#i was too lazy to blend this but the final results are still good! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keiarchived · 3 years

Note

Can I request Hawks with a very shy darling that is always shying away from him because she’s nervous to talk to him because he’s a stranger, and maybe it’s about how he slowly gains her trust and coaxes her out to his loving arms 🥺

@yanbaere: I’m in love with you blog 🥺 yandere Hawks makes me really soft and I love him,,, can I request some yandere hawks with a shy and insecure s/o? 🥺 he would be so protective and sweet with them and would definitely harm anyone that tries to hurt them or makes them feel bad,,he just hits different when he’s a yandere 👉🏻👈🏻 I adore your blog and your writing! It’s amazing 💕💕

anon: how about a one shot of yandere! Hawks x virgin/! reader ? 👀 I imagine he would be so freaking happy he got to be his s/o’s first time but of course he probably already knew that; he’s a little rough and haz a breeding kink but nothing you can’t handle, right? >;)

Yan Hawks with a shy birdie 🥺 this low-key adorable but also flirty af so like prepare yourself ♥️ Also thank you for the support guys! ♥️

Sorry it took so long 🥺

Yandere!Hawks x Shy!F!Reader

warnings: Yandere, manipulation, possessive, obsessive, breeding kink

words: 1.4k

The moment Keigo laid his eyes on you, he knew you were different. This pure and glowing aura radiating off you is unreal, it’s not often the number two hero let other catch him by the wings. Even rarer for him to be so interested in someone but you... you’re a breath of fresh air.

It was during a Christmas party when he met you, trying to make yourself as small as possible behind your mother. Being the child of a single mother hero meant attention often find its way towards the two of you, with men and women alike wondering how she do it. Raise a kid as well as dedicate herself to being a hero, there honestly are no secrets. Your mother and you function like any other family, sure there will be times where she would come home late and you have to help out a lot more than usual. But you don’t mind, your mother have been working hard for the two of you after all.

Plus it’s not like you’re a child, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. Just a little shy and nervous around the edge, nothing Keigo couldn’t help you through. “Hey, glad you could make it.” The winged hero said in his usually layback tone as he greeted your mother, they had worked together on the same mission before and needless to say she is more than impressed by Hawks’ skills. The perfect son in law wouldn’t you say?

As per usual, you hide before your mother as the two heroes continued with their conversation. Catching up with each other whilst chuckles and laughs were heard but of course, Keigo’s eyes were set on you -- like how it had been in the last couple of minutes whilst talking to your mother whilst wondering how he could get you alone. It’s you he wants to talk to after all, as if lady luck is on Keigo’s side today, some other hero waved at your mother and has kindly asked her to come over, perfect. “Honey, why don’t you stay here with Hawks for a moment? I’ll be right back. You wouldn’t mind would you?”

Oh if only she knew the danger that lurks behind his artificial smile, how this man have already laid his trap to lure you in. “Sure, of course. I don’t mind.” Keigo smiles with teeth rooting sweetness behind those word, before you could even protest, your safety shield has wander off.

There was a moment of awkward silence when you watched your mother’s figure blends into the crowd, greeting her fellow heroes but before you dig deeper into those mindless thoughts Keigo managed to snapped you out of it with a simple chuckle. Was it if ill will or kindness, you don’t know. The only thing you know is how handsome his face is upon a closer look, sandy blonde locks with a few strays among those well swoop back ones and a pair of dangerous looking golden hues to pair with. “What’s your name dove?”

“Y/N...” You were hesitant to give Keigo your name, felt as though you had just signed a contract with the devil himself and rest was history.

It took a while for you to truly open up to the winged hero but surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he was patient. Taking those small but necessary steps in order to make you comfortable, as much as he is obsessed with you, Keigo still put your comfort first above everything. Bring you small gifts that reminds you that he’s there whenever you need him, despite the hours of a day. If it’s for you, he will make it work. Date nights often resulted in spending inside and Keigo is fine with it, movie nights, game nights as long as he get to spend the time with you he is more than happy. Needless to say, your mother is supportive of the relationship with Keigo, how could she not when the perfect son in law present himself as your boyfriend?

He would never hurt you unlike all those other corrupted men, you know that right? As long as you are under his wings, nothing could harm you.

Keigo have been patient, he really have. Only doing whatever you’re comfortable with, soft kisses, caressing those cute flustered cheeks of yours, a hand tracing shapes on your thighs but it was all becoming too much. He wants you.

The thought of you crying out his name in pleasure, body quivering in needs as lewd wet sounds bounces off walls surrounding the two of you is enough to have his own cock grow hard. “Keigo...” Oh, if only you could see the expression you said his name with. So cute but yet alluring, “Princess... if you keep saying my name like that, you’re in trouble.” But you already know that don’t you? The way Keigo have been eyeing you ever since he have you cages beneath him on these soft sheets, golden shimmers with minimal lights, soft kisses soon became desperate and needy.

Your breath soon became unevening as Keigo trails those kisses further and further away from your lips, nibbling and biting hard enough to leave beautiful marks. “Wa-wait! Keigo please...” It wasn’t as if you didn’t want him to take you, in fact is the complete opposite. Everytime the winged hero left you breathless, a shameless patch of dampness gathers between your thighs. “Hm? What is it baby? I’m sorry I-“

“I’m a virgin.” Keigo’s eyes widen slightly, pretending as if he was completely clueless about the news. Sweetheart, Keigo knows every details about you and he is well informed. But the way you said it, cheeks red as his own wings and a slight pout on your lips — the less he could do is give you a reaction you wanted. “We’ll take it slow princess...”

Well at least the beginning he was.

When Keigo finally inches his cock into those throbbing tightnsss, it was surreal. The mere feeling had him tossing his head back in bliss whilst he tries to hold himself back, gritting his teeth until he was balls deep. Peppering you with kisses in order to help you ease up, adjust to the size of his cock stretching your untouched cunt open. “Fuck... you’re doing so good baby...” Keigo would coos, tugging those loose strands of hair behind your ears and away from your forehead before he finally started rutting into you. Those soft moans and whimpers only egged him on, feeling the way your nails dug at the sides and under his wings. God, it was like you wanted him to go wild, to go feral and eventually he did.

Hips snapping against your mound with long deep strokes, hard enough to leave them red even in the morning after as Keigo have you folded into a mating press. Hands gripping firmly on either sides of your ankles, drinking ever last bits of those delicious twists of pleasure from you. “Hm.. you like that?” A lazy grin stretched across his lips, “Like being breed like a bitch in heat even though I just took your virginity?” The mere thought of him being your first and last man, the one to corrupt you is enough to drive Keigo’s little edge further, drilling even deeper into your cunt to leave your body arching in bliss.

“Ke-Keigo no more-!” You have already lost count of the number of orgasm he managed to rip out of you in the last two hours, but you’re damn well sure if Keigo edges you to another, those pretty eyes of yours just might roll back and stay close. “Just one more baby, you can do it for me can’t you? You’ve been doing so well so far princess.” Keigo coos, with the same sweet smile as he pressed a soft kiss to your ankle. Just a little more until he soils you, nothing you can’t handle right?

“Gonna fill you nice and good~” The winged hero promised and he always keep his promises, at least with you. With the last deep thrust meeting your pelvis, Keigo grunts before ropes of cum painted your once virgin walls white. Panting as he collapsed atop of you slowly, letting out a blissful hum.

After a while, Keigo withdraw from you as he watched the way his own seed seeps out of you only to push those back where they belong. “Good girl, you did an amazing job baby.” He coos softly, peppering you with kisses all over.

As Keigo expected, you’re different and he’s glad to call you his own.

#bnha smut #bnha imagines #mha smut #mha imagines #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo #hawks imagine #tw’yandere #tw’breeding #tw’obsessive #tw’manipulation #yannugget 🐤

746 notes · View notes

gainerstories · 3 years

Text

Professor Plump

*UNLOCKED*

As a big fat thank you to everyone who has supported this blog and enjoyed my stories, I am unlocking one of my favorite stories off Patreon. This has been a rough year for everyone and y’all enjoy a little treat. Of course, if you want more (20+ more fattening stories in fact) you know where to go. Enjoy.

As much as Robert Daniels loved being a professor, he woke up full of dread on the first day of fall semester. At 28 he was the youngest tenure track faculty in his department and he often felt that all eyes were on him. His first academic year had been rough, exhausting, and tiresome and he wasn’t ready to get back in the game. He just wanted his beautifully sunny and lazy summer vacation to last one or two more months.

As he sat up in bed his belly spilled forward pushing down his morning wood. There was no doubt he’d gained quite a bit of pudge in the last few months. It didn’t bother him, however, as most of his colleagues were plump and he viewed extra weight as a sign of contentment and maturity. During the school year he had actually lost weight from stress and being overworked. His new, rounder form lent a sense of satisfaction.

As Robert stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to shower he took a close look at himself. He’d be turning 29 soon and was finally starting to look like a man. His face had grown scruffy and his chest hair finally bloomed across his pecs and down to his puffy stomach. The thirty pounds of fat that clung to his belly also gave him a more mature look. He was now firmly within “dad bod” territory and wore that badge with pride. He scooped his fat up with both his hands and gave it a hearty jiggle. He wondered if anyone on campus would comment on his somewhat weight gain.

Turning around, Robert examined his rear which was now fluffy and dimpled with cellulite. He noticed that even his ass had grown a bit hairier along with a small patch of fuzz on his lower back, framed between two bulging love handles. He could recall seeing the same patch on his father and wondering if the same was in store for himself. This memory cemented his perceived transition into manhood.

Robert’s thighs had also thickened up a bit and now touched when he was standing straight. He rubbed his thighs and gave them a slap, admiring how they bounced. Lately, he had no choice but to manspread when he sat down. Crossing his legs was a thing of the past. The added weight on his lower half gave him a sense of groundedness. All around the extra pudge made him feel strong and unshakable, despite jiggling quite a lot when he actually did shake.

Most of this excess poundage had been accrued during a month long cruise down Central America. Robert had spent almost every single day getting tipsy on fruity blended drinks and satisfying his drunchies from dusk ‘til dawn at the buffet. Carbs became his best friend, soaking up the sugary alcoholic concoctions he guzzled during the day. Altogether, cruise life was a much needed respite from the long nights of grading papers and doing research during the academic year.

His salary did not allow him to indulge in fancy foods very often, and so this cruise was an opportunity to go hog wild. He made a conscious decision to eat and live like a king. As a result, he began to notice his body expanding only midway through the trip. It seemed as though out of nowhere he had grown a squishy paunch that jutted out behind his shirts. By the end of the vacation he was even larger, noticing fat accumulating all over his body.

As he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, Robert found himself particularly fascinated by the small white stretch marks that had formed at the top of his inner thighs. He traced his fingers over their subtle indentations. He hadn’t seen fresh stretch marks since puberty when his shoulders expanded overnight one summer. He was shocked to see the same thing happen simply from overeating on a long vacation.

Plump, tan, and satisfied, Robert stepped into the shower with vigor and began to get ready for his first day back to work. He trimmed his wild scruff back to a presentable shadow and styled his hair. He then slipped into underwear that clung more than usual to his meaty rump and resultantly compressed his bulge more than usual. He would have to remember to buy some new pairs. T-shirts had also grown a bit snug but this was not a huge concern for they would be hidden behind a button up. What he hadn’t considered was that his button ups from last year would also struggle to fit around his new body.

Robert sucked in his gut while doing each button. He let his stomach spill forward and was shocked at just how much the shirt did not fit. Scrambling through his closet he found the loosest button up he owned and put it on. It was still snug and would definitely be strained when he sat down, but it would have to suffice. Next, he slid into his stretchiest pair of chinos and was instantly filled with anxiety.

The fabric clung to his thighs and ass leaving little to the imagination. This would have been tolerable except for the fact that the waistband would not button no matter how hard he tried. With no other option, Robert scrounged a safety pin from the utility drawer and fastened the pants closed. Donning one of his bulkier belts he hoped no one would notice he’d outgrown his pants.

His day commenced with a faculty meeting catered with coffee and pastries. Although he had eaten a breakfast sandwich immediately upon getting to campus, he grabbed a healthy looking danish for the meeting. It was dry and mediocre as campus food tended to be, but that didn’t stop him from inhaling it within minutes. A few of his colleagues eyed his bulging waistline although no one made a comment.

Midway through the two hour meeting Robert found that his stomach was already growling to be fed. With no other choice, he would have to eat another Danish despite the fact he would be the only one going for seconds. He stood to grab one more danish and as he sat down he heard the unmistakable noise of a seam busting. Praying no one else heard, he subtly reached down to his thighs where a small hole had formed.

After the meeting he headed straight to the bathroom to examine the damage. It wasn’t too bad, maybe just an inch or so large. Plus, his underwear matched his pants so it was barely noticeable. He figured he could get through the day without anyone noticing. Although no one noticed the tear in his pants, his students were fully aware of his newfound growth.

“Mr. Daniels lookin’ THICK,” someone commented before his first class began.

Robert ignored the comment and got on with his lecture. Still, in the back of his head he worried about his appearance and snug outfit. There was no question he would be investing in some new work clothes. By the end of the class he was hungry once again. At least it was lunch time, so he felt justified in heading to the student union for a big meal. He grabbed a massive burrito, chips and guac, a cookie, and large soda which he brought back to his desk.

Such a filling lunch was exactly what he needed. The food was comforting and satisfying, giving the plump professor a sense of peace. After scarfing it all down he leaned back in his chair and sighed. Just as he did so two buttons on his shirt went shooting across the room. “Fuck,” he said aloud to himself and went searching for the buttons so he could sew them back on. As he knelt on his hands and knees he felt the contents of his belly slosh forward and the seam of his pants rip even further.

Eventually, he found the missing buttons and broke out the sewing kit to get them back on. By the time he was finished stitching himself back into his clothes, there was someone knocking at his door. He’d forgotten about office hours. In a mad rush he cleaned the food wrappers off his desk and greeted the student. As he sat back down at his desk the same two buttons snapped back off and shot under his desk. Although the student overtly stared at Robert’s bulging gut, filled to the brim with his fattening lunch, neither of them acknowledged the embarrassment.

After the student left, Robert took off the button up and slipped his spare sport coat over his tee. The tee was more than a little snug and definitely didn’t hide much- the indentation of his belly button was fully visible- but it would have to do. After a constant stream of students over the course of an hour Robert rushed to his next class. The lecture left Robert feeling exhausted and tired. It was evening and he had grown peckish again, so he decided to grab a bite to eat before he had a meeting with the dean and could go home.

Hawaiian barbecue sounded like a good idea when he ordered it. However, after gobbling up every last morsel, the young professor felt uncomfortably full and bloated. He yearned for to return to the cruise ship where he could take a long nap after overindulging, but instead he sluggishly headed to the dean’s office. His belly had swelled considerably with the Hawaiian food and he found himself having to stretch the hem of his shirt down to ensure his gut was fully concealed.

Once inside, Robert cautiously took a seat in one of the rickety old chairs in the waiting room for the dean. After a few seconds he felt a snap underneath his ass as the seat of the chair gave way. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Robert cautiously lifted himself from the broken chair and casually examined a painting on the wall until the dean greeted him.

Once inside, the dean offered him a home baked muffin that his wife had made. Robert tried to refuse at first but the dean pushed it on him. He began pecking at the muffin and realized it was indeed quite moist and delicious. He polished it off in a couple minutes and resisted licking his fingers. By the end of the meeting the dean persuaded Robert to take one more muffin for the road. Without a second thought, Robert greedily snatched the biggest muffin of the bunch.

As he walked through the campus at night, illuminated by lanterns, Robert gobbled up the muffin while reflecting on the fact that he was in desperate need of a new wardrobe. His belly was stuffed to capacity and the sheer weight of it bulging out in front of him forced Robert to walk slow and steady with his shoulders back and hips forward. Freed from his constricting button up, his rounded gut peeked out from behind the sport coat and wobbled back and forth with each step to his car.

The walk seemed longer than usual, likely because he was slower than usual. Somewhat winded, Robert couldn’t wait to sit down as he opened the door to his hatchback. However, as he did so, a booming snap assaulted his ears and he felt his belly spill forward into his lap. Robert’s belt had completely snapped in half while the thigh of his pants simultaneously split all the way open from knee to crotch. His girth was simply too much to contain.

At least it happened at the end of the day, he told himself.

#gainer stories #professorplump

783 notes · View notes

lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

To bargain for immortality pt.2

Finally, she felt well enough to leave the infirmary room for good. Her internal organs were at peace for the most part and she could keep some food down without the risk of seeing it for a second time. Her sinuses still seemed to refuse to recover though. Occasional nosebleeds would have her head spinning and the scent of blood so often present within the castle was somehow too offensive to her senses. Nicole couldn't help but wonder how exactly she got it this screwed up, but then again the first few days of the infection were a painful blur that she'd rather not remember.

For now she was content to sit in front of the fireplace with the rest of her family. They decided to have a movie night to break her out of the mopey state she had been in and, for the most part, it was quite the success. She wasn't paying much attention to the projector screen, some sappy scene from a movie chosen by Daniela playing at the moment. Instead, she was simply enjoying the close proximity to Cassandra that she so dearly missed in the last few weeks. Nicole was in the brunette's lap, with hands loosely around her waist and leaning against her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Laura complaining about the poor life choices of one of the characters only to be unceremoniously shushed by the youngest sister. It made her chuckle.

Bela was passing the popcorn to her mothers when a knock on the main entrance reached their ears faintly. Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the sound, and listened. Soon enough the rapid steps of Alexandria, their Steward, reached them.

"My Ladies, Mother Miranda's assistant is here."

The whole family got up hesitantly and tried to look as presentable as possible, given their "lazy day outfits". For some like Bela that was a baggy shirt and shorts, while for the Lady it was one of her trademark white dresses. They made their way to the main entrance of the castle, where the assistant, a woman in her late thirties and the air of an annoyed teacher, was waiting. It was Alcina the one to ask why she was there.

"Mother Miranda wants to see um… Nicole was it? Yes, to take a look at the regenerative abilities."

"Why not do it here like last time?"

"Mother Miranda's laboratory is far better equipped for whatever she may want to test. Unless you have something to say against her wishes." She finished that with a raised eyebrow that would've gained her a talon through the skull were she not there as per Miranda's wishes.

Who's talons exactly was debatable.

"I'll come too," Cassandra spoke up from just behind Nicole.

That only got her a dismissive wave. "No, I was told specifically to only bring her. Come now, we don't want to make Mother Miranda wait."

With that, the woman turned around and started walking towards a carriage that would take them away. Nicole looked briefly at her family. They all had either confusion or mild concern in their eyes. All but Alcina who looked as if she'd like to protest and snap at the woman but was holding her tongue.

She reassured Cassandra that she'd be fine and started jogging after the assistant.

---

Needless to say, that was Nicole's first time stepping foot inside the underground network of tunnels. Not that she complained. Few people went there willingly and probably fewer left the same way they came in.

The ancient looking hallways were in such stark contrast with the occasional medical equipment and the pristine looking labs with doors left slightly ajar that Nicole had to wonder if the woman had no taste for a consistent aesthetic. At least Lady Dimitrescu kept all wiring and modern devices carefully hidden or blended in with the castle's decor. Here, the harsh neon lights illuminated worn out stone so dark it was almost black. Not to mention the smell of… old that seemed to ooze off the very walls she was walking by.

She was led inside a spacious lab, the bluish lights above being too bothersome for someone who got used to the warm or natural light in the castle. The room was rather long, numerous hospital beds lined up against a wall, some separated by white curtains and some left visible. An almost imperceptible whiff of an all too familiar foul odor reached her nose, but it was mild enough to be easily ignored. Nicole had a suspicion that the unmoving person laying in one of the cots further away could be the source, but she sighed and hoped not to join them by the end of the day.

Mother Miranda was sat at a desk, microscope in front of her together with a small stack of documents and a laptop. She was typing in what could probably be notes on whatever she was looking at, when icy grey eyes finally shifted to Nicole.

"Get changed and lay down," she ordered, not even moving from her spot.

The assistant that had brought her here, pushed a hospital gown that had been pulled out from a cupboard in her arms. At least she was allowed the decency of changing into a bathroom as opposed to stripping then and there in the middle of the room. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, fabric folding around her body and being held closed by a loose ribbon that she tried at the side.

Once she was back in the lab, she was ushered to one of the beds where she laid down, nervously waiting for whatever Miranda had in mind.

It was quite odd to see her without her usual attire, especially without the gold talons that Nicole was now far more familiar with than she'd ever hoped. The white lab coat looked far too normal on her and, were it not for the unmistakable cold eyes and regal posture, the woman would’ve been unrecognizable.

She finally got up, a few documents in hand, and approached her. The papers were handed over to the assistant, along with a few other objects and finally, Nicole had her full attention.

Mother Miranda bent down, scalpel in hand, and grabbed one of Nicole's wrists. Just like she did back during the first examination, the blade was dragged across the length of her forearm. Despite fully expecting it, Nicole couldn't help flinching at the pain, but she kept her eyes fixated on her arm, at the blood slowly starting to flow from the wound.

Soon the same tingling as before took over the pain and before their eyes, the skin started to stitch itself back together.

"Time," Miranda asked while wiping the blood to allow for a closer inspection of the now good as new skin.

"Five seconds."

"Alcina's?"

"Three seconds."

Miranda hummed, seemingly pleased with the results. Or at least as pleased as the woman was physically capable of being.

"Hook her up to the cardiac monitor," she further instructed while moving to retrieve something from another cabinet.

The assistant, Emma, if the tag pinned to her lab coat was to be believed, stuck a series of electrodes to her chest and abdomen. Nicole bit her lip to stifle a yelp when one came uncomfortably close to the still sensitive skin of the scar.

In no time, the machine came to life, familiar beeping sounding through the otherwise silent room.

"I hope you're not afraid of needles," Miranda said while grabbing the same arm she had before, lips pulled into a faint smirk.

Nicole only shook her head as she saw the needle of a syringe attached to a transparent slim tube slide into her arm. How ironic would that be. The sting was close to imperceptible, taken over by the now familiar faint tingle. Unlike with the cut, it didn't fade away, most likely due to not being able to fully heal the small wound with the needle embedded in the skin and vein.

She looked away, in the direction of the other occupied bed in the room. It was far away enough that she couldn't make out any detail, only messy brown hair sprawled on a pillow. The face was turned towards the wall and body covered up to the neck. She grimaced and decided instead to focus on the beeping machine, mildly annoyed by Miranda's lack of properly separating her dead lab rats from the living ones. At least she hoped she'd stay living.

The numbers on the machine started out normal. With the slight uncomfortable feeling of blood being drained however, her heart rate started to slowly increase.

Alright. Normal enough. Especially when someone is clearly in a fucking blood draining mood.

Nicole decided not to look at exactly how much blood Miranda was drawing, keeping her eyes glued to the various color coded numbers. The heart rate kept increasing until Nicole could swear she could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. She gulped. Still relatively within the norm.

Two things were at odds however. First, the blood pressure remained constant, almost as if her body simply refused to acknowledge the fact that it was currently being drained. Secondly, the temperature rose from the normal 36 degrees to a staggering 41 in less time than it should have.

"What the fuck…" She couldn't keep her tongue at the weirdness of her situation, her brain thankfully choosing confusion and curiosity over the dread that it probably should've felt instead.

Mother Miranda didn't seem to care though as she turned to type something on the laptop that she brought over from the desk. She tapped her finger on the device for a few seconds and finally spoke up.

"The accelerated healing means the blood is being regenerated constantly, thus not decreasing in volume. Which explains the constant pressure." She narrowed her eyes at the monitor once again. "It doesn't, however, explain the heart rate and temperature. Any bright guesses?"

It took Nicole a second to realize the question was actually addressed to her. Miranda seemed in an oddly good mood. Not any less hell bent on causing her pain, mind you, but she also seemed genuinely curious. Being a biology nerd will do that to you, she couldn't help but think.

Nicole hummed and thought for a second. She tried to recall any information about the topic at hand that she had studied prior to running away.

"Heart rate could just be the normal body response that stayed even with the mutation. Like… like a reflex. It remains even though it's not needed." Then she tapped a finger on her chin trying to find a less random explanation. "Or maybe it's the body's way of making sure that even while healing all body parts remain at least decently functional. No idea about the temperature though," she shrugged.

Miranda once again typed something up and then, without warning, pulled the needle out of Nicole's arm. She flinched, barely holding in an angry protest as she turned towards the woman. Which was a mistake. She couldn't help the gag that raised in the back of her throat at the sight of the metal container full of blood.

No, no, blood did not bother her. That would've cut her career as a medical examiner short before she even stepped foot in med school. It was the knowledge that that was her blood that made her stomach churn. The container could easily fit three liters of liquid in it, and it was full to the brim. Not to mention the smell that assaulted her still messed up sinuses mixing oh so perfectly with mr. corpse over in the corner.

Miranda just chuckled at her sour expression. "Do you think your darling wife would like to have this?"

With a sneer, masked by Nicole turning once again towards the monitor, she couldn't help slipping an edge of snark in her reply. "No need, she likes it fresh."

The numbers were back to normal, all but for the temperature that was taking slightly longer to go down.

---

By this point her vocal cords were raw from screaming and each shuddering sob felt like clumps of spines in her throat. Nicole was curled in on herself, small frame trembling pathetically on top of the uncomfortable bed. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, the tingling sensation feeling like needles constantly pricking at her skin around and under the wired leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The frantic beeping of the machine was grating to her ears.

An electric shock test.

Of course.

Mother Miranda decided to test out how the increased heart rate worked. Results? Her body vehemently refused to allow her to pass out. Even when the shocks traveled through every part of her body, causing the nervous system to short circuit. Even when damage to internal organs and muscles ripped painful sobs from her throat, that turned into gags as soon as the tingling turned to nausea. Even when she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage so fast that she was sure the small organ would burst any second. But it didn’t.

Every muscle in her body flared up in a sensation of painful pins and needles when Miranda pushed the button to release another shock. The cardiac monitor started screaming again and Nicole brought shaky hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Her whole body was on fire while all the damaged tissue repaired itself, making her stomach turn painfully. She felt like throwing up. Not that she had eaten anything today, but bile and thick blood still coated her esophagus. It was all swallowed back with a disgusting gulp.

The nausea was oh so kindly accompanied by searing pain from her still damaged sinuses, who’s condition only worsened exponentially with the electricity. The blood that seemed to coat all the way up to the inside of her mouth felt horrible mixed with the putrid smell of death.

She swallowed again, but that proved itself a bad decision as now that same smell permeated the very inside of her nose and mouth and throat and the feeling of blood sloshing on her tongue behind clenched teeth made her head spin.

She lurched forward, a small river of dark blood flowing from her mouth and nose, into her palms that she instinctively brought to her mouth. Wet coughs made it splatter into crimson splotches on the white sheets, herself and anything else within proximity. It took surprisingly long to realize that, after the initial wave that rose up her esophagus, the rest of the blood was from her sinuses. It was cruelly invading her nose and sliding back into her throat only to come out of her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck-

“What’s wrong?” Miranda’s tone lacked any trace of sympathy.

Nicole simply coughed out the remaining fluid from her mouth and unceremoniously grabbed a piece of cloth from Emma’s hands. She pressed it to her nose, only to feel it soaked against her skin far too soon.

“Damaged sinuses, as you said,” she croaked, her voice sounding so unlike her own.

That made Miranda frown. She kept that same expression while noting down the previous results. “It should be healed by now.”

“Well they aren't,” Nicole spat. The blood and the horrid smell were clouding her mind and, as many knew, pain and holding her tongue did not mix well in her. “And did we really have to do this in the same room as a dead fucking body?!”

Nicole’s angry outburst gave the woman pause. Annoyance mixed with a hint of confusion on her face. She looked at her assistant, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“No. Just- just anestesia.” Emma answered promptly.

“What the fuck do you mean anesthesia? Anesthesia doesn’t make you smell like a goddamn decomposing corpse, do you have cotton stuck up your noses?!” Thankfully the bleeding was starting to subside, which meant there was nothing to stifle her steadily raising angry tone.

Miranda, now sporting a scowl, got up and grabbed Nicole’s chin between two fingers. It made her flinch back, but there was no escaping the iron grip.

“I can assure you that the man is not dead, simply under anesthesia and recovering from a bad infection.” She moved Nicole’s head from left to right, eyes scrutinizing as ever.

Afterwards, she turned back and wrote something down on a piece of paper and simply instructed Emma to wrap up and lead Nicole out. The sudden shift not only in demeanor, but also in her position from the bed to standing upright was mildly dizzying. She swapped the gown for her normal clothes as quickly as she physically could, not wanting to spend another unnecessary second in this underground grave.

While she was ushered out the door, Mother Miranda’s sickly sweet voice rang after her.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Her stomach turned.

---

The trek home was short and silent, Nicole simply wanting to get home as soon as possible and get a damn hot shower and sleep.

She bid the young man that was accompanying her goodbye the moment the Castle’s entrance was within jogging distance, and hurried steps took her to the imposing doors. It was Alexandria to answer her knock, Nicole having left her own keys in her bedroom.

“Welcome back my la-” the polite smile was all but wiped off the woman’s face, replaced by wide eyes. “Are you injured?”

Nicole looked at her confused, then down at herself. A muttered curse escaped past her lips when she remembered the bloody mess on her skin. “I’m okay. Just-... just don’t tell anyone I’m here yet. I'll change first.”

Her plan went out the window when a set of hasty steps came booming toward them.

“Nico-”

Cassandra’s voice died in her throat when her golden eyes landed on Nicole’s small frame, dried dark blood on her face and arms and her clothes stained. An angry growl slipped from between bared teeth.

“What the fuck did she do to you?”

Nicole was quick to answer, too tired to deal with anything other than a few hours of sleep. “I’m okay. I’m just-...” she shook her head, then turned to the Steward. “Alexandria kindly ask a maid to draw me a bath.”

“At once.” And with that the woman turned and scurried away, most likely also not wanting to be in the vicinity of an angry Cassandra.

---

The hot water felt like pure bliss on her skin. It seemed to make every muscle relax and get rid of the awful tension. She leaned back, eyes closed and hands idly moving through the water.

It was just mildly difficult to fully relax with Cassandra muttering and pacing back and forth in the same room though.

"I'm-... I'm not letting you do this again."

Nicole simply sighed and started to scrub away at dried blood. The miniature red waterfall from earlier had gotten blood all over her arms and chest, some splatters even getting on her legs. Her face was also a mess, trails of blood going from her nose and mouth to the chin with smudges and splatters.

"What did she even do to you?"

Before she had a chance to reply, a knock came from the door and a maid entered with a few clean towels and a change of clothes from Nicole's own bedroom. The girl didn't linger, simply giving them both a courteous bow and exiting the room.

Looking for something to change the subject, Nicole focused on the pleasant honey smell. Honey with a slight citrus-y undertone, maybe lemon or orange.

"Did you get a new soap?"

Cassandra stopped pacing, brows furrowed. "No? It's the same one."

Confused, Nicole brought a hand that had just been scrubbed with that very soap right under her nose and took a deep inhale. It was indeed the same one. Chamomile and mint. She sighed in annoyance and leaned back against the cool porcelain while Cassandra came and bent down on one knee to be somewhat on eye level.

"Nose still not working properly or…?" She said while gingerly tilting Nicole's chin up with two fingers. She grimaced at one yet to be washed trail of dried blood that made its way to her wife's thin upper lip.

Nicole simply shook her head and grabbed Cassandra's hand. "Can you… go get ready. I'm beyond tired and just want to lay down with you."

Cassandra pursed her lips but nodded none the less. With a kiss on top of red hair, she turned and left the spacious bathroom, door shutting with a heavy thud.

Left alone, she scrubbed every inch of skin again and took a few extra minutes to enjoy the warmth of the water. It felt so incredibly odd to not feel any actual pain after the day's events. Any trace of what her body went through had been erased by her newfound ability, not leaving behind even the faintest mark of a scar, nor blackened skin caused by electric shocks.

She pushed herself out of the tub, grimacing at the slight pink tone the water had taken. Body and hair quickly dried with the towels, she put on the clothes, a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally stepped out of the bathroom too.

Cassandra was waiting for her in bed, velvety dark robes hanging loosely on her shoulders and eyes fixated on the window while her fingers were tapping furiously on the cover of a book forgotten in her lap. Book that was quickly placed on the nightstand when Nicole climbed in beside her and pushed her way into the brunette's arms. She was tired and absolutely not above demanding cuddles.

Her wife wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling the soft blanket up to cover them both. Nicole interlocked their fingers, absentmentally turning the ring on Cassandra's finger. The same ring she had, albeit in a smaller size. A golden band with intricate floral patterns engraved on it. It had no protruding gem, something they both opted for so that the rings wouldn't need to be taken off while working and wearing gloves. Instead, eight small ocre gems were lined among the minuscule curled leaves.

It took Cassandra about two minutes to take a deep inhale and open her mouth. New record.

"Are you… are you hurt?"

Nicole didn't look up at her, the concern dripping from her words alone were enough to squeeze her heart painfully.

"No. I'm all healed up, just tired." She could almost feel Cassandra's question of clarification, but not wanting to go over what had happened down in the laboratory so soon, she opted for something the brunette would hopefully be just as interested in. "We did get some odd results though."

At the lack of any interruption she went on. "Accelerated heart rate whenever I get hurt. Can't pass out." Which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the point of view and situation. "Also for some reason my temperature gets really high."

"You get one hell of a fever?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra tapped a finger on Nicole's hand, mentally going over possibilities. "Aren't fevers used against infections? Maybe that has something to do with it."

A small hum passed her lips. Could that have something to do with it? It was possible that her healing abilities caused a fever in order to fight off any possible infection before it even became one. Maybe it was her body's way of lessening damage as much as possible since, as the day's events showed, the old replaced tissue had a tendency to get purged. She grimaced at the memory of slowly choking on blood and went for something at least slightly more pleasant.

"Oh and… I can't bleed out. Blood volume stays constant."

She looked up at Cassandra with what could only be described as a shit eating grin. Her wife blinked, realization seeming to dawn on her together with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She coughed.

"Yeah well. I'll keep that in mind. For when you don't need to sleep."

"And deny me some fun now?" Nicole's pout was purely for dramatic effect and it gained her an eye roll.

Two slender fingers gripped her chin to keep it in place while narrowed golden eyes bored into her green ones. The pout slowly morphed into a smirk. Cassandra was not the kind of person who did not indulge in her own pleasures and that, although to a more careful extent, included drinking her lover's blood. A fact that Nicole was not only not complaining about, but also learned to use in order to push all the right buttons.

When Nicole turned her head in the uncharacteristically gentle grip to plant a small kiss on the soft palm, Cassandra finally gave in. Concern was momentarily put on hold in the name of the normalcy they both have been denied in the last few weeks. She bent down, their lips meeting into a kiss that soon turned needy with tongue slipping past sharp teeth and a hand scratching lightly at her nape. Soon Cassandra broke their kiss, but only to slowly trail her way across her jawline with kisses and small nips. She bit at the soft skin right under the jaw bone, eliciting a quiet groan right by her sensitive ear. Black painted lips took her down the neck and across collarbones, planting a kiss right in between them, at the base of Nicole's throat.

When she slowly made her way to an exposed shoulder, Nicole's hand at the back of her head guided her further up, right above where her pulse was. After an inquisitive hum against her skin, she spoke quietly.

"Since blood loss isn't exactly a problem… no need to avoid the neck really."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust her wife. She placed a gentle kiss on the spot right above where blood was flowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The same gentle kiss that was placed on the skin countless times before and that only Nicole had the privilege of experiencing.

Sharp fangs sunk into tender flesh, the warm blood invading Cassandra's mouth making her moan low in her throat. Being used to the feeling of the bite by now, Nicole simply closed her eyes with a sigh and let her body melt into Cassandra's arms. The familiar blissful ache was welcomed, even though, she noticed, it did not bring with it the lightheadedness she had grown accustomed to.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Cassandra was, in a way, a creature of habit. Every time she would drink her blood, her hand would come up to cup Nicole's cheek, thumb slowly tracing the jawline, right before she would pull her mouth away. Every time, without fail.

This time however, when that happened, Nicole kept her in place with the hand tangled in brunette hair, her voice coming out breathy when she spoke. "Go on."

Cassandra would never admit it, but her self control would always waver while feeding. Therefore, she didn't need much convincing, continuing to take mouthfuls of blood in between a satisfied groan. When she finally had her fill, she pulled back with a bashful look in her eyes. Concern quickly flashed on her face at the sight of the crimson mess on her wife's neck.

Nicole however, not wanting their moment to get ruined, took one of Cassandra's hands in her own and slowly placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. After that was done, and the downright ticklish sensation of skin patching itself subsided, she guided the fingers over the bloody skin.

"See? Healed," she whispered.

Cassandra gingerly traced her fingers over the spot, looking for no longer existing puncture marks. She smiled upon not finding them and turned to pull out a handkerchief from a small drawer of her nightstand. A ritual of sorts, one practiced more times than they cared to count over the years. Cassandra passed the white cloth over the skin, wiping away the crimson stains while her wife relaxed into the touch.

"Feeling good?" It was a remark meant to poke fun at how much Nicole seemed to enjoy herself, but the double meaning did not go unnoticed.

A smile tugged at Nicole's lips and she nodded.

In turn, Cassandra hummed. "You taste different." And, at her lover's furrowed brows and the slightest hint of alarm flashing in her eyes, she clarified. "Not bad. Just different. Slightly sweeter actually."

"Is that so," Nicole purred, the smile returning to her lips.

Cassandra discarded the cloth on the floor to be retrieved later and shifted both of them back down on the myriad of pillows.

"Yes. Now how about you get some sleep."

Nicole wasted no time in snaking an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side. It would never cease to amaze her how Cassandra's presence could make her feel so at ease, as if nothing beyond the castle's walls existed. At that moment, she couldn't help but be grateful for her newfound ability, useful in far more ways than one.

She stretched slightly upwards, auburn hair like a small waterfall behind her.

"I love you," she whispered against cool ashy lips.

"I love you too," Cassandra replied, closing the almost nonexistent space between their mouths in a soft kiss.

It left behind a slight coppery taste on Nicole's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to care, instead readjusting her legs to tangle comfortably around her wife's thigh.

#unhinged maiden™ my beloved #cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #fanfic #lady dimitrescu #mother miranda #tw torture #to bargain for immortality

102 notes · View notes

catcze · 3 years

Note

hey it’s kiwi anon! i’ve been melting at the thought of musician kazuha lately so i just knew i had to let it out somehow. ^^;;

*before reading, i’d like to note that this is somewhat of a modern au where the reader and kazuha attend a prestigious music school known for raising successful musicians. only the best of the best are accepted, so it’s certainly a privilege to be there! (though, of course, it has its downsides but we’ll get to that later..)

and i wrote it in second person (gn!) this time!! >:)

(tbh i’m not particularly proud of this one but i really hope you guys like it anyway. ><)

“The stray melody:

its echo reverberates

such sad solitude.”

“Only at the right time shall the day come when I may ride the infallible winds of freedom to the place where creativity bears no bounds.”

“You are bound?” “How so?” You questioned.

After a long awaited interlude, you were finally face to face with the (formerly) faceless musician.

—

About a month ago, you were assigned a new practice room. Although most students would view this as a blessing from the archons, you found yourself in an unfavorable situation. Suddenly being thrown into playing in a new environment made you uneasy, and though your stance on this was unwavering, there was no disobeying the school.

But the first time the sound of violin seeped through the walls and filled your room with its charming tune, you were bewitched. For some strange reason, it was comforting to know that someone else was on the other side of the wall. Occasionally, you would pause practice abruptly only to listen to the chords, losing yourself in thought with the way they blended together in the most musical way possible; but before you could notice, an hour or two has passed and you’ve barely done much of anything.

Maybe this was a curse, but you surely weren’t one to complain about it.

One day, with no warning, it seemed the violinist began to play along with you. It never occurred to you that they could also listen through the wall, so it came as a complete surprise. It became a chivalric battle of wits; melodies fighting for dominance but only ever resulting in a satisfying draw. You couldn’t help but imagine their fingers dancing along the stringed instrument as your own strutted along the keys of the piano. And the way you two subconsciously created a heavenly harmony was enough to spark your interest and unhinged curiosity. Who are you?

But before you could ask, a faint voice spoke, “My dorm is located on the top floor near the gardens. I… do not expect you to meet me, but this could be considered as a statement or an invitation, however you perceive it.” That is what he said that day. God, even his voice was musical.

You, too, had no intention of meeting him directly. The thought of the school suspending the two of you for doing the bare minimum brought you back into your shell. You had limits, and there was nothing getting between you and your music career.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t willing to give some small effort into discovering the truth. Into the late hours of the evening, you took a casual stroll around the school’s gardens. Fortunately, you were alone. The silence was pleasant, but it didn’t last for long. As the familiar sound reached your perked ears, you searched around for the source of the noise. And there he was, standing on his patio with his long, bright hair tied back as the evening winds stroked each strand in its clutches— a violin held in his hand.

Everything about him was musical— even the way he pressed his delicate yet calloused fingers along the strings of the violin's neck. It didn’t take long for you to catch interest in the ruby-eyed violinist.

There was no explaining the way you two locked eyes for the first time. Though joyous, it seemed you both were lost— since when had you cared so much for someone you’d never met?

As it turned out, your dorms happened to be in close proximity with each other. It became routine for you to lean expectantly against the edge of your patio and for the violinist to leave his doors open so you could listen to his music as the sun would find its slumber, resting upon the horizon.

It didn’t take long for you to grow rather greedy. You longed to learn more about him, but everything about him was shrouded in an empty veil of unanswered questions and an identity you failed to identify.

Luckily, fate has its ways.

Curiosity led you to find yourself exploring into the deeper, abandoned depths of the school’s halls. You entered into a seemingly empty music room before shortly realizing you weren’t alone. The feeling of eyes staring daggers at your back made you prickle with fear until you turned to realize that such eyes belonged to the skilled violinist himself.

“Comedic coincidence always has its ways,” he remarked, the corners of his lips lifting into a gentle grin.

—

His face was always melded into the shape of endless pondering. He had a relaxed nature that was simply unchanging. And though he often appears to be a simple man at first glance, Kaedehara Kazuha was anything but simple.

It surprised you to see a vulnerable side of him, because you never expected him to have one. First impressions were surely deceiving.

He crouched over, his hand supporting his head in a lazy manner.

“I sense that I am suffering from a lack of passion— the kind that children may experience as they wrap their fingers around a bow for the first time,” a stray shadow came across him as he breathily sighed, “The walls of this school are suffocating, but I, like many others, can endure this drowning feeling.”

Kazuha often spoke in a unique manner— resembling a loud whisper.

“So, I wasn’t the only one who noticed,” you noted, “I’d hate to admit it, but this school is a living nightmare.”

Kazuha’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“And neither of us can wake from it.”

Momentarily, he shifted his position so he sat closer to you. His shoulder shrugged as his arm straightened and his hand held onto the edge of the seat to support himself, his handsome head hung idly backwards.

“But, I feel like I have a reason to keep going, but as of now it lingers in my head as an enigma of sorts. Perhaps it is odd to find myself blindly following passion without reason, but I have a feeling that perhaps,” he paused, his fingers traced along the seat and his pinkie linked delicately with yours, “you have a role to play in this.”

Your face burned slightly at the sudden display of physical touch.

His speech was vague. You naively wanted to question his use of words (and actions), but it didn’t seem timely. Until, next time.

You beamed slightly, “Perhaps so.”

Kazuha’s pinkie finger squeezed against yours before letting go. He stood up with his eyes still burning into your own.

“It appears I have surpassed my original practice time,” his eyes shifted towards the door, “We must take our leave before someone discovers that we are here.”

With his back facing you, Kazuha wrapped his hand around the door knob, but before he could turn it, he turned his head to look at you once more, flashing that signature smile of his.

“If you don’t mind me asking, would you like to be my accompanist for the upcoming concert?”

To you, Kazuha was like a hatchling, growing each day and itching to spread his wings and fly to places that are unheard of. He worked constantly, trying to rewrite the textbook definition of music into something more meaningful. He was ambitious, highly so; but you adored that about him.

It is silly, but you began to think that perhaps one day, you could be the one who frees him from the school’s heavy shackles.

- kiwi ! (hopelessly falling for ridiculously complicated plots to write about-)

(and no, i don’t play the violin hahah so sorry for any errors. :/ i play multiple instruments and have taken and still take music education so i hope that suffices.. might go for something more sweet and simple next time with more snarky kazu <3)

Holy shit!! Kiwi, babe, you never fail to impress akjndajks 😭

ajndkjsdPLEASE this is so good oh my goddakjsdas <33333

BABE you just keep outdoing yourself I–– 😭💞

This was literally so good?? Like, all of it? ajksndajks holy shittt <3333

Kiwi I am at a literal loss for words but I really, really hope you see how in love with this I am from my keysmashing akjsndkja <33333

#Kiwi anon #Kazuha x reader #Kaedehara Kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #This is so good omg I–– 😭💞#Cw GN reader

79 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

What makes a monster

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This is my entry for @youbloodymadgenius‘ 1k Followers Celebration, with the prompt “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, blood, and death (and a passing description of it, nothing too graphic), descriptions of injury.

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this prompt, though whether or not this is any good remains to be decided. I sincerely hope this makes some sense lol

Thank you for the chance to participate in this!! Congratulations again!!

Ivar taught you many things, in the time that has passed since he made you his wife.

He taught you to play chess. You could never beat him.

Not until you found a way to distract him, to get close enough to make his heart quicken, to touch him just right to make his eyes drawn to you and not the board.

It was easy to take over the board when he was distracted, when words of love poured from his lips like spells, when his eyes -open and maddeningly in love- focused on you instead of the move you’d made.

Ivar taught you how to get his heart.

____

The sword trembles in your grasp, a myriad of emotions swirling inside you and stealing the steadiness of your hand.

The woman guides you into exchanging the weapon, tells you which words to repeat.

You give him your father’s sword, and at the sight of his smile you offer the same, and your lips form the three words that make his smile wider, softer.

The woman finishes speaking, and you don’t hear the words, too trapped in this moment, but you know what they mean, you know what has changed, you know what just started.

The ring on his finger is cold against your skin when Ivar cups your face and brings you close to him for a kiss that steals your breath and your every thought.

His other hand grips at your waist, and you pull away from his lips.

“Ivar!” You chastise lowly, a small delighted laugh leaving your lips. Your own hand grips at his forearm, careful to keep him upright now that he has exchanged holding onto the crutch for holding onto you.

He only smiles, a light and enamored chuckle leaving his lips as he tilts your head to him again, and kisses you passionately as the people around you cheer.

“I love you.” He promises against your lips, before claiming your mouth again. You kiss him back, with all the emotion you can muster.

When he parts one final time, brow pressed against yours and eyes shinning and light and happy as he looks at you; there’s nothing that could keep you from returning that smile, from bestowing the gentlest of touches on the side of his face, tracing the contour of his wide smile.

“My wife.” He calls out, lowly, a whisper, a secret.

“My husband,” You return, and a promise of your own, “I love you.”

You sit up on the bed, but no matter how slight you try to keep your movements, Ivar still mumbles something that sounds quite close to your name, hand stretched in search for you even as he continues to sleep.

And to the silent command that you return to him you give in, and put your hand over his, and take a moment to let your fingertips trace over the ring on his finger.

There’s two completely different men making up the one you married, and you have known that for a while.

A side of him that takes your hand roughly in his and makes you stand at his side even as the gore and blood of the last result of his rage still stains him and the room around you.

And a side of him that offers disbelieving eyes and trembles at the softest of your touches, that whispers your name like a prayer before a dream that threatens to shatter.

Whenever you are together in public, Ivar always finds a way to be touching you. To anyone else, anyone that didn’t know him the way you do, the gestures would be insignificant, would be thoughtless.

Nothing in the way Ivar behaves when he is surrounded by people is thoughtless, none of the ways he moves his body are insignificant.

And the weight of his arm around you, or the comforting grip of his hand on yours, or even the slightest of touches of his lips over your skin; mean something to you, something you couldn’t even begin to put words to.

And that change that takes over him, that softening of his features at the sight of you, that lowering of his guard when you are near, that release of tension when you touch him; it is only accentuated when you are alone.

When you are alone, side by side on the bed you share, secrets spill from his lips as easily as moans, and his eyes never cease to look at you like you remain something out of a dream.

With the months that follow your wedding, you banish the side of him that is made of jagged edges and cruelty and biting coldness from ever entering the room you share. And he remains, he always will -and you wouldn’t feel for him what you do if it weren’t so- made out of two sides of him, but you lay claim to one, the same way you lay claim to his heart.

Your heart beats quickly in your chest, and the shadows envelop you but you still fear, you still jump at every step and every voice.

Because these people know your face, these people know the way you walk, know what your body looks like. No cloak, no hood, no lowered gaze will help you hide.

Which is why you need the shadows. Which is why the darkness of the forest ahead is comforting.

Which is why when the shouted commands reach your ears, and out they go like hounds searching for Kattegat’s Queen, you run for the comfort of the darkness.

“I am sorry,” He starts one night, startling you from your lazy exploration of the lines of ink on his chest. You lift your head to find pale blue eyes focused intently on you, searching your gaze with a blend of pain and devotion that tugs your heart in two different directions. Ivar swallows, and continues, “For what I do, for…for what I did.”

His hand reaches to take the one that was wandering on his chest, and Ivar holds on tight to it.

You look into his eyes and say, “You have done nothing but make me happy.”

His expression falters, as if for a moment he wants to believe you, but with a furrow that trembles on his brows he insists, “I did many things wrong, when it came to you.”

But you shake your head, “You owe me no apologies. It is in the past.”

“The Gods…uh, they…they have never given much to me, not without…” He stops, licks his lips, avoids your gaze. You watch in silence, hanging onto the words that are yet to leave his lips, “Not without taking just as much. I…I had my father treat me like he did my brothers and…and I lost him, then I came back and I lost my mother, my home,” He frowns, and his hand tightens on yours. The anger that accompanies the grief, that always will. Ivar continues, “I…I was one more among my brothers, even Björn had to listen to me and I-…Sigurd made me kill him, and they hated me for it, I lost him, and I lost them too.”

“Ivar…” The word is hoarse as it leaves your lips, but you don’t know what to say, what to do.

“Now I have you, and I…I love you,” Each time he says it there’s a fragility in the three words, there’s a fear in the admission that some days is louder than others. Today is the loudest. “I am happy, with you, and I…”

His words die with what feels like a dying breath leaving his lips, and you offer the only words you can.

“You won’t lose me.”

You never wanted to fight, you never bothered learning. But you know about hiding.

You wait for the man to run past where you are, measure your breathing as you watch him turn his back to you. Your grip on the heavy log is tight, and you pray for strength before you move.

He grunts when you hit his legs, making him fall on the ground. Startled eyes look up at you before you bring the log down again, the scream this time shrill and echoing over the dark forest.

His leg bends wrong at the knee now, and the man pants and keens in pain, but you kneel next to him, and make him listen to you with frantic eyes.

“Go back where you came from, I am not going with you. Tell Ivar…tell Ivar I’m going home, tell him there’s no other way.”

You leave him there, darting for the comfort of the woods with your mind set on the next stage.

On the docks of the small fishing town neighboring Kattegat a ship awaits, Ribe’s flag on it, welcoming you back.

You board it, feeling eyes on you, as if Ivar could see all the way from the place he made you call home what you are doing. The ghost of who still lives, the ghost that haunts you with the burden of what you have betrayed.

You leave him behind, but he follows.

____

Ivar taught you many things, in the time that has passed since he invaded a kingdom and forced you to be at his side.

He taught you to wage war. You could never beat him.

Not until you found a way to get his focus on you, to make him face across a battlefield the eyes of one that promised him love and forever, to grip his heart tight enough in your fist that even across the board where warriors become pawns you see his pain.

It was easy to win each battle when he was distracted, when pain and grief left his lips like blood from a fatal wound, when his eyes -betrayed and still maddeningly in love- focused on you instead of the move you’d made.

Because Ivar taught you how to get his heart.

____

Ribe greets you with a feast and a sacrifice of which you still bear the blood of.

“We have word from across the sea. Kattegat is weakened. Once the King falls, we will be able to take over.” Your mother states, and you nod, swirling the drink in your cup and keeping your eyes on your brother, who seems to cling to her every word, just like when you were children.

“But Ivar the Boneless lives.” A shieldmaiden argues, scarred face frowning at her plate.

“Not for long,” The once Queen consort of Ribe states, spine straightened when she looks at you. You lift your eyebrows, but wait for your mother to speak. “I taught you better than to fail.”

“I haven’t failed. I lured him here, I weakened his army,” You snarl back, not caring for the sudden stillness in the room as mother and daughter face one another. After a breath, you motion with your head and insist, “What is the plan, when they land here? When his army is at our door?”

She sighs, “Your brother-…”

“My brother is too much of a coward to lead his own men into battle, I know,” You silence Emil’s complaint with a gesture of your hand, and your brother obediently stays silent. Turning your gaze to your mother, you insist, “And you were never a good Queen, mother, our men won’t follow you. So, tell me, who will lead them?”

“You,” She doesn’t miss a beat, always so certain the ground will be solid under her feet. You admire that, more than you could ever admit. She lifts a cup your way, “You were the one to return when they believed you had died. If our army is to listen to any of the people of our blood, it is you.”

“You’re making a mistake,” You warn her, but she is certain. You accept her words with a shrug, but one last time you offer, “This mistake will cost you, mother.”

____

Your mother taught you many things, ever since you were old enough to understand the ways of the world.

She taught you to betray. To be a lie in a world of men.

And a lie would know to put on a smile and to summon softness to her gaze, a lie would be able to whisper empty promises of devotion, a lie would do whatever it took to keep the lie alive.

A lie would survive, in a world of men. A world of monsters with the pleading blue eyes of someone a better woman could love, a world of beasts that are soothed at the vow of love sealed over hungry lips.

Your mother taught you to betray it all in the name of love.

____

The King of Kattegat limps away from the body as if it were nothing, turning to your mother and faking a bow with his free hand.

“The Princess is coming with me to Kattegat, or I raze this kingdom to ash. Your choice, Dane.”

When he leaves, the carefully held breaths in the room seem to stutter past all your lips, and your hand falls slowly from your mouth, no longer trying to keep at bay a scream you didn’t let out anyways.

“F-Father…” You whimper, and distantly you hear voices, you hear sounds. But you cannot take your eyes off of the lifeless ones of your father, who lays on the floor of his own throne room with a knife deep in his chest.

Your mother’s hands are trembling as she holds your face and makes you look into her tear-filled eyes. You can still hear her scream in your head, the shrill keen of a woman that saw the man she loved be killed in front of her.

“We have to kill him,” You whisper, and you wonder dazedly if it isn’t her hands that tremble, but the whole of you. “We have to make him pay. Mother-…”

“We will,” She vows, and her voice doesn’t waver, her resolve doesn’t crumble even if she does. “Remember what I told you? You keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Realization dawns on you, and you start shaking your head. Please, Gods…

“No, n-no, don’t make me do this,” You beg, and you feel your shoulders rise and fall but no breath enters your lungs. You refuse to honor a deal your father made when the man he made the deal with still has his blood warm on his hands. “Mother, please, I can’t-…don’t-…”

“You will be his wife. It is as arranged,” She snarls, her hands on the sides of your face shaking you slightly. “You will take your father’s sword with you, and you will give it to Ivar the Boneless, and you will bear his ring in exchange.”

The men that mere months ago bowed their heads to you now look you over with distrust; the word -the title- that they once echoed respectfully is now a sneer as you walk them by.

Hvitserk looks at you like you saw him look at his enemies across a battlefield, unbridled rage and nothing but hate in a once-warm gaze. You still offer a smile as you pass him by, as you walk into Ivar’s tent.

“Do you have to…to leave so soon? We’ve barely been married a fortnight, Ivar.”

Your smile is soft when he turns to you, and you know he only sees love shining in your eyes.

“Will you miss me?” He teases, but there’s truth behind the question, there’s longing and the need to be reassured of love behind that practiced smile.

You lift your hand to his face, a teasing yet gentle push of your finger to his temple, before you cup his cheek and delight yourself in the way armor crumbles to dust at your touch.

“What kind of question is that?” You insist, shaking your head, pretend-fondness on your voice.

He turns back to his brother, promises the attack on Ribe will happen soon, that the Danes will be theirs. But, he acquiesces with a soft squeeze of your hand on his, after the winter has passed.

And it dawns on you that with but a touch you’ve bought them more time, almost a year.

Later that night you lay on his chest, tracing absently the ink marks on it, wondering if he notices how your touch lingers on the skin over his heart. Wondering if he would be naïve enough to believe it a gesture of love.

When you married him, when you followed your mother’s orders and set not to be devoured by the monster that ruled Kattegat, but to satiate his hunger for long enough that you could escape; you were startled by the…rawness of him.

The anger always too-quick to flare, the easily infuriated gaze of a man that revels in death, the bare truth of a monster made out of jagged edges and blades that broke as soon as they pierced the skin. That didn’t surprise you.

But the vulnerability that seemed to startle him as much as you, the secrets spilling from his lips with pale eyes looking up at you expecting answers, the bloodied hands that offered you a battered and cold heart with the unwavering trust that you’d keep it safe. That did surprise you.

It also surprised you how easily you made him believe you loved him. How easily you got his heart.

And when his hand grasps yours, stops your aimless wandering over his chest, you smile up at him, warmth in your chest.

What a terrible thing, what a dangerous thing, to crave love.

You walk out of that tent alive, something no one with a sound mind would believe. No enemy of Ivar the Boneless survives him, much less one that dared betray him.

But you do. And past the disdain, past the disgust, now in the army that surrounds you in this place they have decided to set camp in; there’s surprise, there’s fear.

Something, a question, a seed of doubt, shines in Hvitserk’s eyes when he sees you again, and once again you offer only a smile.

Your feet are bare on the cold ground, and you peer out the small opening into the cold world around you. You don’t have much time left.

Your heart trembles in your chest as you walk back to the bed, sitting down and hearing the soft rustling of Ivar moving at your back. His hand, almost by instinct, almost by heart, finds your leg, and he moves closer, a sleepy hum leaving his lips.

His voice, roughened by sleep and something else, calls out your name.

“I’m here, love.” You tell him quietly, a promise.

Your thoughts linger on the last word, though. Love.

You grew up hearing the stories of how love turned Gods into mere men, and made men believe themselves to be Gods. There was always a part of you drawn to those tales of how love made the worst of monsters human again.

They don’t talk about the other way around, though, you think to yourself as your fingertips dance over the ring on Ivar’s finger.

About how love makes monsters out of humans.

And, terrifyingly enough, it is not in the absence of love, or the loss of it. No, just in its existence, something as pure, as selfless, as vital as love can make a monster.

You close your eyes and you can see that horizon that is so familiar yet so strange, so wrong, and as Ivar sits behind you, hand loving even if threatening at your throat, lips reverent and fervent against the skin of your neck; you feel truth pour from your lips.

“My mother, she…she taught me to lie. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she’d say.”

“Hm. And who is your enemy?”

Your mind lingers on that horizon, on the distant monsters that walk those streets you so loathe. And you have your answer.

You walk through familiar doors again, and Ribe’s people, Ribe’s warriors, greet you warmly.

You walk up to your mother, who stands by Emil where he sits on his throne, always the voice in his ear. Her eyes are cold when she gazes at you, but there’s the beginning of a smile on her lips.

You bow your head, a show of deference, before you tell her, “Ivar has agreed to a cease fire. He will be here come dawn to…negotiate.”

Once, he would have been a welcome sight in Ribe, when your father let a King from Norway ally himself with Danes, when your family rejoiced at the prospect of having the Princess of Ribe marrying a son of Ragnar. But with his arrival came war, and death; not the peace and allegiance your father was promised.

Last time Ivar the Boneless and the King of Ribe negotiated, your father ended up with a knife in his heart.

There’s hunger in her expression, a hunger you only saw once before. When she wiped your father’s blood from your face and whispered keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, when she turned you into something worse than a monster and told you to kill one.

And dawn comes, and death follows.

____

Your mother taught you many things, ever since you were hungry enough to understand ambition.

She taught you to betray. To be a lie in a world of men.

And a lie would know when to bow her head and fake deference, a lie would be able to weave tales of victory to those underserving, a lie would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

A lie would survive, in a world of men. A world of monsters with blood that runs red from the throat slit on the undeserved throne he sat on, a world of beasts that pretended to have the bond of family run deeper than a bond before the Gods, and lie dead because of that mistake.

Because your mother taught you to betray it all in the name of love.

____

The blood stains your hands, your dress, the knife you still hold on to as you stand in that throne room, the evidence of your betrayal still dripping slowly to the wooden floor.

But you smile, and when you lift your gaze, you find the smile mirrored in familiar lips.

The knife clatters on the blood-soaked floor under your feet, and there’s a little bit of madness in the laugh that leaves your lips as you cross the space between you.

But, as your laugh dissolves against Ivar’s lips, you gather it doesn’t matter.

You close your eyes and surrender to his kiss, you let bloodied hands cup his face and bring him closer to you, and stave off the cold of so many months away from him with the warmth of having him back in your arms.

When you part, his brow presses against yours, and there’s shaky relief in the way he breathes out your name, there’s a heart that was threatened with breaking shining in pale blue eyes.

But there’s love in the way he makes love to you that night, and there’s love in the way your fingers dance over the ink traces of his chest again.

There’s love, and you do not dare ask what it made out of him, or what it made out of you.

____ ____ ____

I hope to have taken you by surprise, hopefully more than once lol

Idk if this is any good but it was fun to write, I hope you liked it, and thank you so much for reading!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld

#Youbloodymadgenius1kCelebration #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

156 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years

Text

“Class is in session!” Young April O’Neil tapped her ruler against the whiteboard.

The minute April had learned that not one of the brothers, not even Donatello, knew how to write in cursive, she had jumped on the opportunity to teach them. Even if she was physically the same age as Raphael (ten at the time), mentally she scored higher than all but Donatello, but then again nobody could score higher than Donatello. Yet here she was, in the teachers spot with Donatello as her student.

“This is lame.” Leonardo groaned, propping his feet up on his desk and leaning so far back in his chair that it almost toppled over.

“No talking in class!” April warned.

“Why?” Leonardo smirked.

“Because I said so.”

Leonardo was silent a moment, but the minute April turned around to write on the whiteboard, his voice started up again.

“What if I have a question?”

“Then you raise your hand.” April answered promptly. Her marker touched the board, then Leonardo spoke again.

“What if I break my arm?”

“Then use your other arm.”

“What if I break both?”

“Oh I’m gonna break them if you don’t stop talking.”

“Understood.” This time, Leonardo really stopped talking.

April cleared her throat. “First off: The cursive alphabet!” She wrote both big and small letters on the board for each letter, “Same as the normal alphabet, but fancy~”

“What the heck happened with G?” Mikey gawked.

“We don’t talk about G.” April said, “Leo are you paying attention?”

“Yaaaawn!” Leonardo gagged.

April huffed and clutched her ruler almost hard enough to break it.

“Um…” Donnie’s eyes were even more squinted than usual and he raised a hand.

“Yes Donnie?”

“Can you write it bigger?”

April frowned. “Raph, how’s it for you?”

Raphael was at the desk next to Donatello and sat up proudly at being addressed. “I can see it just fine, Apes!”

“Me too!” Mikey piped.

“Yaaaaawn.” Leo sighed.

Donatello looked around at his brothers with a frown as he shrunk slightly into his shell to hide his embarrassment.

“That’s okay Don.” April said with a smile, “I can make it a little bit bigger for you.” She did just that, “How’s that?”

Don gave a shy smile. “Better…”

April didn't quite believe him, but didn't want to bring it up. “Hey Mike, do you mind switching seats with Donnie?”

“Nope!”

Mikey took a place in the back row beside Raph while Don took a closer place beside the indifferent Leo.

~~~

“Names!”

April scribbled each turtle's name in their signifying color and pointed to them. “Honestly, this is the most important cursive you’ll ever earn. So you can sign your name and stuff— and no Leo I’m not excluding you from learning it just because you’re tiny mutant turtles living in the sewer!” She tapped the board, “Copy this down on your papers as many times as you can!”

There was the unanimous sounds of chairs adjusting and pens clicking and touching to the paper— three of them. April smiled as she looked out over the ‘students’ but frowned once more when she got to Donnie. The year-younger turtle was squinting at the board and near tears trying to make it out. He made an attempt to copy something down a few times, only to scribble it out seconds later. Then, finally, he got up and walked over to the board instead.

“Uh… can I…?” His nose was practically pressed to the board so he could make out his name, supporting his paper against the wall to scribble a quick draft before returning to his desk and copying the rest of his attempts off of the first attempt.

~~~

When she announced for them to turn their papers in, Mikey was of course the first one in line, bouncing excitedly as he shoved his way to the front and held out his paper to April. April smiled and accepted it, yet Mikey lingered awaiting praise.

His work was surprisingly neat for someone so hyperactive, though big and riddled with far more loops than necessary. Legible, but far from perfection. She smiled down at Mikey and gave the tiny box turtle a pat on the head.

“Great work Mike! Try writing a little smaller next time so you can fit more on the paper!” She drew a smiley face on Mikey’s paper.

Mikey gave an excited squeal and snatched the paper, hugging it tightly to his plastron and churring softly before running off. Then came Raphael. His writing was also big and bold like Michelangelo’s, but without the foundation of neatness that the youngest brother held.

“Good job, Raph! Same thing as Mikey, try to write a liiiiittle smaller. I know it might be difficult since the paper’s tiny compared to you, but you’re doing great!” She gave Raphael a flaming smiley face, and Raphael was content.

Donatello was nervous— nothing unusual. He held his paper out to April and almost winced as if expecting rebuke. April let her eyes linger on the anxious softshell a moment before going down to his paper. His cursive was just as illegible as his print always was— the shape was there and she could see some familiarities in the loops to indicate where each letter was supposed to be, but the letters blended together even more than typical for cursive.

Still, she smiled at Donnie all the same. “See? You did great, Don! I knew you would.” She gave a purple smiley, but frowned as the ink dripped and made it look like the smiley was crying.

Donnie accepted the paper without talking and sulked off. Leonardo was last in line, unusual for someone always so eager to please, with a smug smile as he held out his paper to April.

“I know, I know Keep your praise to yourself. I didn't wanna do it but I pushed through it and mine is no doubt the best. That’s why I saved it for last.”

April narrowed her eyes and saw straight through Leo’s charade of confidence. The writing was big, though not quite as big as Raphael’s or Michelangelo’s. It was clear he had finished his work fast, the paper filled and whatever space left filled with tiny scribbles. At first she smiled when saw how neat the handwork was, a welcome improvement to the flipped letters that usually riddled his print writing, but then when she looked closer at the letters themselves, she noticed something else. Though the letters weren’t flipped, they were distorted— not the kind of distortion that a lazy hand would result in, but each letter was blurred together, some of them with multiple loops where there was only one or none when there was meant to be one. April looked up at Leonardo who concerned eyes, though his look of confidence never faltered.

“Uh. Good work Leo.” She said vaguely, giving him a smiley like she had to everyone else.

~~~~

“Are you sure about this…?” Donnie asked nervously.

“Trust me!” April beamed, taping the handles of the glasses to Donnie’s face

Donnie, eyes still closed, still tried to turn to face April’s voice. “Whenever Leo says that it usually ends up failing. Painfully.”

“Well I’m not Leo, so stop moving!” She snapped Donnie’s head back forward so she could finish her work. Once she was sure that they were on securely, she backed away and grinned. “Okay! Open your eyes!”

Donnie opened his eyes. His first reaction was to squint like he always did, but when his eyes were met with detail denied all his life, they shot wide and starstruck. His mouth dropped open, he sucked in a breath, and backed up against a wall as the world spun in its new light.

“Wha…”

April beamed and gave an excited bounce, clapping her hands together. Her face looked unusually empty without her glasses, but she didn't care. She could always get new ones, but Donnie…

“Whoa…” Donnie’s dichromatic eyes flicked to everything in the room in quick succession.

“Donnie are you okay?” Mikey rocked on his toes with his arms folded behind his shell.

“I… everything’s just… it’s like seeing life in HD!” Once the shock left, a smile spread across his face and he couldn’t stop it from claiming his usually shy or disinterested features.

“Woah! I wanna see life in HD!”

Mikey jumped up and snatched the glasses from off of Donnie’s face, shoving them on his own. His eyes and nose immediately scrunched up as he looked through the lenses.

“Ehh… this doesn’t look like HD…”

April laughed and leaned down to boop Mikey’s nose while he blinked away the irritation of the focused lenses. “That’s because your eyes already work, Mikey.”

“Raph’s turn!” Raph stole the glasses from Mikey’s nose, laughing as he put them on his own face. His reaction was similar to Mikey. “Ehhh…. Not for Raph.”

“What about you Leo?” Mikey asked, appealing to the older brother, “Don’t you wanna try them on?”

“What, and look like a four-eyed nerd? No thank you.” Leo scoffed, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Excuse me?!” April put her hand on her hip and dared Leonardo to repeat himself.

“Ah—“ Leo’s realization seemed to knock him off his confidence, “Not you April—you make them look cool—“

“Just shut up and wear these.”

April shoved the glasses onto Leonardo’s face, and the slider was immediately blinded by how… not blind he was. He let his mouth hang open a moment and sucked in a gasp, looking around with the much the same awe as Donatello had, before shaking his head and taking the glasses off of his face.

“See? Told ya! I don’t need em!”

Despite his words, there was a longing hurt in his eyes as he returned the glasses to Donatello and silently reserved himself so his twin could enjoy the full experience of being able to see a whole new world.

@brightlotusmoon

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt disaster twins #rise april #rise!turtles

116 notes · View notes

bunsblr · 3 years

Text

Tu... torial? Pt. 5.

Final part of my tutorial! This is a little all over the place, because that’s how I am in this stage of editing. Also I didn’t proofread this...

Open this in dashboard for best view of the screenshots.

Disclaimer: I have no formal training for any kind of graphics stuff, I work in an office as a receptionist - I serve coffee for a living. I am absolutely self taught and while I consider myself pretty comfortable with photoshop, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t about a gazillion of other things that can be done that I have no idea about. There are people far superior than me in the Sims community. This is just how I do it, with techniques I have picked up through the years. Some things I go over in these will be pretty basic, some things a little more unorthodox. Disclaimer 2: My edits take time. This is what I do to relax, one edit takes several hours for me. Sometimes days :))) Disclaimer 3: My photoshop is in Swedish, which is my first language. I tried my best to find the English translations for every step that I do.

Tools used: The Sims 4, Adobe Photoshop 2020, One by Wacom Pen Tablet (very basic and unfancy).

It´s hair time baby! I very much enjoy drawing hair on sims. I make a new empty layer on top of my base Sim layer.

This is where having a drawing tablet makes a huge difference. We need the brush to be sensitive to pressure to get the effect of hair strands. I chose a hard brush, small small size (how small depends on the picture size of course, but I usually land somewhere 6-9 px)

I pick up a color from the hair, I usually starts with a medium light color.

I start by drawing strands around any tips of the hair so they don't look quite so solid. I do this part with both short and long hairs. Hot lazy tip: straight unlayered hairs is the absolute easiest. This is a layered hair so I start with the bottom and work my way up. I pick up different colors from the hair as I go along, to add dept.

Continuing up in the hair and add strands to the pointy bits.

When I feel like the pointy bits have been softened I select one of my hair brushes. I use these ones by Para Vine.

I start painting "around" the hair with one of the lighter colors picked up from the hair, changing the direction of the brush every once in a while for a more natural result.

After this the hair is looking a little fuzzy, so I'm going to go back with my small harder brush to fill these parts out.

I don't add a lot of them, just small bits here and there for filling.

This is a little overkill but... now we have some of that "squary" thing going on in the hair as well that are still showing through our painted layer. Now we could paint over these, but painting can actually be overdone and I wan't to keep the hair recognizeable because the creator put a lot of work into it! So I go into liquify and smooth over any wonky lines still showing, just slightly.

A comparison of before and after hair. Still recognizeable, but softer.

This is our result so far. We've come a long way, but we're not done.

At this point (or actually sometimes sooner) I add an adjustment Curves layer, this will not end up in the finished image, this is just to give me an idea of what the image might look like with more contrast (which we will add later). I keep this at the very top of the layer panel and turn this on and off as I go. Very important to have it turned off if we are going to eyedrop a color and use that to paint, since it would pick up the wrong hue if we have it turned on.

Now I still want the front of my sim to be a little darker to fit my lighting, but I don't want to go over with any more shadow. So I duplicate my Sim layer, and go to Layer -> Adjustments -> Curves. This will only change the active layer, as opposed to creating an adjustment layer down in the Layer panel that will change all layers below it. I drag the curve down a bit to make my new Sim layer darker.

I add a layer mask to my new Sim layer, and bucket fill it with black color so the new layer gets hidden.

I chose an absolutely HUGE soft brush, with medium opacity, and starts painting white on the areas where I want the new darker layer to be showing. And blend by going back with black where the line is to harsh.

Time to add some highlights. I create a new empty layer between my two Sim layers, and add a clipping mask by holding Alt and hovering on the line between the new layer and my bottom sim layer, until the little square with the arrow symbol comes up and then click. This will make whatever I do on my new highlight layer, only show up on the areas where the layer underneath is filled.

Time to paint. I disable the curve adjustment layer for this. I choose a bright color, in this case a light pink because I didn't want a contrasting color for this picture. I go with a big soft brush around the edges where I want my highlight to hit. In this case, the arm, the hand, the arch of the back and the calf. I didn't add anything to the face in this picture because I didn't like the way it looked, but usually a little highlight to one of the cheeks is just *chef's kiss*

And somewhere around here I got really stuck and really struggled to follow with this tutorial. I felt the picture was lacking something and I tried several different things. I added light rays, tried creating different light sources, there was a moon at some point. But I ended up with just a simple additional gradient shadow down in the right corner (on a new layer down in the Background layer group). Life changing…

And then I didn't like the pink highlight on the skin (sigh, this is how I work, but it’s not recommended to be this indecisive) so I removed that and added a more beige-yellowee highlight instead. And forgot to take a picture after the highlight was added....

And now I go into nitpicking mode. I add a new empty layer on top of my Sim layer, I add it under the highlight layer so it automatically takes on the clipping mask of the Sim layer, I name it Clean-up Crew and go in to refine anything slightly wonky. Picking up colors with the eyedrop tool and going over flaws with a tiny brush.

When I fixed this little light area on the back of her head I left the Clean-up Crew layer and went to my Hair layer instead, because I still have that separate and it's above all the other layers.

I thought my sim was a little too far down in the picture so I moved her up by selecting my whole Sim layer group and the layer on which I have her ground shadow, chosing the move tool and pushing them up. This will move all the layers in the Sim layer group as well as the ground shadow layer equally.

I'm telling y'all, nitpicking mode could go on forever. Added more strands to the bangs.

Noticed a little pointy part on the calf, so I wen't into Liquify on the base Sim layer and smoothed that out. Since the highlight layer has a Clipping Mask corresponding to the Sim layer, the highlight stayed in place.

I duplicate my Sim layer group once more, and merge the layers within this group. So now the Hair, Highlight and Clean-up Crew is all merged onto the Sim layer. I hide the previous Sim groups.

With my new Sim layer selected, I go to Image -> Adjustments -> Hue/Saturation. I want to make my Sim a little less bright so it will match the background a bit better.

I drag down the Saturation and Brightness slider a bit until I like what I see. After this I save my whole image as a PNG-file because from now on I want to edit the whole picture but still want to keep this psd-file as it is for anxiety purposes. Important: I disable my curves layer before saving this as a picture, I don’t want that brought with me into the next steps because I will be adding new curves there.

I open my new saved PNG-file. I go to Filter -> Convert for Smart filters. This will allow us to go back and change any filters we add to this layer. I go to Filter -> Camera Raw Filter and for some reason this window opens up humongus. I start by dragging down the temperature. How much depends on the picture, usually more if it's nighttime.

I pull up the Whites a bit for a cleaner look.

Now I add a Curve Adjustment Layer. Now you can add Contrast in the Camera Raw Filter as well, but I prefer the curve layer because I like to control the different levels. This way I can make my darkest parts a little brighter, giving just a little washed out flair to it all.

I select my background layer again and go to Filter -> Noise -> Add Noise and choose a level that I think looks good. This just brings the picture together a bit more. Also vintage vibes :)))

I add my frame (because it´s my aestethic and I think it looks cool on tumblr) by resizing my workspace and adding a filled white layer underneath the background layer.

I resize my picture (Image -> Image Size) because we don't need it to be huge.

And they I just fine tune the Filters and Curves until the end of time :’)))

And that is that my friends! That’s the end of the tutorial! I hope you could follow somewheat and that someone found it useful. Thank you for reading and never be afraid of contacting me if you have any questions :) I’m very friendly.

#ts4 edit #tutorial

61 notes · View notes

saijspellhart · 3 years

Note

15 thiefshipping please.

15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick. (Thiefshipping)

"Well?" Bakura gave his roommate a pointed look.

Malik tried his hardest to suppress a grimace, but only managed to press his lips together and wrinkle his nose. "What's in these cookies?"

"Cookie stuff! Obviously. Ryou showed me the recipe yesterday. He said it was so easy even I could make it."

Malik tried not to gag when he swallowed, failed, and moved the rest of the cookie under his tongue. "What's the recipe?"

"Butter, flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla," Bakura listed off, clearly getting impatient. "Normal cookie stuff. So how are they?"

"Are you sure you put sugar in them?" Malik shuddered again at the flavor still crawling over his tongue.

Bakura heaved a sigh and picked up a ceramic canister from the counter. "Sugar."

Malik squinted at the little faded label made out of masking tape. "It says salt."

The former Yami spun the container in his hand and glowered at the label, scrutinizing it like some secret coded message. "Fuck. So it does."

Malik took this opportunity to scrape his fingers over his tongue, and dig the rest of the cookie out of his mouth. "Why was I the first one to taste these anyway? Shouldn't it have been you?"

"I tasted them yesterday when Ryou made them. I thought they were good."

"Ryou didn't make them wrong!"

"So I suck at baking! Screw this!" He grabbed the plate and chucked the cookies into the garbage bin, plate included. "I try to do something nice..." the sentence trialed off in muttering that sounded more like swear words. Bakura folded his arms over his chest, practically throwing himself against the counter when he leant back against it.

Much to his distaste, Malik dug the plate out of the trash can. He gave his roommate a side-eye as he placed it into the sink.

"This is why I buy everything from the store," grumbled Bakura.

The soap suds squished between Malik's fingers as he washed his hands, watching the water splash around the clean and empty sink as he did so. It was only then that he took in the state of the kitchen... which to his surprise was oddly clean for a Bakura that just made a batch of salty cookies.

Come to think of it, there weren't even any dirty dishes in the sink from breakfast or lunch.

There was no way his lazy-ass roommate made cookies and washed all the dishes. Was there?

Suspiciously Malik's gaze darted over to Bakura himself. To his utter surprise Bakura was dusted in patches of flour. Bits on his shirt, on his arms, and even some on his face. There very well could have been flour in Bakura's hair too, but it blended in flawlessly with the natural white color caused by his albinism.

So, he really did bake cookies. He turned his attention back to the sink and the surrounding countertops. It wasn't perfect by any means, a little cluttery, and there were some crumbs under the toaster. But the sink was empty aside from the cookie plate, and the counters had been wiped down. He even cleaned the kitchen.

"Thank you," Malik said lowly as he finished rinsing off his hands.

"What?" Bakura spoke the word sharply with a little too much emphasis on the H.

"For cleaning the kitchen," Malik clarified, turning away from the sink and using the dish towel to dry off. "It was... thoughtful."

"Whatever," Bakura huffed and turned his face away.

Malik caught the tint of pink on his pale cheeks regardless. He strode across the kitchen and stopped in front of his roommate leaning in a bit as he grinned. "Teach me."

"Teach you what?" he snarled. "To make salty mistakes?"

"The cookies, Bakura, not your half-ass blowjobs. You said Ryou taught you the recipe, and I want to try them." Malik snagged an apron from a drawer nearby, and threw it over his head. It was a weird, white and pink, frilly thing that Bakura always sneered at but Malik liked it.

"Like hell I'm going through that again. I'll just fuck them up."

"Guess I'll have to make cookies by myself," Malik sniffed, wandering over to the cabinets to take out a mixing bowl. The first thing he grabbed was a pan for a bundt cake. After a blink he shrugged and set it on the counter, then he fished out a wire whisk. "I don't know any of the amounts."

When he collected eight eggs from the fridge, Bakura finally cringed. He heaved a long dramatic sigh before coming up behind Malik and tossing the bundt pan back into the cabinet. He tore down the mixing bowl he'd used earlier and placed it on the counter, then collected a rubber spatula from the utensil drawer.

"Was that so hard?" teased Malik.

"Yes." Bakura pulled out the large plastic container they kept flour in and began measuring it.

Malik watched him carefully, helpfully holding the glass mixing bowl in place while his roommate dumped the white powder in. "I honestly don't know how there is any flour left, you're wearing most of it."

The next cup of flour went right down the front of Malik's shirt.

"Son of a bitch, Bakura! What was that for?!"

The former Yami nonchalantly resumed the task at hand, smirking down at the mixing bowl. "I missed.”

Any attempt to brush the flour away only resulted in smearing more of the white powder over his brown skin, so Malik gave up. He watched Bakura put one more cup into the mixing bowl before asking, "is that the last one?"

"Yes. We need to mix the butter and sugar together in a separate-"

A sudden cascade of white plummeted down over Bakura's head before he could finish his sentence. It exploded into the air in thick clouds, dousing him in powder from hair to socked foot.

The Egyptian beside him stepped away clutching the now empty plastic flour container. A cheeky grin stretching from ear to ear.

For a long moment Bakura simply stood there, dusted like a pale ghost, chocolate brown eyes staring at the counter but focusing on nothing in particular. Malik's nasally chortling the only sound punctuating the moment.

Then the former Yami took a handful of the flour from the mixing bowl and hurled it into his roommate's stupidly laughing face.

Malik sputtered and coughed when a second handful came down on his head, Bakura smacking the flour into his hair.

"S-stop that!" he screeched, still trying to spit out mouthfuls of powder.

"Make me!"

Another fistful of flour almost made it into Malik's hair, but Bakura's socked foot slipped on the flour covered floor, and his flour-covered self ended up careening into Malik instead.

This sent the two men tumbling to the ground where they proceeded to roll around the floor, scooping up fistfuls of excess flour and trying to smear it onto the other. Hair, face, nose, eyes, down the shirts, and into the pants. Malik's foot kicked a cabinet, and Bakura's elbow smacked the linoleum, but neither of them let up.

That is until until Malik's hand came way to close to Bakura's mouth, and his teeth snapped down like a trap.

"You bit me!" Malik recoiled a white dusted arm, that now sported a neat wet teeth pattern amidst the powder on his palm.

Bakura bared his teeth and snapped them again, making a sharp clicking sound.

It was a challenge as much as it was a warning.

And Malik was just the sort of moron who would bait a shark and then go swimming with it. Or bite it back.

He pinned the white-haired male to the floor, difficult because Bakura fought him wildly, but not as difficult as it could be because Bakura was thinner, shorter, and lankier than him. And to anyone's surprise who saw Malik's body he was actually pretty toned. He definitely had more muscles than his roommate, and it came to his advantage in this moment.

He swooped in and clamped his own teeth on the flesh of Bakura's shoulder.

The man beneath him yelled—a strange yowling noise mixed with unintelligible protest—and flailed violently. The movement, coupled with the coating of flour, managed to dislodge Malik, but he swiftly dove in again and bit the next closest thing to his mouth.

That happened to be Bakura's cheek and jaw.

Bakura's socked feet kicked against the powdered linoleum, struggling to find purchase and leverage. He only managed to slip and rub awkwardly against the male above him. A strange noise choked out of Malik's throat that bordered on whimper, and his teeth slipped a bit. Bakura managed to get one hand loose, snagging a fist full of Malik's blonde hair, he ripped the other man off the side of his face. In the same motion he whipped his own head, and bit him in retaliation.

Right on Malik's upper lip.

Malik yelped. Bakura's teeth scraped. And their eyes connected briefly before they suddenly both jerked away.

"Y-you kissed me."

Bakura flinched like someone had taken a swing at him. "No I didn't."

Malik cocked his head and fixed him with a look of disbelief. "What would you call that then?"

"I bit you."

"On the lips!"

"On the mouth!" Bakura refuted.

If it were at all possible Malik's look became even more disbelieving. "It's the same thing." As if to prove his point, the man beneath him wasn't making eye contact.

"It's not."

"It is!"

Not one to back out of an argument, Malik dipped down to substantiate his claim. He pressed his lips flush against Bakura's, capturing the thief's startled mouth in a kiss.

He didn't react at first, unless Malik counted his whole body tensing up like a corpse in rigor mortis. The kiss wasn't long. His lips were soft against his, pliant and and tasting of raw flour. But this wasn't quite the point Malik was trying to prove. He nipped Bakura's bottom lip as he broke away, a lingering pinch of that soft flesh between teeth before he sat back and grinned in triumph.

Thirty seconds passed before the thief sucked in a ragged shuddering breath. "What the hell was that?"

Malik grinned, all white teeth and conceited superiority. "According to you it was a bite, you silly goose." He tapped the end of Bakura's sickly-pale nose with a powder-coated bronze finger.

Bakura's nose scrunched adorably. "Don't call me that."

"You s-ss—stupid bitch," Malik tried again.

Dark chocolate colored eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. He pointedly chose to ignore that and focus on something more important. "That was not a bite." Bakura broke from Malik's half-assed grip. "This is."

Before Malik could even open his mouth to protest, Bakura surged up, took two fistfuls of blonde hair and dragged the former tomb keeper into a fierce kiss that was just as painful as it was intense. They fell back into the pile of flour, a cloud of powder thrown into the air as lips and sharp canines smashed together, bruising and burning.

Nothing about the kiss was gentle or sweet, it was messy and vicious. Their teeth clacked, noses bumped, and Bakura seemed hell bent on shoving his tongue places that made static skitter down Malik's spine.

Despite it all, Malik kissed him back, matching the ferocity with just as much enthusiasm. He was still straddling the thief, bent forward with most of his weight settled on his elbows. Bakura's wild mane of white hair was spread out like a lion's mane around his head, and Malik couldn't resist curling his fingers in the unkempt tresses.

But all too soon the kiss ended, concluded when Bakura's teeth bit down on Malik's lip hard enough to draw blood. Malik hissed, and jerked away from the swipe of Bakura's tongue before it could draw over the wound.

"Shit, what was that for?!" He sat back, wiping a hand over his bloodied lip. He'd barely settled on Bakura's lap for a second when he yelped like a wounded dog and shot off of him and into the kitchen cabinets.

"That's how you bite someone," the thief sneered haughtily. He attempted to hop to his feet in a swift movement, but his socks slipped, and he went crashing down into the flour covered linoleum again, sending a cloud into the air around him.

Malik snorted, coughed, and would have laughed but his eyes were glued on the obvious tent in his roommate's pants.

His attempt at an exit failed, Bakura slapped a hand over his crotch and snarled, "Fuck you, don't look at me."

"I can't believe you kissed me," Malik said as he used the counter to pull himself up onto shaky legs. He cast another look at the flushed man on the floor then added, "and liked it."

"Don't flatter yourself," snapped Bakura. "It's not like it was pleasant. You tasted like salt!"

"Only because I ate your shitty cookie!"

"Because of you we can't make any cookies at all!" Bakura shot back just as defensively. He threw a handful of the ruined flour for emphasis.

"Why the hell were you making cookies to begin with!?" Malik refused to turn away from the counter and opting to yell over his shoulder.

The entire room fell silent.

What seemed like an uncomfortable eternity passed and he chanced looking back at the thief.

Bakura had his face turned away, cheeks scarlet despite the dusting of white, and jaw set like a vice.

"Bakura?"

The former Yami surged to his feet once more. This time succeeding. "I was making them for you," he growled so lowly before storming from the room.

~0000~

How was that, handsome? Hope ya like it. I used a quote from one of our conversations in here. ;3

Thanks for sending me the ask. You’re the best and I love you. 😘

#yugioh #thiefshipping #Marik ishtar #Yami bakura #Malik ishtar #Bakura #yugioh duel monsters #ygo dm #saijspellhart answers #saijspellhart writes #ask answers #fanfic #fanfiction #kiss prompts #kiss meme #prompt drabble

50 notes · View notes

str8aura-no-not-that-one · 2 years

Text

@vyl3tpwny‘s new album is out! WOO WOO!

Can Opener’s Notebook: Fish Whisperer is a trancelike experience, and the three preparations I was given for it were Yak Song, Typewriter, and I’ve Still Got Something to teach you. I loved all of them, but I found myself wishing for more of Yak Song’s personality, and ended up getting more of the latter twos- the personality of a dreamy, ambient, patternless track of noises calling to mind the sea and stars. It definitely fits the character the album is based around, a foreign traveling mare with a connection to the water, but it makes for a much less casual listening experience, than say, Cutiemarks.

A perfect prog album- or whatever genre this could even be considered anymore- should be a blend of creative, off the wall, patternless songs, and more familiar casual listens, in my ears. Dark Side of the Moon contains experimental tracks like On The Run that I could never put on in a casual listening experience blended with more jammable beats like Money. CUTIEMARKS hit that urge of mine perfectly, but this album not so much- the only song I can really describe that had a consistent feel and beat was There’s a Pony and Sea’s Selling Sea Shells (excellent names as always, by the way).

It’s gonna become an album I have to experience, like Aloe and Lotus (Although even that one had Madeleines and Earnest, both songs of the latter type i described), but that’s perfectly okay for such an experimental artist like Vylet. Aside from a few standouts like Yak Song, it blends different takes on its own style well together, creating the illusion of a single flowing song that ramps up in different places for different emotions- which fits quite well, seeing how this album actually has a plot maintained across songs, which she hasn’t done for quite a while since Starship Ponyville, opting instead for an anthology of individual stories about characters and their struggles in CUTIEMARKS. This is generally communicated very well- generally. The sudden stop in the song to have Can talk to the Koi normally was... odd, and a bit jarring given suddenly someone had to be a voice actor.

Theme wise, we have a lot of the usual Vylet fair; rejecting destiny, love, recovering from trauma, and most prevalantly in this one, creation. I expressed worry that it would be too similar to CUTIEMARKS early on, which now seems very silly, but many of the same ideas carry between albums. Queen of Misfits was really a turning point for her style, and with the popularity it brought her, I forsee many more explorations of these themes.

More an importantly for an experimental album than consistency is eliciting emotions, and for someone at the end of a really shitty day, this more than delivered. Good Grief just makes me happy, and I’ve already expressed how breathless I get at I’ve Still Got Something to Teach You. It’s a shorter album (I think? maybe it just feels that way) but it packs a LOT into a little. How the hell did Fantano think their vocals were amateur? They’ve got one of the most expressive and powerful voices in the fandom, fullstop.

And of course, it ends with a bang; its nice hearing the artist so genuinely happy; you could practically hear them smile in their asides, and their laughs at the end. The final song is about a breaking through of artists block and doldrums, a return to form, and a re-embracement of Music as a passion. Its exactly the kind of song Vylet is best suited to, and sea pulled off the perfect cap to the album with it. I’ll be honest; this is by far from my favorite of her albums (that title still goes to Queen, which i wish had gotten a Vinyl release), but i can tell Vylet genuinely enjoyed making every second of this, and the end result is something beautiful.

As a final note, im too lazy to decode that morse, but i know somebody will, im glad to have something like this on a day like today, and would somebody please update her tvtropes page to change the TBA date to 2022 on this album?

#vylet pony #mlp #mlp music #longpost #my posts #oc #review #album #music review #can opener #fish whisperer #can opener's notebook #can opener's notebook: fish whisperer #my little pony #prog rock #electronic

6 notes · View notes

noonmutter · 3 years

Text

Gutted (redux)

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 24: Revelry/Denial

**I wouldn’t repost an older one like this because I feel lazy, but I’m already annoyingly far behind, this blurb is a good one to reference right now after all the stuff I just wrote about Terry’s Super Great Not At All Bad Totally Wonderful Day, and I did go back and clean it up first.**

**DON’T JUDGE ME I TRIED**

He’d put things off entirely too long. How months had slipped by since he’d gotten the news, Leon really wasn’t sure, but he could lay a pretty solid wager that he was still just as good at avoiding grief as he’d always been.

His brother was, by all accounts, dead. Granted… he’d only gotten the one account. And Terry had died before. Not one of those near-death-but-pulled-through deaths either; he had been killed and was brought back. At least twice, that Leon had been made aware of. Knowing his own penchant for getting in over his head and that Terry’s was exponentially worse (or better, depending on one’s perspective), he could only assume there were others. Terry and Shedwyn led bizarre lives; being married to a Meddler always did that, even if Terry was a Dragoon. The Silver Dragoons knew damn well they were so Meddler-adjacent as to be virtually indistinguishable by now: Adventurers, but they at least tried to adhere to military structure.

Still… Leon had no idea how to process it. And usually, if Terry was going to come back, he’d have done it by now. Or at least, Leon would have received word of it by now. Shedwyn kept him appraised, and if Shedwyn didn’t, then Vember did. But…there had been nothing.

Talking to anybody else about it–not just about the possibility that Terry really was dead this time, but that he might not be dead–got frustrating results. Most of them used the word ‘denial’ several times. But it wasn’t quite the same when the guy had actually come back from the actual dead before.

No body? No certainty. They’d found his armor, most of his gear, but no traces of the man. Which could have been because he’d been stranded in a desert and had that… melting…disease…thing… Goo evaporated, right? That was the running theory. He’d been stranded in the deserts in Uldum alone, gone too long without his medicines, slowly melted, and then burned away under the sunlight before anybody even found him.

Thanks, N'Zoth.

It still felt wrong, though. Maybe that was denial. Maybe that was why Leon hadn’t talked to Shedwyn yet. Maybe she was grieving too, and could have used the company, and he’d been too up his own ass to think of it, and he was a terrible sibling and sibling-in-law.

Maybe it was a blend of the two.

Either way, he needed to talk to Shedwyn, so he made his way out to Duskwood. Either they’d both drive themselves crazy coming up with theories, she’d confirm it for him, and he could finally figure out how to process it all, or… gods, what else? Who knew. Meddlers…

Leon was not counting on the possibility that Shedwyn would simply not be home. Nor that their stead stood largely empty, devoid of pets or people, save a few attendant staff. One of whom had almost whooped his ass for getting past the wards (he was family, he’d been allowed ages ago) and actually knocking on the door.

Very wisely not moving as he spoke, Leon offered a weak smile. “…You must be th’ nanny, then?”

The Pandaren slowly lowered her foot from its position one inch away from Leon’s larynx. “Ah. I see the resemblance now. You are the brother, then. I am Shufen. My condolences to you.”

“Ah…yeah, thanks… Is Shedwyn’ ere? She’s not answ'rin’ 'er comm any, 'asn’t in days.”

“I would be surprised if she has answered it in weeks, given where she has been.”

“I’m gonna regret askin’, aren’t I."

"That depends on whether you regret not knowing, as I was not permitted to tell you."

"Oh come o–"

"Specifically you. 'Do not tell Leon about this; he will do something stupid.’ Her words."

Leon started to reply, but paused and rubbed the back of his neck.

Shufen shrugged one shoulder in a vague form of apology. "I would not have quoted her, but she advised that I do so because you would agree with her assessment."

"No wonder she 'ates it when I do it to 'er.”

“It is very grating to be known so well, yes. That is why I will tell you anyway; she is doing something I feel is inadvisable and should probably be dragged kicking and screaming back here to take care of her living family and obligations."

Leon blinked. "Come again?"

"Shedwyn never really accepted the death of her husband. Asked me almost every day if there was word about or from him yet, even after the man’s captain had started sending her military stipends upon his declaration of death. The banshee-queen shattering the sky like she did and all the horrible rumors about where our departed are going now… she leapt at the chance to find him and bring him back. Her children have been left in Ironforge with the Truthhammers. Executorship of her orchards was granted to me until her return or one year from her departure, whichever comes first."

"She what?!” The flash of panic was just that, coming and going almost immediately as Leon actually let the thought filter through. His shoulders sagged. “…’ Course she did. O' course she did."

Shufen merely nodded. She’d already gone through the same mental hurdles months ago. "Indeed. So, I remain here, gainfully employed but incredibly irritated with my mistress, while hoping she survives and returns sane before the heat death of the universe."

The Gilnean could only smile at that last bit. "She rubbed off on y’, huh."

"Ugh, do not remind me. Go, do whatever it is you intend to do about it. I have now devoted entirely too much direct thought to the state of my employer and friend and would like some very strong tea."

"Um. Right. Thank you, miss. Enjoy yer tea."

At the man’s use of the word 'tea,’ the Pandaren woman smirked, pulled a steel flask from her pocket for him to see, and winked. "Safe journey to you, Mr. Ambroce.”

Before he’d had a chance to respond, she shut the door in his face and locked it.

Leon stood there for a minute or two in contemplative silence before he turned on his heel and spat in the dirt by Toffee’s empty pen.

Of all the ways this visit could’ve gone, I was not ready for the possibility I might be right. Why am I never ready for that?

As he took to the sky, he heaved a tremendous mental sigh. If absolutely nothing else… he needed to find Shedwyn, now.

He was pretty sure Pin would get it, and Kaewynn would probably come around, but Valarin was gonna strangle him.

( @daily-writing-challenge )

#my writing #the light in lordaeron #dwc #I still feel like I'm cheating but it's valid right #RIGHT #augh

5 notes · View notes

fallingarchons · 3 years

Text

idiot

pairing: xiao / gn!reader

cw: cursing, mild violence, description of injuries

in which xiao thinks you’re an idiot, but never once thought he’d want you to be his idiot

wc: 4.7k

A/N: hey everyone! i’ve never written before, and i’ve kinda been on my genshin brainrot for a while now. honestly this has been living in my mind rent free for a while so i decided to take a crack at it and start writing, and the result was this kinda corny, super cliche lil ficlet. hope you all enjoy! also, it’s not edited because i’m kinda lazy whoops. luv ya, n enjoy!

Xiao hates you.

He really does.

How dare you walk into HIS inn, stand on HIS balcony eating HIS almond tofu, grinning that disgustingly beautiful smile while loudly talking to your equally as loud companion about archons know what.

Honestly? Xiao thinks you’re an idiot.

He watches for around 20 minutes, fuming, as the two of you continue your high volume conversation that has done nothing but disturb his peace. Xiao decides then and there that he does not like you, and he wants you away from him as soon as possible.

With that thought in mind, he hops down from his spot on the roof.

His hand reaches out to angrily tap you on the shoulder, when suddenly he’s face to face with wide (e/c) eyes.

“Well hello there handsome.”

“Excuse me?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were having a pretty good day.

You had finally reached Liyue after almost 2 weeks of travelling, as you hailed from Mondstadt originally. You were sent out on a couple commissions that required you to travel to the neighboring city of Liyue, where you met your current travelling companion and good friend Xiangling. The two of you had eaten dinner at her restaurant, where you were recommended the Wangshu Inn by a passing customer.

“Xiangling, do you know of a possible place that I could stay tonight?” you swallowed your Sweet Mistress before continuing. “I have to head out on a commission in the plains tomorrow, so I need somewhere near there.”

Xiangling opened her mouth to answer you, but a man passing by your table spoke before she could. “The Guili Plains? There’s a nice inn over there called the Wangshu Inn that you could stay at. The nightly rate isn’t too expensive, and the views are incredible.”

Xiangling sprung up from her chair. “Wangshu Inn? I know that place! I’ve heard so many good things about it. Oh and the food there- YUM!! They have so many amazing options. There's mora meat, sweet mistresses, almond tofu-”

“Xiangling! Take a breath, girl!” You cut off her mindless rambling with an eye roll, patting her back as she heaved.

The passerby spoke up again, “I would really recommend the almond tofu. The chef there, Smiley Yixiao, is a good friend of mine, and he makes delicious almond tofu. You should definitely try it if you end up staying there.”

You smiled, thanking him for his help before nodding to Xiangling. She met your gaze, and the two of you cleared your table before walking out.

Before you left, the nice passerby stopped you one last time.

“It’s still light outside. If you hurry, you can catch the sunset! The top floor valley has a gorgeous view of the sunset. Oh- and tell Yixiao hi for me, okay?”

Waving goodbye to the man, you and Xiangling started off towards the Wangshu Inn, a little skip present in your step. Picking up a light jog, you aimlessly chatted with your friend as the bustle of the City of Contracts grew farther and farther away.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck, man.”

You had nearly collapsed once you finally arrived at the inn, out of breath from running for so long.

“It- shit, hold on” you pant. “It’s nearly sunset we have- we have to hurry up.”

Xiangling flashed you a quick thumbs up, equally as exhausted as you were. After getting your bearings, the two of you sluggishly walked into the inn.

A voice called out to you from your left.

“Hello and welcome to the Wangshu Inn! My name is Verr Goldet. Can I help you two travelers with anything?”

Given you still hadn’t fully recovered from the run, Xiangling took over, conversing with Verr Goldet about your anticipated stay.

While Xiangling handled the room, you decided to look around a bit. You walked down a small flight of stairs to what looked like a large kitchen, with a tall man cooking some delicious-smelling meals. The words of the friendly passerby flashed into your mind, and you asked him,

“Are you by any chance Smiley Yixiao? And do you have any of your famed almond tofu?”

The man visibly startled, a small squeak coming out of his mouth as he whipped around. Realizing it was a living person and not a ghost, he seemed to calm down. He told you that he was in fact Smiley Yixiao, and he happened to have some extra almond tofu on hand he had made earlier.

“Actually, if you could take this up to the balcony on the top floor for me, that would be great. Xiao should be up there right now.”

You nodded, taking the three plates of the gelatin dish from his hands.

‘...Xiao? Now who in the world is that.’ you wondered to yourself. Shrugging, you jogged up the stairs back to your friend, who was waiting for you with the room key.

“Oh my gosh that looks so good I am so excited!”

You returned Xiangling’s excitement with just as much enthusiasm, and you talked animatedly about how good it looked until you got to the balcony.

Eyes wide, you stared at the view in front of you in awe. The sky was a beautiful blend of crimson, gold, orange, and a hint of purple. The sun was but a small red sliver cutting the horizon. Leaning on the railing, you thought you had never seen anything more beautiful.

That is, until you turned around.

There in front of you is perhaps the most gorgeous man- no, human being you had ever seen in your life. He has pitch black hair with what looks to you like green highlights and- is that orange eyeliner? You look at his outfit- strange but it fits him in a way that’s almost unfair. But what really draws you in are his eyes. Striking liquid gold stares back at you unblinkingly, and you swear you just about passed out.

‘Well hello there handsome.’ you thought to yourself.

“Excuse me?” comes the annoyed reply.

Shit.

Did you say that out loud?

“Yes, you did in fact say that out loud.” the annoyed voice continues. “Now tell me, mortal. What in Morax’s name are you doing on my balcony?”

You know that you have a perfectly good reason for being on the balcony, it’s a public place for archon’s sake. But his steely eyes and icy voice make any defense you planned on vocalizing retreat down your throat, rendering you speechless with your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Your eyes quickly scan the area, searching for your friend to get you out of this mess, only to find she had left in the midst of your distraction.

The man in front of you scoffs, rolling his eyes at your flustered demeanor.

“Leave mortal. You have no business here.”

As he turns to leave, you finally find your voice.

“Hey, uh, green bean man!”

When did you get so bold?

You see him freeze midstep.

“...Green. Bean. Man?” he grits. “Why you-“

“Yeah green bean man because your hair is green and I don’t know your name anyways that’s not important basically I just wanted to see the sunset and I was told by a chef to come up here and so I did and I didn’t know it was off limits sorry it won’t happen again sexy man.”

Panting, you look at him, only to see pools of amber glaring at you from your outburst.

Letting out a nervous laugh, you fumble for the dish that was given to you, holding it out to him tentatively.

“I take it you’re probably Xiao so… almond tofu?”

You see his eyes briefly light up, before reverting back to their steely appearance. He walks over to you, snatching the food from your outreached hand. You raise your gaze to meet his, immediately feeling the intensity of his guarded glare.

“You are an idiot, mortal. Now leave, and do not come back here. Do not come near me.”

With that, he disappears in a puff of teal.

Unfortunately, Xiao was right.

You are an idiot.

For the next month, he watches with disdain as you make yourself at home on his balcony, clutching a plate of almond tofu every time.

Despite his harsh glare and “stay-away” demeanor, you make a beeline for him every time, already happily chirping away about something he deems meaningless.

He rarely answers you when you talk to him, opting instead for humming and the occasional one word answer.

That is, if he decides to respond at all.

You don’t seem to care though, if he’s thinking about it. No matter if he says anything or not, you always continue talking until he eventually leaves.

Despite what he thought at the beginning, he knows he doesn’t necessarily hate you, nor does he aspire to be mean to you.

Xiao, quite frankly, is just not used to this. ‘This’ being the idea of having a companion, a friend. He’s used to solitude, and doesn’t know how to act now that someone is showing interest in knowing him.

On top of this, he is dangerous. He knows he is dangerous.

Anyone who gets close to him eventually gets hurt. And why should he put in the effort of creating an emotional bond when all they’re going to do is leave him?

Whether it be by time,

or by his own hand.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yet here he is, 3 months into your stay in Liyue, attempting to make almond tofu with you at Xiangling’s restaurant.

You had dragged him to the city a couple of hours ago, whining that “it’s Lantern Rite, a celebration about YOU!” and “Xiao you have to go with me! Don’t make me go alone!”

He eventually gave in, (though it really didn’t take much effort on your part) and he finds himself being yanked by the hand through the lantern-lit city.

He thinks if you weren’t holding onto him, he certainly would’ve lost you by now.

You are a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm he’s come to find out, and he struggles to keep up with you and your curiosity. Every second in Liyue it seems you’ve found something new to look at.

“Xiao! Let’s go look at the Mingxiao lantern!”

“Okay-“

“Wait no, look at that food stand!”

“Weren’t we goi-“

“IS THAT A DOG.”

“I- nevermind.”

Xiao almost groaned in relief when you told him you wanted to have dinner at Xiangling’s restaurant. He just wanted to sit down and rest for a little bit, not used to the bustling social environment that is Liyue’s Lantern Rite Festival.

But maybe that was just wishful thinking.

That much is obvious to him when he overcooks his almond tofu for the fourth time. When he let out a nearly inaudible groan, the sound of your loud laughter rings throughout the restaurant. He looks over to see you doubled over on the floor, nearly crying at his expense.

“P-please Xiao. y-y-you idiot” you manage to wheeze out. “How- how- oh my god hold on I can’t breathe- how are you so bad at this?”

He should be angry. A mere mortal laughing at him, the Conqueror of Demons, a man with more blood on his hands than anyone will ever truly know, laughing at something so trivial like he’s never done wrong in his life. Like he’ll never do you wrong. He should be upset. He should push you away, tell you to never associate yourself with him again for your own protection.

Instead, for the first time in over 1000 years, Xiao laughs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What did you write?” you ask, sitting on the cliff above Liyue.

A questioning hum sounds from next to you at your sudden question. You don’t bother to look over, eyes still glued to the lantern-filled sky above you.

“On your lantern? I hear the citizens write their wishes on the lanterns in hopes that the Adepti will see them and grant them.” you explain.

“I know that. And nothing important.”

“Oh.”

A beat of awkward silence passes.

“I… have my last commission tomorrow, so I’ll be leaving Liyue. I’m due back in Mondstadt to report to Kaeya my findings.” you say reluctantly, fiddling with the lantern in your lap.

You’re greeted with silence, the carefree mood quickly turning somber.

Another beat passes before you hear rustling, and turn your head. You’re met with the sight of Xiao quickly standing. He releases his lantern before you could glimpse what he had written before turning to walk away. You balk, calling out to him.

“Dude! Yo! Green bean man! Where are you going? I thought we were going to release our lanterns together!”

He freezes, his posture rigid. He can hear the thinly veiled hurt in your voice, and his chest squeezes in a way he doesn’t want to understand.

“I’m being summoned. If I do not see you before your departure, I extend my well-wishings. Goodbye traveler.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you speechless, alone, and hurt.

Your hand shakily reaches down to grasp your lantern, reading the inscription once more before letting it go.

‘I wish I didn’t have to leave him behind.’

A single tear rolls down your cheek.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

High in the mountains above Liyue, a figure watches as a lone traveler releases their lantern. Clutching the lantern of a certain adeptus, the figure reads the neat writing once more.

‘I wish they didn’t have to leave me.’

Chuckling, the figure’s hand reaches to snatch the traveler’s lantern out of the sky.

“Just as I predicted,” the figure laments, reading the second wish. “the Yaksha finally has a weakness.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You never thought you would be so hesitant to return to Mondstadt. But the thought of leaving Xiao your new Liyue friends was nearly enough to convince you to shackle yourself to your bedpost so you couldn’t leave.

You had never been one for rationality.

Letting out a deep sigh, you shoved the last of your few belongings into your travel pack. You stand in the doorway, taking one last glimpse at the room you had called home for the past few months, before heading downstairs.

Immediately, you are pulled into a bone crushing hug by a sobbing Xiangling. You faintly hear her blubbering, but it’s too quick and muffled by your shoulder to understand.

Your eyes quickly survey the room, flitting between the smiling faces of your friends. Desperately searching for someone you aren’t even sure you want to see.

Unfortunately (or fortunately- you still can’t tell), the adeptus was nowhere to be found. You lock eyes with Xinyan, who looks at you sympathetically. (You had met Xinyan after you bursted into Xiangling’s restaurant in tears following Xiao’s abrupt departure. She was understanding, but you still feel a bit awkward that her first impression of you was crying over a boy.)

You pry Xiangling off of you as much as you can, cupping her face so that her eyes meet yours. “Ling-Ling, this isn't goodbye forever! I’ll be back at some point, I promise!” you reassure yourself her. Fighting back tears of your own, you walk around to say your farewells to everybody else.

Your farewells are quick but emotional, and you find yourself crying as you walk out of the inn. A tap on your shoulder makes you turn around, and your (c) irises meet amber.

“Xia-“

He cuts you off, “Be careful on your way back. If you find yourself in trouble, summon me. Say my name and I’ll be there. Any time. Anywhere. Goodbye traveler.”

“Wait Xiao I-“ He’s gone before you can finish your thought.

Your hand that is reached out moves to whip the tears from your face.

‘It’s useless to just sit here and fucking cry,’ you think bitterly. ‘I’ve got shit to do, and I’m going to do it. It’s time to get serious and focus. Come on ____, you’re better than this!’

With that thought in mind, you straighten your back, effectively steeling yourself before heading out into the vast plains.

You don’t turn back once.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I should’ve turned back! Why didn’t I turn back?” you shout over the loud roars of the Frostarm Lawachurl stomping after you. Thinking back on it, you don’t entirely know why you accepted a commission in Dragonspine of all places.

You really, really, really hate Dragonspine.

You mutter expletives under your breath, cursing whatever god was willing to listen for making you encounter this overgrown yeti. You’re tired, cold, hungry, and running on pure adrenaline at this point.

What would’ve happened if you had just stayed in Liyue?

That thought briefly flashes through your mind, and in your distraction you don’t notice you’ve slowed down.

That is, until an icy fist rams into your backside.

You can practically feel the bones in your spine shatter as you fly off the edge of the mountain. Summoning all of the energy you have left, you force open your wind glider before you can fall to your rocky doom.

Through hazy eyes you spot a shallow cave on the side of the mountain. You wheeze out a sigh of relief, floating down into the mouth of the cave. Inside, you spot remnants of what looks to be the camp of a traveler. Scattered books, a pot, and- oh thank archons- a makeshift fire pit. As you weakly light the fire, you silently thank the gods for blessing you with a Pyro Vision. It really saves your ass sometimes.

You let out a small laugh through chattering teeth, pulling your jacket closer to your body as you lay down on the cold floor. Pain flares in your shattered back, and you whimper quietly.

With frozen tears on your cheeks and the crackling sound of the fire, you finally doze off into a dreamless sleep.

Oh how you wish you didn’t.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you do eventually wake up, you kind of wish you hadn’t.

First of all, your back is on fire. Your fingers feel like they’re frozen in place, and your head feels like you were hit upside the head by the hilt of Xinyan’s claymore. Your whole body is stiff and ridden with knots that you itch to stretch out but can’t due to the chains holding your wrists in place.

Wait.

Chains?

Your eyes widen almost comically as you stare at the glinting metal of your cuffs. Your head whips around to look at your surroundings.

“Ow, too fast too fast. Oh, my head…”

Recovering, you come to find you’re in some sort of jail cell, metal bars keeping you from the outside world, and- oh dear Lord Barbatos is that a rat?

Pfft. How cliche.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the pounding in your head.

“Hey! Is anyone out there? Because, uh, what the fuck? I have places to be! I need to go!”

Silence follows, until you hear the faint clacking of footsteps echoing through the dungeon. You can’t quite make out the features of whoever is walking down the dark hallway, so you squint your eyes at the silhouette.

“Well, well, well what do we have-“

Not in the mood for another cliche, you cut the figure off. “Save the corny villain speech, I don’t care.” you deadpan. “Just tell me where the hell I am before I blast you into next week.”

The figure stops right before your bars, and in the dim lighting you can finally make out her features. You bite back a noise of surprise, because you swear if this woman hadn't kidnapped you, you would probably try to court her. Her indigo irises look at you mockingly before she speaks.

“Blast me into next week…” she taps her chin in a mock ponder. “Oh! I don’t suppose you mean with this?” You look at her now outstretched arm, seeing your precious Pyro Vision dangling from a perfectly manicured finger. Your eyes shoot to your left hip where your Vision should be, seeing nothing. You’re at a loss for words. Your only plan of escape was with the use of your fire, and now you’re practically useless.

Dread fills your body. You faintly hear the woman giggle sadistically as you visibly deflate, but you’re too caught up with your thoughts to really care. Your mind is running a mile a minute, trying to pinpoint something that could possibly help you get out of here alive.

“Be careful on your way back. If you find yourself in trouble, summon me. Say my name and I’ll be there. Anytime. Anywhere.”

Xiao.

You could call Xiao.

La Signora’s sardonic smile widens when she sees your apparent internal battle. You’re thinking about it. She knows you’re thinking about it. She set things up perfectly, and now everything is falling into place. The normally composed woman is practically vibrating with giddiness.

“Do it dolly,” she taunts. “I know you want to. Call the adeptus dolly. Call him to you.”

“No.” your voice is firm.

“Do it.” hers is firmer.

“No.” your voice wavers, and her grin widens impossibly more.

“Do it!” she slams her hands on the bars, and you startle.

“N-no!” your resolve weakens further, and La Signora knows she has you.

She slowly opens your cell door, sauntering over to you with a sick look on her beautiful face. She leans down, her lips inches from your ear.

“Do. It.” she hisses.

You crack.

You wilt, whispering into your knees.

“Xiao, please. Help me.”

A flash of teal and black.

Your captor stands up. “Oh good you're here! Now things get interesting.” She turns to you with her arm raised. “Now go to sleep dolly. The adults are talking.” She brings her hand down on your neck.

The last thing you see before you fall under is the mask the adeptus swore to never wear again form in his hand.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the second time in what feels like 3 days, you wake up feeling like you were hit with a claymore. Shutting your eyes again, you snuggle back into the warmth of the sheets. Something grabs onto your arm and a voice mutters, “Shh. Don’t move or you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Your mind catches up to you, and suddenly everything hits you.

One: why are you in a bed?

And two: who the hell is touching you?

Fighting the excruciating pain in both your head and your spine, you turn over to meet the worried eyes of your companion.

“V-verr Goldet? Is that you? Why is it you? Does this mean I’m back at the Wangshu Inn? Why am I back at the inn? How did I get here? Wh-”

“____ hey. Take a deep breath. To answer your questions, yes it is me. Yes you are back at the Wangshu Inn. You were taken by the Fatui- you know what? I think there is someone else more suited to tell you what happened. He’s been showing up outside your door for nearly a week waiting for you to wake up.”

You balk. “A week? I've been asleep for a full week?”

Verr Goldet laughs quietly. “Yes, a full week. Your injuries are severe, and your body needed time to heal. Frankly, I’m surprised you're awake even now. I will take my leave. I can feel him getting restless knowing you're awake.”

She turns to walk away, pausing in the doorway once more. “Please go easy on him. He’s never experienced this sort of… attachment before. He’s just a bit confused. He really has never meant to bring you any sort of anguish, he’s just doing what he’s always done.” You watch as she leaves the room, her form in the doorway being replaced by one you know all too well. You begin to lift your body to welcome him, and he rushes over to gently nudge you back down.

“Don’t strain yourself too much. Your spine is greatly injured, and Qiqi is gathering what she needs to try to fix the fractures. She should be here within the next day.” He pauses, sighing. “I suppose you would like to know what happened, right?” He doesn’t meet your eyes.

He breathes in once more before beginning his tale.

“You were taken by a woman named La Signora, who revealed herself to me as the Eight of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. She had been following you for a while, and finally found an ideal moment to strike when you were in that cave in Dragonspine.” You are extremely confused. Why did La Signora decide to take you? Of what importance could you have been to the Fatui? Your confusion must have shown, because Xiao speaks again.

“I know you must be wondering why the Fatui would want you for seemingly no reason. She explained to me after I defeated her that the Fatui wants to wipe out all immortal beings. So she utilized what she found to be my weakness. Which is, well, you. Because of my apparent romantic feelings towards you. She saw our wishes on our lanterns during the Lantern Rite and...”

At this point you've drowned him out. ‘Apparent romantic feelings?’ How can he say that so matter-of-factly?

“Wait hold on back up. You-” you clear your throat awkwardly. “You like me?”

He looks at you strangely. “No I do not ‘like’ you. It has been brought to my attention that what I feel for you is called ‘love’ and that I am in love with you. And I am aware that you feel this love toward me too.”

He notices your silence and speaks up hesitantly. “Am- am I incorrect?”

The kicked-puppy voice almost has you flailing. You wave your arms wildly, and nearly scream “No! No. No you’re not- oh ow ow ow ow ow.” In your urgency, you strained your injuries. Again. Xiao’s eyes soften as he reaches out to lay you back down into bed, careful of your back. When the pain subsides, you speak again.

“No, you're not incorrect. I was just, taken aback, by how upfront you were. I do love you, a lot actually, and it’s very surprising that you feel the same way. I… I’m very happy.”

“Your face is extremely red. Are you running a fever?”

You weakly whack him in the arm, and he lets out a small laugh.

“I am just joking my love, I am not that dense.”

Your face flushes more with every word that comes out of his mouth.

“So are we going to kiss now? Since we are a couple in a romantic relationship I think we should.” You don’t know where your burst of confidence came from, but at his words you wrap your arms around his neck, yanking him down to your level. He braces himself with one arm on the bed, the other resting on your waist. Right as your lips are about to meet, you hear a thud and then an exasperated “Xiangling!”

You and Xiao look at each other, looks of equal annoyance present on your features. You push him up reluctantly.

“If you guys don’t open that door and get your sorry asses in here, I swear to Morax-”

The door opens slowly, and your friends shuffle, bearing sheepish grins. Your sword materializes in your hand, already glowing with fire. Xiao’s arm lifts to steady yours, and you mentally thank him for not making you look too out of commission. The glint in your eyes hint that you mean business, and Xiangling is the first to squeak out an apology.

“We’re sorry ____, we just wanted to know!”

Your eyes glint dangerously, and you nudge Xiao.

“Since I can’t exactly do anything, he will. Time to face the wrath of a Yaksha bitches!” you exclaim gleefully. “Xiao get them! Go!” you shoo him away with your hands.

Xiao shakes his head once more, before pushing himself off of your bedside. His jade polearm appears in his hand, and he stalks towards your friends. The door closes behind him and you’re left to your own thoughts. You think back to the words he’s said to you on many an occasion.

“You’re an idiot, mortal.”

You suppose you are an idiot. But maybe so is he. You’re just two idiots in love. At that thought, you laugh.

You suppose you'll get that kiss later.

#genshin #genshin xiao #genshin oneshot #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader

22 notes · View notes

nyctolovian · 3 years

Link

Oh my goodness! My first Good Omens fic!! I finally did it! So yeah uhhhh enjoy this weird thing

Summary: A pair of wedding rings had somehow come into Crowley’s possession (it was purchased) and she decides she might as well do a marriage proposal while she’s at it.

It was an entirely human concept—marriage, that is. If anything, this was an attempt at blending in. They were already so often mistaken as a married couple. They might as well play the part. So yep, the pair of rings Crowley bought was a front. All to fool any onlookers and play the role they have already been assigned to by the humans.

Surely, Aziraphale would understand.

Or at least, that’s what Crowley told herself as she sat in her Bentley, practically bouncing in her seat with nervous energy. It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, many months after the Not-pocalypse.

No angel nor demon had ever bothered them since and the two have settled back into their previous lives before being so rudely interrupted by plans for war. Perhaps “settled back ” was the wrong term because it had felt more like coming home for the first time, shucking off a stiff coat they’ve been wearing all this while and flinging it onto the coat hanger at the end of a terribly long day.

They were finally able to simply be without worrying about how they should take their next breath. No need to think or overthink.

So it was no surprise that between spotting a lovely pair of rings, and envisioning slipping them on (one on a spindly, nail-bitten finger and the other on a plump, manicured finger), Crowley found herself outside the angel’s bookshop with the pair in her pocket. Completely without proper thought, on autodrive, drunk on serendipity.

After all, it was a well-known fact that while Crowley was brilliant at coming up with ideas, she was godawful at thinking them through.

Gingerly, Crowley fished the pair of rings out of her pocket. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for her impulsiveness. They really were quite gorgeous. Perfect for them even.

Crowley collapsed further into the driver’s seat with an aggravated sigh. Oh, who was she trying to kid? This was most definitely a selfish romantic gesture that bordered on possessiveness. Unbecoming of a demon, really. Or perhaps rather appropriate given that greed was a sin. Not that anyone was keeping track of her demonic work anymore.

But what would Aziraphale say?

Somewhere between the not-pocalypse and present day, they had silently settled into a romantic relationship. The Day After The End, something—some sort of clear dividing line between the two of them—dissolved. And somewhere between then and now, they had settled into a romantic relationship. The tipping point was not clear but where they’ve landed was immensely so. A result of literal thousands of years dancing around each other in overly complex rituals and choreography for fear of being caught red-handed. It was difficult shaking off certain habits, and the two still found safety in playing out their usual game of implications and knowing glances so it simply continued past the need for it.

These rings however… Quite frankly, it would utterly shatter their defensive veil of pretense and dance. The nature of the relationship would be out in the open, and that wasn’t even getting to the fact that the rings were a direct request for something more; greedy demon that Crowley was.

With a noise between a groan and a growl, Crowley grabbed the box of cheesecake in her passenger seat, threw the car door open and sauntered to the bookshop with conviction.

“Hiya, Angel!” she said as the door to the bookshop swung open at the snap of her fingers.

A rather exasperated Aziraphale was attending to a red-faced young lady, who clutched an ancient-looking book in her hands. The corners of his eyes, however, wrinkled with delight at Crowley’s voice and he spun around, hands clutched together in front of his belly. “Oh, Crowley! I didn’t know you were coming!” he said. “I love it when you tie your hair up like that. It’s very lovely.”

“You say that no matter what I do to my hair,” Crowley muttered. She felt a blush grow on her cheeks nonetheless.

“That’s because it’s always true,” he replied. Primly, he turned back to the agitated lady and said, “I’m afraid we will have to close shop this instant. Seeing that we cannot come to an agreement, I’m afraid I cannot sell you this book.” He slid the book right out of her hands and pushed it into the bookshelf.

“But—” The lady’s face got even redder. Crowley wondered how much blood this woman had in her to turn this shade. “Just tell me what price you’re willing to sell this for!” she yelled.

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Aziraphale said, “As I’ve said, you decide what price you’re willing to pay and I’ll decide if that’s the price I'm—”

Throwing her hands up, the lady let out a screech of frustration. “This is impossible!” she screamed as she marched towards the door, shoving past Crowley with a scowl.

“Do come back another day if you wish to re-negotiate,” Aziraphale called.

“I’m never setting foot into this bloody shop ever again!” she yelled back from the door. “Go to fucking hell!”

“I already have,” Aziraphale, the cheeky bastard, looking much too pleased with himself, replied as the lady slammed the door shut.

As he flipped the door signage to “Close”, Crowley stuck a hand in her pocket nervously. After clearing her throat lightly, she said, “Arrived at a convenient time, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” he said, “you have no idea. That lady has been badgering me for the past hour. I admire the tenacity but I’d appreciate it if she didn’t use it for acquiring my books.” With a small pout, he looked at Crowley. “Can you imagine parting with a First Edition Oscar Wilde?”

Crowley let out a grunting hum that conveyed a simultaneous sort of non-understanding and sympathy. She raised the box of cake and said, “Got several gifts.”

“Ah!” the angel said, clapping his hands together, his frown disappearing altogether. He peered into the bag before heading towards the kitchen. “Do take a seat, my dear. I have just the right tea to go with that lovely cheesecake.”

Crowley nodded stiffly and crumpled into her armchair. She shifted in her seat anxiously, unable to find a comfortable position. Where were legs supposed to go again? Surely her skinny jeans were never actually this tight. And perhaps wearing her hair in a loose bun like this was a terrible idea, too much fringe and curtains.

Before the snake demon could sort herself out, Aziraphale returned with a tray of plates and tea and slid it onto the table. With nimble fingers, he opened the box and cut out two neat slices of the cake. As soon as Crowley took his plate of cake, Aziraphale wasted no time and gently used his fork carve out a bit of the cheesecake. Crowley watched intently as he popped it between his lips and moaned around the mouthful, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. He slid the fork out of his mouth and his pink tongue ducked out to lick off some of the cream coating his lips. How on earth the angel could make eating practically pornographic was beyond Crowley’s comprehension, but she absorbed the view like a dehydrated sponge.

Aziraphale noticed her gaze. “This is absolutely scrumptious,” he said after swallowing.

A smile slid onto her face with ease. “Hm. ’s that so?”

Crowley proceeded to devour her slice, and then spent the rest of the hour watching Aziraphale slowly work his way through the rest of the cake.

Despite the lovely distraction, however, Crowley found her mind wandering back towards the tiny ring box in her pocket. She squirmed as the thoughts invaded her mind again, like locusts upon a field. It wasn’t too late to just let the day go by and never mention the rings. This was far too impulsive anyway. Aziraphale might not even appreciate it. Maybe Crowley would be going too fast for him again.

But, her mind also supplied, Aziraphale was the one who gave Crowley the keys to his flat above the bookshop. Not that Crowley needed it—she could always miracle her way into his flat if she needed to—but it was about the symbolism and implication. An invitation. An invitation that she took because ever since, she had only entered her flat at Mayfair to collect her belongings and settle scores with the plants.

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. Maybe he’d be delighted. Maybe the keys to his flat were the hints. Maybe he was waiting.

But what if she was reading it all wrong? She never was good at reading, snake eyes and all. He could very well be—

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, startling her. The plate clinked lightly as he placed it on the table. “Is there something wrong?”

“Hnk! Nothin’. Nothing’s wrong. ’s all fine. Why d'you ask?”

“Your sunglasses…”

Crowley made a punched out noise and writhed a little in her chair. “Angel, I—” Her voice snagged on her throat and her lips flapped open and close silently.

It was now or never. And never was a dreadfully long time for an immortal being.

She raised her ass off the seat so she could reach into her jean pocket and yank out the tiny box. Aziraphale’s bottom lip jutted in confusion. With a deep breath (which Crowley’s corporation frankly didn’t need), she slid off the couch, ripped off her sunglasses and dropped to her knee before opening the box.

There, neatly sat a pair of rings with identical feathered-wing designs at their open ends. Aziraphale’s name was neatly engraved on the inner curve of the silver ring and Crowley’s on the black one.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Crowley,” he breathed. “You don’t mean—” Cheeks tinted pink with surprise, he leaned forward.

Crowley swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat. Her arm gradually lowered as she muttered, “If… it’s too much—”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “This–” He cleared his throat. “This is a… um… proposal, yes?”

Crowley nodded.

“Fancy that. Getting married,” Aziraphale mused, fondness dripping from his voice. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

Crowley let out a huff of relief and she fought against the soppy smile tugging upon her lips. She fumbled with the box and her trembling fingers were barely capable of holding the black ring. Gently, she cupped the angel’s hand. Those soft hands curled lightly over her fingers and she swore she must have been blessed or something because a shock ran down her spine.

This must be a dream, she thought giddily as she slid the ring onto his fourth finger. She glanced up to see Aziraphale’s radiant glee, a grin that wrinkled his cheeks and the corners of his eyes and spread into his temples.

No dream could match the ethereal blessing of that smile, Crowley knew. This is absolutely real.

“Humans and their little inventions, y'know?” she whispered in reverence.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale replied. “I do quite enjoy it when they do that. It can all be rather, well, exciting.”

Crowley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “S'pose that’s one way to put it,” she mumbled.

He leaned down to pick up the ring box. The cool ticklish sensation as he slipped the silver ring onto Crowley’s finger drew the most delicious shade of rose out of her. “Do you suppose we should have a wedding?” the angel asked.

The demon faltered, pulling back with a slight frown. She twisted in her spot, struggling for a coherent thought, before she mumbled, “Anything’s fine, honestly. As long as there are no churches involved.”

Aziraphale burst into the most pleasing belly laugh as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Of course, my dear.”

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable spouses #ineffable partners #crowziraphale #gomens #fanfic #my writing

38 notes · View notes

otherworldlybooksgoddess · 3 years

Text

Five Exceptional Fantasy Books Based in Non-European Myth

Photo by Josh Hild

Don’t misunderstand me: I love reading well-written fantasy with roots in the familiar Celtic and English folklore of my childhood, but with the vast majority of High Fantasy being set in worlds closely akin to Medieval Europe, and a large amount of of Mythic Fiction drawing on legends of similar origin, sometimes the ground begins to feel too well trodden. There is, after all, an entire world of lore out there to draw from. That’s why I’m always thrilled to find excellent works of what I call “the Realistic Sub-Genres of Fantasy” based in or inspired by myths from other cultures. Such books not only support inclusiveness, but also expand readers’ experiences with lore and provide a wide range of new, exciting realities to explore. So, if you are looking for something different in the realm of Fantasy, the following novels will provide a breath of fresh air.

The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wrecker

In this beautifully written novel, Wrecker draws on both Middle-Eastern and Jewish mythology to tell the stories of two unwilling immigrants in Edwardian New York and the unlikely friendship that springs up between them. Chava, an unusually lifelike golem created for peculiar purposes, has only days worth of memories and is practically childlike in her innocence. Ahmad the Jinni has lived for centuries, but is trying to reclaim his forgotten past. The former is as steady and calm as the earth she’s made from while the latter is as volatile and free-spirited as the fire within him. Both must learn to live in an unfamiliar new culture and find their places in a city too modern for myths even as they hide their true natures. It’s a wonderful metaphor for the experiences of immigrants everywhere, who often find themselves feeling like outsiders—isolated and even overwhelmed— as they struggle to adapt to life in an alien society.

Full of memorable characters, vivid descriptions, and interesting twists, The Golem and the Jinni takes readers on a journey that is driven as much by internal conflict as external action. The setting of 1900’s Manhattan is well-researched and spectacular in its detail. Wrecker blends two old-world mythologies into the relatively modern Edwardian world with a deft hand. The result is not only fascinating, but also serves to illustrate the common early-twentieth-century experience of an immigrant past colliding with an American future.

The Tail of the Blue Bird by Nii Ayikwei Parkes

One part Detective Mystery and one part Magical Realism, this novel invites readers to experience modern-day Ghana in a way that is both authentic and profound. When Kayo, a forensic pathologist just beginning his career, is pushed into investigating a suspected murder in the rural village of Sonokrom, the last thing he expects is to have a life-changing experience. Soon, however, he gets the acute sense that the villagers may know more than they’re letting on. When all of the latest scientific and investigative techniques fail him, even as odd occurrences keep dogging his steps, Kayo is finally forced to accept that there is something stranger than he thought about this case. Solving the crime will require more than intelligence and deduction; it will require setting his disbelief aside and taking the traditional tales and folklore of an old hunter seriously. Because whatever is happening in Sonokrom, it isn’t entirely natural.

This novel is brilliant not only because of its deep understanding of Ghanaian society and realistic setting, but also because of Parkes writing style. The narrative is gorgeously lyrical and everything within it is described with a keen, insightful eye. The dialogue is full of local color, and while some may find the pidgin English and native colloquialisms difficult to follow, I found that the context was usually enough to explain any unfamiliar terms. Sometimes the narrative feels a little dreamlike, but that is exactly the way great Magical Realism should be. The Tail of the Blue Bird insistently tugs readers to a place where reality intertwines with myth and magic, all while providing an authentic taste of Ghanaian culture.

The Deer and the Cauldron by Jin Yong

During the reign of Manchu Emperor Kang Xi, China is in a state of barely-controlled sociopolitical unrest. Many of the older generation remember the previous dynasty, and there still remain vestiges of a resistance movement hidden among the populace. As his forces continue to hunt down the malefactors, called the Triad Societies, the boy-emperor turns to his unlikely friend and ally: a young rascal known only as Trinket. This protagonist is a study in contrasts: lazy yet ambitious, cunning yet humorous, roguish yet likable, foul-mouthed yet persuasive. Born in a brothel, Trinket has made his way by his wits alone. At age twelve, he accidentally sneaked into the Forbidden City—a bizarre occurrence in itself—afterward befriending Kang Xi. Now, rising quickly through the ranks, he is on a mission to (ostensibly) find and weed out the Triad Societies, and he uses the opportunity to infiltrate various organizations, playing their leaders against one another for his own gain. With a dangerous conspiracy brewing in the Forbidden City itself, however, he is forced to choose sides and decide what is most important to him: friendship, fortune, or freedom. Supernatural occurrences, daring escapades, and moments of deep introspection abound as Trinket struggles to navigate the perilous maze his life has become.

This novel is like a gemstone: bright, alluring, and many faceted. At times it may seem somewhat simple on the surface, but looking closer reveals new depths and multiple layers. Full of intrigue, action, horror, and even laughs, The Deer and the Cauldron mirrors not only the complexities of its setting, but those of the China the author himself knew during the Communist revolution. By blending together history, fantasy, realism, humor, and subtle political commentary, Yong not only beautifully captures these social intricacies but also creates a narrative that is as thoroughly engaging as it is unapologetically unique.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

Magical realism related to food has almost become a movement in itself, with novels like Aimee Bender’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Joanne Harris’ Chocolat, and Sarah Addison Allen’s Garden Spells all finding their places in readers’ hearts. Originally published in 1992, Like Water for Chocolate helped create this fascinating trend, and it has become something of a modern classic in the fantasy genre.

The narrative centers around Tita de la Garza, a mid-twentieth century Mexican woman possessing deep sensitivity, a strong will, and a special talent for cooking. Born prematurely, Tita arrived in her family’s kitchen, tears already in her eyes. It is in that room where she spends most of her childhood, being nurtured and taught by the elderly cook, Nacha. The relationship that flourishes between Tita and her caregiver is a special gift, as it provides the girl not only with the compassion and support her own mother denies, but also with a passion and skill for creating incredible, mouth-watering dishes. At Nacha’s side, Tita learns the secrets of life and cookery, but she also learns one terrible fact: thanks to a family tradition, she is destined never to have love, marriage, or a child of her own. Her fate, rather, is to care for her tyrannical widowed mother, Mama Elena, until the day the older woman dies. With a vibrant, independent spirit, sixteen-year-old Tita flouts this rule, falling deeply in love with a man named Pedro who asks for, and is denied, her hand in marriage. Undaunted, the young man agrees to wed one of Tita’s older sisters, Rosaura, instead, as he believes this to be the only way he can be close to the woman he loves. Thus begins a life-long struggle between freedom and tradition, love and duty, which is peppered throughout with supernatural events and delicious cuisine. So great is her skill in cooking that the meals Tita prepares take on magical qualities all their own, reflecting and amplifying her emotions upon everyone who enjoys them. Controlled and confined for much of her existence, food becomes her outlet for all the things she cannot say or do. The narrative itself echoes this, by turns as spicy, sweet, and bitter as the flavors Tita combines. At its heart, this is as much a tale about how important the simple things, like a good meal, can be as it is a story about a woman determined to be her own person and choose her own fate.

Cuisine is fundamental to this novel, with recipes woven throughout the narrative, but that is only a part of its charm. In the English translation, the language is beautiful in its simplicity. The characters often reveal hidden depths, especially as Tita grows up and is able to better understand the people around her. Heartfelt in its joys and sorrows, Like Water for Chocolate glows with cultural flavor and a sense of wonder. It’s a feast for the spirit, and like an exquisite meal, it never fails to surprise those who enjoy it.

The City of Brass by S. A. Chakraborty

When I first read this novel, I found the early chapters enjoyable and engaging, but felt the story was no more than a typical, if especially well-written, work of mythic fiction. The deeper I got into the narrative, however, the more wrong I was proven. The City of Brass is anything but ordinary. While basing her work in Middle-Eastern lore and history, Chakraborty nonetheless manages to create a setting and story that are both wonderfully unique. Lush, detailed, and bursting with magic and intrigue, this book spans the lines between several sub-genres of fantasy without ever losing its balance.

Beginning in eighteenth-century Egypt, the narrative follows a quick-witted antiheroine. Nahri doesn’t live by the rules of her society. She doesn’t believe in magic or fate or even religion. Orphaned for most of her life, survival has required her to become a con artist and a thief. As a result, she is practical and pragmatic, a realist who has never even considered donning rose-colored glasses, and the last person who would ever expect anything supernatural to occur. Which, of course, means that it does, but the way in which it is handled is intricate and interesting enough not to feel trite. When Nahri’s latest con—a ceremony she is pretending to perform and doesn’t believe in even slightly—goes awry, and the cynical young woman finds herself face to face with a Daeva. Magical beings, it transpires, are real after all, and this one is furious. To both of their dismay, he’s also bound to Nahri, who soon realizes that he has an agenda of his own. In return for rescuing her (and refraining from killing her himself) Dara, the Daeva warrior Nahri accidentally summoned, wants her to pull of the biggest con of her life: pretending to be the half-human heir to the throne of his people. Worse still, she soon realizes that Dara, whose mentality sometimes seems a little less-than-stable, actually believes she may be exactly who he claims. He has something planned, and his intentions may not be in her best interest. Dragged unwillingly into a strange world of court intrigue, danger, social upheaval, and magic, Nahri quickly discovers that some things remain familiar. People are ruled by prejudices, the strong prey on the weak, and she can’t fully trust anyone. The stakes, however, are higher than ever, and Nahri will need all of her wits, cunning, and audacity if she wants to survive.

This novel was thoroughly enjoyable, and in fact prompted me to buy the following books in the trilogy as they became available. Chakraborty’s style is lyrical, her world building is superb, her plot is intricate, and her characters are well-developed. She not only frames unfamiliar words and ideas is easily-comprehensible contexts, but weaves those explanations smoothly into the narrative. The culture, mythology, and history surrounding her tale are all carefully researched, but the tale itself is nonetheless unique. What begins feeling like a fairly ordinary mythic fiction novel will pleasantly exceed readers’ expectations.

So, while we, as fantasy readers, love the works of authors like J. R. R. Tolkien, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and Charles de Lint, there is also a plethora of other enchanting books to enjoy. Exploring magical realism and mythic fiction based in cultures and folklore from all around the globe ensures that our to-read lists will always hold something unexpected and exciting to surprise us. So, if you’re starting to feel like you’re in a bit of a reading rut, or if you’re simply looking to expand your horizons, open up new realms of imagination by opening up one of the novels above. Who knows see where it will lead you? You may just discover a new favorite to add to your bookshelf. Happy reading!

9 notes · View notes

evakuality · 4 years

Note

This fits the soft vibe davenzi just has: "Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter." It's number 11 from the kiss prompt list :)

Hi, dear anon! Here is a little thing I just put together for this one. I hope you enjoy 💜

Mornings are evil, David thinks sleepily as he wakes early one warm Saturday morning. They come around far too early every single day and force him to get up and face the world. They come tied up with cold feet and breath ghosting into the cold of the pre-dawn. Or they come with syrupy heat even before the sun’s fully risen. Basically, they come with far too many negatives.

Early is somewhat subjective, of course. There are strange people out there who would even consider this time kind of late. But for David, it’s early. Dawn is barely making its presence felt around the edges of the curtains, grey fingers peeking into the room. Matteo is soft and pliant in his arms, his breathing still even and regular as he sleeps on.

Normally, David would probably get up, resigned to a whole day filled with too many coffees after too little sleep. He’s never been good at falling back to sleep when he wakes at times like this, and always resigns himself to either staring in irritation at the ceiling as he tries to sleep again or to an early run to try to shake out some of the cobwebs in his head coupled with said copious amounts of caffeine. But he’s warm here, and David doesn’t want to disturb Matteo as he sleeps.

Watching Matteo’s steady breathing in the soft grey light is fascinating anyway. His face is relaxed and he looks young, reminding David of the way he’d been after their first night together. Then he’d been just as soft, just as relaxed, and it hadn’t really hit David just how unusual that is for Matteo, not that day anyway. Too often in the day, Matteo holds his jaw rigid, making him look like he’s filled with hard angles and sharp edges and several years older than his genuine age.

That had certainly been the Matteo David had seen most often during the early days of their acquaintance and there are still traces of it when he’s stressed or anxious. But in this light, with his lips open and his face soft all of that falls away. Just as it had fallen away on that seemingly long ago day when David had woken to a sleepy Matteo snuggled against him and had no desire to move and disturb him. He feels the same way again today; in his sleep he looks so peaceful that it would almost feel like a crime to shatter it and wake him.

The thing about this morning that is actually not evil in any way at all is that somehow the steady rise and fall of Matteo's chest, the soft murmur of his breath over David’s skin, and the warm, heavy weight of his body against David's all combine to send him back into a soporific state. He drifts, not quite asleep but not awake either, floating in and out of awareness of the world around him. He can hear the chatter of Matteo’s flatmates but it too blends into the lazy, dozy state, distanced and familiar as that chatter has now become.

The first David notices that he must have fallen asleep again is the bright glare of sunlight seeping around the edges of the curtains. It’s harsh and shines directly into his eyes, making him squeeze them to keep them closed against the onslaught. Even with them closed, he can see an orange haze through his eyelids, a fiery reminder that it’s time to be up and about for the day. Evil, evil morning. He groans, stretching to try to shake himself into wakefulness and as a protest against the glare.

“Mmmmm,” Matteo mutters against his skin, lips skimming just over the pulse point at the base of David’s throat. It sucks the breath out of him, how trusting and intimate that gesture is.

David can feel those lips starting to quest, running up and along the underside of his jaw, sloppy and uncoordinated. As if Matteo, too, has his eyes closed against the dawning of the new day but can’t keep from trying to kiss anyway. David squints briefly downwards, unable to see much against the light but he can tell that Matteo is still half asleep, kissing as a sort of reflex action, eyes still fluttery as they struggle to open. It makes his own lips curl into a smile.

With a humming laugh, and with his lids newly screwed up against the brightness of the sunlight again, David tilts his chin down, tries to get his lips somewhere near where Matteo's might be. It results in a kiss to Matteo’s nose, then another on his chin when he jerks, startled by David’s reciprocation. They blindly press kisses as they quest to find each other’s lips. Noses, cheeks, an ear… by the time David manages to angle himself so that their lips are lined up, Matteo is chuckling and they’ve kissed most of each other’s faces.

“Morning,” Matteo mutters against David’s lips once they’ve finally connected, blissful, soft and quiet as he is obviously still not quite awake. His lips butterfly-light against David's, love and affections pouring out of them nevertheless.

His fingers come up to curl in David’s hair and run down along his face, keeping him firmly in place now that they’ve figured out where their lips need to be. Not that David minds. Mornings may be evil, but when they begin with kisses from Matteo, long, lazy and soporific when they’re both still not quite fully awake... Well, when they begin like that they’re actually pretty great.

“Morning,” David replies, pressing another kiss to those lips. With Matteo’s fingers still wound in his hair and the whole weekend ahead of them, David gives in to the day. It may still feel too early to be waking, but if this is what he gets when he does he doesn’t really mind that at all.

#druck #my fic stuff #my ask stuff #my prompt stuff #Anonymous

35 notes · View notes

ddaenqu · 5 years

Text

Numinous

“I was told you guys have...an exchange system?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

pairings: yandere ot7 x reader

themes: Magic Shop AU, Non-Idol Verse AU, Mature

summary: You went to the mysterious group of men after hearing of their incredible power to give new memories in exchange for bad ones, hoping to erase the trauma caused by your past boyfriend. Little did you expect them to take your boyfriend’s place.

A collab between @jooniescupcakes and @ddaenqu

This is where you belong

»»————- ♡ ————-««

Trigger Warnings: Violence, degradation, blood, abusive relationships, heavy manipulation, heavy gaslighting, yandere behaviours, obsessive behaviours, brainwashing, hypnosis, mentions of murder, stalking, kidnapping

»»————- ♡ ————-««

The wind brushes through your hair, an odd feeling of dread and uncertainty chipping away at your insides, the goosebumps on your skin rise to the abrupt chills. You look around and then back to your phone, focusing on the blue text that held all the information about this place, your friend managing to somehow pull-off rambling through her texts, she almost seemed adamant that you go to this spot.

How good could it be? You thought, mostly because it seemed hidden away, behind tall buildings and next to little stores and businesses that didn’t look well-kept.

It was silent and empty, occasionally a few people walking here and there, a few kids leaving a store, but other than that, it was just lonely. The streets weren’t overcrowded with cars, luckily for you, as your head and body couldn’t possibly walk through consistent beeping and yelling.

Your friend, Hana, had said that the store is squished between two other stores, and easy to miss if you don’t look closely. Now, you’re not one to doubt friends, but you’re sure confident isn’t wouldn’t be the word to describe this whole thing, especially if it’s a shop that sounds like it’s meant to be hidden. You wonder how she even stumbled upon this place if it’s “easy to miss”.

You’re about to walk further down the sidewalk, looking for this “amazing” store as Hana claims, when you see a certain storefront blending in with the brick wall and white wall from the two stores on each side, offering no space for the tiny little shop to expand.

It had a dark oak-like door, the windows were covered with light blue patterns, two lanterns on top of the windows. Above the door was a symbol, one you had never seen anywhere. On the side, there was a little rectangular box jutting out, with the words “Magic Shop” in bold, they weren’t plated in neon, but except a softer glow, one that was similar to a lightstick or lava lamp.

Your friend had failed to mention it looked like one of those places that were supposed to give card or palm readings, maybe even a therapeutic center. You wouldn’t be surprised if she sent you to one, a low blow on her part, but it wasn’t something she did with ill intent.

She had only mentioned that when she went in, she was pessimistic and very skeptical at first—and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the exact same way as well—but leaving the place, she felt new and fresh. The exact thing you were looking for. At least, that’s what Hana had told you. She gave you their card, although, there wasn’t really an address printed on there, it was written down on the back with lazy handwriting.

At first, you told her that you didn’t want to deal with this, you had enough to deal with and talking to some magical therapists weren’t going to help you in any way. You were going to throw away the card and call it a night before she practically begged you to go. That if you didn’t go, she would kick you out of her apartment, where you currently lived since you refused to go anywhere near your own.

A sigh left your lips and finally pushed the door open. A small bell rang above your head, a soft and gentle chime. You noticed the outside was nothing like the inside, it was quite open and warm.

Dark bookshelves, little trinkets set up to some of the books tucked in, their spines covered in a light grey of mist-like dust. There were black leather couches settled against the white wall, the polished wooden floor reflected the dim light fixtures and white vintage lamps. It was beautiful, you had to admit that, as if you walked in on another era of interior style, a whole different generation.

“Hello?” An uplifting and giddy voice, lighthearted and filled with hope, breaks your attention away from the small golden trinkets sitting on dusty shelves and tables.

Your head turns, a cashier front, much resemblance to a small booth, and a tall, broad man standing inside it. Light brown-caramel hair that shone in the light, his plush lips pulled into a graceful smile. He was warm, welcoming, and absolutely charming.

You stared for a second, not expecting someone to immediately greet you upon arrival. Hesitantly, gripping the fabric of your clothing, you walk towards the small booth. The overwhelming man standing politely, but also unrestrained, waiting for you.

“Hi,” you say plainly, not sure of what to say.

The man was undoubtedly handsome, a man that you’d see on the front page of some fashion magazine or walking down a runway. Not in some beaten up store on the street where all the bankrupt businesses live.

He only smiles, his stare was unwavering as much as it was unnerving, beating down on your small form compared to his.

“It’s a bit cold—this afternoon,” he says with a hint of tenseness pulling at his words, obviously eyeing your attire. You had thought he was showing prejudice or disgust with his tone.

You let out a nervous chuckle, “yeah, didn’t really expect it to be this cold.”

The awkward silence settles in, you almost feel sick. You were never one to start conversations—or, well, you’ve forgotten how to do it without being uncomfortable. You could never keep them either. Especially with someone as good-looking as he was.

You go to pat down the pockets of your jeans, finding the item—the real reason why you were here, and holding it up to him. A small and thin polaroid picture of you and your ex-boyfriend sitting down on a couch, huge smiles present on both as they laughed their problems away

“I was told that you guys have—,” you begin, solely watching his eyes scan the tiny item with indifference, “—an exchange system?” It sounded dumb coming from your mouth. “A friend had recommended me coming here, so I’m not quite sure how this works. She didn’t tell me much either.”

Then something suddenly clicked in your mind, she didn’t tell you anything about the procedure except that it had an exchange system, she rarely mentioned it and focused her attention on her feelings and results from it.

He nods. “It’s fine, most people don’t know what this place is,” he pauses, “may I ask who he is?” His tone sounds displaced from his happy accord.

Were they allowed to ask personal questions? Were you supposed to answer them?

You sensed that you shouldn’t be discussing your own problems—memories that you don’t want to bring up. Or has it been so long that you don’t know what formality is anymore?

You feel something rise in your throat, letting out a forced cough. “Ex-boyfriend,” you state plainly, fear biting your insides as certain memories flash to that one word.

His almond-brown eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite understand, his eyes alone spoke too little, and his words were nothing but plain sentences. The feeling that swarmed his eyes left before you could put a word to it. Instead, it was just the vivid lights in his eyes.

“I’m guessing not a good one,” he comments, “if you don’t mind me asking, once more, what happened?”

You put on a small smile, one that you’ve tried very hard to entertain with your lips, as memories of one night and before all the others had a flood in with your ex-boyfriend when he was still your boyfriend. It hurt, you wouldn’t deny that—it was painful, but it just felt gross remembering it now. Especially with someone else in the room.

“Just—uh—not a good guy,” you began, “fought a lot, he couldn’t really control his temper, so, one thing led to another.”

You stop and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to piece together what you had explained, and maybe the pained expression on your face would help him.

He nods stiffly, a grin still present and his lips crinkled at the sides. He didn’t say anything, his mouth didn’t open, he let the warm and speckled silence to dance across the room and sit through the dim lights cast upon you and him.

The room felt alive at that second. Even if the walls were so tight, the doors all closed, and the bookshelves sitting peacefully. The room sparked with something.

You need to get this over with.

The moment you get home and see Hana, you’re going to give her a piece of your mind.

You cough, again, “well, I was told by my friend that you can help me. An item for an item, or an item for just anything?”

He nods warmly, “of course, what are you here for?”

The Polaroid picture in your hand taunts you as you place it down in front of him, on the counter that separated the both of you. Strangely secure in your mind, that there was an obstacle between you two.

“I want a new Polaroid camera, and so I give you that—this Polaroid picture.” Your hands leave the tiny and flimsy piece of plastic for the last time, “I want a new one so I can throw my old one out.”

“Why a new Polaroid camera?” he asks, then adds quickly, “when there’s so much to choose from. Not that your choice wasn’t good.”

“It’s fine,” you assure, your eyes stayed on the picture before flicking up towards his brown orbs, expecting him to have some sort of expression mixed with pity, and yet you see nothing. “I wanted a new one because my old one had broke not too long ago.”

“Is that so?”

No, it was not, but you nod anyway.

He hummed. “Why get a new Polaroid camera if you can just get a whole brand new camera with better features?” he suggested, his hands are nicely folded on the wood countertop. His eyes advert down to the small picture, eyeing it with curiosity, almost as if he was noting each feature down he could name.

His tone, you notice, changed. It was usually light and airy, up for anything, maybe low on some areas, but it sounded limited and condescending as he stressed on the idea of why a new Polaroid camera wasn’t the best choice.

“It costs more, and besides,” you breathe in, “it’s not about the price. It’s like a—uh—”

His body is hunched over the counter, his head pushed forward in an attempt to get closer to you. That odd and misplaced smile always seemed to make your mind twitch, his smile didn’t feel like how a smile is supposed to.

You’d think he’s expecting something to come out of your mouth.

“Like a what?” he pressures on, and your train of thoughts ceases to his voice.

“Fresh start,” you continue, “my old Polaroid is something I want to forget. It sounds cliché, I know, but it is broken—” your hands move to your words, pointing at the rectangular picture, “—he ended up breaking it, on accident.”

As if him throwing the priceless object down onto the wooden floor while a flurry of derogatory names left his mouth—was an “accident”.

He nods once more. Would it kill him to say “okay” or just give an approving hum?

“I just want to be able to use my Polaroid camera without having to bring up bad memories.”

“Yes, but still having a camera identical to that one thing that ties you to the past,” he notes, pushing the picture away from him, “wouldn’t it just be the same effect as the old camera? You’re not having a fresh start, you’re just reliving the past with a new camera.”

He’s right. You know he’s right and it doesn’t hurt your pride, surprisingly, but it makes you think. Your eyebrows drew together into a pensive state and your lips skewed to one side.

“You’re right,” you agree reluctantly. “But a whole new camera is too much. I couldn’t ask that of you—I mean, not to discredit you, but I just can’t see it.”

His body moved back slowly, his shoulders are no longer hunched and his body is lean standing. “There’s always a price for something, I understand that,” he begins and his fingers prodded the small piece of plastic before picking it up and studying it in his hand, discomfort present in his lips, setting the picture farther away from you and closer to him. “But, I shall give you a new camera with no expense, none really.”

This is a joke, you automatically assume. A scam of some sort.

Suspicion and surprise were clear on your face, and for once, his lips that were so prettily turned into a grin faltered and dropped into a straight line before regaining its usual look.

He leans over the table, and in a soft voice, he asks, “do you not believe me?”

You swore you could feel his breath tickle your face, heat bunching up in your palms. His words are heavy against your own, your conscious sounding them out to you as if it was a curse.

You stammered with heat growing on your cheeks, “I didn’t mean it that way, I just—” you cut yourself off, “I didn’t really come here expecting this, I just wanted a new Polaroid camera."

He chuckled, "don't worry, love, really. A fresh start is what you wanted no matter how you put it." He clasped his hands together, going to wipe his palms down on the black fabric of his pants, you’d assume. His bottom torso was covered by the expansive counter.

Your hands were fidgety, pinching the ends of your shirt or toying with the lint in your pockets. You needed to call Hana, away from him, you add as you watch him place your item somewhere under the counter.

It’s not that he was a bad guy, he seemed entertaining and understanding. He spoke according to your emotions, he’s observant but too observant. It just didn’t feel right—something didn’t feel right.

The room felt restless despite all the furniture still being in place as it was when you first entered, the lights never flickered and did well to keep this place well lit, and the books on the dusty shelves and the gold-like trinkets on the tables had not moved.

“I see you’re still uncertain,” the man spoke softly, this time he seemed distracted or uncomfortable about something, evidently making you feel uncomfortable. “Please, sit down and think about it more if you need, it’s a one-time chance after all.”

Your head perked up to the thought of you staying any longer you had planned. Your mouth worked faster than your brain, spitting out an excuse: “Actually, I have to—”

“Stay for tea, at least, or not a tea person?” he inquired with a determined tone. You noticed his fingers were tapping consistently against the wood. “Water? Coffee? You can think it over while taking a drink break, right? I’m sorry for pushing the ‘new camera’ thing.”

His apology was very genuine, the point where guilt had bubbled up and overthrown the unsettling feeling resting at the tips of your shoes, minutes away from wanting to run out of the shop—now, wanting to offer this much as a courtesy.

His body left the small cashier still, and it’s when you noticed how much he towered of you. His height was tall as it was, but his broader body made it seem as though you were trapped. The thick line, the countertop gave helped you feel somewhat secure throughout your conversation. Like a border, he couldn’t just get around, although, that's what you told yourself.

As he was leading you to one of the leather couches in swift and elegant movements, you wondered, as he was taking out a silver tray you could only assume was real gold from how pristine and beautiful it looked, you wondered, as he was pouring tea gradually with clinks with spoons against glass, dropping as much sugar as you please. You wondered, how far did courtesy go?

“Take a sip, I added a bit more sugar since the tea is quite strong,” he said and poured a cup of tea for himself, no sugar added.

Hesitantly, you brought the rim of the teacup to your lips, tasting a sweet and bitter liquid slowly scalding your tongue. With forced repression, you look up at him and gulp. “It’s good,” you lie through your teeth, but he takes the bait anyway.

The man nods and says something ought to do with your decision before leaving the room in a slow manner, occasionally you could feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you being the only one in the room told otherwise.

With a sigh, your body finally is able to rest, your back finding comfort in the plush couch, making you slink down further. You didn’t even notice you were this tired. Closing your eyes, wouldn’t be so bad, just to rest them before he comes back.

You feel a vibration in your back pocket, a minimal vibration you note with a drowsy conscious. Hana probably, she always checks in with you whenever her paranoia gets the best of her. You know you should be checking the text or calling her just to ensure you were alive and well, however, your body couldn’t find the strength to move and pull out the phone.

It felt nice; cozy and warm. Blanketed with sleep.

Resting your eyes is what you reminded yourself, and you’ll open your eyes to find that man telling you the shop was closed, for you to come back tomorrow.

But it was just black. Pitch black.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

The next time you woke up—or at least you think you did, you heard hushed voices all around you, surrounding your body as you tried to move, but your body felt heavy and stiff. Hands caressed every part of your skin, some drawn out long on your face and lips, others stayed to hold the soft supple skin of your stomach, but you didn’t know whose hands they were.

Time after that had been hobbled, seconds turned into hours and hours turned into minutes. You remember asking someone with a giddy smile, loud whenever he talked that your ears popped and rung, you had asked them whether it was day and night. He replied with a rhetorical question, at least you think it was rhetorical, and said it’s whatever you believe it is. You don’t remember asking him anything again.

You remember the cool touch of someone’s palm pressed against your forehead, frizzy pink hair that resembled bubblegum, or blurs of bright blue.

You remember colors, smells, feelings, and the soft whispers that caressed your ear every now and then. Colors, but you can’t remember faces. You’ve tried hard, you think, you hope that you did. Trying to jog your memory; remembering who your friend was down to your parents, and down to a guy you had a relationship with in the past. You forgot his name and face, and soon, you forgot who he was at all. He was blank. An error in your memory, someone of a block to your memories.

Your place of living was gone, nonexistent for days, and your family, with names you can dot if you tried, but faces scratched out with pennies. You don’t remember if you had even worked, or if you went to school. And every night, it would just be blank—these people you don’t know at all, playing like memories.

“It was a bad dream,” they told you—someone told you. Someone with light grey hair that you remember seeing splotches of often, their warmth made you feel gooey and most of all, safe.

When your vision started clearing and the fog in your mind dissipated into small headaches, you finally processed these senses and people to names.

And when you woke up to seven people watching you or cooking your food, or folding your clothes, or caring for your health. You felt safe. As if they had been here the whole time. They were your everything—and you were theirs.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

You quickly fell in place with the relationship - not that you were out of the relationship in the first place, it just felt peculiar. Maybe it was because of the headache that often came knocking, or those awfully strange dreams, showing you a life you had never lived. When you ended up pouring out your concerns about the dreams that the boys woke you up from, there was an answer ready.

“Trauma,” Namjoon smiled, tendrils of his grey hair gently falling on his forehead, “do you remember that accident, baby? I don’t think you would, but it was really harsh on you. The doctor warned us that you might have these strange dreams, but they’re all symbolic. Maybe you can write down one of your dreams and I’ll ask the doctor to explain it to us.”

You never found a reason to question his answer more. Why should you? The answers satisfied you. They made sense, and there always was proof.

You felt so happy, waking up next to 7 other bodies tangled together. You noticed a pattern, Jimin would always be next to you, arms thrown over your figure, Namjoon and Jin at the edges, as if making a barrier so the others won’t fall off. Yoongi claimed his position next to Jimin, often throwing his legs over said male, Hoseok squeezed next to Yoongi and Jin, never minding the lack of space. Taehyung and Jungkook usually were on the other side of you, but there were those moments when you woke up to find one of them lying on top of you, dreamy smiles on their faces.

Jin would always make breakfast, brown hair still messy and uncombed, Yoongi accompanying him if he woke early enough, yawning and scrunching his dark eyes. In fact, Jin would make every meal, unless you were craving a snack, you would run to Jungkook, who hid an unhealthy pile of your favourite snacks. Tired faces showed up to breakfast, the youngest always clinging on to you before Jimin could. Even the seats at the table were scheduled, changing every mealtime. While you wolfed down your delicious breakfast, Jin would pile more food onto your plate, using his seat next to you as an advantage. On the other side, Taehyung feeding you, smiling playfully at Jimin’s pouting face from across you. Namjoon at the head of the table, Yoongi across him, rolling his eyes at the youngest trio’s attempts to get your attention. Something that never changed, was that you and Hoseok cleaned up. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, laughter erupting from all his stories.

After that, they slowly file out for their shifts at the shop. Namjoon first, always. He would smile at you, a peck and he was gone, past the wooden door. In his absence, Jin would monitor the rest of you. Yoongi and Hoseok stole you away in the mornings since their shift was after Namjoon’s. The three of you would lie in the bedroom, giggling about things that didn’t even make sense, or they would show you some things they had composed, sharing a deep love for music. You fell in love with Hoseok’s bubbly tunes, his blue-black hair bouncing with every word, ending in peals of laughter. Yoongi’s darker, sharper words always captured you without fail, wrapping itself around your heart and tightening.

When they were gone, you were bombarded by Jungkook and Jin, slipping in and dragging you out to either play one of Jungkook’s loud video games or sample Jin’s heavenly dishes. Although you were never good at the games, you played them without fail with Jungkook and Jin, Taehyung joining you at times. While Jungkook taught you how to shoot at the virtual targets, Jin whipped up a meal that absolutely blew your mind.

Then it was Taehyung and Jimin. They would always have new clothes or accessories ready for you, surprising you. The price tags read at least 4 figures, but they would never tell you where the money was from and you knew the shop couldn’t possibly generate them so much because they barely ever accepted cash. Dressing you up and approving of the clothes was how they spent their time with you, but sometimes you would just laze around, playing. Jimin would pick you up and start doing a dramatic waltz while Taehyung would watch, swooping in and grabbing you to dance with him. Before they left, you were attacked with kisses and words of affection, mostly from the frizzy pink haired male, wearing his round glasses as he mumbled sweet nothings in your ear.

They would return just in time for the final meal of the day that included everyone, dinner. The meal would be spent laughing and talking about amusing customers, or annoying ones. During this time, Taehyung and Jimin would let the others know about the clothes you wore, and how you looked in them. Talking about you, if your medication was finishing, or if your dreams returned. You would hurry to clean up, excited for the rest of the evening. Everyone would pile up at the hall and jump onto the large couch. You would find your place right in the middle, nestled comfortably between all of them.

Someone would switch on a playlist and music will flood the room. Soft dreamy music, the kind that makes you want to lie back and sleep in the warmth surrounding you, sometimes, catchy beats singing about love, cherry pie and chocolate eclairs that makes you want to sing along and dance. While you lay in the beaten up couch that they refused the replace, you think about how lucky you are to have them.

After an hour or so, everyone would stand up, ready to go to bed. Jimin, who would loyally hold on to you and growl at anyone who tried to take him away, finally complied and would stand up, sighing, heading back to make sure his younger friend didn’t steal his spot in the bed. The minute your head touched the pillow, you would fall asleep.

Or on some nights, you would lay awake, after a crappy day or bad dream, and crawl out of the mess to go to the balcony. Namjoon stood there, waiting for you, his hair gleaming in the moonlight. When you reached him, he would instinctively pull you in, murmuring a greeting.

“The dreams again?” He asks, voice hushed.

“Yeah..will they ever go away?” You ask, scared of the answer

“Maybe, over time, they might fade. Until then you just gotta hang on there,” he taps your head, “we’ll do whatever we can.”

“You’re already done so much.”

All you get in reply is a dimpled smile.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

During weekends, the shop is closed. Since there’s nothing to do, you go out with your lovers.

“Are you ready?” A voice floats up to where you are, dressing.

“Almost!” You call back, pulling your (H/C) hair into a ponytail.

You hop down the stairs, excited at the idea of going out. After staying in for 6 days in a row, anyone would be excited at a chance to get out. All of the boys were dressed in comfy clothes, bickering amongst themselves about something. At your arrival, they look up, smiling. Compliments swirl around you, filling your ears, bringing a pleased look on your face.

8 of you didn’t fit inside Jin’s car, so you had to sit on someone’s lap. This was a headache to deal with, as everyone will launch into a huge argument. Namjoon and Jin had given up trying to solve this fight a long time ago, so the others took it into their own hands. All the boys were a bit off today, and the fight over you went out of hand.

“All you do is hog her!! Nobody gets to even sit with her because you and Jungkook take her away!” Taehyung was furious, red blotches appearing on his tan skin.

“I do not! Last time, she sat on your lap! Stop making everything about you!” Jimin yelled back. Dread filled you as you realized Jimin was about to break off into another tantrum, and nobody wanted to deal with one of those.

“Can you fucking stop yelling for once? What the fuck are you, 10? Just shut up and sit down, Y/N’s with me today.” It was a rare moment to see Yoongi snap, but his words instantly shut everyone up.

You crawl in with Yoongi, quiet as a mouse. You could see Namjoon pulling Taehyung and Jimin aside, reprimanding them with booming words that even had you wincing. Hoseok, seated at the back with the doe-eyed male, frowned at the sight. Jungkook was also quiet, looking scared. Some part of you was anxious; what if Namjoon cancelled the trip?

The car ride was extremely tense and awkward. Taehyung had a stone face on, glaring at everything, and Jimin’s eyes were filled with tears, sniffling occasionally. When you finally reach the park, you jumped out quickly, grabbing on to Yoongi. Something you learnt quickly was that when you were out, you should be holding at least one of the boys. They hovered by you, constantly. You weren’t sure what to make of it. Overprotectiveness? Possessiveness? You let your mind wander, thinking about the strangely constricting lifestyle you lived when suddenly, a force sent you sprawling on the ground. 7 pairs of feet rushed towards you and asked you questions. Managing weak replies, you glance at your attacker.

A middle-aged man stood, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot. He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a hard fist slamming into his nose. You heard a sickening crack, and a small blood fountain spurted the red liquid everywhere. Hoseok was fuming, his hand bloody and drops of blood decorating his flawless skin. Hoseok broke the man’s nose.

“You fucking bastard, how dare you?!” He seethes

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” the male gasps between cries of pain.

“Beg,” Jin states, at the confused reaction he continued, “get on your knees and beg for her forgiveness.”

After the unknown man catches sight of the serious and angry expressions of all 7, he realized that he was trapped by some sick monsters. Fearful for his life, he threw away his pride and complied to the order.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. And I- please forgive me,” he was on his knees, forcing himself to say the words.

‘You don’t - just go to a clinic or something,” you sigh, shooing the stranger away, before turning back to your boyfriends, “What were you thinking?!”

They seem shocked at your response, words barging towards you, “But he hurt you!”, “Are you supporting him?” “Don’t you love us?” “I should’ve killed him when I got the chance.”

Gaping in shock at the crude and ridiculous words, you challenge them, “What are you saying? You would kill him?!”

“More than that. So much more,” Jungkook’s face was void of any emotion as he stared at you, eyes blank.

“I - I can’t believe you! Why are you attacking someone you don’t even know? Humiliating him like that? Can you imagine what people will think?” You yell, disappointment and shame making its stand in you.

“He hurt you, Y/N. That was nothing, Jin just asked him to apologize. Why would it matter what people think?” Namjoon frowns at you, “when did it ever matter? They weren’t here when you were suffering, we were.”

“Y/N, we know you don’t remember, but we do. Every minute after we heard you got hurt, we were so worried for you. We camped in that hospital for days, Yoongi didn’t want to fall asleep just in case something happened, Jimin suffered panic attacks almost every day, Jungkook and Taehyung blamed themselves, we all did. I felt like a part of me was dying,” Hoseok steps up, his dark eyes showing all the raging emotions in him, anger, betrayal, fear, “we were so scared.”

“Even Namjoon locked himself away, not eating, not working,” Jimin’s soft voice floods your mind, “I couldn’t breathe, it hurt so much.”

You are faced with glassy eyes, tears collecting in pools, threatening to fall in burning tracks. Why didn’t you think of that? Of course, they were thinking about you, and that life-threatening accident. It’s always them who suffer for an incident that happened to you. They put you in front of their own wants, ever so selfless for you. But you, you were so selfish, mistook their care as possessive actions that crossed boundaries.

“Since then, we can’t stand seeing you hurt. We’re reminded of that accident, and it’s always haunting us. You don’t deserve to go through that ever again. We’re doing this for you, it’s only for the best. Do you still not trust us?” Haunting images fill your head, pictures of you, or one of the boys, hurt and bloody, lying on the ground, lifeless. How would you have felt?

You just sniffled, tears resting on your waterline, wobbling. Shame and rage fill you as you realize your selfishness. After all they’ve done, you brush off their efforts and-. Namjoon pulls you out of your thoughts, his warm hand resting on your head. He rubs his other hand on your back, softly murmuring comforting words and shushing your destructive thoughts.

Then there’s only 7 of you, only you and them, surrounded by nothing but raw emotion. You stay like that until it’s time to go. Suffice to say, you didn’t feel like going anywhere without them anymore. Smug smiles are shared behind your back, but you never notice.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

Everything was basically perfect. You moved on from the incident at the park but the emotional baggage that came along with it never left you. The weight of it pulled down on your delicate frame, and it showed itself whenever you were upset at any of the boys. The emotions seeped in and messed with your thinking, whispering its shattering words in your ear.

Sometimes, you had nightmares of the situation you dreaded so much, lifeless bodies on the floor, motionless and still, only the possibilities cornering you in. As you woke, panting this morning, you had one of these dreams, tears frozen on your cheeks. Crawling out of bed, you are surprised. Where were all the boys? Confused you walk out. Silence. The smell of Jin’s cooking wasn’t there, nor the playful banter of the younger boys. Namjoon’s authoritative commands didn’t drill into you, Yoongi’s groaning didn’t bring a smile to your face, and Hoseok’s laughter had disappeared, leaving a cold, quiet room.

In the living room, you are met with a note. Scrawled, you note, in Jin’s messy handwriting: Sorry, darling. Had some work to finish so we’ll be back later with food. Love you, stay safe. It wasn’t signed, because the message was from all of them, though Jin was the medium through which it was written. However, you did notice tiny, colourful hearts scribbled in the corners of the paper. Jimin. The name strikes in your head as you observe the messy, metallic lines.

Just as the clock strikes 10, the door swings open, a gust of cold air sneaking into your home, along with 7 tall bodies, panting and huffing. The cold air is foreign to you in your warm room, sending a shiver running through you. Catching sight of your lonely figure, you are attacked by your lovers, asking questions and planting kisses. Before you fall prey to their quick, soothing kisses, you see Jungkook’s shirt. The plain white shirt was wrinkle free and pristine, except for a dot of crimson red, growing larger. His face also has the liquid smeared on it, down his jaw and on his brow. You immediately lunge for him, pulling him into you and asking him about the substance.

“It’s not mine” were the only words he could offer as an answer. None of the boys answered, choosing to avoid your questions and distract you with the tempting aroma of fried bread and more.

Later that night, you wonder about his words, the memory of his bloody shirt sending huge, shocking waves of deja vu through you. Where had you seen it? Your answer comes in a dream, distant but lurking in your mind constantly.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

You stand up at the sound of a harsh knock at the door. It looks like you were in a small, cramped room, furniture piled up everywhere, papers and cutlery lying on the ground. A voice comes through, instilling fear to your being,

“Y/N! You can’t hide anymore, you little bitch! You think I wouldn’t know?”

What did you do? Who was that?

A flash blinds you, but only for a few moments. A heartbeat or two passes and then-

You wake to another strange sight. A bathroom? White walls, stained with disgusting colours and revolting odours. You find yourself seated on cold square tiles. Standing up, you hold on to the wall for support, head pounding and muscles sore. You manage to pull yourself to the sink, ice cold to the touch, and turn on the small faucet. You look up and are faced with a pained image of yourself. Bruises, cuts and marks litter your dull skin, your lips are pale and dry, eyes red and puffy, the burning tracks painted on by salty tears. You look like you lost way too much weight to be considered healthy, and your limp figure tells you the same. How did your dream self end up like this? Then you notice it, the very familiar smear of blood, a small streak on your right cheek, and a bigger on one your brow. Red circles grow on your dirty white shirt. The flash is back, and blinds you again, sending an intense, painful shock to your head. This triggers your wake.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

A thin layer of sweat covers you, the thick covers suddenly seeming suffocating. You toss the limbs on top of you and rush to the bathroom. In the mirror, you carefully examine your face. There were no marks, but in that dream, it felt so real, so alive. Was it even a dream? You’ve had dreams of you in various situations, but never something so shockingly real. Could it be that this wasn’t a dream, but a vision? A look into what was to come?

No, you dismiss the thought, you looked younger in that dream. Maybe half a decade younger than you are now. Was it… a memory? The boys had expressed that there was nothing that happened before the accident. It was always like it had been, just with more careful steps. Then, how would they explain this? You knew all you had to do was ask Namjoon, and the answer would come, the answer you wanted to hear.

But was it the truth? Something inside repelled at the thought, forcing you to keep quiet, saying you can’t trust them. Something said it was for the best, and you believed that something. What was really going on? Why were you so hurt in that dream? You wanted answers but couldn’t find them. That night, as you crawled back into bed, you swore to yourself that you would find the answers that had been locked away for so long.

»»————- ♡ ————-««

The next day there was another ‘job’, all seven gone. You decided that it was the perfect opportunity to sleuth around. You didn’t want to be caught, what if you were just overreacting and suspecting them of something terrible? But what if you were right? There was only one way to find out, and you took the risk.

The door swung open followed by a barely audible creak. Your feet landed in the black carpeted floor of Namjoon’s office, hands stuck onto the wall. You took another couple of delicate steps towards the large mahogany table, pristine and organized as ever. Making sure you didn’t leave any obvious tracks behind, you set to work, flipping through the tall piles of papers and files. They were covered in figures and words you didn’t understand. Sighing in defeat, you were about to leave when you see something from the corner of your eye. A cramped, old, folder, labelled Y/N.

You lunge for it, forgetting the risky situation you are in, and hurriedly flip through it, devouring every word scribbled. There were pictures of you, younger, sadder, sickly, it was like they documented so much of your life. Letters, essays, diary entries and jokes, all of which you had told your friends and had written, you presumed. Then, nearing the back, you see one written Magic Shop. There was a picture of you looking in at the shop, then a couple of notes. Abusive ex, new camera, new memories, want to forget, new life, happier relationships. Then there was another note, mixed chemicals into a tea to keep drowsy before a session. Below that, in Yoongi’s almost indecipherable writing, 3 PM, first hypnosis session; replace and wipe out characters from memories.. Repeat every 2nd day of the month.

Yesterday was the 2nd of this month! You notice a smaller, neater note. Story; dating for 2 years, accident, memory loss. Constant repetition will lead to her believing (brainwash with story).

When you pick out the book to inspect it further, a smaller diary falls out, labelled Dreams. You open it and scan the writing to realize it was a record of your dreams, linking it to events. Broken bottles on floor, figure passed out on couch = ex boyfriend would often go out and drink (alcoholic), Y/N would find him passed out on couch.

Ex-boyfriend? You’ve only ever dated them! Your head spins at the new information, and the flashes return, blinding you. You stumble back into the table, heart pounding and astonishment bubbling inside you. Slowly you piece together what you have found, and try to understand the bewildering revelation. You had a boyfriend, and he was abusive? After that, for some reason, you ended up at the Magic Shop, and then you were hypnotised to forget him. They came up with an entire story and forged documents to make you believe in it too. And like a fool, you fell for the trap.

However, you couldn’t bathe in guilt and embarrassment for long. Behind you, a soft click resonated through the whole room. You spin around, to face your nightmare. 7 of them were there, Jin leaning against the door to block any form of escape in the cool room. They didn’t look like they were ready to attack you, or harm you. They stood, calm and collected while staring down at you with a disappointed look. Casually dressed and in casual stances, looking perfectly normal, except for their eyes. The dull, dark orbs seemed so void of life, a lack of emotion in the bottomless abysses. You could feel their gazes burning into you, calling you to drown in the endless pits.

Namjoon stepped forward, shaking his head slowly, “And what do you think you’re doing?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, but you refused to break.

“Finding out the truth. The truth you hid from me. What is all of this? Hypnosis? New memories?” You shoot back, blinded by your anger.

“No, it’s the past. The past you wanted to forget,” his answer surprised you, you asked for this?

Your eyebrows furrowed, but before you could ask anything, Namjoon cut in, “he hurt you. Broke you into pieces and shattered you over and over,” sharp intake of breath, “you were lost and wallowing in your depressive life. By chance, you heard about us. You heard that we could exchange things, feelings, emotions, memories, in a sense. In your terrible, desperate state, you came searching for us as a last resort. Well, Jin explained it to you, and you told him what you wanted. Anything to get you out of that hell, you told him, and you were willing. Later, we warned you of the consequences, you won’t remember anything, you’ll lose contact with your old life, become a whole new person, a blank slate. You didn’t care about what you left behind and your decision was absolute. You made up your mind, we couldn’t change it.”

“But - there’s no way - I wouldn’t want that, stop lying to me!” You exclaim, not wanting to believe his convincing words.

“Why would I lie? What would I, what would we, ever have to gain from you? In any situation, you were a bother, a client, but over time, we grew fond over you. If you were us, would you have anything to gain from a broken, abused girl? No, you wanted this. You wanted to throw away your old life, to run away, like a coward. We couldn’t object, and now, look at where we are. You came to us, not us to you. Why are you trying to fight? You don’t have anywhere to go, nobody to run to, except us. We’re all you have. We were here during your worst and helped you heal, but now you accuse us of brainwashing you? Manipulating you? You could’ve left at any time, but you decided to stay and carry it through.” His words ring in your head, you caused this, you, it was all you.

“The tea, it was drugged?” You ask, unsure of your own recollections and thoughts.

“Not drugged, it was calming. Chamomile tea, ever heard of that? It was to help you relax,” Jin shrugged away your words.

Yes, the more you thought of it, it made sense. He wasn’t putting in sugar, it was tea leaves. The scene fixes itself in your head, a fresh picture. Your memory was already in bits but that dream showed the state you were in before, and that was convincing enough to tell that you were desperate to run away.

“You’re the one who called us, you’re the one who asked us to save you. I thought you were smarter than that. Instead of going through this… foolish confrontation, you could’ve just asked us. Don’t you see it yet? This is where you belong.” His large, warm hand was outstretched towards you, and you took it, the warmth instantly comforting your own cold hands.

Cold, after committing a crime, you think, the hands of an ungrateful sinner. The words echo in your mind, making their mark on you, forever binding you to the devils you sold your soul to.

After all, it was always you, right? You wanted to see them, you agreed to the deal, you allowed them to hypnotize you, they accepted you. Selfish, stupid, self-centred, imbecile, you scold yourself, idiot, how could you? It’s what you wanted. Looking around the smiling faces, so forgiving, so loving, you agree silently. This is home, this is where you belong.

549 notes · View notes