#frilly hunter

[illufinch]

quick amatsu

#my art #pixel #amatsu #monster hunter #mmmmmmh big frilly dragon

[mattlesmatpat]

Decided to re-draw the gang

#they all look sooooo frilly #theyre my babies #all of em #gon for sure tho hes my boy #twonk tag #my art #fanart #art #artists on tumblr #hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh fanart #leorio paladiknight #kurapika #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #kurapika kurta

[aceywhomps]

random arts i sent in the goldric discord server LMAO

can you tell im obsessed with him yet?

#toh hunter #trans hunter #yes i hc him as trans because uh #im technically trans?? im nonbinary so. umbrella term ig #a-knee-wae #ace's doodles #goldric #the owl house #hunter gives me sm gender envy istg #i want to look like him so badly #he's the fucking definition of the gender i wanna achieve #i use my artistic skills as a means to give hunter his deserved pretty boy privileges uwu #flaunts bitten up nails and graphite covered hands #hru bbg wriggles eyebrows/j #im so funny #also #HUNTER IN A FRILLY SHIRT + CORSET #THAT WILL BE ALL PERIODT

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

#survivor rain world #monk rain world #hunter rain world #nightcat rain world #gourmand rain world #artificer rain world #rivulet rain world #spearmaster rain world #saint rain world #enot rain world #slugcat rain world #rain world #peridots-art #< feels like too long since that last tag's been used. i can say with certainty that the majority of the reason i haven't been just as #active here (not to mention not drawing as often since that's relevant) is just due to my life getting busier with a new school year but i #do miss putting my stuff here! and would like to reblog more on top of that.... so forgive not remembering exactly how to tag everything #(and how to write everything up there but to be fair it's not like long textposts were a staple of mine. i mostly just rambled and it was #fun hehehe.....some of those notes (parts of riv/spears mostly) were written around the beginning of the drawing itself) #OH i messed something up with the drafting and really did not mean to post it while tags were in progress! but regardless. i would've liked #to post it tomorrow to mirror how i was going to post it on JAN 29 a month ago......but it's not like i'm unhappy with this outcome :] #to sum it up really though it's been strange working on this for so long.....unfortunate to not get a chance to let it be seen and keep #experimenting with odd biology much earlier but i'm just glad it's out now cause i am proud of these!! it's been a lot of fun and slugcats #are still my go-to doodles :] if i had to end this off promptly though what's up with that secret pipeyard shelter as gourm that's not on #the maps. connected to vs_a04. doesn't appear on the miraheze or interactive maps for anyone strangely but i've only been there as gourmand #anyway! i'm sure there's a lot i could've said in the rush but goodbye dear reader anyway :] #i forgot spearmy initially. i'm so sorry

[privitivium]

HIII i have a fic idea , maybe kishibe with a house(wife)husband reader? with some feminization 🤗 like some soft domestic stuff

genuinely love this idea,.. it is actually insane that there are barely any kishibe x male reader. disgraceful ngl,,, also working on an ask of kishibe hcs so thats on the way. ejehejkrjv,,,,,..... cw for v mild feminization, kishibe refers to reader as wife - fem terms, reader is amab. no mentions of makima ruining lives.

dom kishibe x sub househusband reader!

kishibe,,, married to a man? who would suspect such a thing!! a man of such ... simple likes. women, booze, and killing devils. genuinely, no one would ever think that he was in such a commited relationship with a younger man.. thinking such things of relationships and kishibe didn't exist-! thinking that he's a simple man, with no one to go home to...

he likes it that way. enjoying his quiet life he rather surprisingly submits himself to quite easily... it's just the effect you have on him... his ... younger little husband who was seemingly so infatuated with him. it's such a surprise that he could make such an old - refined man such as kishibe so flustered!! you deserve a reward... but he wasn't going to give you one.

and still, despite your circumstances of living with and married to a rather "dangerous" devil hunter so proudly... you were so happy - so absent-minded; you still managed to live lively as ever with a smile present on your face. he was ... almost envious. what have you got to be so happy about??? was it truly him? did he seriously make you that happy? ah, don't get all sappy..

ㅡah, yes, yes... quickly kicking them off and shuffling to follow you as you meander toward the kitchen where a lovely smell was emanating. coming home to his husband cooking a meal for him... just like those little 1950s housewives... he could never get used to it. merely admiring your frame, leaning on the doorway... before leaning in too close and hovering over you... taking care to notice the apron you were wearing. frilly... pink. a contrast to your frame.

being greeted by his doting husband at the door of your apartment after a hard day... always warms his heart. not that he outwardly shows it - as you take his things, and his coat... treating him with gentle care. something he didn't quite know he needed nor was worthy until someone like you came along... it's comforting.

knowing someone likes him - appreciates him so much. greeting him with a soft kiss and a gentle, joking scold of;; "careful with your shoes." unheedful to the taste of cigarettes and beer on his tongue - you didn't mind, he was a grown adult who could very well handle himself... but at times he did need help... which you were right there to provide it. he just,,, has a hard time accepting it. hnn...

yes you had a knack for liking feminine things... he couldn't help but tease you about it. "beautiful." he so affectionately dubs you, brushing his fingertips along your cheek. your cute little reactions when he calls you his wife. when he calls you his pretty girl as your walls clamp on his cock in bed - ah, and you turn away... bashful. trying to hide your face... sighing in solace as he leans toward you - hunching over and nuzzling his face into the crook of your face and you scrunch your shoulders; his scruff tickling your neck. humming softly... distress draining from his body from merely embracing you and inhaling your natural scent,,, hands grazing along the sides of your torso and dipping underneath your pants -

ㅡ "hmm..." grunting, all gruff and brooding as ever as he hunkers over behind his little h-husband.. wife... speaking of - "coming home to see my little wife all dolled up..." he hums, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he roams his thick, huge hands over your hips affectionately, ever so slightly fiddling with the fabric band of your black lacy underwear you had put on just for him underneath,,,, beforehand... "this all for me?" he snaps it against your hip.

and you,, glancing back at him with a near bashful smile - "that's right... just for you. i know today must've been especially rough - relax for me, hmm?" and not so innocently pushing your hips back into his... humming softly in a soft yes, before turning back to your dishes you were preparing, letting the old man do whatever he wanted.,,, and he can't help but imagine,, those eyes, glazed over with tears as your mouth hollows around his prick so lovingly. so eager to please him - so eager to love him. hnn... leaning inward to kiss the crown of your head - a soft "my wife..." indistinctly leaving his lips as he admires you,,, so good to me, he finishes.

#csm =͟͟͞͞★ #x male reader #male reader #kishibe x male reader #csm kishibe x male reader #csm x male reader

[vodika-vibes]

Can you please do Blue Daisy and Anemone for Crosshair with a Bounty Hunter Reader? I really love your stories, you're doing amazing!

For The Love Of A Sniper

Summary: You're a Bounty Hunter and Crosshair is your partner in every way. And when your family threatens you, Crosshair offers to deal with it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1234

Warnings: Crosshair is soft

Prompts: Blue Daisy - Long Term Loyalty, Anemone - Undying Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted, I was going to make this a sequel to my recent Crosshair series, but I had a better idea!

When you were a little girl, your parents planned your life almost to the minute. You were ferried from school to dance lessons or music lessons or voice lessons or language lessons. Every second of free time had to be accounted for.

You didn’t have time for friends, and barely had time for family.

Your parents also planned your outfits, frilly dresses in pastel colors and your hair meticulously curled every morning, and then styled with bows and ribbons. And shoes that were so uncomfortable that, on more than one occasion, you considered cutting your toes off so it would hurt less.

Even your schools were devoted to making you the best daughter. High end boarding schools with even more high end finishing classes, with the end goal of sending you to Naboo to attend Theeds Law School.

Perfection was the expectation.

And you were never perfect.

The day that your parents dropped you off at Law School, you dropped out. You managed to get the school to send the refund, nearly 3 million credits total, to your personal bank account, and then you spent a massive chunk of money cutting and dying your hair, and then buying a new wardrobe. 

Within a week of your parents dropping you off on Naboo, you were gone.

That was four years ago. And over the last four years, you’ve made something of a name for yourself as a bounty hunter. You have your own ship, painted vibrant purple and named Spoiler, and you often bounce between cargo delivery and Bounty Hunting, based on what is the most profitable at the time.

Sometimes you do both at the same time, just for funsies.

And you know, because you’ve seen it, your name is plastered on missing persons lists and on bounty boards. Too bad that you don’t look anything like the cherub looking girl on the posters anymore. 

In fact, the only person who might recognize you as the girl in the poster is your boyfriend. And even then, only because you told him. 

Speaking of said boyfriend-

You hang your body armor on the rack in the cargo hold, and climb the stairs to the main part of the ship. You slide open the door to the bedroom, and grin at the man stretched out on the bed. “You ever planning on getting up, handsome?”

Crosshair seems to stretch out even more, and he tucks his arms under his head, his dark eyes locked on your face, “I thought I’d be lazy today,” He drawls, “You could join me.”

You lean against the doorframe, a small smile on your lips. He really is too handsome. Especially lounging in your bed wearing nothing but the dark sweatpants that you bought him. He looks healthy, finally, having put some weight on now that he’s no longer with the Empire.

“See something you like, doll?”

You grin at him, lazy and slow, “I see something that’s mine.” You tease.

Crosshair chuckles and shifts to free one arm, “Come here, princess.” He almost purrs. And, really, how are you expected to deny that request?

You kick your boots off and climb on the bed to drape yourself across his chest. You take a moment to press a light kiss just over his heart, before you slide up to tuck your head against his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, I did.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “And then I got an alert-” He uses his free hand to grab the datapad on the side of the bed, “Someone put a flag on all accounts attached to your old name.”

“Another one?” You roll slightly so you’re able to see the screen, and then you sigh, “This is, what, number five? Six?”

“Eight in the last six months.” Crosshair corrects.

“Well, following the money is step one in the ‘how to find someone who doesn’t want to be found’ handbook, I suppose.” You mutter under your breath as you roll again and fold your arms on his chest.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, princess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like those accounts are attached to my name anymore.” You reply as you look down at his face, “Which is a shame, there’s nearly 3 million credits in that account.”

Crosshair reaches up and slides his fingers across your cheek, “Those credits have so many strings attached, you might as well be a puppet.”

“Mm, don’t I know it.” You lean in and kiss him gently, “Luckily, they won’t find me. And 3 million credits is a lot less than I would pay to never be their perfect little doll ever again.”

His eyes glitter, “Even if they did, if you think I’m giving you up without a fight-”

A soft laugh falls from your lips, “Aww, I knew you loved me.”

His lips curl up into an amused smile, “You’re alright, I suppose.” In spite of his light, teasing, words his hand tightly clutches at your hip. 

You shift and press feather light kisses across his face, “I’m not going anywhere. Not willingly.” You whisper to him.

His grip loosens slightly, “Of course not. You’d never find anyone as good as I am.” His hand slithers up your side to grip the collar of your shirt between two strong fingers, and he pulls you down to crash your lips against his. “We do, however,” He murmurs after a moment, “have to deal with this.”

“Can’t we ignore it?” You whine.

“You know we can’t.” He finally moves his other arm from under his head, and he wraps it tightly around you, “Let me handle it.”

You nervously bite your lower lip, “I don’t know-”

“I’m not going to hand you in,” Crosshair murmurs, as gentle with your anxieties regarding your family as you are with his anxiety about you leaving, “My loyalty is to you. Now and forever.”

You sigh, “I know. I just don’t like you going off on your own.” You kiss him quickly, and then press a longer, slower, kiss against his lips, “I never wanted to demand your loyalty.”

“You never had to.” There’s something soft and vulnerable in his gaze, and you think you love him a little more for it, “You didn’t expect my loyalty like my brothers.” He kisses you just under your eyes, “And you never demanded it like the Empire.” He drags his lips across the bridge of your nose, “You were loyal to me, so I became loyal to you.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You say warmly.

He rolls his eyes, “Then how’s this? I love you. Forever. Until there’s no more breath in my lungs. Until my heart beats it last.”

You press your forehead against his, “You’re going to make me cry and mess up my make-up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never say anything so gross ever again.” He jokes. “What do you say, Princess? Trust me to handle this?”

“Deal. You can handle it, and I’ll just…hang out in the ship for you.”

“Deal.” He pulls you back into a deep kiss, “Later though. For now you’re on top of me and won’t stop squirming-” You release a bubbly laugh as he flips the pair of you and pins you to the bed, “Really, you brought this on yourself, princess.”

#star wars #tbb #vodika-vibes follower celebration #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[theyoungeragrippina]

15 more gentlebeard fic recs!

that i have lovingly hunter/gathered for you all. may they act as sustenance for u in this drought.

they are all complete, do not feature any ongoing steddyhands, and are above 20k words.

peruse part 1 and part 2 at your leisure if you want to compare our tastes/devour more fine literature, or check out my masterlist as an ao3 collection.

happy reading!

it's what isn't in the name by @tciddaemina

41k, mature

"The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and I sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles."

writing is top quality, the depth of understanding the author has for every character is unmatched. i have never felt so gutted to know a writer hasn't written anything else for ofmd.

clarity by @kat0nline

44k, explicit

"After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back."

amnesia/memory loss fic done justice. mary continues to be the best and i love her. only note i wrote after i finished was 'screaming crying throwing up i love you author'.

you are at the top of my lungs by @ratchet

55k, explicit

"Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest... the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself."

this is really a story about healing and hope and grief and love. one of my most favourite eds. this author makes me want to change my whole life, and in this case become an off grid chicken owner that grows food and has gay christmas dinners.

seven point three miles, also by @ratchet

20k (technically just under but it gets a pass because everyone should read it rn), teen and up

"Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped."

when will this author receive their nobel prize in literature. i want to be a fire lookout now. i also want to scream and cry and maybe stare at the ceiling for five hours to process this fic. there is a reason everyone loves this fic.

fine dining by wishingonalightningbolt and sugarybowl

37k, explicit

"Edward Teach is one of the most famous chefs in the world, working under the handle Chef Blackbeard. Not one to be tied down, he does random pop-ups in all types of kitchens, and for the absurdly wealthy, he caters special events. Stede Bonnet wants to throw the best engagement party ever for his ex-wife and best friend, Mary. His assistant recommends the extravagant work of Chef Blackbeard."

my notes just say: 'ed is a chef and stede is a cute guy and they are cute together' and i think that is a pretty good summary tbh.

Old Bae Season by nomadsland

57k, explicit

"Ed picks Stede up at a bar for what ought to be a one-night stand, but it turns out they're attending the same academic conference the next day."

they are scientists and stede experiences self discovery. crab door knockers as a symbol of love. i love this fic because it made me smile so much (and want to get my life together, weirdly).

Vitalis by jfc_anna

29k, explicit

"Crown Prince Stede Bonnet. Reserved, anxious, and newly arranged to be married. A child is expected. Though, with the Prince’s lack of experience, is also highly unlikely. There are murmurs of an educator of sorts amongst the nobility, with raven hair and eyes like fire, who has been the cure of impotence and disagreeable attitudes. He has been called many names, whispered behind hands or between cracks in doors. Siren. Kraken. Devourer of Love."

short and sweet and so different from most other things i've read in this fandom. lots of flirting and pining and copious amounts of seduction.

all that might happen is here somehow by @sungmee

27k, teen

"Stede gets caught in a time loop at the moment where Badminton tries to shoot him."

i put off reading this because i thought i wasn't super keen on time loop fics. i was wrong. this is charming, and a little bit heartbreaking, and VERY well written, and i loved every word. don't make my mistakes. read this rn.

turn on the light by smallestchurch

55k, explicit

"Lighthouse Bookshop had been there seemingly since time immemorial. Over forty years at that spot, sitting proud, a beacon at the heart of the community, and when the old owner decides to sell, it's the perfect vessel for Stede's odd restlessness. And the building is connected to a famous cocktail bar run by a mad genius behind the stick."

smiling through my tears rn. i was so absorbed that the end of the fic came up on me like a jumpscare. stede and ed continue to be posterboys for maladaptive coping mechanisms. books & cocktails & outrageous flirting.

our tesco means death by @stedesparasol

21k, general

"Determined to prove he can earn a living without his family's wealth, Stede applies for a job at the UK's biggest retailer (probably). Hmm, I wonder who his supervisor will be... surely not a handsome bearded man sick of the retail grind until Stede joins his workplace and makes things interesting..."

so unserious and so funny. fuckin' brilliant. made me genuinely laugh out loud so much that my dad asked if i was okay.

Queen Anne’s Renovations and Remodelling by bythedamned

32k, mature

"Ed didn't know why Stede’s house had a room sealed off. Two decades gone, filled with the creation and destruction of things they'd never shared with each other, and Ed no longer had reading privileges to the Book of Stede. So he's left to wonder - what's in the room? Why is the door plastered over? And why does Ed remember kissing Stede on a make-believe ship they’d invented as kids?"

thank u sm to @okayestokapi for the rec!! i love the sort of magical-mystery vibe this carries the whole way through & the conclusion was so charming and clever. heaps of fun.

help me to find peace (tell me you're okay) by @percyjacksonfan3

38k, general

"Stede and the crew come to find Ed and make things right. Turns out Ed is doing the same".

i am simply a sucker for a good post s1 reunion fic, and this is up there with the best. it flows really well, the characterisation is so good, and it felt like such a natural continuation of the s1 story and character arcs!!

Invisible String by @dimplyowl

48k, mature

"Scourge of the Caribbean" has been Stede's favorite book series since he was 12 years old. Now, age 47, divorced, and an aspiring author, he turns back to the series to draw inspiration from the familiar story. But as he starts reading, he realizes that something is different. Blackbeard, the main character, is apathetic and depressed, and the story has changed. Even stranger still, Stede seems to be the only one aware that this change has occurred."

more magic realism!!!!! this is so much fun and such a clever idea (plus such clever execution)! lots of flirting and stede being flustered and cute dates.

The Lion, the Witch and the Auxiliary Wardrobe by @xoxoemynn

21k, explicit

"Edward "Blackbeard" Teach's foolproof strategy to get over devastating heartbreak: 1) bring a witch aboard the ship 2) get trapped in an auxiliary wardrobe with the man who broke your heart 3) well, you'll have to read to find out."

in this house we read everything em writes because it is all brilliant and hilarious, and this is no different. its silly and fun and still tender and sweet, and ed & stede get to be just as embarrassing as they deserve (also there is a currently updating work by the same author u should look at too - take it as an unofficial rec).

Due North by surprise pink (+ gorgeously illustrated by @sungmee who appeared earlier on this list!!!!!!)

28k, mature

"Burnt out from his corporate job and his miserable marriage, Stede takes a seaside vacation where he meets Ed, an artist who takes inspiration from strange dreams that feel like memories. A museum exhibit about Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate brings them together, but it doesn't feel like the first time they've met."

had me googling 'pirate museums near me???' urgently at 1am. romeo & juliet meeting through a fishtank/starcrossed lovers vibes. absolute oodles of pining. a joy of a time to read.

#please send me more recs or requests or whatever!!! #i want to know ur fav fics!!! #these posts take ages to make but i love doing them sm #every recommendation is simply the cream of the crop and they should all be applauded as much as possible #if you are on this list you are talented & incredible and ily #our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death fic recs #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fic recs #gentlebeard fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #blackbonnet fic recs

[captainmera]

i have a goofy little headcanon that since luz barely made it through getting a boiling isles sickness, most of the hexsquad would absolutely not be able to handle a human realm sickness. like amity could hold together pretty well, but gus gets the fever and is genuinely convinced he’s dying or something. thoughts?

I agree hahaha, Amity got sick in my fanfic! Actually! and I think to Witches; the amount of achoos, dripping snot, and feeling like your head is a bowl of hot soup you gotta balance is, like, pretty awful to them.

The illnesses of the BI seem to have a biological and anatomical different influence as far as characteristics go. Luz still got a stuffy nose and droopy eyes, but otherwise, the effects seemed to be different. So I think to Witches: getting a runny nose is just as gross of an illness to them, as having shrooms grow from your head is to us.

First, I think Gus would be excited to be informed he had a human fever. And then hate every minute that followed once the symptoms showed up.

I think Gus would be very melodramatic, and Hunter would be all doting on him. Worried at first until Gus gets all "Oh woe me!" And Hunter just "lol okay buddy drink your tea and read your book."

Aaannd as a huntlow hooligan myself, who loves Willow being mischievous.

Maybe Willow would be envious of the attention Gus is getting and gets sick on purpose, only to have Amity be all "HUNTER, YOU TAKE GUS I WILL HELP WILLOW" as she's eager to prove herself more to Willow.

Gus and Willow just: "NOOOO TITAN DANGIT!" "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR GETTING SICK ON PURPOSE! WHY WOULD YOU WANT THIS?!" "I WANTED HUNTER TO BE CUTE TO ME TOO." "WELL, IS IT WORTH IT WILLOW? IS THIS DEMISE WORTH IT?!" "I THOUGHT I'D LOOK ALL, Y'KNOW- Beautiful like that historical drama Camila showed us! BUT I'M DISGUSTIIINNNG. I dont want him to see me like thiiiiss! 😭💦" "Willow, you took one look at MY ILL-RIDDEN FACE and thought OH, YEAH, I CAN MAKE THAT WORK?!"

And she sneezes in his face, and they both run around yelling where they're quarantined in the bedroom together - y'know like the bestie duo they are. Complaining about headaches and feeling cold, lamenting over their poor choices in life.

"Gus, did you ever think it would end like this?" "The grimwalker is a surprise."

Vee gives them the i-pad to watch a series on, and they get really invested in the 1995 TV show rendition of Pride and Prejudice. For no other reason than that Immmmm biased and I HC Willow and Camila to be into historical frilly romances. Gus has thoughts on it.

LoL.

#toh #toh ask #toh willow #toh gus #gus porter #willow park #the emerald duo #emerald duo #tgb #tgb au

[dredgen-honey]

I want cutesy and frilly armor!!!! I want warlocks with layered robes!!! I want hunter with corset chest pieces!!! I want skirt-like marks for titans!!! Let my guardians be cute Bungie!!!

#i just want really feminine armor sets #i want lace i want frills i want kawaii #destiny #destiny 2 #originals #destiny the game

[meownotgood]

devilish. / hayakawa aki x fem!reader, strip tease, kissing scene, slight exhibitionism, slight dubcon (both reader and aki are drunk), reader wears a feminine devil costume, suggestive content, minors dni. word count: 2.2k

You were hoping Aki would show up tonight. 

Honestly, you have to admit you weren't expecting it. He's never seemed like the type to enjoy this kind of scene: people yelling and getting wasted, loud, obscene music blaring. The biggest Halloween party in Tokyo was the last place you'd expect to see someone as reserved and uptight as him, but yet, here he is, just as you wanted, and just as you planned. 

When you were mingling amongst the crowd, you're certain you saw his two idiot roommates partying with the rest — If anything, he probably just came to be their designated driver. Or, so you thought, anyways, because once you approached Aki on the balcony, it was clear to see that he was fucking plastered. 

Since you couldn't find him partying, you were sure he'd be hanging out here. As soon as you step outside, the bare skin on your arms is met with the cool fall breeze, making your hair stand on end. You slide the balcony door closed behind you, muffling the sounds of the party and the music, leaving only the strong bass able to be heard. Then, you approach him, leaning your arms over the railing. Aki has his whole weight rested against it, carefully nursing a cigarette. His eyes dart up towards you, and when they do, his gaze immediately widens. 

"And you're dressed as…" You give him a once-over, cocking a teasing eyebrow. He's wearing his usual uniform: his dress shirt, unbuttoned a little at the top, with his loose tie still hung around his collar. He has the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his hair remains in his usual neat topknot. "Yourself?" 

Aki's fumbling over his words when he tries to speak — It's uh- didn't have time so… didn't have the time, y'know. They just dragged me here- roommates, I mean. He's practically slurring, his body wobbling when he takes his hand off the railing to pull his cigarette from his mouth. You're not even standing super close to him, but you can still smell the alcohol on his breath, the scent lingering on his clothes. He looks at you through heavy eyelids, and you're not sure if he just doesn't care or if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, but he never takes his eyes off of you. 

When you don't speak for a while, Aki flicks his cigarette and awkwardly comments, "But- but you look good. Really good. A devil suits you." 

It's impossible to fight the playful smile that grows on your face. 

You're wearing a sexy devil costume: red horns atop your head, a red dress with a frilly skirt, and tight, red thigh-highs. It's slim fitting and hugs your body nicely, the dress hugging the curves of your waist and your chest, the fat of your thighs spilling out of the hem of the socks. You've caught at least ten guys staring at you since you arrived, but you didn't pay any of them a second glance. There's only one person you wore this outfit for tonight. 

You were going to wear this outfit anyways, but when you purchased it, you couldn't help but think of him. As you put it on before the party tonight, admiring yourself in the mirror, you couldn't help but imagine no-one but Aki. You've got to say, his reaction so far did not disappoint. 

You snicker, and reply, "Oh? You think so? Hm," You place a finger to your chin, exaggerating a lost-in-thought sort of expression, "So if I'm dressed as a devil, that'd make you the devil hunter?" 

Aki takes another lazy drag out of his cigarette, tilting his head upwards to exhale the smoke into the star-speckled sky. "Yeah, I suppose it does." 

You scooch a little closer to him, until your elbows are touching. Aki doesn't seem to notice. "Well," You peer up at him through your eyelashes, "I'm glad you like it. I was hoping you would." 

"Really?" Aki turns to you for a brief moment, and in the dim light, you swear you can see his cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. When you lock eyes, he looks away almost as instantly as he looked towards you, his gaze focused on the idle traffic below as he stamps his cigarette out on the railing. 

Before he realizes what he's about to say, he's blurting out, "You wear it for me?" 

You chuckle, and Aki looks up at you again, his eyes wide. "No, no, wait- that's… fuck," He stammers, rubbing his temple when he begins to lose his train of thought, "Sorry, I'm super drunk, I'm not… Can't think straight." 

With an exasperated sigh, Aki flicks his spent cigarette to the ground. In the corner of his eye, he can see you; there's an expression on your face that he can't pinpoint, something nearly unreadable, but with a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of your cheeks. Something about the way you're eyeing him makes his heart pound faster, a prickle of anticipation twisting up his spine. 

"It's fine," You say with a shrug, "I've had a couple of drinks, too." 

Aki takes a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. A car horn honks when stray party-goers run across the street without looking both ways. You lean in a little closer to him, but Aki doesn't notice until your voice comes out as a whisper, right into his ear. 

"You weren't wrong, but," You cup your hand, leaning in more, the ghost of your warm breath fanning out over his skin, "There's something else I'm wearing, and that one's just for you." 

Aki stalls for a moment. When you pull back, you can see the gears in his head turning, his eyes narrowing as he thinks, the puzzle pieces taking a second to click in his drunken brain. But when he gets it, oh, when he gets it, the way his expression instantly changes is priceless. 

In a quiet voice, your tone ever teasing, you mutter, "You wanna see?" 

"I-" Aki turns towards you; his gaze flickers over your outfit for what must be the hundredth time, but now, it seems a little different. Now, he's examining you with a certain kind of curiosity, a certain sense of desire. His throat feels dry, so he swallows before he speaks again. "Yeah. I do." 

You take a couple of steps away from him, turning so that your back is facing the balcony door. This way, Aki will be the only one to see what you're about to do. 

Aki watches intently as you reach around, grasping the zipper that hides on the back of your dress. He can hear the quiet sound of the zipper being drug down, your eyes locked on his the whole time. When you begin shrugging the dress off your shoulders, he draws his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down. 

You pull it down just enough to show him the dip of your collarbones, and give him a peek of the straps of your bra: bright, vivid red. Certainly enough to make his imagination start to run wild. 

As if on queue, Aki asks shakily, "Can you show me some more?"

You smirk. "Anything for you, devil hunter." 

And you do: you slowly drag the dress down to just above your stomach, gripping it tightly to make sure it won't fall down any further. Aki's breath hitches the second he catches sight of your lacy red bra.

It's gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. It fits your body so well, a spectacle of ornate lace and frills, your breasts spilling out of the top. You look lovely. Aki's hands clench on the railing, and his eyes dart up to the door, making sure no-one else is watching. If you wore this just for him, he wants to make sure he's the only one to see it. 

"I- Wow. You're beautiful." Aki exhales a shaky, trembling breath. "Was this really just for me?" 

You flash him a soft smile. "Yeah. I've been waiting for you to come all night, Aki." 

Aki takes a small step forwards, and when he begins to wobble, he places a hand solidly on your shoulder to keep himself from falling. "Sorry. Is it alright if I touch you?" 

"Of course." You nod, and begin tugging your dress back up, slipping your arms through the short sleeves. "I'm putting this back on though, it's freezing out here."

Aki holds your shoulder, reaching around with his free hand to grab the zipper on the back of your dress — Here, let me help you. He tugs it up, his tall frame leant over yours, his body so close. You rest your weight against his chest when you start to stumble as well, your face buried in his shirt, your arms wrapped around his back. You listen to his heart as it pounds in his chest, beating to a steady, eager rhythm.

When he's done, Aki glides his palm over your shoulder, his fingertips tracing absentminded shapes onto your bare collarbone. He mutters quietly, voice smooth and deep, "You're the most gorgeous devil I've ever seen." 

You lift your head up. Aki looks down, meeting your eyes. You reply, "That wasn't all of it, y'know. There's more I wanted to show you, just can't do it here." 

"Oh?" Aki grasps your chin, tilting you up slightly more. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, toying with it. "When do I get to see that?" 

You glance towards the party for a moment. There's still a lot of people mingling about, but nowhere near as much as before. You explored the whole apartment earlier. There's one place you know of where the two of you could get a little privacy. 

A brief look of disappointment dawns on Aki's face when you pull apart from him, but it's quickly replaced by a spark of curiosity when you grab his hand and instruct, "Come with me." 

You lead him back inside, shouldering through the crowds of lingering people. He follows you all the way upstairs, and after you've checked to make sure it's empty, you push him into the nearest bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Aki's heart skips a beat when he sees you promptly flick the lock. 

"We should be alone here." 

You turn back towards him, and Aki carefully grabs your waist. The bathroom door shifts when he gently presses you against it.

He's close, really close — You can hear the sound of his breathing, examine every detail of his face. His lips are parted, his earrings glint in the low light, and the deep blue of his eyes draws you in, as if his gaze alone would be enough to swallow you whole. 

After a few moments he slurs, "You're beautiful." His cheeks are flushed red from a mixture of his drunkenness and embarrassment, and his hands squeeze your waist, his thumbs toying with the frills on your dress. "I was hoping I'd see you here too. It was the only reason why I let myself be dragged here." 

You wrap your arms around his neck, your hands clasped together. "I'm glad we managed to find each other, then."

Aki's gaze flickers from your eyes, down to your lips. An enveloping heat rises in his chest, his stomach twists into a tight knot. The twofold echo of your breathing and his seems to drown out the sounds of the party happening downstairs, and the alcohol in his veins, the closeness of your body, your warmth — It puts his mind in a haze, until he can't think, can't muster up anything to say besides-

"I want to kiss you." 

This time, he doesn't try to take it back. He stays as close as he is, and when your response comes swiftly — Then, why don't you? — he's finally lost himself to you, with no escape in sight.

Oh, he will. Aki cups your jaw, his hand trembling ever so slightly. He drags you in slowly, his head tilting, eyes fluttering shut. His lips feel soft when they connect with yours, a bit hesitant, and with your arms around his neck, you pull him in, encouraging him to kiss you deeper.

He kisses you once, then pulls you in for a second, a third; his hands travel up and down your body, palms cold from the balcony railing. You shiver when you feel his hands glide across your bare thighs, fingers toying with the hem of your socks, but you still arch into his delicate touch. Everything is clumsy from the drunkenness, your noses bumping, lips meeting when they manage to — And when they can't, he's placing kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, over the creases of your mouth. 

He mumbles quietly between every one, incoherent babbles of his thoughts: Pretty. So pretty. You're perfect. All for me. My pretty little devil.

You're both out of breath when he finally pulls back. Aki's heart drums hard in his chest, his pupils blown wide, his cheeks warm to the touch when you hold them in your hands.

In a voice barely more than a whisper, Aki says, "You're fun to kiss." 

You chuckle half-heartedly, pinching his cheeks, "I know, but you still want me to show you more, right? Isn't that what we came here for?"

"Yes, I do," Aki sighs deeply, a warm smile forming on his face. "Please." 

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader

[boosoonhao]

even death (could not keep us apart)

minghao x reader 10k words supernatural au swearing and mentions of death

Fire. Salt. Pain. A loud bang that seems to shatter your eardrums and reverberate through your whole body. Then nothing. For the longest time there’s absolutely nothing; just a mind-bending, insanity-inducing blank darkness. But then - 

the distinct smell of sulfur, the taste of dirt and sand between your teeth and on your tongue. Voices, low and foreign and nothing but background noise for the ringing in your ears. A face, blurred lines making up eyes and a nose and a mouth you’re so sure you knew once but cannot even place anymore. 

An emotion, the first one you’re able to feel, to understand, familiar and eerily recognizable; fear. 

A voice, louder than the rest, tones and syllables slurred and shaky, almost unintelligible: 

“You’re alive. Holy fucking shit, you’re alive.”

~~

Minghao is particular about quite a few things, including, but not limited to his car. He’s never allowed you to eat on the road, always insisted on stopping at diners or waiting until you reach a motel. Whenever a hunt has left either of your clothes got especially dirty, he’d insist on getting rid of them, though, he has to admit that the sight of you; sulking in the passenger seat in nothing but your underwear and one of his t-shirts was not one he really minded.

You’re covered, literally from head to toe, in dirt and grime, wet mud dripping onto the leather and pooling at your bare feet. The part of Minghao that’s meticulous, neat and that itches to chew you out for ruining his stuff tingles. But then he looks at you, at the person beyond the dirt and the mud, and he holds his tongue; 

you’re wearing the same outfit that he buried you in, a thought that makes bile threaten to rise in his throat. It’s so macabre, he thinks, so undiginified, but at least he’s glad he had the sense to bury you in something practical in favor of the frilly, stupid dresses Soonyoung had suggested. That’s not what bothers him.

What bothers Minghao is the look on your face; the hollowness of your cheeks and the dull, barely there glint in your eyes. The tiredness in your posture and how skinny your wrists are as you clutch onto your own fingers when he drives. You’ve barely even said a word since they resurrected you, and despite Joshua’s close examination and subsequent reassurances, Minghao worries. Joshua is good at what he does, but he’s no doctor. Your body might be fine, functional, but Minghao is - for maybe the third time since becoming a hunter - truly, really scared.

“I was dead,” you say, at last, voice flat and as dull as your eyes. Minghao has heard you feign nonchalance, has heard you school your usual bubbly and explosive voice into something low and careless in the middle of stupid arguments or when you’re so upset you curl in on yourself, but he has never heard your voice like this. He thinks, with more than tiny amount of reluctance, that you sound dead. “I died. Didn’t I?”

He only replies with a low, murmured “yeah”, because what else is there to say, really? You died, he watched you die, and now you’re back. It should be as easy as that, but he supposes nothing is ever truly easy with deals made with devils and demons.

“Minghao.”

He shivers, a wholly involuntary spasm that comes from the painful ache inside his chest; for a while he thought he’d never hear his own name from your lips ever again. And it might not be the same, not right now when you’re still coming back to life, still numb from being fucking dead for six months, but it makes him shiver nonetheless, and his hands grip tighter around the steering wheel. 

“Minghao,” you repeat when he remains unresponsive. “what did you do?”

~~

Out of all the demons Minghao has ever had the displeasure of conversing with, Hoseok might have been the one that intimidated him both the most and the least. Had it not been for the glowing, red eyes possessed by all crossroad demons, and the strange hollow echo in his voice, Minghao might’ve thought Hoseok to be just any old schmoe, but the sleek, black suit was unmistakable, and the buried box containing graveyard dirt, cat bones and a picture of Minghao himself did manage to set the mood, so to speak. 

“Missing the old ball and chain, are you?” Hoseok had asked, no prompt or explanation needed. This didn’t surprise Minghao; in your short lifespan you had managed to make quite the name for yourself in the underworld, but his muscles twitched and tingled even so, angered by the casual with which the demon spoke of you, how lightly your death was mentioned. Behind him, Seungkwan had cleared his throat, bringing him back and chaining him in. They all knew the severity of it; there would only be this one chance to make the deal. 

“Let’s just skip the chit-chat,” Jeonghan, ever the calm and collected part of the team, spoke up from right behind Minghao, placing a calloused hand on his shoulder. “You obviously know why we’re here.” 

“Ah,” Hoseok tutted, head tilted to the side. “But you’re not the one who wants to make a deal, are you? I want to hear him say it.” He pointed at Minghao, stiffly standing in front of the others with his gun in hand. More a precaution than anything else, the bullets would not kill the crossroad demon, but they would slow him down, at the very least.

“Can you do it?” Minghao asked, mistakenly letting a mixture of hope and doubt seep into his voice. “Can you bring her back?” 

The demon scoffed. “Can I? Of course I can. The question is, what can you do for me?”

He said it so low that Minghao could barely hear him over the loud thrums of his heart echoing in his head, nervousness and hope and reluctance fighting for dominance in his stomach. It had taken so long, finding the right crossroad and the right time, discussing back and forth between the team whether or not it was worth it. Minghao remembered, with startling clarity, the repeated promise you had forced him to make while still alive. Never trade your soul to a demon.

“I’m not giving you my soul,” Minghao said. 

Hoseok had busted out laughing at that, his voice coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once, echoing in Minghao’s ears and creeping under his skin. Are you,” the demon’s eyes glowed like two small, blood red suns, almost painful to look directly at. “Really at a disposition to be making demands, Minghao?” The way Hoseok had accentuated every syllable of his name sent shivers down Minghao’s spine, despite - or maybe because of - the childlike tint to his voice. 

Hoseok tsked, reappearing in the spot right in the middle of the dimly lit crossroads. “I don’t want or need your gross soul,” he waved his hand dismissively. “You humans are so dramatic.” 

“What do you want, then?” Seungkwan piped up, and Minghao could easily recognize the impatient, nervous quiver of his friend’s voice. They were all impatient, all tired and grieving and desperate, but Seungkwan never quite learned how to deal the way the others did. Minghao both appreciated and regretted that fact.

For a moment, the only thing to be heard were the sounds of the night; owls hooting and cicadas singing at a volume that would’ve unnerved Minghao had he not already been in the company of one of the most powerful demons in existence. 

“You know,” Hoseok broke the silence at last, octaves lower than before and the childish glee all but gone. He had sounded serious then, and the extent of his influence, of his power, had never been clearer. “People are quite pleased with your little girlfriend’s demise downstairs.” 

At this point, there wasn’t any doubt that Hoseok’s attention rested solely on Minghao, that the boys behind him was mere background noise to the demon. Somehow, Minghao felt strangely alone.

“A lot of pretty powerful people are gonna be mad when I do this,” the when of it brought a painful thump to Minghao’s chest, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. “I gotta know I’ll be safe.” 

It sounded… fair. More reasonable than Minghao had expected of a demon that, though strictly speaking functioned as nothing more than a deal maker and a soul stealer, resembled a trickster. The group of boys behind him had shuffled. He knew what they were thinking, how they were probably eyeing each other. It sounded too good to be true. 

“I can see the wheels turning,” the demon sounded amused. Minghao had thought, at the time, that maybe he had heard the right of it when people spoke of Hoseok, the crossroad demon; a mysterious creature that valued entertainment and chaos over anything, even his own species.

“You’re asking us to kill demons for you?” 

Hoseok’s grin widened, tangerine locks bouncing against his pale skin as he nodded. “Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“And you’ll bring her back? She’ll be…” Because even if the demon could resurrect you, no one really knew at what cost; Minghao was scared to ask, head filled with images of deformity, of brain damage. “She’ll be normal?” 

“As normal as one can be after spending half a year in hell, I suppose,” the red-eyed man confirmed. Minghao heard Seungkwan’s breath catch behind him. “Do we have a deal or not? I’m getting bored of this.” 

It wasn’t Minghao who confirmed, he didn’t even have the time to open his mouth. Soonyoung stepped up, with an eagerness that would’ve pissed Minghao off had the situation allowed it; the dark haired man never did know how to stay in his fucking lane, always wedging himself in where he was unwanted. “We’re taking the deal. Of course we’re taking the deal. Right?” 

“Great,” Hoseok’s eyes lit up as he stepped closer, not stopping until he was a breath away from Minghao’s face. If Minghao wanted to, he could’ve counted the specks of ember in the demon’s eyes, the eyelashes above his eyes. “But you’re the one making the deal.”

The demon put his hands on Minghao’s face, digits firm and cold as death. 

“Let’s seal it with a kiss.”

~~

Minghao used to joke that he would pay you to shut up, a thornless barb that resembled his own brand of affection more than anything else. Two hours into checking into the dingy hotel and you still haven’t said a single word after finding out about his deal with the crossroad demon. He thinks you might be angry, but it’s hard to tell with the emotionless, blank expression on your face. 

You sit on the bed, still covered in dried mud, and you just stare. At what, Minghao doesn’t know, all he knows is that it hurts to look at you. Somehow, he had imagined everything would just return to normal when he got you back. That he’d hug you and kiss you and his heart would put itself back together. He realizes, belatedly, that he had grossly underestimated the trauma of being brought back from the dead. He can’t even imagine, can’t bring himself to ask what you see behind your lids when you close your eyes.

Hell, Hoseok had said. You sure do look like it.

Minghao feels awkward, like he’s learning how to be around you all over again, and he struggles with the balance of wanting to give you space and the literal, physical yearning to embrace you and never let go. You’re there, just a few feet away, alive and real and breathing, but you’ve never felt so far away.

“You’re angry,” he says at last, watches as your eyes glide over the room once, twice before they fall on him. You look confused for a moment, gaze unfocused and lip caught between your teeth, like you’re struggling to gather your thoughts.

“I’m pretty sure I told you never to make deals with demons,” you tell him, a hint of frustration coating your tone. It’s the closest you’ve sounded to yourself ever since coming back to life, and Minghao can’t help the tiny bubbles of hope that push at the back of his neck despite the steely glint in your eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you said never to sell my soul to a demon,” he retorts, letting some of the petulant annoyance that always surfaces during your arguments seep into his voice. You always did love to argue, even death couldn’t take that away from you.

Your hands grip around the fabric of the blankets you’re sitting on, knuckles white and face tight. “I’m pretty sure it was implied.”

“What was I supposed to do, then?” Minghao is on his feet before he can even register getting up. Anger prickles at his skin, a course, painful lump in his throat. “Just let you stay dead?” You’re on your feet to, then, a bit wobbly and not really at peak intimidation, what with your hair and face coated in dirt you’ve not yet bothered to remove. Your voice is loud, shrill, and Minghao is glad he had the forethought to rent the room farthest away from the desk.

“Yes, Minghao! That’s what you were supposed to do!” The words hit him like a fist in the face. Minghao has been on the receiving end of a lot of shit; of shapeshifters and wendigos and poltergeists. He has a particularly nasty scar on his back from when he had pushed you away from an enraged werewolf that still hurts like a bitch during full moons. But he swears nothing, not even the chimera bite or the aftershocks of the demon possession that almost killed him eight months ago, not even all his shitty encounters combined, hurt even a fraction as much as the words leaving your mouth. “That’s what happens when people die!”

Minghao’s throat closes up, every scathing remark and offensive comeback turning into ashes in his mouth. There’s this secret that Minghao carries around, neatly tucked into his chest and hidden behind a hard, sarcastic exterior. It simmers and grows within him, and if the uncomfortable prickling in his eyes is anything to go by, it’s about to spill.

Minghao is, at the root of things, embarrassingly sensitive and emotional. He can’t even deny, nor does he care to, the way his voice breaks at the syllables. “I can’t. Not with you.”

~~

Minghao always felt pretty confident in the fact that you loved him, but he knew he loved you more. It’s not a competition, you’d tell him, eyes rolling but mouth quirking in a smile nonetheless. He knows it’s not a competition, he’d reply.

(But if it was, he’d win.) 

He’d had a hunch even the first time he’d seen you, covered from head to toe in swamp water and selkie blood, that you were something special. Hair sticking to your face and breath labored, with a shotgun aimed directly at his face and a dead creature lying between you in the shallow water, one could say that your first meeting had been somewhat less than pleasant. 

Somewhere behind you, a male voice was calling out what Minghao had assumed, but not actually gotten to confirm until much later, was your name. You had just stared, barely even blinking, mouth slightly open and small puffs of air visible as you exhaled.

It wasn’t something as silly as ‘love at first sight’, but Minghao would be a fool to deny the rumbling, warm feeling in his stomach.

“What the-” a blond man with a fair face appeared behind you, making both you and Minghao jump. “You shot the selkie? Are you insane?”

You’d lowered the shotgun, then, turning to the man with an annoyed knit of your eyebrows. With your free hand, you wiped at your face, trying - and failing - to rid yourself of some of the slimy liquid. The man scoffed. “You look like an absolute madwoman.”

“I swear, Seungkwan,” you rumbled, voice low and dangerous. Even if it wasn’t directed at him, Minghao felt a shiver tingle along his spine. “What the fuck was I gonna do? She was about to chew his face off.” You gestured towards Minghao, acknowledging his existence for the first time, and the man - Seungkwan, Minghao assumed - turned his head to look at him. 

He must’ve looked quite the sight himself, Minghao remembered thinking; half-sitting, half-lying in the swamp water and completely drenched himself after the struggle with the crazy sea creature. He hadn’t even known of it’s existence, only entering the area because of the rumors of a ‘swamp monster’. Though, in retrospect, the encounter was a lucky one, even if his favorite shirt was utterly ruined. 

Seungkwan, immaculate and statuesque in comparison to Minghao’s own disheveled appearance, did not look impressed. He hmm’ed, arms crossed and lips pursed. “And who’s this little mermaid, then?” 

Minghao decided he did not like Seungkwan. 

“No idea,” You’d answered, as if Minghao wasn’t even there. “He was mud-wrestling the selkie when I found them.”

“Tantalizing imagery, that,” Seungkwan murmured. “Is he gonna pay the bounty, too? A lot of cash was riding on this.” 

Minghao realized, then, who the two of you are. There aren’t a lack of bounty hunters out there, not when the world is such a big and scary place filled with threats that are both human and supernatural. But there aren’t many good or particularly well-known ones; veteran hunters who knows not to let greed lead them. 

Soonyoung had been gushing over it for months, over the duo who seemingly popped out of nowhere and took on any task if the pay was good enough. A girl and a boy, he’d said, about our age. It was apparent, looking at the two of you bickering over money and dead selkies, that you were the duo Soonyoung was talking about.

Minghao had thought, at the time, that you were both kind of overrated. You were a clean shot, sure, and undeniably attractive, but Seungkwan managed to grate on him more in five minutes than three years of Soonyoung’s sleep talking and snoring ever had. When the two of you had excused yourselves, bickering even as you did, Minghao had felt nothing but a frown pull at his features, annoyance over his drenched disposition and ripped clothes the most prevalent feeling in his chest. 

He still couldn’t quite stop thinking about the look on your face, about the gleam in your eyes and the slight redness to your cheeks, as you stood in front of him with a gun aimed right at his head. 

He tried not to dwell on that.

~~

The first breakdown comes as you’re about to take a bath. Neither of you able to stand the awkwardness and the prolonged silences anymore, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, murmuring humorlessly about how you smell like death. Minghao would’ve appreciated the joke had he not been painfully aware that it’s not meant as one.

When he’s alone in the room, listening to the running water from the bath, Minghao feels as if he’s finally able to breathe again. He looks around the small hotel room, at the stains and dirty clothes and the bag of equipment he had gotten from Joshua; bottles of water and easily digestible food, hot packs and painkillers. No one really had known what to expect when you came back to life, but at least the older man had had some forethought to be thorough. 

Minghao, on the other hand, feels useless. All he’d really done was put his picture in a box and made a deal with a demon, and even that task could’ve easily be given to someone else. Post-resurrection, all he seemed to do was agitate you. 

As if on cue, he hears a loud bang and a string of pretty imaginative curses coming from the bathroom. Minghao is on his feet and at the door before he can even stop to think about propriety or privacy, heart high in his throat.

You’re still fully clothed, bag of belongings thrown across the tiny room and items scattered all over the floor. The water is running in the bath, but you seem to have forgotten to put the plug in, the water just rushing down the drain instead. The look on your face is perhaps the most emotive you’ve been since coming back to life; something akin to frustration and anger making your eyes wet. 

Minghao feels his heart breaking for perhaps the thousandth time in six months. 

“I can’t,” you begin, voice cracking and fingers struggling with the buttons on your shirt. Over the course of your relationship, Minghao thinks you’ve both seen each other in some pretty vulnerable situations, but you’ve never looked as helpless and humiliated as you do right now; fingers shivering and shoulders slumped. “I can’t get my fucking clothes off.”

Minghao swallows, glances around the room once, twice, wills his still stressed heart to calm down. “Okay,” he says, once he’s sure he can properly speak without biting his tongue off. “That’s fine. Normal. Joshua said so, remember? Inactivity and all that.” Minghao’s not used to be the attentive one, the one who has to speak softly and reassure without barbs of irony or sarcasm casually thrown in his sentences. He feels awkward, fumbling for words and uncomfortably aware of every movement his body makes.

“I know what Joshua said,” you snap back, voice on the verge of poisonous, but Minghao pays it no mind. “That doesn’t exactly help right now.” You pull at your shirt as if it’s stuck to your skin, as if it itches and hurts to wear.

Inhaling through his nose and counting to three in his head, Minghao closes the bathroom door and approaches you almost like one would a scared animal. If you notice the hesitance in his steps, you do not point it out. “You’ll be fine, you just need… rehabilitation,” he grimaces at the word, at the clinical, cynical way of putting it. “I’ll help you, okay?”

He pretends not to hear the sob, knows how much you hate to cry in front of him, and his fingers feel too long, too big when he starts unbuttoning your shirt. 

It’s obviously not the first time he’s undressed you, but it’s the first time the moment feels so fragile, the atmosphere so heavy. He can’t even look at you; gaze zeroing in on each of the buttons instead, ignoring how visible your rib cage is beneath the once soft fabric of the flannel and how your collarbones stick out above your chest.

He thumbs gently over your hip bones as he pulls down your jeans, does not miss your sharp inhale or the goosebumps under his fingertips, but his voice seems to have left him, and all he can do is look at you. 

You look like a ghost, like one of the zombies he had put a bullet in ages ago, barely even a remnant of the person he used to whisper declarations of love to in the dark of the night. The thought makes him want to cry, or run away, or cling to you and never let you go; he doesn’t know which of those impulses will win out yet.

“I’ll need help washing, too,” you admit, shame painted onto your face as clearly and visible as the mud in your hair. Minghao just nods, rolls his sleeves up and helps you into the tub. 

For a while, there’s just the sound of running water, the occasional hum when Minghao’s hands glides over a particularly sore part of your body or a whimper when he pulls too hard on your hair. The color is returning, at least somewhat, to your face, roses blooming in your cheeks and joints loosening with the help of hot water. It feels so strangely intimate, even if all he’s doing is ridding you of months worth of dirt and grime, scrubbing your back and shampooing your hair, Minghao feels like he’s the one on display.

“It’s not just my body,” you mutter, once you’re clean of mud and your hair unknotted. “It’s my mind, too.” You make eye contact with him when you say this, and even then he knows what you’re talking about. He sees it in your eyes, how the color seems faded, somehow, how your face looks devoid of emotion. “Like, I know, In the back of my mind, that I love you, but I don’t feel anything.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, not without breaking down, at least, so Minghao says nothing. He blinks rapidly, willing away the unbidden tears that prickle at his eyes with the knowledge that his lover cannot feel love for him anymore. Above everything else, Minghao feels guilty. Your words ring in his eyes; was he really supposed to let you go? Would it have been better, less selfish, to just let you rest? His chest tightens. 

So lost is he, in his own thoughts, that he doesn’t notice you’re talking to him again until you take his hand in your own. Your fingers feel bony around his hand, and his mind just spirals. “If you think any harder you’re gonna hurt yourself,” you murmur, thumb pressing lightly into his skin. It’s the first sort of contact you’ve initiated, he realizes. 

“I was too harsh on you,” you continue, voice subdued. He doesn’t immediately know what you’re talking about, so he just gazes at you, at your intertwined fingers. “If anyone had taken you from me, not even the hell hounds or the four horsemen of the apocalypse could have kept me from finding you. I might not feel it right now, but I know it.”

And it’s those words, the conviction with which you say it, that breaks Minghao. He leans his head against your bare shoulder, lets you comb your fingers through his hair, and Minghao cries. He cries for the first time since you died, since you came back. He cries without inhibition, so loudly and freely that the sounds bounce against the acoustics of the tiny hotel bathroom, and when the two of you finally go to bed, still weird and uncertain with each other and occupying the opposite ends of the queen sized bed, Minghao feels a bit better.

He dreams of fire, of screams and black shadows and yellow eyes staring at him. He dreams of you, of pain and fear and the smell of sulfur and death. It’s a familiar dream, one that’s haunted his sleeping hours for the last six months and when the loud bang of a gunshot echoes in his head, he knows what’s coming. He runs towards you, fighting through what feels like a horde of wraiths to do so, but when he finally reaches you, he finds the same gruesome image as he always does these nights; 

Seungkwan on his knees, hands clasped tightly over his mouth, incoherent words and course inhales spilling between his fingers. There’s a silver gun at his side and a bleeding body in front of him. Your fingers are coated in your own blood, reaching, reaching and - falling limply a hair’s breadth away from your childhood best friend’s hyperventilating frame. 

Time stops. Minghao wakes up, coated in sweat. 

He feels as if he’s carrying someone else’s weight along with his own, and when his head finally wakes up enough to take notice of his surroundings, he feels the distinct sensation of someone’s breath against his neck. He tilts his head, and there you are. Sleeping soundly with your chin against his shoulder, arm slung over his stomach and fingers sprawled against his hip, one leg tangled with his own. His arm is asleep under your weight, but Minghao barely even notices, too transfixed by the smooth lines of your face. 

It’s the most like yourself you’ve looked since you resurrected, and even if you must’ve just crept closer in your sleep, body seeking heat, Minghao’s heart swells. He indulges in the feeling, turning to his side so he can see you better, his free hand skating gently over your jawline. He leans his forehead against yours, breathes in easy for the first time in forever. 

When he falls asleep again, his mind is free of nightmares.

~~

Soonyoung calls the very next day, just as you’re finished forcing a bowl of porridge down your dry throat. For a moment, Minghao seriously considers not taking the call, wanting nothing more than to just enjoy a few moments of normalcy with you. The frown on his face as he puts the phone to his ears must be more noticeable than he thought, because you level him with a scrutinizing glare. He ignores it.

“What?” he snaps to his friend, not bothering with pleasantries. Needless to say, his relationship with the man he once saw as his closest friend and confidante has been, in simple terms, strained, after your death. The night when Minghao almost broke Soonyoung’s nose notwithstanding, the boys have not spoken one-on-one in months.

Soonyoung replies in kind, opting for getting right to the chase. “How is she?”

Minghao looks at you, takes a moment to observe as you experimentally bend your arms and practice your fingers by buttoning and unbuttoning one of his shirts. Only when Soonyoung says his name into the phone does Minghao remember that he was asked a question. “Just dandy,” he replies.

The man on the other end of the line hums. “Good enough to go out?” 

“Soonyoung, this is really not-” 

“I’m not asking for myself,” Soonyoung cuts him off, and not for the first time Minghao envies how easily the other man speaks his mind. “Hoseok contacted me. He wants to meet her. Has some information, he says.”

Minghao’s frown deepens. He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the crossroad demon forever, they were sort of in his debt, after all, but he’d hoped you’d at least get to be back with the living long enough to re-stabilize before having to fraternize with demons. “What information?”

The other end is silent for a tad too long, and Minghao has to glance at the screen to make sure Soonyoung hasn’t hung up on him. 

“About that night,” he says at last, voice so low Minghao barely hears him. “About whatever possessed Seungkwan.” 

And, well, that catches Minghao’s interest.

~~

“No,” was the first thing Minghao heard upon entering the diner, a mere two months after his run-in with an angry selkie and two famous bounty hunters. And two months it might’ve been, but Minghao could’ve recognized that shrill, sophisticated male voice anywhere. “We’re not even stepping into that house.”

“Seungkwan,” a second, just as familiar voice, hissed, and when Minghao craned his neck to look around the almost empty diner, he spotted you with ease. Less messy, this time, hair free of blood and clothes in almost pristine condition. Your fingers wrapped around the straw to your drink, swirling it around in a fashion that can only be described as aggressive. “It’s a lot of money.”

Minghao ended up just standing there, debating whether to turn around and leave or eavesdrop further. He watched as Seungkwan leaned over, voice low, and he heard, without mistake, the word poltergeist.

He had the time for a burger, Minghao decided.

With confident steps and a lot more gusto than he really possessed, Minghao strode over to your booth, stopping in front of the both of you. He hoped he looked more intimidating than he felt. 

He was pleased to see the flash of recognition in your eyes, for a moment indulging in the thought that maybe you had found him as difficult to forget as he had you. Seungkwan, on the other hand just looked bored. “What? We’ve already ordered.” 

Just as soon as the word left the blond’s mouth, he jumped, an exclamation of pain falling ungraciously out of his mouth. If the look of absolute disdain he shot you was anything to go by, you’d just kicked him under the table. “You ass,” you hissed. “It’s the selkie dude. From two months ago.” 

“My point still stands,” Seungkwan muttered. 

Minghao cleared his throat. “You were talking about a poltergeist.” 

The two of you had looked at each other, then, seemingly sharing some private, telepathic sort of conversation, and Minghao felt oddly out of place. Seungkwan opened his mouth, probably, Minghao thought, to argue, but you beat him to it. 

“That’s right. You want in?” It was strangely direct, not exactly what Minghao had expected, and for a moment he could only stare at you. You stared right back, sucking on your straw.

“Right,” he replied after collecting his thoughts, only to be interrupted by Seungkwan hissing your name. 

”I said we’re not doing that,” he whispered, as if Minghao wasn’t meant to hear. Minghao found it strange that these supposedly professional hunters were so scared of a single poltergeist. Sure, they weren’t the most pleasant things to deal with, but judging by Seungkwan’s white-knuckled fist, there was more than just a reluctance of work there. “It’s too dangerous.” 

”See, that’s why this is perfect,” you’d countered, throwing your hand out to gesture at Minghao. “I’ll take selkie-boy here with me, and you stay snug under your blankie at the hotel. Everyone’s happy.” You paused. “Well, except for the poltergeist, I suppose.”

Seungkwan, though reluctant, sighed, bent down to rummage through his backpack. A sign of defeat, Minghao imagined, seeing the look of glee on your face. You scooted further in, patted the now vacant spot next to you. Minghao took a seat, pretended his arm didn’t tingle where it came into contact with your own. 

”Have you ever exorcised a poltergeist before?” Seungkwan asked, pulling out a torn, old notebook. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie, like a book of curses passed down through generations, and Minghao might’ve laughed if he didn’t think he’d get kicked for it. “Who- who even are you?” He asked, as if he just realized they had not given each other their names yet, even as they were discussing exorcisms and ghosts.

”Minghao,” he replied quickly, not bothering to ask for names in return. It seemed like an empty gesture, he already had your name memorized. “And yes. A couple.” He glanced sideways, instantly locking eyes with you. You had your chin balanced in your palm, elbow on the table, eyes gleaming as they observed him intently.

”Then you know the basics,” Seungkwan continued, fingers flipping over the pages in his little book at a rapid speed. He sounded like a completely different person, now, concentrated and with intent basically dripping from the syllables. “They’re mostly harmless. Pranksters. Making floors creak and furniture move and all that shit.” Minghao nodded along. It had been a while since he had worked with anyone, ever since Soonyoung returned home to attend a funeral and subsequently went MIA Minghao had been working alone. His spine tingled. 

“This one’s a bit more vicious,” you went on, eyes on the book. “Which is what has got Seungkwan’s panties in such a twist.”

“My panties are not twisted! This thing is fucking twisted!” Seungkwan interjected. You made an elaborate and over the top pout. Your lips looked soft. 

”Anyways,” Seungkwan cleared his throat. “There have been several incidents over the last couple years, most of them are written down here.” He finally stopped flipping pages, turning the book around to allow Minghao to read the contents of the page. Neatly written notes, all containing information on this supposed poltergeist, seemingly pretty new. Most hunters had their own collection of notes about different creatures and monsters, but Minghao had to hand it to Seungkwan; he was thorough.

“If this goddamned poltergeist kills you,” Seungkwan turns his attention to you, pointing a long, thin finger in your direction. Minghao barely pays attention to the conversation, too busy scanning over the notes in front of him. “I will fucking murder you.” You laughed. Minghao’s ears turned red.

The poltergeist did not, in fact, kill you. Or Minghao, for that matter, but then that didn’t seem to be Seungkwan’s priority. It did, however, turn out to be more a pain than either you or Minghao had expected, and when you finally collect your bounty, you look utterly knocked out. 

That didn’t stop you from making Minghao join you at the local pub for celebratory drinks after a job well done. 

”Seungkwan doesn’t get to join,” you’d said, a smile toying with the edges of your lips. “No labor, no drinks.” 

You told him why Seungkwan was so freaked out by a mere poltergeist; turns out his family comes from a long line of psychics. Which, with all the perks Minghao had always imagined psychics to have; telepathy, communicating with spirits and easier exorcisms, also came with quite the downside - they were deeply connected to the other world, and much easier to possess.

”We had a run-in with a nasty spirit last year,” you explained, pulling down the the neck of your sweater to show Minghao a gruesome scar across your shoulder blade. “He’s refused to work with spirits ever since.” 

Minghao supposed there was more to people than meets the eye.

The rest of the night would remain a blur to him, but he thinks it must have been the alcohol coursing through his system that had urged him to place his hands on your hips, pushing you against the cold concrete of the alley you’d snuck off to and pressing his lips against yours.

He wouldn’t remember much in the morning, but not even a blow to the head could make him forget the soft moan from your mouth when he pressed against you, licked at your lips, your teeth grazing his bottom lip. He swore he could feel the remnants of your fingers in his hair even days later.

It might not have been love at first sight, but - 

it was pretty damn close.

~~

"You and Soonyoung have gotten worse,” you suddenly observe, as the two of you are driving to the crossroad where Hoseok resides. It’s a long ride, and not one Minghao wants to spend talking about Soonyoung. He exhales sharply through his nose. You toy with the hem of the sweater - Minghao’s sweater - you’re wearing. 

“Things have been… tense.. these last six months,” he responds vaguely, keeping his eyes on the road. You scoff. 

“You’ve been tense for ages. That was something else.”

Minghao chews on his bottom lip. “We had some disagreements after you died, I don’t really want to talk about it.” It’s the most genuine thing he can think of to say; just the thoughts brings images of accusations of betrayal, venomous words and almost-fist fights, and in the few moments when Minghao is not pissed off at Soonyoung, he misses his friend. 

“Fine,” you relent, moving restlessly in your seat. “Let’s talk about something else, then. Where’s Seungkwan?”

Minghao’s stomach drops. He knew you would ask, because of course you would ask about Seungkwan. But he doesn’t know how much you know, what you remember from dying, and he certainly does not know what to say about your best friend. 

You feel that reluctance, he thinks, because your voice is hard when you speak again. “Minghao. Where’s Seungkwan?”

Minghao clears his throat. “What do you remember from-” he halts, something dark and painful blocking his throat. He hates this, hates asking you about it. He knew he’d have to, at some point, but it seems like time really is not on his side. “From that night?” he finishes. 

For a moment, only the sound of the engine fills Minghao’s ears. He glances over at you, finding you staring wistfully out the side window. Your lips are just a grim line, your eyebrows knit together, hands grasping at each other in your lap. It’s an automatic impulse when he reaches over to take your hand, but he’s happy to see that your own actions seem to be automatic as well, taking both of your own hands and enveloping his in them. 

“He knows it’s not his fault, right?” your voice is quiet, a complete contrast to the vice-like grip you have on his hand, and Minghao supposes that’s a good an answer as any. 

“He didn’t take it well,” he admits, thinking about a pretty, blond boy with an aristocratic face, a man who always found the time for snappy comebacks and awful jokes. Minghao doesn’t think, even with your resurrection, that Seungkwan will ever be the same person again. 

“Doesn’t he want to see me?” you mutter, for the first time letting insecurity coat your voice. Minghao knows you’re self-conscious, that the whole thing terrifies you. He’s seen the way you look at yourself in the mirror sometimes, as if you’re scared you’ll fall apart or worms will start crawling out of your ears. He squeezes your hand. 

“He loves you. Of course he wants to see you. He’s not sure you want to see him.”

You sigh, a tired sound, and close your eyes and lean your head against the window. “Let’s just get this meeting over with. I want to go home.” 

Minghao could not agree more.

You’re both faced with the crossroad demon an hour later, the sun setting in the distance and coating the road in orange-red light that reflects prettily in the demon’s hair. He’d look almost ethereal, Minghao thinks, if he wasn’t so sinister. 

The demon tilts his head, scans you up and down a few times with a pondering hum. Minghao steps closer, fingers itching to grab onto you. 

“So,” Hoseok muses, a finger coming up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. “This is what has the whole underworld quaking in their boots? I can’t say I get it.”

You shrug your shoulders, putting on a face of pure disinterest. You never did have much tolerance for demons, especially not the ones who took on human hosts. “I can’t say I do either.”

Hoseok chuckles. “At least she’s spunky,” he says. “I like that.” He takes a step closer, and Minghao takes a protective step on his own to stand in front of you. The demon laughs, waves a long hand in your direction. “Come on,” he says. “As if I would’ve exhausted my abilities and angered the underworld just to hurt her now. You’re both safe here. For now.”

“We were told you had information for us,” you press a hand against Minghao’s arm, both a reassuring gesture, and a show of confidence; a subtle way of letting Hoseok know that you don’t need protection. It’s a pointless gesture, Minghao thinks, you have his protection whether you want it or not, but he lets it slide. “I’m sure you want something for it.” 

“Your boys have been quite resolute in their keeping of their promise to me,” the demon hums, hands in his pockets. “As such, this one’s on me.” 

He looks up at the darkening sky. “Have you ever heard of the creatures called rakshasa?” 

Minghao has not, surprisingly enough, but the way you stiffen besides him tells him you have. He thinks about the small, leather notebook stuffed into a backpack, about elegant fingers flipping through pages at an alarming speed. 

“A chaos demon?” You ask, voice this close to trembling. Your grip on Minghao’s arm tightens. “What does that have to do with me?”

Hoseok tsk’s. “A chaos demon, indeed. One that was none too pleased with being mistaken for a simple poltergeist and attempted exorcised.”

It hits you both, it seems, at the same time. The first job you did together, that haunted house in a town long forgotten. Seungkwan’s insistent reluctance and the strange incidents that did not seem like a simple ghost. You look at each other. 

“Ah, looks like it rings a bell. Rakshasa are stubborn things, they latch onto hate like vermin,” Hoseok’s voice does not match his words; he sounds irreverent, as if he’s talking about a dear friend rather than a vengeful spirit. “Above all else,” he continues. “They adore the chase. The pain of ripping someone away from their loved ones. And killing his target by the hands of their best friend? Masterful.”

Fear courses through Minghao’s veins. Hoseok has been nothing but pleasant, if a bit creepy, up until now, but Minghao should not have forgotten that they were dealing with a demon. The crossroad demon’s eyes glint, blood red light shining at you both like a laser. 

“Good luck with this one,” he says with a bow and a wink. “You’re going to need it.” 

The demon disappears with the last few beams of sunlight.

~~ 

The night you died had been a cold one, air visible as it left your mouths. teeth clattering and bodies shaking. You had been scouting; you, Minghao, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, looking for a group of werewolves that had reportedly disappeared in the area. 

It was, for all intents and purposes, a low-risk mission. Recon. 

But then the black fog came. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a heavy, dark smog had seeped over you from between the trees, covering the entire area and the sky above you in darkness. Minghao had lost track of you, stretching his arms around and calling your name to no avail. His heart hammered in his chest. He was enveloped in silence, his yells not even creating an echo. For a moment he thought he might have gone blind. 

And then he smelled fire. 

He didn’t see it at first, the black fog so overwhelmingly dark and thick that it might have even blocked the smell, had it not come from somewhere nearby. He felt it, before he even saw it; hot and scalding on his skin, scorching the hair on his arm and licking at his side. He’d yelped, jumping away from the vicious flames.

That’s when he’d really started to worry.

He found Soonyoung first, nursing a burnt arm not too far from him. It might have been to his left, or maybe directly behind him, Minghao couldn’t be sure. Had he just been fighting with his friend earlier that day? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that Soonyoung was safe, second degree burns aside, but neither of them could find your or Seungkwan.

The first wraith showed itself by clawing down his back, ribboning both his jacket and the skin on his back, and Minghao had to bite down on his tongue to contain the scream that tore at his throat. He could worry about that later.

He swore he’d been walking for hours, using nothing but his hands and his sense of direction - stunted as it was with the wraiths and the flames and the fog - before he finally heard it; your voice, muted by the thickness of the fuck and the sizzling of flames, but somehow still clear as day in his ears. 

“Seungkwan, please,” you’d pleaded, desperation tinting your voice and pain edging your syllables. “Seungkwan. Listen to me. You’re stronger than this.”

Minghao followed your voice, heard it grow stronger, then weaker, then stronger again, cracking and wavering but repeating the same over and over. Seungkwan. Seungkwan. I love you, please come back to me.

A gunshot rung in Minghao’s ears, the familiar sound of the colt you kept on your person at all times, and Minghao can’t breathe.

It happened all at once; the fog lifted and the fire died, the wraiths stopped in their movements to float as yellow-eyed statues in the air. Minghao could see Soonyoung right behind him, covered in soot and ashes and gripping his arm with a grimace on his face.

And he could see Seungkwan in front of him, a ways away, on his knees. His hands were red, covered in blood, pressed against his face and spreading the liquid like war paint across his cheekbones. It took Minghao a moment to see the collapsed figure next to the blond. 

It was such a strange moment; that tangible, real moment right before your world shatters and your heart breaks. That one second it takes for your head to catch up with your eyes and you realize that nothing will ever be the same. Minghao was standing behind Seungkwan before he could even register his legs moving. He looked down, observing the way Seungkwan’s shoulders were shaking, how his breaths were labored, course; as if it physically hurt to inhale or exhale. 

The sounds were the worst of it, the broken sobs and whimpering, nonsensical words. Minghao could make out your name, a repeated mantra of no no no and please’s and i’m sorry’s but somehow the world seemed to be stuck in slow motion and he could not move. 

“Fuck!” he heard from somewhere next to him. Or maybe it was above him, or behind him, or underneath him, Minghao couldn’t tell, couldn’t feel or see or hear anything. “Fuck!” the voice said again, louder this time. Someone gripped his shoulders. “What the fuck happened?!” Soonyoung - because it was Soonyoung, wasn’t it? - sounded as broken as Minghao felt. He wanted to throw up.

Your eyes were glassy, light already gone. A hand stretched out to reach for Seungkwan and the other clasping your chest. Everything was red. 

You were gone.

Everything else is kind of a blur. There was a funeral, Minghao thinks, a modest thing attended by your shared friends. How long did it take for Seungkwan to start talking again? A month? Two? Minghao doesn’t remember, can’t find it in him to care.

He stares at photo albums and sleeps on the couch, cannot bear to sleep in the bed the two of you used to share. He works. Minghao works a lot. He hunts vampires and slays demons, but he doesn’t find whatever took you away from him. 

He knows this, though; it’s Soonyoung who brings up the idea of resurrection, four months after your death. 

“Crossroad demons,” he’d said, as it was the most obvious thing ever. As if Minghao hadn’t considered it ten times, as if he hadn’t already dabbled in failed attempts of blood magic or summoning spells. As if Seungkwan didn’t wander the halls on extra hard days, hoping pathetically that your spirit would somehow show up. 

“What about them?” Jeonghan had offered when no one else responded to Soonyoung’s sudden exclamation. 

“Don’t bother, Jeonghan,” Minghao had grumbled, tired of Soonyoung’s attempts. “He’s just talking shit. Crossroad demons are liars. They always find loopholes.” 

“There’s this particular one,” Soonyoung continued as if Minghao never even spoke up. “He’s done it before. Joshua’s pal.”

They all knew who Soonyoung’s talking about; a young man Joshua introduced them to a few years ago out of nowhere. A pretty boy with a strong jaw and a wide smile, Minghao could not remember his name. But he could remember Joshua’s protective stance, the way he handled his friend like he was a porcelain doll. 

“Vernon?” Jeonghan asked, and Minghao hummed. That was his name. Vernon. He didn’t look particularly dead, he thought.

“He was killed by a river spirit five years ago,” Soonyoung explained, hope woven into his voice. “Joshua got him back from a crossroad demon named Hoseok, and he didn’t have to give his soul for it.”

“What did he give, then?” Minghao asked, heart pounding in spite of his skepticism. Minghao wouldn’t trust Soonyoung with deal-making, not even back when they were close friends, but he would trust Joshua.

“Apparently he asks for different things for every deal. It’s worth a shot.”

~~

Three weeks and an abundance of hotels later, Minghao finally succeeds in bringing you home. You’ve made a dozen stops on the way, gathering information and collecting tools for killing a chaos demon. You don’t know much more, honestly, but Minghao has finally managed to teach you how to use weapons again, and you can dress yourself and eat normally, so he counts it as a success. 

When you come home, Minghao barely sees you for three days, people running down your doors half the time, and you running around the other half. Soonyoung comes the first day, hugs you too tight and for too long, making Minghao’s skin itch. Jeonghan drops by the same afternoon, offering soothing words and soft touches that seem to calm you more than Minghao has been able to since you came back. 

Chan, who had been away from the country for almost a year when he learned about you death, is a mess of tears and loud sobs when he comes to visit. Minghao doesn’t mind, because you laugh as the younger man leaves still in tears two hours later. A true laugh, a bubbly thing that reminds him of tickle fights and lazy Sundays, that reminds him that there’s still hope for the two of you.

You still haven’t talked, not properly, since the bathtub incident. He’s awkward around you, fear of rejection seeping into his pores with each passing day. You seem to be returning to normal, weight returning to normal when you’re finally able eat again, hair more vibrant after Mingyu cuts it for you after returning home. The only thing that’s missing is some sort of acknowledgement that your emotions have returned. They must have, he thinks, because you sometimes absentmindedly clasp his hands or curl up next to him on the couch, but the part of him that’s scared and insecure can’t be sure.

He understands, now, that strong sense of protectiveness that seems to pour out of Joshua around Vernon.

You finally gather the courage to visit Seungkwan on the dawn of the third day. Minghao has asked around, knows that the man is home with the remainder of his family, back in the house he grew up in. You’re scared, Minghao can tell, because you keep procrastinating. He almost has to physically drag you out before you agree to visit your best friend, the man who killed you. 

Minghao doesn’t see you at all that day, besides the glimpse he caught through a window when he gets a bit worried and decides to snoop. He finds you and Seungkwan in the garden of his home, both asleep on the lawn, hands entwined. He had forgotten, he realizes, what Seungkwan’s face looked like without grief etched into his features. 

He lets you sleep, lets you enjoy the moment of piece. You’ve both deserved it. 

The question comes on the fourth day home; a month after your resurrection. 

”Minghao,” you murmur from the bed, when you’re about to go to sleep that evening. He’s standing by the closet, t-shirt in his hand, and he turns to look at you when he hears his name. You look unsure, sort of, as if you’re afraid to say what you intended to. 

”What?” he urges, voice carefully blank. You exhale through your nose, Minghao can see you swallow nervously. 

”Do you think I’m repulsive?”

Out of all the things Minghao could’ve imagined you would say, that might’ve been the last. For a moment he just stares, eyes wide and unblinking, as you twist the fabric of the blanket around your fingers nervously, avoids eye contact. The words fall out of his mouth before he can even think to stop them. 

”What the fuck?”

You frown, knuckles turning white, and it seems like you have to work against quite a bit of reluctance to get the next words out of your mouth. “You haven’t kissed me once since I came back.”

You don’t have to tell him that; Minghao’s basically been counting the days, staring at your lips and struggled against the want to kiss you, or hug you, or pull you into him when you sleep at night. But - 

”You said you didn’t-”

”I know what I said,” you cut him off, some of the usual spike returning to your voice. “Do you know what I’m saying now?” You emphasize every word, staring him right in the eyes. Minghao drops the t-shirt he’s holding, takes a few long steps until he’s right next to you and you have to look up to keep eye contact with him.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. You shiver in response, hands gripping the sheets. Minghao’s fingers twitch.

“Do you want to kiss me?” You echo, and it becomes apparent for Minghao that you’ve been just as unsure as him. He doesn’t understand why, would have teased you for it if he hadn’t been literally seconds away from combusting on the spot. Instead, he gives in, decides to give you the answer you seem to need to hear.

“Every second of every goddamned day.”

Your mouth twitches, and you pause for a moment. “Even if I was dead a month ago?”

Minghao feels dumb, then, because it’s so obvious in retrospect. The way you’re always obsessively looking at yourself in the mirror and spraying yourself with perfumes, brushing your teeth at odd hours of the day. All this time he’s been worrying about you not loving him anymore, and you’ve been worried about whether or not he finds you attractive anymore. 

“Even if you’d been dead yesterday I’d still want to kiss you,” he mutters, and it’s the weirdest compliment he’s ever given. You must think it’s strange as well, because you laugh at that. A full, body shaking, thigh-slapping laugh, such a pure and beautiful sound that Minghao wants to swallow it. 

So he does. He leans down until he can grab your face and press his lips against yours. A second before he does, he thinks he should take it slow, let you set the speed, but as soon as he feels the soft plumpness of your lips on his own, he’s lost. Seven months of yearning, of dreaming and missing and fantasizing spills into the kiss, and he can’t be sure if you pull him into the bed or if he merely just falls into it out of sheer need to be close to you.

Whatever the case, you catch him; wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him into you, nails digging into his skin and teeth possessively biting into his lip. There’s nothing gentle about it, not about the way his hands glide over your body or about the way you press your pelvis against his, making him groan. It’s a mess of arms and legs and heavy breaths along hot skin, teeth against the pulse in your neck, long fingers pulling at his hair, and when you finally stop to breathe, your lips are swollen and red. 

You take his hand, place it in between your breasts, right over your heart. He feels the beats, so fast they’re almost irregular, thumping against the palm of his hand and vibrating through his arm. They echo the strong, rapid beats of his own heart hammering against his ribs, and for some reason that makes him want to cry. 

“I love you,” you murmur, your hands squeezing his. He thinks he might feel your heart speed up a notch. “I love you so, so much. I can’t believe you got me back.”

Because you truly are back, he understands, as he feels the rhythm of your heart. You’re alive and well, lying next to him in the bed you picked out together, declaring a love that comes not only from knowledge of it’s existence, but the actual emotion itself.

Minghao feels like he might burst. 

His next kiss is a much slower one. “I love you,” he says, whispered words against your lips. “Not even the four horsemen of the apocalypse could keep me from getting you back.” 

~~

There’s still a demon to slay, Minghao knows, and they are nowhere near in the clear yet. But as you sleep next to him, breathing lightly against his skin, Minghao feels confident. If not even death could keep the two of you apart, the demon has no fucking chance. 

Minghao falls asleep, and he has no nightmares.

#svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios

[nyxthejinx]

ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅ 1 | ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ ᴡᴀʟᴋ

Wowowow another short and cryptic chapter!! If it doesn't make sense it means it's working :) it will- in due time. For now I just wanna smooch my loves 😔

[ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ ] You're not part of the script, they must get rid of you. But will the Hunters become the hunted once your true nature is revealed?

[ ᴛᴡ ] talking about dying in the beginning with some graphic description (lots of nihilism on reader's part), generic description of blood, smoking, Kafka lil kissie mwah, lemme know if I'm forgetting anything (it's 5 am 🙃) finally baby Blade enters the scene!!!

[ ꜰᴛ. ] Kafka x GN!Reader x Blade

[ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ] 718

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ.

If it wore a sword’s, a knife’s or a gun’s clothes. If it appeared as a bottomless pit, staring at the depths of existence, or if it looks like the ground inching closer the more you lose altitude.

You think of sidereal space and the cold it harbours, of those fifteen to thirty seconds necessary to run out of oxygen, of those twelve to twenty-six hours it takes for the body heat to disperse, in the lack of atmosphere.

You imagine how it would be to be torn apart, choked, burned, have your flesh chewed to its bones. You imagine a pain that finally ceases, once the body has been slaughtered.

Going to sleep without the risk of waking up again: you project the image in your mind.

Before Kafka bursts your little bubble, dragging you back into the elevator.

“Your death will not be vain, Drifter. It serves for a greater cause."

She smiles in the corner of your eye, pristine and serene as if she wasn’t asking —ordering— you to die for her cause. Kafka is an amazing dancer when it comes to sticking to the choreography, lest the outcome steer away from what her master foresees.

No matter what it takes. Who it takes: the script has been set in stone already.

Too bad death is the last of your concerns, and so are her empty, poorly crafted words.

“I don’t really care.” You shrug.

Kafka’s brows shoot up in mild surprise, but she’s chuckling the next second already. Her eyes wrinkle at the sides, her shoulders shake gently— the radiant darkness of her soul glows brighter than ever and she’s just something else, straight out of this world.

“Are you mad at me?” She inquires, unfolding her arms to run a knuckle over your cheek.

Trying to process her words feels so impossible under her touch. Your feelings have long faded like cheap colours, brush strokes watered down by time, flowing into a grey puddle at your feet. There’s something stirring inside your chest, you know it- but how can you name it when your skin tingles and your knees go weak?

It’s not fair. But you lean in anyway, letting your eyes fall shut briefly. “Does it matter?”

“Not really, no.” She sighs. “Frilly words won’t change a thing, especially yours.”

“A kiss would, though.” You place a hand over hers, flutter your lashes gingerly. “I’d die with a silly grin on my face.”

“That can be arranged.”

Her smiling lips lock on yours, gentler than last time. There’s no love, no passion, no longing nor lust— it feels like a sorry kiss, a consolation prize, a sop to prevent rebellion. But it’s also one to be broken reluctantly, as both her hands drag you deeper by the jaw and trace your cheekbones with unexpected tenderness.

Maybe there was personal pleasure hiding behind her sense of duty, that night. But it ends all too soon and you will never tell.

Kafka leans back, cleaning the smeared gloss from the corner of your mouth. You glance at the panel in the elevator, see that you’ve almost reached the final destination.

If the Hunter is saddened, she doesn’t show it.

She's busier rummaging through the pocket of her coat now, as she pulls out a cigarette tin you know very well; it’s yours, just like the smoke she extends to your lips. You hold it gladly, waiting for her to light it.

“It wasn’t my choice.” Kafka whispers, voice delicate like the flame of your lighter.

Once the cigarette burns to life, you don't waste time— you inhale until your lungs are full of cloves with a hint of cinnamon, until it invades your senses and makes your mind dizzy in a way that never gets old. It tastes of memories you can’t remember, dreams yet to be dreamed, but most of all nostalgia you have no reason to experience.

"I know." You exhale eventually, as your shoulders sag. “Just remember me, even if it’s meaningless.”

Kafka smiles yet again, brushes your cheek as her other hand returns the two items to you. Inside the pocket above your heart.

And your lips quirk in the slightest, before the elevator stops at the floor where your blood will spill.

-

"Another one like you, Bladie." Kafka ponders, staring at the merging skin of your freshly wounded neck.

The puddle growing at your knees and the crimson path staining your clothes would convince anyone that a life was taken, today.

But the iridescent purples and blues lining your blood tell another story.

The story of someone who's walked across this universe for many years. Centuries, millenniums even.

Someone just like him.

Who Blade sees smiling at him, as if his sword wasn't dripping with their blood.

"Not yet, so it seems."

DON'T copy/repost my work. REBLOG instead! ©nyxthejinx

#Honkai Star rail x reader #hsr x reader #kafka x reader #hsr Kafka #Blade x reader #hsr blade #Honkai Star Rail #gn reader #| Star Rail 🌓 | #| Nyx Writes 🌑 |

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Immortal Love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader x Sam Winchester (no wincest)

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: none

Request by anon: Hi can you do a imagine with both the Winchester polyamory, where the reader is a immortal hunter (a demigoddess of Kali, Hecate or etc) that is a big deal in the supernatural everyone know about her and the monster are scare about her and meet the Winchester in a bar? Fluff with funny

Summary: You're Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction, and you're an immortal hunter. Monsters fear you. When you walk into a room, heads turn, and two very handsome ones catch your attention.

Square Filled: love triangle (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3

x

Your style of clothing has evolved with the rest of the world. There was a time when you wore frilly dresses with underwires to make them puffy and tight corsets that made your breasts push up uncomfortably. It was always dresses of different styles until about the mid-20th century when women were allowed to wear pants. That opened a new avenue for women all across the board. It wasn’t normal for women to make those styles your own but you did whatever possible to stand out.

If you’re going to walk into a room, you’re going to turn heads.

The other reason why you’d turn heads is because you’re a Goddess who has made herself very well known in the supernatural world. You’re Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction. Not to mention immortal and a hunter. You’ve been hunting monsters for centuries and love every bit of it. You love being immortal because you get to see humanity thrive and evolve into the best versions of themselves.

Your sleek high heels click against the floor when you enter the bar, your skinny jeans are tight against your body, your shirt flows around you with ease, and your black leather jacket completes the look. The bell on the door rings and heads turn to see who is entering. On the outside, it’s a normal bar for the public. On the inside is much more sinister. It’s home to demons, angels, and other monsters. Only the best hunters dare to enter this place.

As soon as everyone sees you, three demons smoke out of their meatsuits and run straight back down to Hell. Being there is better than being in a room with you, and you smile at the thought. The people you pass by look away in fear that you’ll kill them on the spot when in reality, you couldn’t care less about them. You’re not a monster. You don’t go around killing people left and right, but it doesn’t hurt for people to know what you’re capable of.

You walk to the bar and watch as the bartender refuses to meet your eye. He kind of cowers behind the bar counter at the thought of serving you, and you give him a sweet smile.

“Give me your strongest drink. Make it a double.”

He mumbles something you can’t recognize as he makes your drink. As you’re waiting, you hear someone whisper your name from across the bar. The chatter was loud before you entered and has quieted since your arrival. You can hear a pin drop from across the bar. You turn your head slightly to get a glimpse of the gossipers and find the King of Hell with two men you’ve never seen before. They’re not demons or any kind of monster you’ve seen so they must be humans… Hunters.

“Who the hell is she?” Dean asks and knicks a striped ball into one of the pockets.

“Her name is Kali, the Goddess of Death and Destruction. She’s immortal so nothing can kill her. She’s dangerous and lethal and she shows no mercy. She’s done a number on my demons, and if you’re smart, you’d stay the hell away from her.”

“She doesn’t look all that scary,” Dean scoffs and hits the cure ball again, but it misses the pocket.

“Are you an idiot? The bad ones never look scary and she is the baddest there is. She’s an immortal hunter.”

“A hunter, huh? Time for introductions.”

Dean leaves Sam hanging even though the younger brother just took his turn. Crowley whispers a quiet prayer and touches his forehead to his chest to both of his shoulders. Dean gives him a weird look as he walks with Sam to the bar counter. Dean takes a seat to your right and you look straight ahead.

“That seat’s taken,” you mumble and sip your drink. Dean gets up and takes the seat to your left. “Can I help you?”

“My buddy over there says you’re a hunter.”

“Goddess hunter,” you correct and swirl your chair around to look at your visitors. God damn these are two very attractive men. Who the hell are their parents? They must have really good genes if they look like Gods themselves. “If you want to be technical. Kali but call me Y/N.”

“You’re immortal?”

Your fangs slide from your teeth and you grin to show them off.

“Yes.”

“See, Sammy? She’s not so scary,” Dean shakes his head. “I’m Dean and this is my brother, Sam.”

“If you knew what was good for you,” you chuckle, “you’d know I’m as scary as they come. You should be afraid of me.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean smirks and leans in closer to you, “I’m not afraid of anyone. They’re afraid of me.”

You smirk and down the rest of your drink, so you lean back and cross one leg over the other.

“Sam and Dean? As in Winchesters?” Both of them nod. “I’ve heard of you two. Nearly destroyed the world.”

“True, but we didn't,” Sam points out.

“You’re cute,” you grin and let your eyes drink him in, “like a puppy dog. I like puppies.” Sam’s cheeks darken deliciously and you move onto his brother who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you. “You’re like a teddy bear, and I love to cuddle with teddy bears at night.”

“Listen, do you want to hunt together? Sam and I are on our way over to one right now if you’re not busy.”

“You sure you can handle me?” you chuckle.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you can handle me?” Dean flirts.

You laugh like you haven’t done in a while.

“Challenge accepted. However, on one condition. I’ll hunt with you if your friend doesn’t go.” The demon the brothers were with hasn’t stopped staring at you since you entered. “He’s kind of creeping me out.”

“Crowley’s scared of you.”

“You wanna see something funny?” Sam and Dean shrug as an answer. You get up and disappear from sight only to reappear behind Crowley. He’s looking frantically around for you when you tap on his shoulder. When he turns, your eyes are bright red, your fangs are out, and you give him a malicious grin. “Hi, Crowley.”

He screams like a little girl and disappears from the bar altogether. You, Sam, and Dean laugh as if you’re friends and that was the funniest shit ever.

“I like her. Let’s keep her,” Dean declares.

“Dude, she’s not a dog.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Come on, we got a hunt to get to.”

x

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#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fanfiction #spn fic

[cactusnymph]

I don't have a specific prompt in mind, but could you write some t4t wyll x karlach? With any prompt that strikes your fancy

Wyll still hasn't gotten used to this new body. Karlach can still see him struggling to get a shirt over his head with the new horns, to get stuck in tight spaces or feel a ridge on his brown skin over and over again to make sure that it's supposed to be there and not something to worry about.

To an extend Karlach understands feeling like a stranger in your own body, but she had a lifetime to get used to hers, while Wyll's was changed in an instant without his consent. It's a horrifying thought to have this body that she made a home in be changed against her will like that, because she spent an entire childhood feeling like it was lacking something until she finally figured out what it was.

The infernal engine was bad enough, but it didn't change the way she looks by much, except for the constant glow in her chest. Aside from the foreign piece of machinery inside of her, Karlach likes this body. Likes all the scars she collected, likes the muscles and the fiery red skin, the shape of her eyes, her crooked index finger.

If Zariel had taken her tits, Karlach would have killed her long ago. She worked very hard to get those and she won't give them back.

Whenever she catches Wyll eying his own reflection, Karlach wants to step up to him and tell him that he's beautiful just the way he is, and that his heart hasn't changed and that he's still the most noble man Karlach has ever met. But she also knows that it doesn't work like that. You only get one body, one home for your soul to live in for the extent of your life.

Having that home violated like this, changed beyond recognition... She understands how much it hurts.

Next time she finds him gazing at a mirror Wyll's finger wanders along the contour of his ear as if he's trying to memorize the new shape of it.

"Hey soldier", she says with a smile and sits down next to him, her arm brushing against his. It's still a rush, to be able to touch people like this.

Wyll turns his head to smile at her. A flash of embarrassment crosses over his face because she caught him with the mirror but Karlach doesn't think there's anything to be ashamed of.

"Penny for your thoughts", Karlach says, grabbing the mirror from Wyll and holding out further away so they can both see parts of their faces in it. Sometimes she thinks that they were made for each other in more sense than one. Monster and monster hunter, both trying to do good, soldiers who can't return home, their bodies changed in a way that they wanted and then violated against their will, changed beyond recognition.

"I was thinking if maybe there's something I can do. To make myself feel more... at peace. With this body that I have now. When I was younger I did my best as much as possible. Bandaging my chest, shaving off my hair, wearing pants instead of frilly dresses. This is... different. Similar but different. I don't know if I'm making much sense."

Karlach understands. The two of them have the very same scars on their chest for the exact opposite reason. When she's feeling really mushy inside it makes her cry a little bit how well they fit. And when she's feeling particularly horny she wishes she could make them fit together in even more ways than this.

"I get it", she says, raising her hand to follow the path of his finger from before, gently touching the shell of his ear. Wyll shivers a little and she can see goosebumps erupt on his forearms. Gods, she wants him. She wants him so much. "If you want we could try to do some stuff to make it feel more like yours."

Wyll blinks and looks at her.

"How do you mean?"

Karlach shrugs.

"It's really silly, right, but. Uh. When I got this engine", she bangs on her chest twice for emphasis, "I was really desperate to reclaim my body somehow so I like. Got a tattoo. Got some piercings. Tried to make this house a home again, you know?"

She holds out her arm to show Wyll the tattoo of an anatomically correct heart on her upper arm.

"It's so on the nose but... I don't know. I just wanted something that was mine and that I decided to do with my body", she explains, shrugging her shoulders before putting down the mirror. Wyll's finger touches one of her many piercings she has in her right ear. Karlach tries not to sigh.

"You think I should try one of these?", he asks with a lopsided smile.

"Dunno if that would work for you. It did for me. Guess it's worth a try, right?", she says.

"Where do you think I should put it?", he asks, turning around to face her fully now, his face open and curious and his voice soft. Sharing these thoughts and feelings with someone means the world to Karlach. Every day she's thankful that it was Wyll who chased her through the Hells and that she got to meet him through all of this insanity.

"Well. You're such a handsome bugger, I think you could rock any piercing, really", Karlach says earnestly, watching full of delight how Wyll ducks his head because of her compliment. "But maybe we could start small and just give you an earring. To see if you like it. And if you think it works we can always make that mouth of yours even more kissable and put a ring through it."

Wyll huffs and she watches as he swallows, maybe because he's thinking about kissing her with a ring through his lip or maybe just about kissing her in general.

Karlach stretches out both hands and puts them on Wyll's chest, right where the two fine scars are on his chest.

"I know it sucks, but you still have this. We both do", she says quietly. Wyll hesitates before he mirrors the gesture, putting his hands just below Karlach's boobs. She feels absolutely normal about it and it doesn't do things to her at all. Nope. She's so, so strong.

"Imagine Mizora would have summoned my breasts back... I would have had to kill her after all", Wyll jokes and Karlach snorts a laugh.

"Devils suck but at least they're gender affirmation dickheads", Karlach says and bangs on her infernal engine again. Wyll touches his ear again.

"Do you want to do this?", he asks, his eyes shining.

"Fuck yeah. Let me get a needle from Fangs. Maybe we can get matching ones!"

Wyll looks at her so fondly, it makes her engine burn hotter.

"I would like that."

feel free to send me more of these<3

#bg3 fic #karlach cliffgate #wyll ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #mi writes #wyllach #wyll x karlach #i was almost ready to turn this into the softest fluffiest gender affirming smut........ #thank you so much for the prompt i love these two to pieces ;-;

[muclunga]

What i think the pjo/hoo girlies would wear to a ball/gala/prom :)

Annabeth- the base color is for percy but everything else is her. Powerful, beautiful, and deep.

Piper- its elegant but fun and carefree, “proper” but not aggressively so

Hazel- the pale gold-yellow??? The frilly bits??? The flowers??? The style??? It reminds me of flappers, which is a little before hazel’s time but you can’t convince me that she didn’t absolutely adore those dancers

Reyna- similar reasons as annabeth’s. Simple. Elegant. Powerful.

Rachel- very artsy, trying to be unique, i feel like the color palette would match her features very well, pretty

Thalia- mostly black (duh), simple, edgy, and very silky, which is always what i imagine the hunters in for some reason

Clarisse- Red. Simple. Pretty. Strapless for muscles

#clarisse la rue #annabeth chase #rachel elizabeth dare #hazel levesque #piper mclean #reyna avila ramirez arellano #thalia grace #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #rick riordan #uncle rick #camp halfblood #camp jupiter #headcanons #i love women #imagine #imagines #percy jackon and the olympians #the riordanverse

[bitchesgate3]

Pretty much everything in the game having to do with mindflayers, the Elder Brain, the Grand Design, the drama of it all, the betrayals, and the players being revealed and exiting stage - all of it is actually pretty incredible in bg3.

It's probably the biggest thing that keeps me going in Act 3, because each piece of information you learn helps you reframe prior experiences to reveal even MORE information.

And if you try too hard to make all the hidden pieces make sense, you really do start to replicate the stereotype of a "crazy person".

Which I believe frames characters like Orin and particularly her "hysterical" behavior as more credible than you might have initially taken them for.

My one and ONLY criticism to an otherwise stellar story is the fact that everything we learn about mindflayers should have also been punctuated by the existence, behavior, and culture of their former-slaves-turned-hunters: the Githyanki.

(images source)

When all the games of the mindfuckers were all said and done, after all the frilly subterfuge: they still would butcher you like a common animal as their final assault before asserting their new world order. They would send in their warrior-slaves to finish the job.

But then the gith developed psionics of their own to resist the control of their mindflayer overlords. Through the rage of their warrior-savior Gith, some followed her stead and swore to hunt down every last mindflayer and wipe them from existence. And loot all the material realm as their garden and prize for being their own masters.

While Githzerai disagreed, Githyanki took a violent and aggressive approach to dealing with the mindfuckery of the mindflayers.

We start the game with Lae'zel, we then encounter the Gith Patrol, and then we later on visit the creche. Every one of these encounters and Lae'zel's seemingly stubborn nature should have echoed how to resist the mindflayers' worming themselves into your mind.

We get this advice late in the game, but what if you never let a mindflayer in to begin with? What if you were so resistant to EVERYONE that you could skip all these tips? The Githyanki approach? We can infer as followed:

View everyone as hostile outright so as to not get charmed by false politeness and friendliness. Test their pleasantries by being as bold and unpleasant as you please.

Be assured of yourself as your one and only judge so as not to be too impressionable by a creature constantly shifting the narrative to suit themselves.

Be plunderous yourself, judge all interactions as transactional, so that an ally helping you with your goals is just an ally with no emotional connection. There is no trust to those not vetted kin.

Purge the weak of mind and body, and disregard all the same who might prove a liability especially towards the wiles of temptation.

Showing more of Githyanki culture and mannerisms in relation to how mindflayers operate would have been a way to push players to better question and indulge in that aspect of the plot.

There may be a defensive purpose to being "attack first, ask questions later". Maybe the person's "hysterical" raving and urging you not to trust someone has a reason for saying as much.

When there is a group of entities pulling the strings in the unseen and the unsaid, and you may not ever know how or why - never fully understanding the whole scheme - it pays to know how others resisted it before.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 act 3 spoilers #Lae'zel #githyanki #mindflayers #dnd #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #text #bg3 early access