try and let their time to feed fall on the night before they know that they’ll need their strength. Newer vampires are a great deal stronger but they tire and require a top up a lot quicker than the older vampires who have a great deal of stamina

Tagging: @icy-spicy @noobsaibots

#Arashikage #snake eyes gi joe origins #snake eyes #tommy arashikage #Sen arashikage #akiko #hard master #blind master #headcanons #vampire #vampire au #my writing #no pairing

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thehyperrequiem · 9 months

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🚬

(Must be thinking about tearing up Henry once he gets back to the Toppat Clan, also he cannot squat because of his cybernetic peg-leg)

#thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin au #geoffrey plumb #geoffrey plumb reborn #blinded with mechanical instincts au #BwMI AU #tw smoking

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flamingredanon · 3 years

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ItA au

During the fight on the catwalk right managed to avoid being blinded by the bottle rockets. However they still shot around the room until one of them flew back and knocked henry off his feet. Right watched horrified as the other went over the rail straight into the engine below with a scream.

Later as both him and reg are watching the mechanics remove what they believe to be the other's corpse right can't help but focus on the intruders maimed face. How terrified it looked as he ran after reg. How the other's hands shook when he lit the bottle rockets. How he reached out as he fell. So when one of the guys points out that henry is somehow still alive right manages to convince reg to get the intruder medical help.

He knows it doesn't make sense but his gut is telling him there's more going on and reg, knowing how accurate his friend's instincts are, agrees that they need answers.

Henry remembers running into that man on the catwalk... and then everything got really fuzzy for him. Until the sound of a boat horn blasting woke Henry up. Henry felt his heart racing, confused to where he is, why half his face feels funny and what happened on that catwalk.

A hand placed on Henry's left shoulder jolted him more, turning to see the red head fellow he fought. "Calm down, take some deep breaths. You are safe now." Henry wasn't sure what was going on, but slowly he calmed down, making sure to take slow and steady deep breaths.

The red headed man then asked "Can you tell me your name and what you were doing on the Airship?" Henry felt himself getting anxious again, but answered the man "My... my name is Henry, Henry Stickmin. Some Government guys kidnapped me from my apartment and... and they said that if I didn't capture some guy named Reginald Copperbottom... that they... they would have me locked away... or worse, having evidence of things... I've done."

Right was fuming on the inside, so this poor kid was snatched from his own home and blackmailed by those cowardly Government dogs. No wonder Henry looked so scared, it was either do what they wanted or else.

Right kept his growing anger quelled as he spoke, not wanting to frighten this young man anymore "You ain't got to worry about those Government dogs anymore. We Toppats won't let em hurt you anymore." Henry relaxed abit more, before looking at his right hand that was now covered in metal.

"You were hurt pretty bad Henry, one the bottle rockets you launched turned around and hit you, causing you to fall and get severally hurt. We took you to a doctor we know that could save your life, though alot things needed replacing with cybernetics. Dr V is talking with my boss right now on your condition." Right rubbed Henry's shoulder as Henry examined as much as he could.

"You said your boss was asking about my condition? How long was I out? Also I... don't mean to be rude but what is your name and your boss's name?" Right rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, giving off a goofy smile that made Henry slightly smile "The name is Right, right hand man to my boss and basically dad friend, Reginald Copperbottom."

Just then Dr V and Reginald entered, Dr V quickly going to Henry and asking him things while fiddling with some of the machines. Meanwhile Right tells Reginald everything Henry told him, causing Reginald to utter "Those cold hearted fuckers" under his breath.

---

It took another week before Dr V let Reginald take Henry back to the Airship. Reginald and Right had warmed up to Henry, getting to know them more during his stay on Dr V's boat. It would take several more months of Henry getting used to his cybernetics, but since he was now a Toppat thanks to Reginald, Henry had help from his fellow members.

Henry can't get near that catwalk still, that room being too traumatizing. But thankfully there are several paths around the Airship to get to the cargo bay so it wasn't too bad.

And Henry and Right became great friends, with Right becoming a teacher and guide to Henry. That day on the Airship haunts the both of them, but they both know the past is behind them.

#lizzyask #right hand man #henry stickmin #reginald copperbottom #dr vinschpinsilstien #injuries #cybernetics #bottle rockets goes brr

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citiesalight-writes · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Characters: 31 (Original Male Character/Danny Phantom Clone), Guys In White

Rating: G

Tags & Warnings: Science Experiments, Cloning

Summary: Waking up suspended in green is not something he felt should be happening, but it was all he'd known. Everything he'd known came to him from nowhere, the ether, given meaning through an unknown source. But even this mysterious well of knowledge left some questions unanswered.

Based on @13thcat‘s Danny Phantom 31 AU

---

His first taste of consciousness was brief. Weightless, harsh light bleeding through his eyelids, sounds he couldn’t yet understand.

“Sir, we’re detecting an increase in brain activity in the cerebral cortex and thalamus.”

“Subject’s heart rate has also increased. We believe it m…”

His mind faded back into darkness.

The second and third times were much the same; his consciousness barely able to cling to awareness for more than a few seconds. Hearing the same muttering voices as before, he felt his mind stir briefly before slipping back under.

However, the fourth time things began to change. His mind managed to shake off the deep fog, and awoke to the same weightlessness he’d come to recognize, the same bright lights, the same distorted noises; all things that he couldn’t quite comprehend. Summoning his limited energy, his heavy eyelids fluttered open and he took his first look at the world.

It was blurry; tinted green.

His brow furrowed. What was green?

He didn’t understand where this knowledge came from; mind producing the word without a clear point of origin.

Movement caught his attention, pulling him out of his mind. Shadows— people, his mind supplied—rushed around; the warped sounds increasing as they scrambled.

“Sir! The subject appears to be awake!”

“Status?”

“Oxygen levels and blood pressure stable.”

“No signs of cellular decay.”

“The ectoplasmic to fluid ratio appears to have zero negative effect.”

One of the figures walked forward, a blur of white and brown. It bent down, eyes meeting his own, but still too blurry to be clear.

“Hope this one can hold itself together then.”

His eyes darted around, new instincts screaming at him to not allow a single shadow out of his sight. The noise levels rose as more and more of the white blurs scattered around. It was so much—too much; his mind trying to keep up with the unfamiliar and oh so new sensory inputs bombarding him.

“Subject’s heart rate is spiking! Sir! Destabilization risk rapidly increased to 37%.”

“Sedate it, agent! If all we have to show for our effort is another puddle of slime the Commander will have our heads!”

“Yes sir, injecting sedative.”

He felt fuzzy as the green surrounding him pulsed brightly—turning a vivid neon before he faded back into the darkness.

“The subject appears to be conscious again, sir...”

He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but the thing that roused him made his face scrunch up in confusion…or was it disgust? He could taste something...bitter? The word came from nowhere, but it felt right, somehow. Something was bitter, but not unbearably so. The new sensory input probably had way more to do with waking him than the taste itself had.

He tried to open his eyes once again, but the next words stopped him cold. A sense of...something rushing up his body like a chill.

“Put it back under, we don’t want to risk any complications at this late of a stage.”

He understood. Somehow his brain linked the sounds to words with meanings, slotting them into his mind like a puzzle he didn’t know he had the answers to.

He understood, but his mind was still slow to grasp what they meant. Any attempt to try and string the meanings together into something that made sense was brought to a halt by a pulse of light before he was yet again pulled back under the haze of unconsciousness. But for the first time, he was looking forward to waking up again.

The cycle repeated. Drift into consciousness, listen to what the figures were saying, maybe even discover some new sense or word before he was sedated and the process began anew.

Although the green tint still persisted, his vision had cleared somewhat. Eyes now able to see, every person that crossed his field of view was unique yet similar. Each wore long light green coats, those with longer hair had it tied up and out of the way, and many wore glasses. They all had one thing in common though; dark bruising shadows under their eyes.

Strange…

The (shadow?....no that was a person...) person that caught his eye most was the one referred to as Sir. Their lab coat was rumpled, long brown hair wrapped in a messy bun. Their most noticeable feature was the muddy brown squares always seeming to slide down their nose that did nothing to hide the dark circles bruising their eyes.

He’d figured this was probably the person in charge. He also thought they should probably be the one sleeping instead of him. He didn’t understand why he thought these things.

During his stretches of awareness in the cyclical dance of sleeping and waking, he realized a few things. One; his word comprehension had improved leaps and bounds, mind no longer lagging behind as he listened in on the chatter around him. Two, he had more knowledge about the world than he knew to do with, words and tastes and concepts he couldn’t place an origin to flitted about in his mind. It was strange to him, but he didn’t understand why.

According to the scientists whose bags were almost as deep as Sir’s, he should be ready for the “final check” within the week, “so long as no more complications arise”. He didn’t know what that meant, but he’d overheard them talking about a procedure. He was to be kept awake for longer and longer durations as they monitored his vitals, all to ensure there would be no issues.

Even with this knowledge, waking up to the green tint—the light and color that always surrounded him (ectoplasmic fluid he’d heard someone say)—being drained from the world around him was jarring. It made him feel a slight twist in his chest, and he didn’t know why.

He blinked, once...twice, and then the feeling of weightlessness left him.

He fell.

The instant his feet touched the ground, his arms shot out to try and steady himself. He collided with a clear barrier—glass? He was in a tube—doing nothing as his legs gave out from under him. Thick liquid bubbled up his throat, his body thrown into a coughing fit as lungs worked to expel the bitter green goo from his airways. After a few tense moments of wheezing, he finally was able to take in greedy lungfuls of air. He was still adjusting to the shift in perspective, and had to close his eyes when a warm clear liquid—water, perhaps?—started spraying him from above. He heard his breathing rattle his chest as he felt the shower wash away the last of the green solution he’d been submerged in.

In, out. He wondered why he hadn’t needed to breathe before. In. Out. The water surrounded him in a strange sort of comfort, the ectoplasm in his...room? was all he’d ever known. After what felt like hours the water shut off. He opened his eyes, blinking away any lingering droplets out of his lashes. He saw the strange people standing before him.

The coats weren’t green, they were white .

Everything, it seemed, was white. From the spotless floors and walls to the shiny tables and chairs and even the computers. Everything was a blinding white. He thought it strange, but didn’t know why. He missed green. The only specks of colors were the people themselves—the scientists, his mind told him.

The sound of hissing shocked him from his thoughts, the mechanical clicking louder than anything he could ever remember hearing. A chill breeze ghosted over his skin from behind as he snapped his head to look over his shoulder, and his mind registered what had once been a room constantly enveloped in shadows was currently as bright as the lab in front of him.

But that wasn’t what caught his attention most. No. Along the wall of the room there were several more pods exactly like the one he was in. Most were empty but a few seemed to be filled with the same green he’d been held in. He blinked a few more times. Those containers... he looked carefully and could just barely make out vague humanoid shapes of varying sizes submerged within.

He didn’t have any time to think before two people in white hazmat suits stood tall before him, their forms blocking the other pods from his line of sight. With stiff movements, they lifted him up and out, gently carrying him to the singular piece of furniture in the room: a tall white bench. They set him down carefully, as if he might shatter with the slightest breeze, quick to place small white squares on his forehead. They repeated this with his wrists, chest—most everywhere on his thin body. He wanted to lean into the contact, but before he could even comprehend what was happening, they pulled away. A large holographic screen appeared beside them, filled with so many numbers and symbols and lines that it made his head swim.

“Vital signs seem stable. Heart rate is holding steady.”

He looked at them, blinking in the bright light of the room, still trying to decipher the information. He startled for a moment as one of the hazmats carefully gripped his chin, tilting it up towards their faces. They produced a strange metal tube and swept a blinding light across his eyes. He tried to pull away, blinking rapidly, but the grip held strong.

“Photopupillary reflex is good.” A snapping sound by his ear made him try to jerk his head, unable to break the strong grip. “As is its response to auditory stimulation,” they said with a sigh, finally letting go of his chin with a glare towards the other hazmat.

He turned his head quickly to try and keep both of them in his field of vision, wary of what they would do if he took his eyes off of them for a moment. His worry was broken after what seemed minutes when one of the hazmats finally spoke again.

“Alright, I need you to nod twice if you can understand me,” said the one who snapped by his ear earlier. There was a moment of hesitation before he complied, turning most of his attention towards them. He couldn’t see the figure’s smile, but their eyes—warm and brown—crinkled in happiness, crows feet more pronounced than before.

Next to them, the other hazmat—he thought they had hazel eyes—seemed to be taking notes.

“That’s wonderful. Now, we’ve got a few questions for you as well as some sensory and motor control tests we need you to do for us. Think you can do that?” He nodded hesitantly. “Perfect,” the person responded with a smile in their voice.

He was directed to lean back until he was laying flat on the bench, his exhausted body still not used to the continuous movement, let alone being awake for so long. He grimaced after he’d collapsed not three steps into a walk around the room; a test to gauge balance and fine motor skills. He felt a tugging, squeezing sensation in his chest, not wanting to disappoint, but Brown-eyes just laughed and told him it was fine, setting him back down on the bench.

They instructed him to follow a finger left to right, another test of holding his arms up and outstretched for a count of ten. That one was harder than he’d thought, arms shaking after only a moment. Deep breathing was another thing they wanted to test, and his heartbeat. He thought he had one at least? He followed the instructions and felt himself tiring further, a small yawn slipping out of his mouth.

“Well, aside from suboptimal muscle mass, low stamina, and some minor dexterity issues, your test results were good—Great even! Miles better than we expected, in all honesty.” Hazel-eyes removed the white patches from his body while Brown-eyes talked to him, praise in their voice. He saw as the lines of the strange screen went flat and the numbers dropped to zero. Brown-eyes continued, “Now I’m sure you’re tired so w-”

There was the click as the door unlocked, followed by an airy woosh. Both hazmats stood up, ramrod straight, looking to the entrance. He felt cold, a shiver finding its way down his slight frame. Brown-eyes was the one to respond first. “Sir, we were just finishing up the testing.”

He followed their gazes, his eyes widening as Sir walked into the room with an air of authority and a heavy step. Their coat was also pure white, no longer stained with a green tinge from the ectoplasm. Their bun had more fly-aways than usual, but what really caught his attention was their glasses—no longer were they a muddy brown but rather a bright, bold, fire engine red. Their dark circles seemed more pronounced too. They looked tired.

“You can leave then,” Sir called with a wave of his hand. Instantly the two were rushing out the door, leaving him alone with Sir. He watched as they circled around him, their icy blue eyes sending a rush of...something through him. He felt like he was being analyzed, a calculating glare hungrily staring at all the data he could provide...

He liked Brown-eyes better, he decided.

“Its muscle tone is minimal, suggesting inadequate strength, with a minor twitch in the left hand, but that is not unusual… Some cosmetic defects present, but that can be overlooked for now...” They spoke aloud but he understood the words weren’t directed towards him. Sir circled around him like a predator with its prey for a moment longer before speaking with a slight grin. “Overall, acceptable.” Coming to a stop in front of him, Sir held their arms behind their back, standing tall and proud. “Usually we’d wait before testing vocal patterns and supernatural abilities, but I already have the commander breathing down my neck, so we need to hurry things along.” Another grin. Their eyes didn’t match their smile like Brown-eyes’ did.

A nod to indicate he was listening, signalling Sir to continue. “Now, ask me any questions you’d like and I will do my utmost best to answer.” The light reflected dangerously off their glasses.

Any questions? Any at all? So many flooded his mind. Who are you? Where am I? Why are there more tanks filled with green stuff? How long have I been asleep? The questions kept rolling, overlapping, and turning into a jumbled mess of chaos, but one stood out among the rest. One he figured needed answered before all others.

A question he felt like he’d choke on if he didn’t ask it.

“Who,” he cleared his throat, voice soft as he spoke his first words, “who am I?”

Sir scoffed, blue eyes sharp as they looked down on him. “Not a who, a what .” Pinned by their gaze, his mind absorbed the new information. “Experiment number 31. Classification: Clone.” A wide smile stretched their lips.

He gave a weak nod as the meaning sank in. A what. Not a person, but a clone, a copy. Inhuman, a thing, a tool. A part of him fought against those words, but it was small and easily quieted.

Sir canted his head up with a single finger, their glasses reflecting 31’s wide green eyes. “Now don’t disappoint me.”

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp 31

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scriptaed · 4 years

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bygones of the sun. 07 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 6.7k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Ten bucks for club dues and fifteen bucks for transportation plus utility fees and you’d think boot camps really are as luxurious and happy-go-lucky as movies paint them out to be. Unfortunately for you and your recently trance filled state, confronting the face of reality only comes colliding into you just a couple of weeks since you last saw him. Despite the malicious side effects of reading into rumors, people really aren’t lying when they say the dance club’s boot camp is synonymous to a “living hell disguised as a getaway paradise by scheming club officers.” While you aren’t attending as an official member of the team, and therefore forfeiting the rights to proclaim the overbearing stress and practices that are soon to come, there are certain other issues weighing your mind.

First off, paying twenty five bucks just to see this one despicably sly and retired dancer resume his role as the captain is all too pricey of a fee, because even you're not sure why you’ve invested so much time and effort into someone who only sees you as his next victim of his black book filled with female contacts. You thought you had gotten over him, but the mere fact that you’re attending despite claiming to be “dragged into this” is a direct opposition of such a foolish belief, or better yet, desire. But such questions become trivial when the first obstacle you face of the four days long journey ahead of you is simply tossing two overly stuffed duffel bags into the luggage compartment of the towering, chic black and white charter bus.

Struggling to weave your way through the bustling crowds of fellow trip attendees, consisting of mainly guys and specks of girls, you puff in a deep breath before picking up one bag on each hand and hustling through with all your might and diminishing courtesy. The task proves to be worse in terms of pleasantness than labor, for squatting down and searching for the smallest of a few square feet of free space while squinting your eyes against the smoke of hot, steaming gas and water vapor released from the roaring engine.

“Do you need help?”

The familiar honey-like base yet raspy edge to his voice strikes a sense of panic against your thumping chest. Is this a rise of excitement or is this a fight-or-flight defense mechanism against the threat before you?

Hesitantly turning around, you crane your neck to peer up at the one and only boy towering over you from above, an effort made in vain as all you manage to catch sight of is the black silhouette of his figure and the smug signature look of his all underneath the blinding sunlight his head so conveniently blocks.

“Or are you going to ogle and drool all over me while standing in everyone’s way?” Hoseok chortles. Your eyes follow his every move, too taken aback to move or respond. It’s been at least two weeks since you had last seen him and two weeks since… that had happened. Your lips burn and your first immediate response is to smack your hands right over them as if to cover the beet red of your cheeks and lips… or largely to prevent future advances. Hoseok only scoffs in response, smirking and squatting midway to strategically whisper into your ears, “we have lots of time to do that in the camp later, if you so want.”

“Excuse me?” you lean back as far as you can and gape, but he only squats down to your level before grabbing the bags of luggage from your hand.

“Don’t worry, I got this. After going through this entire process at least six times by now, you just gotta learn to…” his words are cut off by huffs as he forcefully pushes and tosses and squeezes bags further into the compartment before tossing his and your own along with them. “There,” he brushes his hands, “I don’t know what Jimin has been teaching them, but the new recruits seem to be awfully spoiled taking up so much space. This is boot camp, not vacation.”

“Thanks,” you say after chuckling.

“Is your gratitude exchangeable?” he asks, turning to cock his head to the side and revealing the structure of his jawline; and as much as you’d like to deny it, it takes every ounce of sheer willpower not to stare at him in awe.

“For what?” you’re barely able to utter. Hoseok stares at you in silence, dark eyes eating and drinking you up with each passing second, and that’s all you need to get the hint. The knot in your throat catches your silent gasp as you avert your gaze to the ground, cheeks burning, heart skipping, and lips throbbing. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Oh, my bad, I forgot. Can’t corrupt my prude little princess just yet,” he muses, and you can just feel his sultry gaze piercing straight through your temple as he flashes you his charming damn crooked grin. Hoseok cocks his head in the direction behind the crowds of incoming baggage bearers, “go on. Your friends are waiting for you. I gotta help out here.”

“You sure you don't need any help?” you offer, standing upright to brush the invisible dirt off your lap.

Hoseok glances up at you and scoffs with the most teasing smirk possible. “Are you implying you're willing to help me? I'm thankful for the offer, your Grace, but I don't think standing there and checking me out is going to do us much good,” he laughs and throws a quick glimpse over at your friends with a lopsided smile. “I know I said this is camp and all, but you should at least have some fun now before it's too late.”

“...okay,” you hesitantly mumble, giving him a small wave and stumbling through the crowd once again to join your friends spectating from afar.

“What took you so long?” Junghwa ponders aloud, a small pout resting on her bottom lip as her foot impatiently taps against the floor.

“Sorry, the luggage compartment was almost full—”

“—wait, wait, wait, Y/N… was that Hoseok who helped you with your luggage over there?” Hani interjects with wide eyes, going on her tiptoes to confirm the back figure of said man just a few strides ahead. Not even a split second after, Junghwa’s eyes pop and the both of them turn in sync to stare at you with gaping mouths.

“No way,” Junghwa drawls. “Jung Hoseok? The ex dance captain? Your long time crush—”

“—keep your voice down,” you hiss before timidly glancing at the ground and twiddling your thumbs. “...maybe.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N,” Hani utters, the drop of her jaw and the void in her voice conveying just how shocked she is from your sudden course of actions.

“I know right,” Junghwa jumps in, hooking her arms around Hani’s crossed ones. “I mean, dance camp? Basically a trip? With Hoseok?”

“It’s not only with Hoseok,” you articulate. “There’s at least twenty other people going with us.”

“Uhuh, right, but you won’t be paying attention to any of them except Hoseok, so it’s basically the same thing. How did you even manage to convince him to return?” Junghwa exasperates, a series of blabbering shortly follows before you hurriedly clasp your hand over her running mouth to muffle her words.

A few seconds of incoherent mumbling goes by before Hani taps you on the shoulder and chuckles, “okay, Y/N, any second longer and she’s going to faint.”

As much as most normal, rational human beings would opt for breathing through the nose than the mouth in situations like this, whether out of instincts or simple common sense, it’s also painfully obvious that Junghwa is unlike that of any other. All that’s on Junghwa’s head at the moment is getting her thoughts said and heard, and not even her very own being can top that priority. So pressing your lips, you figure Hani’s right—like always—and the well being of your best friend is more important than answering a few questions. Reluctantly and ever so slowly, you retract your hands from her lips, the absence of her voice’s vibration immediately leaving your hand empty of sensation.

The second your hands unclasp from her mouth, thus letting her words loose, Junghwa desperately gasps for air before, unsurprisingly, blurting out yet again in an all too ear-spitting manner, “or is he returning because of you? Did you make some sort of deal with him?! Y/N, why didn’t you tell us? You need to tell us—”

“—shh,” you hiss, immediately and strategically placing your middle finger against your lips to hush her back into silence. Eyes wide and alert, you hastily glimpse around to check for any possible bystanders dropping in on your conversation. When all coast is clear, everyone too busy chatting away with their friends and loading their additional luggage onto the bus, you shoot a death stare straight at your friend who gulps in terror. “Are you trying to turn this trip into hell before it even starts? I know it might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t want anyone spreading rumors about Hoseok and I!”

“I know,” Junghwa pouts and grabs ahold of your hand only to sway it side to side, as if to win you over with pity. “I’m sorry… I won’t do it again. I promise!”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I swear I’m serious! Curiosity just got the best of me this time around,” Junghwa cheekily smiles. “If someone happens to hear us, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Better yet, I’ll confess to Jimin or anyone you want and make a fool of myself, yeah? Mm?”

“You don’t even like Jimin!” you refute, appalled by her lackluster offer.

“Oh, you know how she is, Y/N,” Hani laughs, rolling her eyes. “At least no one has ever really paid attention to her yelling. Plus, I really am curious as to why he’s back. How did you convince him to join today? I thought he always stayed at least a mile’s distance from anything related to dance.”

A hard thump hammers against your chest when the answer to her question echoes in your mind and rests on the tips of your tongue. A kiss. You exchanged his attendance this morning for a kiss; but there’s no way you’re going tell your friends something as embarrassing as that, especially seeing how they had taken the news of your previous dates with Hoseok. However, judging by how fervently your lips burn of the apparition of his soft lips pressed up against them, you convince yourself you’ve already given the answer away.

“Hey, we’re just about done here,” a familiar voice melts in your left ear like honey as a heavy arm swings over your shoulder and pulls you into his side. You glance up to find Hoseok raising a brow at your two friends, “oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite seem to recognize…”

His words trail off, and for some reason you think you can see a flash of the old dance captain resuming his courteous, welcoming ways; hence, unbeknownst to you, a smile gradually stretches across your lips. While you’re stuck in your reverie, Junghwa and Hani’s head snap towards each other, eyes widening and words failing to leave their gaping mouths as looks of admiration and awe oozes from the glistening windows to their souls. The ogling eyes of theirs nearly evokes a snort from the back of your throat, because finally, finally they can first-handedly witness the melting charms of Hoseok and actually understand the reasonings behind your recent irrational actions. But then their eyes dart to you once again, lips formulating silent threats and teeth gritting like a desperate call for your help.

As much as you’d like to blame your lack of a response to your friends’ plees solely on your short-lived trance of catching the returning glimpse of your long-time crush, a part of you just knows the truth lies in the satisfaction of observing the petrified look on your friends’ faces. Is this the look you had plastered all over your face when they made fun of you for your crush on Hoseok? Was this the mirror image of your state of panic when Junghwa nearly exposes your “relationship” with Hoseok to the entire class? Just recalling the pain your friends had put you through endorses you to sit back and relax as you watch karma do its work.

“...new recruits?” Hoseok chirps after a few seconds of silence, quirking a brow and flashing a clueless, lopsided grin. “Did Jimin actually manage to acquire new members while I was gone?”

“Actually no,” Hani quickly blurts, shaking her head violently, “we’re not a part of the club.”

“Oh?” Hoseok cocks his head, glimpsing at you in confusion before returning his eyes to Hani when you only stand in silent amusement. “Sorry, my bad. So what are you two lovely ladies doing here then?”

Did he just call them lovely? In front of you? With his arm wrapped around you and his recently numerous flirtatious advances on you? Even though you have no idea why you’re so irked in the first place, there’s something about his smooth, charismatic ways that tugs at your heartstrings in the rather painful manner for once.

Unbeknownst to you, a twitch of your face is evident enough to your friends and Hoseok for them to jolt in place, petrified over whatever fiery hazard scorches from within the vicinity of your glare. And unlike your friends who take a step back and glimpse at each other for help, the boy beside you only pulls you in even tighter until your head has nowhere to rest but against the calm, warm beats of his chest.

“Uh,” Junghwa utters, eyes popping when she notices Hoseok’s firming embrace.

“We’re just sending Y/N off,” Hani finishes her friend’s sentence and averts her panicked gaze back to you as you narrow your eyes at the audacity of Hoseok.

“Well that’s nice of you two. So that’s where Y/N gets it from,” he muses before continuing, “are you sure you two don’t wanna join? I’m sure we have enough space left to accommodate for you two.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t—

“—well actually, we wanted to but Y/N forced us not to because she was ‘embarrassed’ or something—ow!” Hani nudges her elbow straight into Junghwa before she can mutter another word.

Hoseok turns his head at you with warmth radiating from his dark chocolate orbs and the most suggestive of smirks tugging on the corner of his lips, “and what does that mean, Y/N?”

You freeze. You don’t know why or how or when, but for some reason your body’s immediate response to his gaze locking with yours is to drop everything and freeze. Heart panicking, hammering, and nearly stopping, you completely forget your friends are watching just a few feet away—

“—we didn’t bring any money for club dues and trip fees,” Hani quickly comes to the rescue, shooting you a subtle smile, and for once, you’re actually glad that your friends are here to support you in the wake of Hoseok’s impact.

“Oh, that’s fine. Any friend of Y/N’s is welcome with or without dues. I’d rather gain two new recruits than lose the opportunity to because of a few bucks or so. Plus, our club has more than enough funds to cover your fees for now,” he quips, cleverly interjecting before Hani can provide a rebuttal, “you don’t really think I’m letting you off the hook, do you? Nah, what kind of a captain would I be if I did that? You can pay me back afterwards.”

“That’s very kind of you, but…”

“...or your friend here can pay for you,” Hoseok smiles smugly, pointing his thumb to the side and at you. Traumatizing your lips and paying twenty five bucks to humiliate yourself for the sole sake of potentially watching Hoseok dance again were already too high of stakes to pay in the first place, so all you can do in response to his absurd suggestion is gawk at him in disapproval.

“She’s the last person who would do that,” Junghwa grumbles.

Hani nudges Junghwa once again, “I’m sure Y/N is going to have lots of fun at camp… although I do worry if she’s going to be alone—”

“—I’ll be fine—”

“—don’t worry, she’s in good hands,” Hoseok cuts in with a wide grin, arm firmly gripping your right shoulder and pulling you even closer into him.

“...what do you think you’re doing?” you finally mutter through gritted teeth. Your friends hesitantly exchange and dart glances between the two of you as they watch the narrowing of your death stare.

“What? This?” he pats his hands on the side of your arm and pulls you in once again, cocking a brow at you to feign innocence. “You didn’t seem to mind skinship last week? Or are you shy about PDA?”

Your jaw slacks open in sync with your friends. Did he really just say that? In front of your friends? So much for having fun and saving the embarrassment for later on in the trip.

“I don’t know what you’re saying…” you mutter, snaking your hand behind his back and tugging on his shirt to signal for him to stop… which he doesn’t.

“Oh c’mon, you couldn’t have forgotten already, Y/N!” Hoseok chimes, and his grin grows wider and wider as he watches your cheeks burn a brighter shade of red by the second. He cocks his head and begins listing the events of that night which still burns so fervently in the back of your mind, “fridge… bet… tabletop… ki...tchen.”

The second to last syllable nearly evokes a heart attack from your already weak condition, thousands of needles piercing straight through your chest as you glimpse at your friends; luckily for you, it seems like they haven’t caught onto anything yet, for they’ve never worn a more confused look than they are now.

Hoseok only grins in amusement before proceeding to his grand finale, “ki—hey!”

The smug look on his face is wiped and replaced by utter shock. He gawks at you with eyes wide and mouth open the second his brain registers the fact that you had just pinched him as hard as you could from the back.

“...kinda have to go help out Jimin and the others. Yeah, that’s what I meant to say,” Hoseok chuckles after a few seconds of bewilderment, turning to flash one last smile at your friends and waving them goodbye. “I’m sorry but I don’t believe I ever got your names…?”

Your two friends just stand there in what you’re unsure to make out as either fright for the scene that just played before them or in awe over the radiant sight of his killer smile—or perhaps, a mix of both. Hani’s slouched shoulders suddenly straighten upright the second she snaps back into reality and checks up on her friend, whom had failed to escape her trance. She stutters, “H-Hani, I’m Hani, a-and this is Junghwa.”

“Right. It was nice meeting you, Hani and Junghwa. I promise you I’ll look over Y/N, even if she refuses to accept my help and assaults me with acts of violence. And remember, I know it might be boring without me as the captain, but it’s never too late to join the club,” he sing-songs, voice velvety and soothing like always but his last statement leaves you frowning even more so than the former.

He’s resuming his role as the dance captain, and yet at the same time he’s rejecting the permanence of such a task and even foreseeing his absence in the near future. You know you’ve been too greedy and too needy for the fulfillment of your dreams, but somehow along the way you had lost sight of reality. While the past Hoseok brought you into cloud nine where things like stress and school were of trivial matters, the present Hoseok slams you straight back into reality where not everything always goes your way.

Only a comforting, firm pat against your right shoulder is enough to bring you out of your daze as you glance up to find Hoseok making his way to the bus with his front half turned towards you. “I know it’s hard to contain your excitement, but at least try to spend a few more minutes with your friends, Y/N. Don’t take too long though, or even I’ll have to leave you behind,” he quips, calling out to you before winking and biting his lips—as if trying to hint at something, no, you just know he’s hinting at that very thing which still doesn’t fail to flood heat into your cheeks—and turning his back on you to jog up the steps, disappearing behind the black tinted windows of the bus.

“I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him,” you repeat, reminding yourself once again of the treacherous bet you had so regrettably made. Sighing, you turn to face your friends once again only to jump in place out of shock when your friends glare at you with the most dead eyes and stern frowns.

“Girl, you have a lot to explain when you get back,” Junghwa crosses her arms.

“...yeah, I know,” you timidly laugh, reclining as you scratched the back of your head when Junghwa continues to narrow her eyes at you for your lack of an explanation.

“That guy’s dangerous. I knew he was good looking, but wow, in person?” Hani shakes her head. “He knows his ways with words. Charming. Too charming. You better be careful, Y/N.”

“...yeah, don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I might’ve liked him before, but there’s no way I still do with him being like that now,” you mutter, and out of the blue, your only source of transportation roars in place behind you as if to remind you of the quickly approaching departure time. “Okay, I really have to go now.”

Despite how hard Junghwa had been staring at you, she does a complete 180 turn when she pounces on you along with Hani, “I’ll miss you so much. Don’t go! Don’t leave me for a man! But if you have to, at least tell us what happens!”

“Make sure to call us every night, okay?” Hani says before quickly adding, “and be careful! Don’t ever leave yourself alone with a boy like Hoseok!”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle, words muffled as they nearly choke you in the bear hug. After what seems like eternity, you finally retract yourself from your nearly sobbing friends and wave them one last goodbye before running up the steps into the bus and away from the partially cloudy forecast of the morning.

Now the real torture begins; it's like highschool all over again—finding an empty seat without looking like a longer or bring too out of place.

“Sorry, this seat is reserved for someone,” you hear someone say in the deepest yet softest of tones.

Glancing over to the very back of the bus where the courteous voice had struck you as familiar, you find a girl apologizing to Hoseok before scampering forward to the seat next to whom you presume to be her friend. Word must've gotten out that the Jung Hoseok was making his return to dance with this camping trip, because whether for the better or worse, it doesn't take very long for the next girl to approach him.

“Oh my God, I can't believe you're actually back! I've always loved watching you practice!” the petite girl exclaims.

Hoseok presses a smile in response, “thanks.”

“Um… can I sit here if this seat isn't taken?”

“Sorry but I'm actually saving this seat for my friend,” he softly repeats himself, craning his neck up to give one last apologetic smile from his seat and to the standing girl.

Tch, lucky him, you scoff to yourself, being Mr. Popular With Girls must have its perks in social gatherings like this. People like you, on the other hand, have to deal with being on the worse end of the stick.

So you shuffle your way through the chattering cliques seated primarily at the front, never-minding the glaring open seat next to Hoseok as you make your way to just a few rows ahead of his in a successful search for another seat; but before you're even able to sigh in relief and plop into your temporary home for the next six hours, a hand clasps onto the crook of your elbows and grips your arm firmly enough to pull you into another seat. A yelp leaves your lips as you stumble backwards in a vain attempt to regain your footing, and before you even know it, you find yourself in another seat at the very back of the bus.

“This seat is actually reserved for you,” the one and only Hoseok coos, and your heart undeniably skips despite the roll of your eyes.

“I didn't ask for you to reserve it for me.”

“Ouch,” Hoseok winces, “was that you rejecting me or you rejecting my friendly gesture?”

You shrug in a fruitless attempt to suppress your smile, “perhaps both. No, definitely both.”

“Then what was that supposed to mean?” Hoseok gasps and places a hand over his chest. “Are you leading me on?”

You scoff, “what was what supposed to mean?”

“You know,” he leans in to whisper, “our ki—”

“— alright fine, I'll sit with you,” you interject and slump into your permanent seat with a loud sigh. “Now can you stop bringing that up.”

“To think that you'd play me like this... you're breaking my heart, Y/N,” he fakes a whimper and frowns, shaking his head. “But whatever makes you happy.”

You snort at the irony of his words. Who's the one playing who? “Oh, quit it, will you? If being around me hurts you so much, then why aren't you sitting with Jimin and them?”

“Actually, there's nothing I like better than spending my time with you. See, I'll prove it to you.” Without warning, Hoseok’s right engulfs your left in and places it straight against his chest. You're caught off guard, jumping in your seat and rocketing your pulse at an all time high, but what surprises you most is the irregular pacing of the thumps against your hand. Maybe it's just you and your hopeless imaginations, but for even a split second you'd like to think he's being the genuine self he used to be for once. “You know, I actually prefer sitting alone on these trips.”

“...why?” you're barely able to utter when you realize your hand is still trapped between the warmth of his chest and his hand.

“I like listening to my own music and going through the routines in my head. It helps me focus for camp,” he explains before turning to wink at you, “but I'll make an exception for you.”

“Why…?”

It must be something about the way his hand holds yours so firmly in place or the way you're just practically melting in the gaze of his warm brown eyes, because a question you already know the answer to slips right through your lips. He had promised your friends to take good care of you, didn't he? He had seen you wandering through the crowd and bus like some lost child, didn't he? Man, you really must have appeared to be quite pathetic enough for him to reach out to you like this. So with your eyes down at the ground and your ears shut, you prepare for the embarrassment ahead of you.

“Didn't I just explain it to you?” Hoseok says lowly, and you glance up in curiosity. Your chest constricts when your eyes trail up to meet his. Your insides melt at the sight of his soft, lopsided smile, and you can't help but mentally squeal when you realize that his unmoving gaze has been observing you all this time. Then he makes his final blow, “I like being next to you.”

Pressing your lips into what seems to be a half smile half frown, you slowly retract your hands from his and into your lap before turning to face straight forward where Hoseok is no where in sight. But despite your efforts to keep your pulse under control, there's really nothing you can do to stop your heart from nearly jumping out of your chest and prevent the adrenaline from running through your wrist to your stomach to your legs; for the rest of the ride, you find yourself distracted in one way or another.

First, you somehow find yourself sharing an earbud with Hoseok. He shares his favorite playlist of tracks to freestyle to, humming and counting to the beats, and even goes as far as to show you the tracks he plans to share with Jimin to use for the upcoming showcase. It's silly for you to extrapolate any meaning beyond the simple sharing of an earbud for the sole sake of killing time, yet you can't help but acknowledge the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you steal glimpses of your old crush as he walks you through the technicalities of a routine. He drones on and on for hours about a world close to him, a world of flow and deep appreciation which nearly no one but him could reach, however, even sitting there and being forced to listen to this boy who never ceases to tease you is enough to make this entire trip before it even begins. There’s something about the way passion just oozes from his eyes as he talks about the love of his life reminds you that this is the boy you fell for.

The second thing that keeps you on your toes is when you suddenly find yourself draped in his oversized sweater. It’s an all too familiar scene, a scene that has occurred one too many times, but it’s not like you had wanted it or hoped for it to happen… did you? Having forgotten how cold buses tend to keep the temperatures at, you had regrettably opted to stuff your one and only jacket into your bags—now thrown several dozens of feet under you—and unknowingly put yourself in this situation.

While everyone around you continued to chatter and laugh at the most disruptive of volumes amongst themselves, completely undisturbed for they had jackets to protect them from the blasting AC, you were suffering in your chair trying to keep yourself from shivering and exposing yourself to the watchful Hoseok; but alas, he was and is always able to see right through you. Seeing you curled up into a ball, you had heard Hoseok half snorting half chuckling before removing his hoodie in one swift motion and plopping it straight onto your head.

The sudden warmth of his worn sweatshirt resonates off your freezing cheeks, your bare nape of the neck, and down your shuddering back, but those newfound comforts aren’t enough to keep you from turning around to frown at him with furrowed brows questioning the intent behind such actions. He just smiles that smug smile of his before patting your head and remarking, “I don’t know if you’re actually cold or if you’re acting out to steal another one of my sweaters again, but you should put it on before you freeze to death. Can’t have any casualties under my watch, especially not you.”

The third and last thing you remember from the long bus ride, six hours of pain that for some reason you wish could’ve lasted forever, is the intoxicating scent of him radiating from the sweater engulfing you from within. Reclining in your seat, the collar of his sweater rises just enough to cover your neck, lips, and tip of your nose from the harsh winds circulating throughout the bus, but burying your nose in the inside of his cotton sweater only magnifies his clean, spice cologne mixed with the scent of home. You can’t believe you actually accepted his offer, but what petrifies you even more is the fact that you might just pass out right in front of Hoseok. As if witnessing the return of the ex dance captain isn’t enough, sitting right next to him with your arms brushed against his and an ear sharing the same set of headphones while wearing and drowning yourself in his scent is like the ultimate blow against your weak heart.

Subconsciously, you mumble aloud—whether to yourself or to Hoseok, you don’t know—and squeeze your heavy eyelids shut to black out everything around you, “I feel really light-headed for some reason…”

You can’t see him with your eyes closed, but the shuffling beside you allows you to envision him scooting closer and leaning forward to check up on you with worry plastered all over the frown on his face. “Are you okay? Are you still cold? Or do you need to take some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine. I just need to… take a nap—hey,” you nearly yelp when you feel his rough, warm hand cupping your right cheek to gently push your head onto his shoulders. Your eyes shoot wide open and your heart rate escalates as you scan through the bus for any witnesses. Finally, when all coast is clear, you hiss, “what’re you doing?”

“Go ahead. Nap,” he instructs, patting your cheek before leaning his own head against the top of yours. “Don’t worry, we’re in the back. No one’s going to see.”

Even in the blizzard that is the blasting AC, your cheeks never fail to burn a bright shade of red as every inch of contact between your body and his begins to flush of heat and thrill. You want to pull away, to deny the indisputable comfort of his shoulders, but you’re simply too tired to argue. So before you know it, pitch blackness surrounds you and the yells of the others drown into the background where the sound of Hoseok’s counting and humming echoes akin to that of the night where you had first introduced yourself to Hoseok long ago.

You are dreaming, right?

No, this must be a dream; because the very first thing your still blurry, half-asleep mind comes to register—that is, after gathering your bags and settling into your temporary room before leaving for the welcoming event like a zombie—is the fact that the Jung Hoseok is standing in front of the dance studio and leading tonight’s practice.

The studio lights hanging from the high ceilings above give off warm, yellow edges to your already blurry vision. The cleanly waxed wooden floor squeaks with every sharp step of his as he gives a quick demonstration to the daily stretching routine every member must undergo before practice. Decked out in the all too familiar, albeit retired, attire of his—black sweater, black joggers, and black pair of sleek sneakers with the occasional headband he had opted out of tonight—you simply can’t believe your eyes. This is everything you’ve been dreaming for. You just want to see him dance again, and here he is… closer to dancing than he has ever been in the last year.

It’s all too surreal. Really, your gut instincts tell you this is all too surreal to believe in.

“I know this isn’t the exciting stuff I’m sure everyone of you came here for,” he sarcastically remarks, and you wonder if he’s well aware of the real reason for the spike of female recruits attending this camp for the sake of meeting him, “but it’s important that you learn how to properly stretch and prepare your body for the impact that comes with dancing.”

“How long are we going to be stretching, Hoseok?” a girl whines.

It takes everything in you not to scowl at the girl for her interjection. While you’ve risked everything from your dignity to your sanity to get to experience this first-hand, she’s piggybacking off of your efforts only to threaten the slim opportunity that you’ll even get to see Hoseok dance again in the first place.

Hoseok continues stretching, neither affected nor amused by her remark before lowly stating, “a few minutes goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but we want to dance,” a boy calls out.

“We want to see you dance,” another girl adds.

God, any second longer now and you swear you’re going to cuss them out; do they want to see him dance or not?

“You won’t be saying that when you pull a muscle,” Hoseok simply states, switching to stretch his other leg before shooting a stern look at the rows and columns of students lined up and following his every move. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more irked than this, because a chill runs down your spine the second you find the darkening of his eyes settling on one particular girl only to threaten and etch his next two words into the back of her mind for the rest of eternity, “trust me.”

You figure dance practice really must be a serious matter to him, because you’ve never seen him go so long without cracking a joke or even comforting a student he had accidentally rebuked—which is odd now that you think about it, since that’s the exact opposite of what he had been known for back in his days as the captain; but maybe you just didn’t know him well enough in the past, perhaps his passion for dance is much stronger and takes a much more different approach than you had observed on the surface level.

It’s not exactly a turn-off per say, because you do find his passion honorable in every way, but there’s something about the frown on his ever-so-slightly downturned lips and the crease between his brows that tells you something is off. Does he actually despise dance as much as he had claimed? Your mind wanders off wondering if bringing him here is the right decision after all.

“Y/N, if you want to see me dance, then you better not space out.”

You’re thrown straight out of your trance when your head snaps up to find Hoseok staring straight at you.

“We’re on the right leg now,” he presses a smile, cocking his head at the fact that you’re still stretching your left arm. Your entire face turns red as you hastily plop yourself down to the ground and stretch your left before your right leg out in front of you. Hoseok only snorts, “alright, because of Y/N, we’re just going to hand this off to Jimin to teach you the choreo now. I have something else to do.”

“What?!”

“No, you can’t do that!”

“You promised you’d be leading tonight’s session!”

A dozen protests come tumbling from the students, a majority of them being female fans, but then all eyes start glaring at you as if you’re the actual reason Hoseok is skipping out on the actual dance portion of the practice. You nearly jump in your seat, wanting to dig a hole for you to hide yourself in when everyone throws you a few death stares. To be honest, you’re completely satisfied with seeing Hoseok even associating himself with the dance club right now, but it seems like others had a separate standard of satisfaction than you.

Hoseok intently observes the scene playing out between you and the girls before clearing his throat and sighing, “on second thought, I have a few minutes to spare.”

You can hear a collective gasp echo throughout the room. A loud cheer then erupts, and you actually find yourself smiling at his announcement despite being the most hated person in the room for a split second.

“But I’m only introducing the simple parts tonight,” he adds and a mixed reaction filled with cheers and whimpers follow shortly afterwards.

Was he going out of his way to indulge in an activity you know he’s been avoiding all too well in order to save you from the others? Or was he doing this because he genuinely had a change of heart? You figure the questions don’t matter at this point, because you’re beyond ecstatic. You might not agree in the methods others had attempted to utilize in pushing him back into his role as the captain, but you do agree in terms of the end goal point. Just seeing him lead a group through stretches is enough to make this entire trip, but seeing him lead a group through actual routines and choreographs? You think you’re on cloud nine. You’re selfish for pushing him into something he claims to despise to the very bone, but after calling you out and teasing you in front of everyone, you like to think you deserve at least this.

You just want to see him dance again, and nothing else matters but that.

Hoseok was serious when he said he was only teaching the most simple of choreographs, because even you were able to get through it all without tripping or falling or spacing out like you usually would. After just five minutes or so, he was prepared to switch out with Jimin when Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook ultimately decided on ending the first day of practice early and heading off to dinner.

So here you are, somehow finding yourself seated across where Hoseok had sat just a few minutes prior before excusing himself from the table and next to the rest of his old group of friends.

“Where did Hoseok go?” Jungkook finally questions, stuffing himself with one or two potstickers.

“Probably went back to his room,” Jimin shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to be in a good mood today.”

“Do you know why…?” you hesitantly ask and finish the last speck of food on your now empty plate.

“No idea,” the boy you learn to be Namjoon quips. “Maybe he’s just tired and not used to camp anymore.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, pursing your lips when the image of the irritated look on Hoseok’s face before he left dinner early. Placing your plate and utensil onto the table, you push your chair back and stand upright, “I think I’m going to head back to my room now.”

“Already?” Jimin’s eyes widen, neck craning to look up at you in surprise.

“Yeah, my legs are already so sore from practice.”

“You know we have a complimentary pass to the spa at this resort, right?” Taehyung adds.

“Oh?” you’re genuinely intrigued by the idea of soaking in a hot tub after hours of being drenched in sweat.

“Yeah, feel free to use that if you’d like,” Jimin grins. “I’d go now before everyone heads there after dinner.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then!” you wave them goodbye before skipping off to your room to change into your bathing suit and happily scampering to the paradise that waits for you at the spa…

...unfortunately for you, that paradise doesn’t turn out to be quite what you had envisioned it to be, for the fact that it’s a public spa and not a private one reserved for you hits you right in the face when you see him sitting right there in the pool of water in front of you.

“It seems like fate really wants us to be together,” Hoseok quips, the absence of playfulness and effort in his usual teasing raising a question of worry from you once again.

“Psh, as if,” you scoff, turning around and ready to march off in the other direction if he hadn’t interjected.

“It’s okay, I’ll leave and you can stay if you’re that shy about seeing me half naked,” he rises from the water, and your mind goes completely blank when they register his words.

You weren’t even thinking about seeing his bare chest, but now that he’s mentioned it, that’s all your eyes can even see. His abdomens are as toned and defined as you had imagined them to be for an ex-dancer, and they’re just as tan and smooth as honey which matches the tone of his sun-kissed skin. You don’t know if it’s the steam of the water which causes your cheeks to burn for the hundredth time today, but something about the accuracy in his statement challenges you to rebuke his claims.

So instead of denying nor accepting his offer, you plop down into the euphoric heat of the water and submerge yourself until your chin hits the surface of the water. “No, it’s fine. You can stay or leave. It doesn’t matter to me because your body is the last thing I’m thinking about.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like it when you just stared at me for a good minute or two,” Hoseok coos, sitting back down with his arms resting on either side of the circular pool. “So, what you up to?”

“Sitting in here and trying to get a good hour of relaxation for once.”

“Whoa, my bad,” he raises his hands defensively with a slight chuckle. “Sassy as always, I see.”

You know you said you wanted an hour of relaxation, but the minutes of silence that follows shortly after is deafening. It’s odd for it to be so quiet around Hoseok, the Jung Hoseok who always teased you to your nerves’ ends. Something is most definitely odd about tonight. You don’t know when it started or how it started, but it’s the things that he chooses not to partake in rather than partake in that startles you. Maybe tonight he had started to dance again, but there are countless other things he had sacrificed in return.

He’s no longer as lively, playful, and easy going as he used to be. While the past Hoseok had been a combination of all these traits even with the passion and dedication for dance, this is yet another reminder to you that this isn’t the same boy you had loved; but even so, even if this person isn’t the one you so wish for the return of, you can’t help but worry for the boy you’ve actually come to know.

“...I’m happy to see you dancing again,” you finally say. Hoseok lowers his head and gaze from the night sky to look at you—neither surprised nor intrigued, just empty. Your brows furrow at the lack of a reaction and you quickly add, “is something wrong?”

“What makes you ask that?” the monotonous tone in his voice only pushes you further.

“Just answer the question. You’re acting… strange... today. Ever since practice,” you shake your head and frown. “Is it because of dancing? Should I not have forced you to come?”

“You didn’t force me to come. You didn’t force me to do anything,” he says before looking off to the side; the harsh edge in his voice tugs at you in the most aching way you had never known to be possible with someone like the current Hoseok.

“Fine, if you’re gonna be like that, then let’s play a game. You like games, don’t you? That’s the only way I can ever get you to talk or open up or do anything,” you retort and Hoseok only raises a brow. “We’ll take turns asking each other questions. If the other fails to answer to our satisfaction, and you have to be honest, then we get to do whatever we want with the other.”

“Y/N wants to play games? Am I dreaming?” Hoseok cocks a brow.

“Trust me, I feel like I’m the one dreaming. It’s not like I want to play games, especially not with you, but it seems like it’s the only way I can get you to talk,” you say, shaking your head. “Okay, I’ll start first then. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you so upset? Is it something that I did?”

“That’s more than one question, Y/N.”

“Okay, fine,” you scoff. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” he simply answers, eyes looking straight at you before adding more to complete his answer, “well, maybe a little. I don’t know how I can answer that accurately when even I’m not sure. You’re not the main reason, but now that you have become a part of the reason, I guess it only adds to the fire.”

That’s the most vague answer you had ever heard in your life, but to be fair, you had only asked him whether or not you had done something to upset him. He isn’t obligated to answer what you had done, and plus, the intense look in his eyes warns you to better play by the rules.

“Alright, fine. Good enough. You pass. Your turn.”

His fingers tap against the poolside, but his piercing eyes never leave yours.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, he speaks, “are you happy to see me dancing again?”

You frown and raise a brow, “of course…? Yes, I’m beyond ecstatic—”

—your words are cut off when he stands upright and takes one large stride to the other end of the pool where you sat, and the next thing you know, his lips smashes into yours. And unlike the last kiss you had shared with him, this one is much more forceful. He’s impatient, he’s twisting and turning and pushing like he’s running out of time, his hands snake to wrap around your back and pulls you in until the two of you are chest-to-chest.

Somehow, you manage to pull away for a split second, “Hoseok, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dissatisfied with your answer, Y/N,” he states before pushing you into him once again and collides his lips with yours.

Your head is dizzy and you can barely get enough oxygen each time he pulls away for a split second to give you some time to breathe, but there’s something about the haste in his movements, the impatience in his pulls and pushes, and the look in his eyes that’s screaming for help that tells you this kiss isn’t about passion or lust or anything like that; it’s about desperation and the most twisted way to express the sorrow that resides with him. And even though he isn’t playing by the rules of the game, there’s a part of you that sympathizes with him, for your heart drops at the mess of emotions his wet, sloppy kiss conveys to you.

Maybe he isn’t answering your questions with words, but there’s no doubt that he’s opening up to you more than he ever has before.

Finally, you put a hand against his chest and push him an arm’s distance away before managing to say in the midst of heavy breathing, “I don’t get it, Hoseok. I’m confused. You’re acting out. You’re… different.”

“How is this any different from the last time I kissed you?” he refutes with knotted brows.

“No, there’s something wrong,” you shake your head. “What’s wrong, Hoseok? Please, just let me help you.”

“Then answer my question correctly,” he says, calling out to you as he watches you get up and depart from the poolside. “That’s all you can do right now.”

“Am I happy to see you dancing again?” you repeat the question, grabbing and wrapping a towel around you from a table. “I don’t know… not if this is how you’re going to act, then no, I’m not. But I was happy to see you so immersed in dancing again earlier today. I just want to know if… you’re happy...?”

Something flickers in the dark ditch within his eyes, and after a long deafening silence, he finally answers.

“Yeah…” he finally answers with his eyes at the other side of the pool where you had just sat before drowning himself back into the pool, “I guess I’m happy too.”

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