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hxney-lemcn · 1 month

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This is Home — Osamu Dazai x gn! reader

summary: reader and Dazai's bond grows, feelings are revealed and Dazai shows a rare moment of vulnerability.

tw: mention of Dazai being suicidal, slight angst (mostly fluff), slight hurt/comfort

a/n: I hope I didn't write Dazai's character wrong. He's such a complicated character and I made him super lovesick so oops. Also this is super self indulgent (tbf I always write the reader in relation to how I would act).

wc: 3.3k

Master List

Your life outside of work wasn’t too exciting. After coming home from a stressful day of talking down a hostage situation or tracking down a criminal ability user, you were grateful for the peace you found at home. The Armed Detective Agency wasn’t what you expected to do as your career, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, after dealing with troubling situations all the time, laying down in bed and watching whatever managed to keep your attention was all the more gratifying.

It was funny looking back, when you had been afraid of growing up lonely and bored. You got more than enough excitement at work, and you almost saw your colleagues as family. You truly loved them, they were everything (which was a bit sad but you digress), but you also enjoyed the tranquility of your home. The time you had to yourself was something you always appreciated.

Today was one of those rare peaceful days. It was the weekend and you all were given a much needed day off. You had been letting your top coat dry, being careful as you scrolled through your phone, tv playing something in the background. Your pet cat laid peacefully on your feet, her cute little head snuggling into your legs. Days like these were your favorite. The weight of your job was lifted momentarily, soaking in as much of this relaxing feeling as possible.

What you hadn’t fully expected (you can never underestimate what he’d do) was for Dazai to pop into your bedroom…at least he had the decency to knock on your bedroom door before entering. How did he get into your apartment? Lock picking. He totally lock picked your door. Much to his amusement, you hadn’t even batted an eye at his appearance. He hadn’t done this before, but from the way he acted around you in the office, this was bound to happen. Your only grief was that your cat had jumped away in apprehension of the ‘stranger’.

Dazai let out a gasp, eyes starry as he noticed the nail care products that were on your bed stand, “You do your own nails? I always thought you got them professionally done.”

“Nah,” You shrugged. “You think I have the money or time for all that? I’ve been doing my own nails for as long as I can remember.”

“You’re so talented,” Dazai praised, jumping onto your bed next to you. Taking one of your hands in his own, he took in your work, even though it was just one color he was staring like it was the most fascinating artwork he’s ever seen.

“Want me to do yours?” You asked, unsure why he was so enraptured with your usual nails. You always tried to keep them nice. You could neglect any other aspect of your health, but you always tried to keep your nails looking good. You weren’t sure why, but maintaining them was relaxing, as well as a routine that calms you down.

“Would you really,” Dazai gasps, now clasping your hand in his, an exciting grin dazzling his beautiful features. “You spoil me truly, Abelia.” That was something only Dazai called you. His fawning over women had slowly fizzled out, the pet name belladonna long forgotten. Instead, he had turned that attention towards you tenfold. If someone needed Dazai (mainly Kunikida), the first place they’d look was wherever you were. He would constantly drap himself over you, complimenting you and fawning over you. It was weird, you weren’t used to such attention, but you had started to look forward to the next time you’d see Dazai. You soaked up any and all attention he was willing to give you, while he had been doing the same.

You looked up Abelia, unsure what that was. It was a plant, just like belladonna. But except being the name of deadly nightshade, it was a flowering plant, a part of the honeysuckle family. It was a unique, but heartwarming nickname that you had grown fond of quicker than you’d like to admit. It was hard for you to fully comprehend if Dazai actually was interested in you, or if this was his weird way of showing you affection. Although as mentioned earlier, he had stopped his flirting with women altogether, which made you wonder if he was okay (he’s just whipped for you).

“You can pick out any color you want,” You motioned to the small rack of nail polish you owned. You had more than you needed, but that gave Dazai a wide variety. You watched him, the warmth in your eyes clear as he made a show of what color to pick.

“Ahh what do I choose?” He sighed, hands pointing to different colors. “There’s so much to choose from.” Suddenly, he perked up, picking up a color and quickly sliding up to you. A grin formed on your face as he waved the sparkly pink color in front of your face.

“I’m warning you now, those sparkles are a pain to get off,” You warned, grabbing your nail file and cuticle cutters. “I had to scrape them off even after all the nail polish was already gone.”

“All the more reason,” Dazai smiled, watching as you fully turned towards him. Dazai didn’t hesitate when you held your hand out towards him, placing his in yours. Your touch always warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt before, the simplicity of your routines is what drew him in. That wasn’t to say you were boring, it’s just all he had known was chaos. If he wasn’t the center of chaos, he would create it. You were the complete opposite. You gave Dazai a taste of something he thought wasn’t meant for him, and he was slowly becoming dependent on you to show him more. A world that isn’t bloody and terrible, a world where he can be loved even with the terrible things that he’s done. A world where he’s with you.

Dazai didn’t pay any attention to the tv, warm chocolate eyes watching your every movement. How you gently filed his nails into a nice looking oval shape (he couldn’t believe how better they looked just after the first step). How your eyes would dart to the tv every so often to keep up. How you made sure he wasn’t hurt when you clipped his cuticles, he was in slight awe at how you made it look so easy. Finally you put on the base coat. It had been thirty minutes and Dazai was already feeling a bit antsy. Sitting still wasn’t really his style even though he could be the laziest motherfucker alive. You were just so close, and he felt like it was a crime that he hasn’t held you close yet.

Even though Dazai knew his feelings for you ran deeper than they should, he hadn’t been able to tell you. Yes…he was kind of obvious, but he could tell that you would always interpret his affection as nothing but friendly. It was amusing and frustrating at the same time. He wanted to move past this stage, for you to be his, and him yours. Yet he was held back, knowing he didn’t deserve such kindness. How many people has he killed that wanted the same? How many people has he killed that had that warmth, only to extinguish it?

At the end of the day, he still felt that hollow feeling. He didn’t really care about whomever he killed, they were just blank faces adding to a number. That alone made him feel guilty, because he knows you wouldn’t see it as such. You were so kind, kind enough to see a monster like him and care. He’s been shown the light time and time again within the ADA, and you only furthered that. At first it was hard for Dazai to understand the difference between the brutality of the Port Mafia and the ADA, but it slowly became clearer over time. You had been the nail in the coffin, showing him the true beauty of protecting someone. You had become a shoulder to cry on for many victims, almost crying with them sometimes, sharing their pain. He didn’t understand how you did it, but he’s trying to learn.

That antsy feeling in Dazai slowly rose, the way you gently treated him as you continued to apply the polish to his nails only fueling the feeling further. That warm, fluttery feeling was getting worse and you were his outlet. Oh how he wanted to hug you, cuddle you, squeeze you tight to get those feelings out of his systems. What a predicament he put himself in.

“Careful!” You gasped, holding his hands still with wide eyes. “I just put on the top coat, you gotta let it dry.”

“How long will that take?” Dazai whined, a pout forming on his pretty lips.

“A while,” You replied, waving his hands to help them air dry a bit faster. “I don’t have an exact time, I mostly just wing it. When you can tap your nails without them sticking to each other is when they’re completely dry.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” He whined again, dramatically swaying as you continued to hold his hands still. “How am I supposed to live without you in my arms?”

“You survived 22 years,” You teased back, a sly grin on your face (Dazai thought he was going to die at the sight). “I’m sure you’ll live.”

“You’re so cold,” Dazai bemoaned, tilting his head back (but making sure his hands never left yours). You found yourself stuck holding Dazai’s hands until his nails fully dried. You had almost let go and he nearly ruined all your precious work. It was nearly dinner by the time his nails dried, and you found yourself making plans with him.

“Take out or should I actually try to make something?” You pondered, looking into your fridge to see if the latter was even possible.

“Take out,” Dazai replied instantly. Glancing at him, you watched as he beckoned you towards your couch, arms stretched out like a child asking for a hug. Although this was the first time either of you had done anything like this before, it felt completely natural, almost like this was how it was always supposed to be.

“Alright,” You shrugged, closing your fridge and approaching the man that took up your couch. “I’m kinda craving pizza, what about you?”

“Pizza is fine,” He mumbled, gently pulling you to lay on top of him. You felt yourself fluster slightly, unused to such an intimate hold. Yes Dazai would cling to you almost 24/7, but this was in the privacy of your home, and without the company of your friends that kept you grounded, it felt like the moment was more tender.

Taking out your phone to the best of your abilities, you kept making sure Dazai was okay with your decisions (he would eat dirt with you if you asked). After you confirmed everything, he had started playing with your hair, making almost completely melt into him (he had quickly found your weakness). Dazai watched with fondness as your eyes fluttered as he scratched gently at your scalp, it was so cute how you tried to act so nonchalantly (it worked greatly to his advantage that you were also touch starved).

At that moment, it felt like your relationship with the suicidal detective had shifted. An understanding washing over the both of you. You had both been the others this entire time, you both were just too cowardly to speak it outloud. The warmth in your chest hurt so nicely, enjoying every second that Dazai’s nimble fingers twirled your hair around, never wanting him to stop. Unfortunately for you both, the pizza arrived quickly, causing you to pry yourself off Dazai as he tried to tangle you into him further.

“I have to get the pizza,” You grumbled, the more responsible of the two.

“Fine,” Dazai relented, allowing you to stand up properly.

…

You couldn’t hide the lovesick grin on your face as Dazai showed everyone his nails the next work day. Atsushi complimented him, albeit hesitantly, asking when you did them. Dazai held the most shit eating grin when he mentioned you both hung out over the weekend, causing Atsushi to sweat. The look on Atsushi’s face as he looked at you read ‘my condolences’.

If you thought Dazai was clingy before, he was basically a leech at this point. That day had changed him, and he found himself becoming more selfish. He wanted to call you his. He wanted to be yours so badly, the thought of you both sharing more domestic moments consumed him.

Such a moment happened after work. Dazai was feeling particularly romantic, and who was he to deny you such affection? You deserved the world and he would give you no less. He brought you to a park, a thick blanket and a bag of food for you two to share (he sadly couldn’t find a picnic basket in time). Since your work day ended at five, the park wasn’t too full. Parents were starting to take their kids home and some people were having their evening jog. Dazai had brought you to a more quiet area, placing the blanket beneath a tree.

You felt flattered at the amount of attention Dazai had put into this. The blanket was a nice thickness so it wasn’t super uncomfortable to sit on the ground, the foods were your favorites and Dazai currently held a chocolate covered strawberry up to your mouth.

“Say ahh~” He giggled, clearly amused with the situation. You opened your mouth hesitantly, feeling embarrassed at the situation. This wasn’t the first time someone’s fed you something, albeit it wasn’t often, this scenario was more intimate then anything you had experienced.

“Is this a date?” You couldn’t help but ask after you swallowed the berry (it was delicious). Normally you’d shy away if the topic was brought up, but at the moment you couldn’t find it in yourself too. After that domestic day, the way Dazai treated you was warmer than normal, and it felt 100% genuine. He had desensitized you to the notion of dating him, and it seemed to work in your favor.

“If you want it to be,” Dazai hummed, grin widening.

“I don’t mind,” You replied, picking up a sandwich. “As long as that’s also what you want.”

His heart fluttered, an occurrence that had become normal in your presence. The fact that you wanted his full consent, even though he’s the one that planned it warmed him. You were so sweet he could feel his teeth rot. If anything, he should be asking you if you really wanted this. Even though you knew he was an ex-Port Mafia executive, he didn’t think you truly understood the sins he had committed. What he’s done without a second thought. The sadistic acts he did for fun. You had nearly cried over a song about a rat being killed, how would you react if you heard the details of his crimes?

You had sensed the change in Dazai’s demeanor. The shine in his eyes dulled, even if everything else hadn’t changed. He suddenly looked drained, the eye bags under his eyes were dark. At first you were worried that he didn’t want to date you, but that thought seemed silly. It then dawned on you that the charming, lovely Dazai might have been feeling inadequate.

“Of course,” Dazai smiled, masking his feelings as quickly as they appeared. “I would be honored to be yours, Abelia.” He grabbed both of your hands, holding them up to his cheek as he swooned dramatically. A smile tugged at your lips as you noticed the polish on his nails, they had slightly chipped, but they were still nearly intact.

Sliding one of your hands out of his grip, you caressed his cheek (a bold move on your part), “You know I care for you, right?” His dark eyes widened, a small blush rising over his cheekbones. Your thumb gently rubbed his cheek as he kept your other hand clutched in his own.

“You shouldn’t,” Dazai muttered, letting you see a fraction of how he felt. He wasn’t sure why he admitted such a vulnerable thought so quickly. It was like the honesty in your eyes had compelled him to tell you the truth.

A frown tugged at your lips, unwavering adoration filling you, “Everyone deserves someone to care for them.”

The determination in your eyes, your kindness, it had all caused Dazai to turn into a gooey mess on the inside. You said such astounding things with such a strong truth. He knew you meant what said.

“Everyone?” Dazai repeated, raising an eyebrow, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You paused, thinking of some bad people from history that were definitely not worthy, but decided to stand strong (or your defense could easily be dismantled), “Everyone.” You noticed that the shine of despair still clouded in his eyes, his smile unwavering. That’s when you realized he truly didn’t think he deserved to be loved and cared for. Taking your other hand out of his grasp, you held his face in your hands, a seriousness taking over you.

“You may have done bad things, you may have hurt people, but you’ve changed,” You stated, staring deeply into his eyes in hope to get through to him. “And as long as you try to be good, to atone for what you’ve done, then you deserve a second chance. Osamu Dazai, you are not a bad person, and you deserve to be loved.”

The formidable Osamu Dazai, the carefree, lazy, unbreakable, cunning Dazai had cracked. And you, sweet, loving, caring, kind you had been the one who managed to break him. He had never expected to hear such kind words aimed towards him, he never had expected to show anyone his guilt he carried. He never expected to have someone like you in his life, who would love unconditionally. He thought people like that were fools who were oblivious to the horrors of the world, but you fought frontline and still smiled and loved ceaselessly.

A bittersweet look fell onto your face, and when he felt your thumbs brush something wet away from his cheek, he realized he was crying. Something he had never done in front of someone else. He supposes it was a sign of how deeply he trusted you, when he thought you couldn’t get any kinder, you had shown him that some people simply didn’t have evil in them. Yes you could be selfish, no you weren’t perfect, he knew you were insecure and sometimes your kindness was due to you being a people pleaser. He had seen you become devastated at the thought of someone not liking you, how you’d do something for someone at your own expense because you want them to be happy. For someone who was extremely independent, you were still quite dependent on others' views on you, for someone so trusting, it was hard for you to fully trust someone.

“This was supposed to be a romantic date,” Dazai sighed, a small pout on his lips.

“I think this went quite well,” You replied. You smiled gently as you lifted a strawberry up to Dazai’s mouth. “Say ahh~”

Dazai couldn’t hold back his delighted giggles, happily chomping on the strawberry you offered him. He felt lighter than he ever had, who knew telling someone your problems could make you feel better, even if it's just slightly (get therapy man, it works). You had managed to endear yourself even more to the bandaged man (if that was even possible). If you wanted to get rid of him now good luck, he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

If only he could mutter those three words that rested at the tip of his tongue.

#dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #dazai #x reader #imagine #one shot

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mamomare · 10 months

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Ultimate Decades Challenge - 1370s - 1380s

* TW: This post contains mention of characters who died during pregnancy/childbirth.

The 1370s has been a tranquil decade, with the family expanding well over the past ten years. However, as the next century begins to crest the horizon, so too does change. Many of the 5th Generation men, newly married, have been consigned to the Second 100 Year War. Luckily, our current heir Terric was spared such a fate. However, with the loss of both his parents, Terric is feeling estranged from his stepmother, and has become discontented with a simple peasant’s life. So, in 1379, he and his young bride, Brigit have stepped out into the world of silk and are making their attempt at joining the merchant class of Windenburg. After purchasing a run-down home in the Market Quarter of town, they are left with only a few Simoleons in their pocket. Can they make it one more step up the treacherous social ladder of Medieval society?

Births [7] 1372 - Edmund Brooker 1374 - Theobald Brooker 1376 - Fray Bennet, Runilda Clifford 1377 - Gelle Bennet 1379 - Alfred and Sabine Brooker Marriages [5] 1371 - Emil and Annora Bennet 1374 - Maurice and Aldivia Clifford 1375 - Bertram and Malyna Clifford 1376 - Luke and Alicia Fletcher 1378 - Terric and Brigit Brooker

Deaths [8] 1372 - John Taylor (Influenza) 1374 - Hammond Brooker (Influenza) 1375 - Norman Brooker (Typhoid), Michael Wright (Alcohol Poisoning) 1376 - Andrew Smith (Syphillis), Eva Smith (Horse accident) 1377 - Annora Fletcher (Childbirth), Aldivia Clifford (Septicemia) * Babies that never were [10]: Hilda Brooker, Isabella Brooker, Marjorie Brooker, Martin Brooker, Arnold Wright, Alice Bennet, Sperling Bennet, Elias Clifford, Solomon Clifford, Lecia Clifford

Family Tree at 1380

* I’ve ‘trimmed’ the family tree to delete dead ‘branches’. Market Square Home

The new Brooker family home is currently a WIP. At the moment, Terric and Brigit don’t have a lot of money left and are still setting up their Silk business. Will post once the build is complete!

This version of the Decades Challenge was created by Morbid Gamer

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sassy-ahsoka-tano · 2 years

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Hold Me Close

Character/Fandom: Austin Butler

Requested: yes - @fangirl-imagines i love u kenz 💕

Prompt: #17 Scenarios - Haunted House

TW: Mentions of blood, gore, etc. just haunted house stuff

Rating: Pg || Word Count: 1454

A/N: enjoy my loves!!!

🦋 mila

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“Ugh, do we have to Aus?” you whine, tugging on your boyfriend’s long, lanky arm. “I really don’t like these things.

“What are you worried about, babe?” Austin responds, moving to wrap his arm around your shoulder. “You know I’ll protect you.”

He pulls you closer to him and you can’t help but smile as the scent of his cologne wafts into your nostrils. He always smells amazing, clean and musky, just the way you want him to. You fit perfectly underneath his armpit and gaze up into his gorgeous crystal blue eyes. He smiles warmly down at you.

“Yeah, I know,” you respond begrudgingly with a sigh. “Alright fine. But if you let go of my hand, I’m gonna be upset.”

“Never.”

You grip tightly onto Austin’s fingers as you walk behind him toward the big haunted house on the carnival grounds. It’s not that you’re necessarily scared of the actors dressed up in the haunted house so much as you dislike them being so close to you. You’d rather not have some random guy you don’t know get up in your grill in a bloodied pig mask. That’s not exactly your idea of a good time.

But if it gives you an excuse to cuddle up to Austin and have him protect you? You’d walk through fire for that. Austin stops abruptly before the door and glances down at you, his hands holding yours up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your fingers.

“You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Austin, with you around? I’m never better. Let’s do this thing.”

He chuckles, a beautiful smile crossing his features and creasing the edges of his eyes. His infectious expression catches onto your face and you share a grin. He turns around to enter the haunted house and you trail him again, stepping directly behind his heels as he walks. You grip onto his fingers with one hand and his arm with the other. The cotton sleeve of his jacket is soft and you chuckle as you resist making a boyfriend material joke.

You enter the first room to see half-animal, half-human hybrids. People with horse heads and pig noses and deer antlers sewed onto their heads with bloody and gory makeup. You step closer to Austin and feel his grip tighten on your fingers. He glances over his shoulder down at you and smiles. You can barely see him in the darkness of the space but just knowing that he’s got you safe and sound makes you feel infinitely better. You heave a shaky breath and clutch onto Austin’s sleeve as you move through the room.

“See that wasn’t so bad,” Austin says as you pass through a connecting space between two of the exhibits. “You did great, baby.”

You lean your head against him, closing your eyes in relief. But your tranquility is soon broken by the shrill sound of a bloodcurdling screech. Your eyes flick open, trying to adjust to the low lighting but barely able to do so. They frantically flick around as you try to take everything in. This room is full of bandaged patients, stuck halfway through botched surgeries. Your arms curl tighter around Austin as you walk along the path and try to avoid the actors. Shockingly, you manage to make it through the section without being targeted.

But your luck runs out when you enter the clown room. You reach up with your free hand to shield your ears from the gratingly loud sound of chainsaws revving. You stumble after Austin as you cower against him, hating every single second of this. You feel Austin’s arms wrap around you as he maneuvers you in front of him. He rests his arms across your chest in an X and holds you tightly against him. Your eyes are closed and your knuckles are white as you grip hard onto his wrists. You jump a little when you feel his breath on your face.

“You okay, Y/N? You’re doing great, love. We’re almost through. I got you, babe,” he says, his deep raspy voice calming as it sounds in your ear. “I got you.”

You open your eyes, feeling the creases on your forehead as you try to remain as calm as possible. You hesitantly follow the tall man in front of you, glancing from side to side in an attempt to anticipate whether you’re about to get jump scared. Unfortunately, you’re not as perceptive as you think, because a clown manages to get within two inches of you and revs his chainsaw loudly, accompanying it with a cackling laugh. You flinch back with a scream, sliding down Austin’s arms. If Austin didn’t have such a strong grasp on you, you would have been on your ass. But his fingers dig into the skin by your sides and he pulls you back up.

“I got you, I got you,” he repeats. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m here for you. I got you.”

Your heart is beating a million miles a minute and you feel like crying. You exit the clown section and enter a longer connecting section. It feels eerily quiet here and you pause, stepping off to the side to compose yourself. Austin follows, turning to shield you from the line moving through the haunted house. You brush your hair from your face and try to breathe through your fear, your inhales shaky and uneven. Austin takes ahold of your face and tilts your gaze up to meet his. His thumbs gently stroke your cheekbones as he peers down at you.

“I love you, you know that?” he asks and you nod, sniffing back tears. “I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m so proud of you for doing this. You’re being so brave, love. So brave.”

You scoff and shake your head but he angles your face back up to his.

“Hey, would I lie to you? Hell no I wouldn’t. Now, listen, we’re so close to being out. One more section and I know you can handle it. Can you do it for me? Can you make it through the last section?”

You nod with a gulp and a deep breath. You want to do it. You want to make Austin proud of you. He’s right. You can handle it.

“There you go. In front or behind?”

You step in front of him, grabbing onto his arms and tying them over your chest. He chuckles and gently guides you back into line between two random groups. You take a few deep breaths and grasp onto his hands as you step into the final section. This room is modeled after an asylum, with patients chained to the walls and moaning, groaning, and screaming. You oddly feel more confident than you did before. You barely even flinch when a woman with dark long strands of spidery hair screams into your face and rakes her fingernails down her skin. Austin’s arm immediately flies up to cover your face from her. He curls you into his body, the heat from his skin creating a protective barrier around you.

By the time Austin lowers his arm, you’re already stepping back out into the light of the carnival grounds. You breathe the fresh air and sigh with relief. Austin immediately pulls you into a tight hug. You close your eyes, burying your head into his shoulder and breathing him in. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he gently sways you back and forth. You push against his shoulder to lean back and glance up at him.

“Hey, that’s my baby. I knew you could do it,” Austin says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a smile. “You barely even needed me in that last section.”

“Oh, I needed you more than you think. You’re the only reason I finished it without crying. I don’t think I could have done it without you, Aus.”

“Well good thing you’ll never have to. Cause, like I said, I’ll always be here to protect you. Whenever you need it.”

You smile, raising yourself up on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. He smiles into the kiss, his hand winding around the back of your head to gently hold you against him. When you separate, he rests his forehead against yours for a quick second before he pulls back to look down at you. He winks and then glances to the left.

“Now, what do you say we go get some ice cream? I think you deserve it.”

“Yes please,” you laugh, interlacing your fingers with his as you head off toward the ice cream stand.

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Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

#austin butler #milasthings #milasaustincontent #milasfics #milasaustinfics #spoopy szn 2022

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luminnara · 2 years

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would you mind writing some general sfw and nsfw headcanons about what it would be like to be in a relationship with the lost boys and eddie? I need more things to think about during my before bed daydreaming session, and these five have my heart <3

((TW drugs))

SFW:

So much goofy shit. They are out of control all of the time

I'm talking like absolute chaos. Eddie has tons of energy and so do the lost boys so putting them together is just a disaster waiting to happen. the cave is super loud all night while they party, they absolutely tear UP the boardwalk, etc

if eddie is still human, which tbh i think is cute in this context, i can see him meeting you all because he got himself to Santa Carla and started selling drugs to make ends meet...and sells to Paul

And paul just keeps coming back asking for something stronger and stronger, but eddie has no idea that it's because he's a VAMPIRE so drugs don't affect him like they would a human, so eddie reaches this point where he's actually mega concerned for his best customer and paul is like 'bro come on hand over the horse tranquilizers'

and let's face it, he'll be fine lol

eddie is basically nocturnal as is because he just rocks too hard to be up during the day so at first he doesn't even notice that it's kinda weird for the whole gang to avoid the sun

i think he's a big scaredy cat who would be freaked out at first even though vampires are totally metal, but he comes around pretty quickly and will probably end up being turned willingly (because vampires are totally metal)

the guys think his bat tattoos are very cute and they each claim a little bat and say that it's them

NSFW:

Again

Chaos

Good luck to your holes, that's all I'm sayin

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things x lost boys #eddie munson headcanons #lost boys headcanons #eddie munson x lost boys #headcanons #tw drugs

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cryptid-pet · 8 months

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Azushin Mermaid AU Headcanons I Created at the Bottom of the Ocean Part III

Okay, NOW we are getting into the Azushin relationship itself in this one, this also will go for part IV too

Couple Tws >>> Verbal assault, threats, implied gore, physical assault//self harm

This is sorta going to be hard for me to explain since it made more sense in my head, so PLEASE bear with me, y'all wanted this early

I'd like to think of it as Azusa wasn't alone, he was Ruki beause he's the eldest (Duhhhh?)

As I mentioned before, they don't go out during nighttime because that's like the perfect time for Carla and Shin to get down to business

It's like a tiny situation that Azusa HAS to make a big deal, and I'm talking about him loosing Christina on his way home

Azusa refuses to look for her the following day and it was already late enough, Yuma nor Kou honestlyyyy didn't wanna go for themselves to look with the kid (Ahh I love Ruki, obviously he'd give in and go help)

It was suppose to be a quick look around where Azusa came to and fro their home. Him AND Ruki were out for one SINGLE hour

They easily lost track of time and accidentally went faaaar off from home, which leads to everything else >>>

Ususally, the Mukami's don't pay a lot of attention to whatever is above them (You know like if there's a bird in the water if they're THAT close to the surface from underwater, it's stupid and minor)

When I tell you this bigass shadow covered roughly where Ruki and Azusa were, I'm talking about it covering everything AROUND them

It was easily worth waiting and planning for months for this moment because such a mission underway worked perfectly for the Hunter Brothers

It was too smooth in fact, as if they knew how fast Azusa would be and easily the knowledge Ruki gained of the two (Though they first thought any mermaid or merman would be stupid, but the Mukamis are pretty clever)

Ruki was the first to be caught when pushing Azusa out of the way of a sudden trap

Darts, yes, from a tranquilizer gun were shot in the water ONLY at Azusa (Again, he's fast as shit, you gotta least make the kid passed out in order to capture him

Ruki and Azusa were actually kept in seperate rooms that were almost similar looking, Carla would try and gather data from Ruki and Shin would from Azusa

Again, Azusa really doesn't have much information about who the Hunter Brothers are other than "They aren't nice people to mankind" and that's it

Reminder too, Shin was the FIRST human EVER Azusa has seen, so when seeing him again after waking up in a strange place, it did make him nervous

Nothing too intense happens, but Shin does verbal harassment to Azusa and the kid doesn't quite understand the meanings

Azusa doesn't actually say a single WORD as Shin explains what is going on, he just tilts his head and often will nod

What was freaky was that in the room both Mukamis were in already had things from stuffed dolphins, crabs, sear horse, etc, it was just a huge trigger for them

It's unknown if after research that Ruki and Azusa would be killed just for their scales and tails, but easily can be doubted that they won't be sent back into the water

During this entire thing, Ruki and Azusa weren't allowed to see each other nor get any updates of one another from Carla or Shin

There was a lot of threats coming from Shin, such as saying if Azusa did try to escape (Not like he would, he's half fish) that he'd pour oil into the tank he was in to kill him, put piranahs in the water to bit and cause injuries (You know like tearing at his flesh aggressively)

Of course Azusa was horrified, why wouldn't he be?

The public hasn't ben told about the Hunter Brothers catching, not one, but TWO merman, it's going to stay like this until further notice

When the first week went by, Azusa had a couple scales scrapped off him forcefully for testing towards Carla’s illness and even to establish a price of selling

It’s unknown if Ruki has gone through the same treatment as Azusa

Since Azusa doesn’t poke his head out of the water a lot for air, he easily got sick with the times he did from the large tank (Sure, you could say he can get out easily but he clearly wouldn’t get far when flopping right on the cold ground)

Despite the rooms being displayed of stuffed, polished animals, Shin purposely will even bring a living animal and kill it right in front of Azusa

Kou and Yuma can’t even keep track with how long Ruki and Azusa have been gone, they even went to search for them on their own

The more Shin came to get shit from Azusa, the more Azusa just gave in, though couldn’t determine the reason why

Azusa likely got his masochism from Shin treating him poorly and grew adjusted to it

Shin sorta got creeped out with how Azusa let him to what he liked just to make sure Ruki would be safe, but paid no attention

At the very start, around day two of being capture, Shin said he’d give Azusa some rewards if he didn’t put up a fight (Nothing special, like giving him a bigger tank and whatever)

There’s a saying Azusa made up with how there’s no such thing as a bad person, so he wants to believe the Hunter Brothers are doing what they do for their own necessarily, he’s willing to at least try and trust them until they are released

Right off the bat, Carla and Shin could tell Azusa was naive, which was a sly advantage knowing taking Ruki into a separate room would make it harder on Azusa (He needs that guidance)

[1/4] [2/4] [4/4] [Caruki Addition]

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spainkitty · 1 year

Text

Tranquility and Free Will: After the Shrine of Dumat

tw: death, neither pro nor anti Tranquility, Cullen's PTSD

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

It was... a much less easy journey back to Skyhold. Harder to joke. Harder to smile. Maddox had shaken Lavellan to the core. It made her remember that conversation with Cullen weeks ago, the lyrium scattered on the ground, templars and mages and Meredith. Seeing Maddox, his Tranquility, his emotionless yet fervent suicide, his faithfulness to a man who had shown him kindness and wanted to destroy the world.

It was... horrifying.

Heartbreaking.

It made her fucking furious.

She sat on the edge of camp a few days out from Skyhold. She could hear Dorian and Cassandra bickering over spices for the stew, Varric humming softly as he cleaned and calibrated Bianca, Cullen whispering to the horses. The usual sounds of each night. She stared up at the stars, watched her breath fog in the air, and told herself not to scream.

To breathe.

Which was made harder when Cullen's whispering ended and his footsteps approached her. He stood next to her shoulder for a long minute. Silent, too. Maybe staring at the stars, too. Maybe trying not to scream, too.

"Sit or leave."

"I didn't want to impose."

"Looming over me isn't imposing?" Lavellan asked dryly.

"Right, I apologize, I'll go--"

"I wasn't angry about Fairbanks. I wasn't even angry about the blasted halla comment, though it was out of line and you should apologize to the halla."

"Apologize... to the halla."

"Yes. There's a ritual for it. You have to find a temple of Ghilan'nain."

"I could... do that."

"And then weave a blanket of spindleweed and fresh spring grass."

"And if it's autumn?"

"You'll have to go to a country that always has spring grass. Or suffer the terrible, crushing disappointment of halla everywhere."

"So, I find a temple, weave some grass and weeds?"

"And then sing to Ghilan'nain a special Elvish prayer while wearing only the grass blanket."

"So I have to be naked."

"Ask Dorian. He knows all about elves singing flowers into bloom while naked."

Cullen huffed and slowly sat down next to her. "You're teasing me, so I guess you're not upset?"

"Of course I'm upset. I'm mad. I've never been so mad in my life." She said it quietly, voice shaking, arms wrapped around her shins. "I'm mad at Samson for dragging Maddox into it. I'm mad at Meredith for... for punishing him like that. I'm mad at you for saying templars serve a purpose. I'm mad at the Circles for existing. I'm mad at the Chantry for what they put mages through, for what they put templars through, for what they allow and keep secret and destroy, with this facade of doing what Andraste wanted. I'm mad at the whole fucking world."

"I... I get that."

"Thank you." She braced her chin on her knees. "More than anything, I'm... I'm sad. He shouldn't have died like that. He deserved so much better than that. But I'm also... I don't pity him. I'm in awe of him. His faith. His determination. His loyalty. He wasn't a puppet, Cullen. He wasn't an empty shell. He shouldn't have died, but I can't pity him. He doesn't deserve that, either."

"In the end, he made a choice of his own free will. I wish it could've ended better. I wish we could've stopped him. But I won't pity him either." Cullen spoke so softly and firmly. Lavellan was filled with rage, with fear, but Cullen. Cullen was hurting for Maddox. It laced through every word, that empathetic pain.

"That could be me."

"What?" The word ripped out of him with so much shock, so much offense. It made her smile.

"Whoever the new Divine is, they could be like all the others. They'll put mages in the Circles. The templars will get their purpose back. They'll remember everything that happened and they're not all you, Cullen. They might not grow out of the resentment or the fear. Mages will die. I could die. I could be made Tranquil. They'll catch me and throw me in. And when they do, will templars be serving their purpose?"

"Lavellan, it's not the same, it'll be different, it'll have to be different--"

"No. It doesn't have to. You've met Vivienne, right? She's a mage that thinks like you do--"

"That is not how I think."

She startled and slowly turned to face him.

"I don't want that to be a templar's purpose. Why do you think I left?" Cullen said. "Everything was about fear. It made me more afraid, more angry, and I had good reason for it. Kirkwall was... Kirkwall was worse than the Void. But in the end, it was just fear. Fear feeding fear, going in this violent, murderous circle. Mages pushing at limits, templars hurting them for trying, mages becoming blood mages to hurt templars back, templars pouring lyrium down their throats and losing their minds, and mages summoning demons and losing theirs. Everyone trying to hurt everyone else because they were hurting."

"Explains the explosion. It sounds like everything was a bomb waiting to happen."

"I haven't even told you about the Qunari."

"Don't worry, I read Varric's book."

Cullen laughed softly, so softly it shredded into nothing the moment it left his mouth.

"I knew a young woman, a mage, and elf, like you. She was... I thought I'd never met or seen a girl like her. You remind me so much of her that it was hard to separate you in the beginning."

"Su...rano?"

"Surana."

"Ah."

"She passed her Harrowing at 18. I was there, I held a sword ready to cut her down if she failed." Lavellan's fingers clenched into fists. "I'd been to Harrowings before, I never had to, every time it was over was a relief. I never had to use my blade on these people I swore to protect. After hers... she asked... would I have done it? I told her it was my duty, I had to, but I didn't want to. And she laughed and told me it was okay, she knew all along she'd be fine. She was... so bright." He forced the word out, and it sounded like it tore his heart in two.

"Was?" she asked, had to ask, even as she shook and desperately didn't want to know.

"She was supposed to be made Tranquil and I helped her escape."

Lavellan finally moved, finally broke from her curled and defensive position, turned her whole body toward him to stare at his profile.

"What?"

"There were blood mages in the Circle. Everyone was fighting, and dying, and I watched the Tranquils... they were some of the first," Cullen swallowed hard and sweat glistened across his forehead. She should tell him to stop. She didn't have to know. But she wanted to know. "I watched them become abominations at the hands of people that called them colleagues, maybe even called them friends. One of them said, this is uncomfortable. That's it. This is uncomfortable."

"Oh... Mythal..." Lavellan breathed out, filled with horror and disgust.

"The thought of her, that laughing, confident girl, waiting to be become something like that, like them... I let her out. Forced her through a door and used a Templar rune to lock it. She was safe and... and the blood mages tried to use her, my memory and my... my infatuation with her, against me. To break me."

"And so you feared mages."

"I hated them. For a time, I even blamed her. For making me weak. It took me years to realize that of all the sorry bastards they tortured, I was the only one that didn't break. I don't know how much of that was me, and how much was her," Cullen whispered it, stared at his gloved palms, shoulders bowed under the weight despite sharing it.

"It could be both." She hesitantly raised a hand. Let it drop. "But I think it was you." Cullen met her eyes and they sat side by side, everything they've seen and been through and what they could have become lying heavy between them. "People say I'm... indomitable. I have a strong will. But I've got nothing on you. Me? I'm an asshole, I bludgeon my way through problems." Cullen chuckled. "But you? You're kind. After all that, you're so kind. You're... you're the indomitable one."

"I didn't tell you about this for praise, Lavellan."

"Call me Lane, remember?" She knocked her shoulder against his arm. Froze, held her breath; had she pushed too soon?

"Lane."

She released a slow breath of relief. "So why did you tell me? Just... draw it out for me. Pretend I'm stupid."

He laughed at last and she smiled.

"Because I don't want that to be someone's future, forced on them against their will. I want there to be a better way. But I need you to understand why I defend the templars, why they're important. Everyone in Kinloch Hold was at fault, everyone was a monster... even me. But we can't pretend like taking away all protections makes us more free, or absolves legitimate reasons for fear. There will always be abuses of power, and they make people like Uldred and Samson."

"But they also make Maddox."

"Yeah. They also make Maddox."

"It's... not an easy fix," Lavellan scowled. "Which is the understatement of the damn century. Millennium."

"No, it won't be easy," Cullen agreed.

"Do you think I could find it? A fix?"

"You're the one person I believe who can."

"You know... I'm not so angry at you anymore."

"What a relief." His whole body sagged as his sigh gusted from him. "I don't still have to dance naked for the halla, do I?"

"Ass." She bumped his shoulder with her fist, grimacing at the metal she hit. "Double ass. Why are you always wearing armor?!"

He got to his feet, and she moved to follow, taking a brief moment to stretch out her legs. He reached out his hand, and... she glanced up. Carefully, she set her hand in his and let him gently pull to her to feet. He was so damn tall, it hurt a little to crane her neck, but she couldn't look away from his face. From that shy, private smile.

Her hand tightened around his when he tried to pull away. His eyes widened slightly, then something happened to his expression. His eyes grew darker, his smile slipped away, but it wasn't anger. It had her heart thudding.

She remembered, out of nowhere, that moment in Halamshiral. The ground shifting under her feet. It was happening again. When his hand moved to interlace their fingers, their hands hidden by their cloaks and his eyes intent on her face, the ground shifted under her, her knees quaking.

"Do you still confuse me with her?" Lavellan asked, wondering where it came from. Wondering why it mattered.

"No. You are..." He searched for a word and Lavellan shook her head.

"I wasn't asking for praise, either. I just wanted to know I... that I'm just me to you. No one else."

"Lane..."

"I'm sure your conversation is riveting!" Dorian called.

Lavellan and Cullen jerked slightly apart, but not far enough to need to drop their hands. In fact, she couldn't help but hold on tighter. Her heart pounded when his thumb brushed the back of her glove. It felt as intimate as if it had been skin to skin.

"However, this stew is long done and you need to eat it before it overcooks."

"You can't overcook stew," Cassandra said incredulously.

"My dear, you can overcook anything."

"C'mon Shortie, Curly, stop being so serious. We've got a long way to Skyhold yet. Your faces will get stuck like that."

"As opposed to what, looking like yours?" Lavellan asked. Varric scoffed.

"You wish you were as pretty as me."

She grinned up at Cullen. "I think we've got good faces. What do you think?"

"I definitely like yours more than his."

"Good answer."

Just a moment longer, they held on tight. Then, slowly, their hands slipped apart, finger by finger, inch by inch, until they could walk towards the fire without a single bit touching the other. For the rest of the night, she couldn't help staring at his hands.

Wishing she could've held on longer. Wishing that after the maraas-lok, she had managed to get to Cullen's office. Wishing she knew what it was like to wake up next to him with his hand holding hers.

Part I / Part II

#dai lavellan #overt cullen x lavellan at last #and yes you know where it's going #Surana is alive and Lavellan looks just like her and this fanfic is a soap opera #dai cullen rutherford #I play DAI in the order of #In Hushed Whispers > In Your Heart Shall Burn > Winter Palace > Here Lies the Abyss #I also have the Inky's canon phobia so i PUT THAT SHIT OFF #i cant play anywhere but PC bc i need mods #Lanil's Pieces #long post

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patriciers · 2 years

Text

INTRODUCING : LADY SERENA KARSTARK .

we welcome serena karstark née serrett , the ruling lady of karhold . keep an eye out for their mutable nature , they tend to cover it up by acting benignant . rumor has it they are for the peace treaty , and their loyalties lie with houses karstark and serrett . you’ll know it’s them when you get flashes of sunlight beaming through curtains in the early hours of the morning ; doe eyes that shine like stars , with a hint of melancholy ; a rose that you were certain had no thorns , but still manages to prick your finger .

I . BASICS

FULL NAME serena karstark , née serrett .

ETYMOLOGY from the latin serenus , “ clear , tranquil . ” also a japanese name derived from the kanji 星 ( se ) “ star , ” 廉 ( ren ) “ unselfish , clean , honest , ” and 愛 ( a ) “ love , affection , favorite . ”

NICKNAMES & ALIASES rena , ren ( family ) , fledgling ( siblings ) , the diamond of silverhill .

TITLES ruling lady of karhold , lady of silverhill .

AGE twenty - nine , born in late winter / early spring .

GENDER cis woman .

PRONOUNS she / her / hers .

ORIENTATION bisexual graybiromantic .

MARITAL STATUS married .

BIRTHPLACE & HOMETOWN silverhill , the westerlands .

CURRENT RESIDENCE karhold , the north .

TRAITS benignant , mutable , guileful , sociable , conciliatory , vain , complaisant , esurient .

II . ASPECT

FACECLAIM shiori kutsuna

EYES dark brown , almost black .

HAIR black as freshly - ground ink , straight , cascading down to her tailbone . she wears it in a variety of ways , but favors any sort of half - up , half - down style .

HEIGHT 5’2” / 157.5cm

BUILD petite and slight . some might describe her as “ bird - like . ”

NOTABLE CHARACTERISTICS doe eyes — deep , dark pools that draw other people in , twinkling in even the faintest light ; airy movements and gestures , like she floats or glides when she walks ; a mole under her left eye .

SIGNATURE SCENT apple blossom , jasmine , & hyacinth .

III . RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS ruling lady akira serrett † and ruling lord vernon serrett né farman † .

SIBLINGS ruling lord joji serrett ( eldest brother ) + other as of yet unnamed older siblings .

SPOUSE ruling lord rickard karstark .

CHILDREN lady maika karstark .

EXTENDED FAMILY ruling lady gloriya serrett née utp ( sister - in - law ) , lord yeongjun serrett ( nephew ) , other children of her siblings ( niblings ) , house farman ( paternal cousins ) , ruling lord lorence karstark † ( father - in - law ) , lady alys karstark ( sister - in - law ) , lord karstark ( brother - in - law ) , torrhen snow ( nephew ) .

MOUNT kohaku , a flaxen chestnut palfrey mare . she was a wedding gift , and a well - timed one at that ; the horse serena grew up with was deemed unfit to make the journey to the north with her , on account of old age . serena was once told kohaku is descended from a line of palfreys crossed with garrons , which explains her hardiness in the snow .

ALLEGIANCE house karstark and house serrett . she maintains a certain amount of loyalty to house lannister out of a love for some of her closest childhood friends ( and family’s historic overlords ) , and is also publicly pro - house stark , as is expected of the house she married into .

IV . BACKGROUND ( WIP )

death mention tw , illness tw

the youngest of the previous generation of serretts by a wide margin , and as a result had an isolating position in the family hierarchy ; constantly yearned for attention and affection as a result . developed a penchant for adapting to others in order to get them to like her — some might say she’s fickle for it , but catering her personality and interests to those of other people did help her make lasting friends , in the end . both of serena’s parents passed within the year of her thirteenth birthday , lord vernon in a hunting accident and lady akira from compounding health issues . afterwards , her eldest brother joji and his wife took her in as their ward , and though they were clear she was joji’s sister first and foremost , many regarded her as their sixth child . traveled around westeros with her brother on - and - off for years until her betrothal to rickard was finalized .

V . HEADCANONS

lady akira was an austere and churlish woman , and despite her clear intelligence and political prowess , was divisive in court . serena herself always had a difficult relationship with her mother — she often thought akira resented her , a belief that carried through the day she passed and beyond .

a serrett through and through , though her ego may not be as obvious as those possessed by her family members . it manifests mostly in vanity : serena knows she’s beautiful , and uses that beauty to her advantage when she can . and , though she would never outright admit it , she enjoys being noticed and complimented . she also hates being seen not looking her best , unless it’s by someone she really trusts — and , even then , it’s still not something she particularly likes .

used to be okay with being perceived as vapid and naive , but since becoming ruling lady of karhold , she finds her image in court hinders more often than it helps . she’s beginning to think her mother might have had a point , being the way she was , but still refuses to become her .

the move to the north for her marriage was difficult , to say the least . not only was the journey quite harrowing , and the longest journey she’d ever made at the time ( traveling more than half - way across westeros is no joke ! ) , but much of the world as she knew it left after the festivities were over . but , knowing her brother chose her to help forge their family’s latest alliance , because of her ability to adapt , serena kept her head high and did her best to settle into her new life as a northwoman .

very fond of plants and flowers — she has thoroughly enjoyed gardening since she was a girl , and bonded with her late mother through learning to prune and maintain trees .

V . WANTED CONNECTIONS

all wcs can be found here !

#rfms.intro #(this also doubles as a tag drop??)#𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　dialogue #𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　musings #𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　aes #𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　countenance #𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　study #𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙆　:　task

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ohghxst · 8 months

Text

ewan mitchell, male, he/him, 26 — dear all nations, OSIAN LLEWELLYN has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of CURSE, by NORMAL THE KID. the GUARD of ENGLAND is known to be IN FAVOR OF making peace. HE reminds me of THE DESOLATE SENSATION OF SOLITUDE AMIDST A THRONGED CHAMBER and FINDING STRENGTH TO BE KIND IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY? however did you know that HE HAS HAD PROGRESSIVE HEARING LOSS STARTING FROM A YOUNG AGE?

tw: disability

[ statistics ] ⸻

full name : osian llewellyn

nicknames : little deer (family only, if anyone found out and used it. he'd be ruined)

age : 26

gender + pronouns : male he/him

orientation : heterosexual (maybe)

[ appearance ] ⸻

height : 5'10

hair colour : brown

eye colour : blue

dominant hand : left

distinguishing scars : calloused hands covered with small scars here in there from years of sword training.

his hair is kept short, as he hate it long. wears a necklace that he keeps tucked in his tunic that his sisters gave him before join up to become a soldier/guard, for 'good luck'.

[ background + family ] ⸻

birthdate: december 11th

rank : guard

mother : seren llewellyn

father : elis llewellyn

sibling(s) : ceri, gwen, aled, rhys, gareth

[ introduction ] ⸻

you were born into a grandiose family, the sixth of your lineage. your father, a master of the stables, served a distinguished noble family, while your mother was their esteemed seamstress. as you matured, you and your three brothers worked alongside your father as grooms, tending to the majestic horses with utmost care and precision. while your sisters helped your mother.

however, just before your seventh birthday, sudden change befell you. your mother called out to you in the yard, but you were oblivious to her presence until she tapped you on the shoulder. your father barked orders, yet all you heard was a muffled sound. concerned, a physician was called, and it was soon discovered that you were going deaf and will eventually it'll be gone completely.

undeterred, you learned the art of lip reading, though it proved challenging in dim lighting, amidst laughter, hand gestures, and accents. nevertheless, your thirst for more in life than tending to horses remained unquenched.

you concealed your disability as you applied to become a guard, a feat that was no easy task. on numerous occasions, you were almost discovered, but a kindred spirit you met along the way to becoming a guard came to your aid, ensuring your success.

now a full-fledged guard, you have accompanied the royal family to Scotland, seeking solace and tranquillity.

[ hooks ] ⸻

while osian can read lips, its very taxing mentally, and can get a bit challenging with all the different accents, words that are pronounced similarly, lighting, etc. sometimes, if he is feeling cheeky, he won't even bother paying attention, or use his deafness to avoid conversations with people when they try calling him over.

this man has two likes. plants and the stars. but mostly the stars. knows nothing about them but he likes to look up at them and wonder.

is able to talk normally if one were to pay attention they'd notice a very slight 'deaf accent'. sometimes doesn't realize he might be shouting, which is why he usually stays and too himself mostly.

osian is not yet completely deaf, as he can still hear on his right but it's extremely muffled, while his left is practically non-existent. so if and when he comes clean, stand on his right.

100% purebred good boy....with a cheeky side

#nomad.intro #tw: disability #i think thats the only trigger needed. he got a happy life.#ⅠⅠⅠ. ⸻ › 𝑜𝓈𝒾𝒶𝓃 ‹

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daydadahlias · 10 months

Note

HOIRES TRANQUILIZER LMFAOOOOOOOOOO i'm on ft with a feriend and wer're writing fic together and scrolling thru tumblr and say u online and i wanted to sy hiiii (not unsober from horse tranquilizer just a few margs hehe)

is margs what they’re calling horse tranquilizers on the street these days

#back in my day we called em ponies #I hope ur fic is going well that sounds so fun #I’ve never been Not Sober in my life but I can say with confidence that if I was not sober I would just write fic #so ur living life right rn #based on what I write when I’m sober #I’m scared of what I’d write when I’m not #don’t be too naughty kiddo #pigeon #anon #ily be safe have fun write weird shit 🥰#tw horse tranquilizer #tw alcohol

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joonsdiary · 3 years

Text

worth fighting for (09)

pairing: jungkook x female reader genre/warnings: royalty au, historical au / humour, an unhealthy amount fluff (suave general jeon is back so beware), a wee bit of angst / tw: mentions of blood and knife, a tiny bit of action, mentions of death, and just an inordinate amount of mutual pining word count: 7,663

summary: fresh out of the perils of war, jungkook didn’t think that his task as the newly appointed general would be to look after you.

— previous ; next ; series masterlist

nine.

Lulled by the steady rhythm and speed the carriage is marching, Jungkook fights the urge to shut his eyelids tight. He’s engulfed by the coolness of the afternoon winds, which does nothing but bring him tranquillity. It truly isn’t the ideal scenario when he’s battling against himself to stay awake. There’s still a bit of land to cover before the surrounding plunges into darkness, so he can’t quite afford the luxury of a nap, no matter how tempting it sounds. Though there’s truly no one else to blame for his exhaustion but himself.

Perhaps if he hasn’t been staying up late, preoccupied with thoughts of a promise, of your hand in his, of you. His task of protecting everyone keeps him up, sure, but it’s a mere pretence to the real reason behind his sleep-deprived eyes. It kept him up even more when everyone started taking notice, though; he never much liked being the center of attention. Worrying is Jungkook’s duty, and he resents that anyone would fret over him.

(He hates to admit it, but his heart swells—rather disconcertingly—with happiness when it comes to you negotiating a way for him to catch up on his sleep.)

“Weary are those who bear the troubles of their lover,” Jimin suddenly quips, his words unravelling unprompted. He stayed quiet for most of the trip, choosing to give Jungkook some undesired solitude with his thoughts. He never finds it beneficial to be mulling over his feelings for a long time, so he welcomes the conversation.

“What are you blabbering on about this time, old man?”

Jungkook spares him a glance before shifting his attention back to the dirt road, holding the reins tighter. The horses follow his command to gallop faster; maybe this way, the constant jolt of the ride would keep him vigilant.

“Just an observation.” Jimin nudges him softly, a sign that he knows Jungkook’s retort is meant in jest. “Tell me what ails you, General. I may be of help.”

Jungkook’s lips turn into a half-grin. “Does sightseeing bore you already?”

“Yes, in fact.” Jimin sighs in a way that makes him think he’s slightly inflating the truth. “I’m tired of looking at trees. As much as I am a person of nature, I’ve seen enough these past few weeks to last me a lifetime. I can manage without looking at them for a minute. Indulge me, will you?”

“There is nothing to indulge in.” Maybe he shouldn’t have been too quick to assume the conversation with Jimin will be anything but ordinary. “Both of us have to focus. Otherwise, one spook might send the horses clamouring and would put us all in danger.”

“And here I thought we’ve grown close enough to share whatever it is that’s bothering us.” If there’s anything he’s learned about Jimin, it’s that can be rather persistent if he so chooses.

“Alright,” Jungkook straightens his back. From the corner of his vision, he sees Jimin lean closer towards him. “There’s this stable boy who’s always badgering me to share my feelings.”

He says the last word with an affectation of disdain in his voice, knowing it would send Jimin sulking, which means he’ll turn quiet. Fortunately for him, he’s right.

Unfortunately for him, peace only lasts a moment.

“I can see why the princess hates you,” he mutters under his breath, though audible enough for the General to hear.

Jungkook almost halts the horses in their tracks when he hears Jimin’s nondescript statement. He doesn’t take it to heart when you say it, simply because believes you’ve fallen into this habit of saying it on a whim. But coming from Jimin, who heard it from you, it’s a whole different story. He doesn’t know the context around enough to conclude whether you were being serious or not.

“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Jungkook squints suspiciously. Jimin merely shrugs, giving him a furtive glance.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Jimin doesn’t give him the courtesy of following up on his declaration. The unfounded claim is enough to shake his drowsiness away as his mind frantically searches for anything amiss during the past twenty-four hours.

Has there been anything he said you took offence to? Is it because of yesterday, when he almost scolded you for being hurt and not telling him about it? How is it that every time he thinks he’s got you all figured out, you turn the opposite direction and he completely misses the mark?

Jimin’s chuckle does nothing to calm the distraught brewing in his mind. “She told me during this morning’s spar.”

Jungkook hadn’t been present that time, so he has no way of verifying.

“What do you mean?” he asks, clearly miffed. He’s past the point of pretending not to care much about what you thought of him, even if he’s aware Jimin might taunt him because of it.

“I believe elaborating further would break the confidentiality I promised,” Jimin furrows his brows in contemplation.

Jungkook is about to protest when the carriage’s window opens, and a voice comes through behind them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Not to interrupt your lovely chatter, but I do hope you know we can hear everything you’re saying.”

“Miyoung!” Jimin exclaims, turning to the young lady with sudden enthusiasm. “Would you like to learn how to drive a carriage?”

“What’s this about?” she asks, glancing between the two men.

“General Jeon needs to rest, and I need someone to keep me company.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes at Jimin’s dazzling grin. It’s a wonder how he ended up a mere stable boy; Jungkook reckons he needs a career switch into matchmaking.

His eyes widen in belated recognition. “I don’t need—”

“Why didn’t you ask me? I want to learn,” your voice comes through, cutting Jungkook off. Jimin laughs beside him, turning to ask you the same question. You exclaim yes without waiting for him to finish before saying, “I don’t want to be stuck inside this moving box with him.”

His jaw slackens in bewilderment and Jimin leans closer to whisper deviously, I told you so, in his ear. Your propensity to tell him one thing and mean another always, without fault, confuses the life out of him. Has he always been this foolish towards somebody he’s pining for? Perhaps.

Despite his heavily unsubstantiated reputation among women in the palace—he’ll never forget the fact that Jimin thought of him as a philanderer—he’s not exactly the master of anything that has to do with courtship, romancing and the likes.

(Not that he’s trying to woo you or anything of the sort; that’s absolutely not the case at all.)

But his experience with Lady Siyeon told him as much; being too forward is never the right way to go. The one time he tries to be direct about the way he feels, he’s catapulted right into the sky like a measly rock. Although the event of his rejection happened even before the war broke out, the wounds are fresh enough that they should deter him from trying again.

However, Jungkook recognizes that he does have a decent chance. Circumstances be damned, he’s confident that he’d be able to tell you—

“General Jeon?” Jimin questions warily. Jungkook halts the movement of the horses with one tug of the bridle before handing the reins to him.

“There’s a small village we’ll pass through, which indicates we’ve crossed the border,” he explains, and Jimin nods in recognition.

“I’m aware; it’s the area your battalion used as a refuge during the war.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide with surprise. “It’s not that well known.”

“Han told me.”

Jungkook immediately grins with recognition. “Now that’s a name I haven't heard in a while.”

“We’re from the same hometown, and we both got back, he just wouldn’t shut up about you and what had happened.”

The edges of Jimin’s eyes wrinkle in amusement at the memory. Jungkook can tell there’s a certain kinship shared between the two. “He made it sound like you all didn’t almost die.”

“To be fair, I do owe him my life,” Jungkook smiles fondly. No matter the type of accolade the king gives him, he would not have made it this far without his men to support him, and the lives of countless others. Including the life of his brother. He isn’t much for sentiments when it comes down to it, but it does make him appreciate the people he currently has around. “Which reminds me, we should all get that pint of ale you keep telling me to drink—the three of us.”

Jimin chuckles heartily, before nodding in agreement. “That’s a promise.”

“You better hold on to that; I do not take lightly to others not arriving when they’ve promised otherwise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Jimin teases. “I bet it’s the ladies that do all the waiting on you,” he pauses to raise his voice, “am I right, Your Highness?”

The window promptly slides open, amplifying Miyoung’s giggle from inside the carriage. “I ask a friend out to the theatre once, and I become the resident jester for everyone’s amusement,” your voice comes through, sounding almost petulant.

Jungkook turns back with a grin. “I thought we weren’t friends?”

“Hush, this wouldn’t have happened if you had said yes,” a string of ooh’s resound from both Jimin and Miyoung. Jungkook knows they don’t miss a beat when it comes to teasing you, which he can relate to a certain extent. “Now tell me why we’ve stopped, General Jeon.”

He turns to Jimin instead. “Part of the reason why I chose this path is that I know they’ll allow safe passage. We’ll get there shortly, so I’m sure it’s enough time for me to catch up on the sleep you’re all forcing me to take, right?”

He doesn’t wait for Jimin’s answer as he steps off the front of the carriage before making his way to the door. He opens it and sticks his hand out. “Lady Miyoung, I believe Sir Jimin requests your presence.”

He hears her stifle a laugh but plays along either way as she takes his hand while stepping out. Before you could do so much as to protest the new arrangement, Jungkook shuts the door firmly behind him. Within a few seconds, the wheels turn, propelling you forwards.

And so begins the long silence between you and him, stretching seconds into minutes upon minutes. Jungkook did not fancy you the book-reading type, given how much he knows you’re fond of the great outdoors, but you’ve certainly poured all your attention into the world between each page.

He quietly watches as your eyes dart quickly from one page back to the previous one, then back again to the current section, before glancing at him from between your lashes. Your gaze falls as quickly as he catches yours, and Jungkook concludes, with an indiscreet smile, that you’re merely hiding amongst the text instead of reading them.

He lets you continue your fictitious act, either way, and soon you’re turning the paper rhythmically and with purpose. Jungkook basks in the comfort of your presence, and he can’t help but laugh to himself because since when has it been this calm between the two of you?

And he really shouldn’t, but fatigue beckons him closer to the edge of slumber, daring him to jump in. He knows it’s endgame if he lets his neck drift back into the seat, sinking into its comfort…

Seeing your beaming smile snaps him back into the realization that whatever insecurity he has is futile. And if he would just—take my hand, Jungkook.

Your whisper enchants the empty halls of the palace, boring life into the otherwise barren space. Dawn is set to arrive, but the sun takes its sweet time, not wanting to outshine the moon just yet.

This is the rendezvous. The declaration of forever that Jungkook has evaded over and over because wherever duty commands, he follows without fail.

Take my hand.

He refuses, all but confirmed with a headshake.

What is the meaning of this?

A faceless man takes his stance beside you. A king. The king of all nations, crowned by your matrimony to him. He hasn’t forgotten.

You dare perform an act of vile sin before me, daring to covet what’s mine.

Your hand reaches out for his one last time, but before he can grab it, a dagger pierces through your back. Straight into your heart.

He tries to move forward in an attempt to save you. He’s done it so many times, so why couldn’t he do it now? But his feet are intertwined into the wooden floors, like large old trees heavily rooted within the soil, bound by choices he’s made.

Blood pools around you, painting the white fabric of your dress different shades of crimson. You utter his name with finality. Jungkook.

“No!”

“Jungkook?”

His bleary eyes flutter against the light as he struggles to focus on his surroundings. When he comes to and his vision sharpens, he sees you—alive, breathing, the evening sunset kissing your skin with the utmost care and delicacy.

He has a hard time believing that he’s no longer asleep.

“A dream?” you inquire with a crease of the brow, tainting Jungkook’s otherwise celestial image of you.

“It was more so a terrible nightmare,” Jungkook mumbles, rubbing the sleep away from his moistened eyes. He must have cried or had been close to doing so. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Long enough,” you point towards the window, the curtains parted enough to witness the colours of the sky gradually change its hues.

His body feels lighter as if a great deal of weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He’s uncertain if it’s due to the scenery blossoming before him, or the fact that the horrid nightmare stayed as such and does not reflect reality.

He looks down on his feet before lifting each one carefully. Would the choices he makes here, in full consciousness, have the same outcome as they did in his mind? He’s heard of foreboding premonitions stemming from visions, but only after visiting fortune-tellers or shamans.

“Is everything okay?”

There is gentleness in your voice, causing Jungkook’s gaze to linger far longer than he would like. He nods wordlessly, too preoccupied with the thought that he might have neglected something…

Of course! The urge to know what you truly thought of him gives him enough bravery to ask. The courage might be spurred on by Jimin’s statement earlier, or the clarity brought about by his nightmare; the fear of losing you.

Whatever your answer will be, he’ll graciously accept. And no, it couldn’t wait until tomorrow or later in the evening.

“W-what are you looking at me like that for?”

Jungkook has been around you long enough to recognize the expression you wear when you’re bashful: Eyes that shift around to look anywhere but his direction, cheeks that are dusted carmine like blooming May flowers. Even the way you clasp your hands, wringing your fingers together—he’s seen them all. He’s willing to move mountains if it means he’ll figure out your exact thoughts at the moment to warrant such a look on your face.

“I think you owe me a favour,” he says as he leans forward. You visibly stiffen, falling back into the seat as Jungkook continues. “For all the times I’ve gone against your father’s words and taught you how to wield a weapon.”

Your nose wrinkles, giving his proposition a great deal of thought. “What sort of favour?”

“A simple one. All you have to do is be honest with me.”

You watch him with wary eyes, and Jungkook can see the uncertainty beneath them. You nod, nonetheless.

Jungkook moves closer, overcome by a rush of bravery. It’s different this time when he’s sure of his feelings and has control over the reins as opposed to when he was running blind the past few weeks. The sleepless nights certainly did not help, but what else is he to do when he’s battling against himself? He has poured his affection into the stone tucked safely near his heart, and he will not be hasty to hand it to you unless he’s sure.

“Do you still—” he inches closer— “hate me?”

He tries to come off playful, not wanting to make it seem like your answer means a great deal to him. He knows only of what you’ve told him when you were battling a severe illness, but he’s no fool to cling on to the words of a lady trapped in delirium. Moreover, you’ve been quite insistent on declaring your disdain for him, for reasons unknown to him.

You swallow deeply, pressing yourself further into the seat. Jungkook watches as your lips move to say something, but no sound escapes between them. The more time passes in stillness, the more Jungkook’s confidence grows. In between these four walls, he is not compelled by duty but rather guided by the will of his heart.

He can’t help but grin triumphantly as he finds his answer in your quietness. There is neither a snarky retort nor an ill-tempered agreement to his inquisition. He’s quite certain that if you truly cannot stand to be in the same room as him, you would have pushed him away by now.

Jungkook collects the victories he can because he knows the next time he steps out of this carriage, it will not be his hand you will seek out to hold, but another. For he knows that to be in love and be reciprocated for it is a rare delight rather than a ubiquitous occurrence.

If only he realized it sooner.

* * *

You marvel at Jungkook’s extraordinary achievement—you certainly did not think him to be capable of surprising you any more than he already has. Yet he’s held you breathless once again, unable to anticipate the sort of question he was to ask of you. What is even more astonishing is that you are certain he means to question you in jest, no doubt another one of his schemes to toy with you.

Your choice of staying silent only puts a big smile on his stupid face.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says softly before giving you the room to finally breathe.

He is right—you did not hate him, not really, no. The statement is meant to replace a phrase you utterly dread to say or even think; a contrived euphemism of some sort. But what does he honestly expect you to say? No, I don’t hate you, I’m hopelessly in love with you. The last time you tried that, he thought you ate the last piece of his snack. You almost roll your eyes at the thought.

On the other hand, you can’t bring yourself to say yes, either. Jungkook’s eyes are eager, determined; you know you’ll never be able to tell him a lie with a straight face and not get caught for it.

The respite is rather brief, however, as Jungkook shuffles in his seat, hands roaming the inside of his coat pocket. Your eyes widen at what materializes in his hand, recognizing the trinket.

“General Jeon, tell me you didn’t…”

“And because you were honest with me, in a way, I believe a reward is warranted.”

Jungkook’s smile melts your heart in a puddle as your mind runs in several different directions all at once. The desires you’ve worked hard to suppress wash over you, the floods carrying you far away from all sensibilities. You let it take you away.

“May I?”

The sound of his voice startles you, but you nod in a daze anyway, unsure of what he’s asked. You did not have to guess for long, however, as he claims the space you occupy once more. He doesn’t give you time to react and in less than a second, you feel his hot breath against you, alleviated by the coolness of the silver wrapping around your neck. His fingers dance carefully above your skin as your hands clutch your stomach in hopes of silencing the flitting of butterflies within them.

A feeble attempt, of course, because you’re certain he can feel your blistering pulse beneath his fingertips.

You hear the metal click into place and you breathe out slowly, trying to rid your senses of Jungkook’s scent—of burnt firewood, of damp soil after a day’s worth of rain, all mixed into a slight hint of soap underneath it all.

“Done,” Jungkook leans back, though close enough to still spot the small scar just below his lower lip with clarity. You trace the jade between your thumb and index finger as his steady gaze meets yours.

“I’m—uh,” you croak, only realizing how dry your mouth is. Jungkook’s eyes flutter towards your lips, perhaps lingering a bit too long, before catching your gaze once more. “Thank you.”

Though it’s challenging to form words when his gaze is disarming, it isn’t all that difficult to gravitate towards him. It feels as natural as leaping off a branch from a tall oak tree; there is no fear, because you know he’s in the bottom, waiting to catch you safely.

Jeon Jungkook, the object of your desires and the bane of your existence, all at once, wants to kiss you.

The air grows thin and you feel the rush of heat make its way from your neck to the summit of your cheeks. He slowly tilts forward, and you presume he’s trying to gauge your reaction but you don’t make a single movement that signals rejection. His hands remain a steady presence on your shoulder, unmoving since he gave you the necklace.

He whispers your name, softly, delicately, all pretext of formality stripped with ease. You’d let him kiss you a thousand times over if it means you’ll be able to hear your name uttered with such fervent need. What must it feel like, his lips on yours? And no, not like the last time.

You don’t even want to remember the last time.

The last time was a mishap, born out of your lack of functioning limbs. This time it’s no simple accident and there wouldn’t be a need for apologies after. You’re certain he wants to—just as much as you do. Your curiosities will finally be answered.

But before you can cave into your desires, the vehicle stops, and your lips land squarely on his shoulders instead.

“Whoa,” Jungkook falls back into his seat as he steadies you between his arms. Outside, the horses whine in discomfort as Jimin tries to calm them down with soft tugs to their reins.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook asks, half-worried and half-amused at your current predicament. You wince, placing your palms over your face. The pain you feel is next to nothing compared to your mounting shame.

“Yeah, fine, just…” there’s a certain degree of difficulty with you and currently finishing sentences, it seems. He reads you perfectly, despite your lack of words, and removes your hand against your face.

“There’s no need to feel embarrassed,” he says with reverence, turning your palm over and placing a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “That will simply have to do for now.”

Your entire body blisters with searing heat. For now?

“How are you so confident that you’d get another chance?” you huff, not wanting to let him know of your disappointment at a missed opportunity. At this point, he needs to know that you simply would not allow yourself to bend to his whims.

(Despite wanting quite the opposite.)

He merely grins. “There will be one. I’ll make sure of it.”

His self-assurance is disarming. You bite your lower lip and respond with silence, unsure what to say to such a statement.

Although more pressing matters need to be tended to, namely the reason as to why your vehicle has halted.

“General Jeon,” Jimin’s voice echoes from the outside, his tone unsettling. “I think it’s best if we choose a different way.”

You and Jungkook share a worried glance before he promptly steps out, with you following close behind.

“Your Highness, maybe you shouldn’t…”

You hear Miyoung’s warning because you’re unable to absorb anything but the sight before you. The area could not have been inhabited by more than one hundred people; a small village similar to the ones you’ve travelled over a fortnight.

The difference is there are no delighted innkeepers to welcome you, or children running about. No merchants in sight, no hagglers, no customers milling about, no one. There is nothing left of the village but burnt, scorched homes, devoid of life.

“I don’t understand…” Jungkook mutters in confusion, and you notice he instantly places his hand on his weapon.

“General, I thought you said this would be a safe place for us to stop,” Jimin approaches, eyes wary as he speaks.

“It is…it was.” The stillness in the air sends a cold shiver down your spine.

Three pairs of eyes immediately dart towards Jungkook, and all of a sudden you feel all the blood drain from your face. Nervousness pools in your stomach as Miyoung immediately rushes to your side and takes your arm in hers.

“During the war, the villagers provided some of our men with shelter and food as some tended to their wounds, including me.”

Your brows knit in confusion as your mind is unable to comprehend Jungkook’s confession. Why would these people help cavalrymen who are not their own? Jungkook did not elaborate and instead drew his sword.

“I’m going around to see if anyone survived and ask them what happened. Your Highness should stay here with Jimin and Lady Miyoung,” he instructs.

“No,” is your immediate answer. “You absolutely mustn’t go alone. It’s not safe.”

Jungkook scoffs. “How many times will you undermine my abilities in combat?”

“It’s not that— let Jimin come with you, at least. It’s safer to look out for each other, rather than going alone,” you try to reason with him, but Jungkook merely shakes his head.

“And leave you here alone without protection?”

You roll your eyes at his familiar statement. Jimin must have sensed another argument incoming, so he steps in between the two of you. “How about you two reconnaissance together, since you’re both always worried about each other? I’ll stay here with Miyoung.”

You and Jungkook both look at Jimin as if he’s said something reprehensible. But if you’re being honest, the idea isn’t really all that terrible—Jimin’s capable enough to be left alone with Miyoung, and you’re sure you aren’t going to be a liability towards Jungkook. Surprisingly, he agrees to Jimin’s proposition, but instead of a short sword, he instructs you to bring your bow and arrow instead.

You glance up at the lavender sky. There isn’t much time to linger about listlessly, so you agree to his condition.

“If only I’d known we were going to be in perilous situations multiple times, I would’ve suggested bringing more men instead,” he mutters. You can’t help but nod in agreement as the gruesome sight unfurls before you. Guided by the torch in one hand, Jungkook illuminates the area, shedding light on the horror that occurred.

Fragments of homes, burnt crisp right down to their foundations. Pitch black ashes and bright red liquid flood the narrow streets at every turn. Your stomach twists at thought of a possible massacre that the people had to have endured. Despite seeing it for the first time, you’re sure this is not the work of a simple house fire. If so, would the village be devoid of people—or even more frightful, of dead bodies slain in the process? Your unease grows as dusk deepens into darkness.

“You say the people here helped our soldiers…” you attempt a conversation, hoping it would quell your anxiousness. “Why would they, if they’re Northerners?”

“I’m not sure exactly why, either,” Jungkook pauses, eyes quickly searching left and right, before resuming his quiet stride. You follow closely beside him.

“I heard a physician say the lady who managed the land was related to someone on the throne, and that she was against the war. So she helped anybody she could. I do remember being looked after alongside the person I was fighting against at one point,” he grins ruefully and shakes his head.

“She was also a healer, and apparently took care of me, but I don’t remember. The only thing I did was sleep for days due to my wounds. I did recover nicely after that, but I never did thank her. The only thing I did was…bury more of their people in gunpowder explosions.”

He stops walking, and he glances at you with a wistful grin. “Apologies for rambling on. I haven’t really talked about my experience with anyone… not even my own father.”

You shake your head at his apology. “I can only begin to imagine what you experienced out here, and I’m not going to pretend I know what it was like. But I am well-versed in the art of keeping all my emotions safely sealed within a glass bottle,” you chuckle sheepishly. “And I know that recounting your experiences to someone who will listen without conviction can be gratifying.”

You’re well aware of the hypocrisy within your words, hidden between your eagerness to comfort him. You know you’re not doing yourself any favours with the pretence that your affection for him is anything but. Your fingers skim over the stone nestled adjacent to your heart. One would truly be slow-witted if one did not deduce the meaning of Jungkook’s actions. He means to pass it off as a mere gift, but what almost followed afterwards doesn’t elude you. You did not think yourself to be that dense.

But how could you possibly relay your emotions to him after what happened? Are you expected to wait for Jungkook’s vow of “next time” before taking action?

Perhaps if your feelings did not always proliferate every time you see him—like sand within an hourglass, always trickling, piling up on each other until it becomes overwhelmingly full it has to reverse its course and begin once more—then maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to explain to him.

You watch the gentle flicker of the torch’s blaze in Jungkook’s eyes. For no more than a split second, you thought of giving up the welfare of your entire kingdom—the plans of union, of matrimony, everything—just so you can stop the torment and let yourself get swept away.

How terrifying.

“Since when were you so wise?” he squints with suspicion, and you scoff at him.

“I’ve always been sensible,” you cross your arms defensively. “Presumably, you’re too dense for my words to process in that hollow brain of yours.”

If there was a hint of seriousness in your conversation, you’re fairly certain your remark dispels any of it. Rather than debate, however, he suddenly pats the top of your head.

“I don’t want to admit it so openly, but you have a knack for knowing just the right words to say to make me feel better,” he says, offering you the widest grin. You flinch away from his touch and walk ahead of him.

“A-anyway, you might have had a two or three-year head start in life, but that doesn’t mean I’m far behind in intelligence.”

“I wouldn’t dare scorn your wit, Your Highness,” Jungkook says, yet the tone in his voice tells otherwise. You crane your neck in his direction just in time to see the barest hint of a smile.

And not too far behind him an inconspicuous shadow in the distance. The brightness of the crimson flame makes the darkness indecipherable, but your hunch is almost always never wrong.

You quickly dislodge your bow and arrow, pointing it towards the direction of the unknown figure without hesitation. Jungkook doesn’t question your movements either as he spins around and unsheathes his swords with a quickness you did not know he possesses.

“Reveal yourselves,” you command.

There is no reply apart from the raging howl of the wind, causing the torch to sway with a force that almost knocks it out.

Two bodies emerge from behind one of the burnt houses, clad in similar dark garments, with one of them donning the insignia of a golden dragon on their chest. Jungkook sharply inhales, but your focus doesn’t stray from the two men as your grip on the bowstring tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook demands.

A familiar sense of unease floods your senses as you recall the mercenaries who attacked you during the early days of your travels. But you promise yourself the outcome will not be the same, that you’re better prepared this time. Taking down two potential attackers, if it comes down to it, would not be a formidable task for you and Jungkook.

“We should be asking you the same question, Southerners,” one of the men answers—the one with the golden dragon—before turning to you. There is something sinister in the way his gaze pierces through yours as his lips quiver into a menacing grin. “I wouldn’t release that arrow if I were you.”

He signals to someone, and soon enough three more men reveal themselves, seemingly holding two people captive. Once their torches illuminate the figures, your heart sinks in recognition.

“Unless you want your companions dead right here, on this spot.”

Both Jimin and Miyoung’s hands are tied behind their back, but thankfully it doesn’t seem like they were hurt badly. You’re sure Jimin put up a fight, evident by the wounds on the corner of his lips. He smiles at you dejectedly, mouthing, “I’m sorry.” You shake your head mutely in response.

You turn to Jungkook who gives you a look of assurance and certainty, as if to say, Trust me, which puts your heart at ease. You nod, a silent agreement, and contempt fills your veins as you regrettably lower your weapon to the ground. Jungkook follows.

You try not to let fear show, even if it lingers on the back of your mind. One wrong move can potentially cause your friends to be slain as a result of your careless action. Therefore you choose your words carefully, and you speak in a calm manner. “How do you know where we’re from?”

“No sane citizen of Tuo would dare wander in these parts; not after what happened,” he raises his arms and motions in the air as if to boast the slaughter that befell the villagers.

“And what happened here?” you inquire, not missing a beat.

The man’s grin doesn’t leave his lips as he walks towards you leisurely, taking his sweet time. He carries himself in a manner that’s different from the others; a person who can command someone to move only when he tells them so. You don’t doubt that he speaks for them, as well.

Jungkook steps in and immediately shields your body with his before the man gets any closer. “His Majesty, King Min Hwan expects us as his guests, we merely got lost along the way.”

“Ah, unfortunately, the old king is maimed and his son currently sits on the throne.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, unaware of a simple but vital piece of information.

“And who are you to relay such sensitive insight with certainty? Are you part of the King’s guard?”

“You could say that,” his lip twitches furtively. Unfazed, he pulls you away from Jungkook’s grasp who flinches and aims to draw his sword. You raise your hand as you shake your head calmly.

“I’m fine, General Jeon,” you assure him, making no attempt to free yourself from the man’s grasp.

“I do regret to inform you that the king who currently sits on the throne made no such announcement of your presence, guest or otherwise. Therefore, I believe you’re currently trespassing, Your Highness.”

He kisses the back of your palm, and it takes all your will not to stab an arrow right through his chest. With one nod from him, more men unveil themselves from within the darkness, and you helplessly watch them surround Jungkook. He did not protest, even as they forced him to his knees and into the ground. They confiscate any weapon he has on him, and yours well.

“You people are far more docile than I anticipated. His Highness will be thrilled,” he says as his grip on your arm becomes tighter.

You’re not one for pleading. But with Jimin and Miyoung bound, as well as Jungkook overpowered, you are left with not a lot of choices. Resistance will only bring harm, so you can only hope that he’s someone who can be reasoned with.

“Please, I’m sure an arrangement can be made to amend this…simple misunderstanding.”

He laughs almost sardonically. “She begs! The prince—or should I say king—will be delighted, indeed.”

“If you’ll only let us meet him, whichever king you currently answer to, I know he will sort this out without getting anybody hurt.”

“It’s useless reasoning with you because…” Jungkook intervenes, clutching his stomach as he makes an effort to stand upright. “Because you’re him, aren’t you?”

You turn to Jungkook, whose eyes, filled with indignation, are directed to the man in question.

“Min Yoongi.”

At the mention of the name, the men surrounding Jungkook grab him by the collar before striking one blow to his cheek, and another on his stomach.

“Stop!” you wrench away from his grasp, and immediately rush to Jungkook’s side. The men surrounding him did not block your way, and it unnerves you to realize that your actions can easily be controlled by him.

He merely chuckles in apparent amusement. “You say that with confidence as if you’re sure it’s the truth.”

Jungkook sneers as he leans his weight into your body, allowing him to stand back on his feet. “The crest on your clothing is nearly unmistakable. I also only mentioned that we are guests, but you referred to her as—”

“Your Highness,” your eyes widen in belated realization as you look back at him. How his choice of language managed to elude you is vexing.

But is it truly him, Min Yoongi? The man you’re supposed to be married to; a symbol of unity and prosperity in both lands, the indication that the constant war spanning multiple generations is over.

It seems out of the ordinary for him to be parading around the border. Did he purposefully seek you out? If so, how would he even know that out of all the places you can go to, it would be here?

“Hm, perhaps I was being a little too careless,” he rubs his chin in deep thought. But he doesn’t seem as if he’s truly fazed by Jungkook’s recognition of him. He quickly shrugs and waves his hands off dismissively after a short pause. “You have to go easy on me here a little. After all, it is true that I did not expect you to be here. What’s more, is that no one is allowed to step foot in this village. Therefore you are trespassing.”

The unhurried and casual tone in his voice plants a seed of doubt in your mind as to whether he’s earnest with his assertion of your intrusion. Though he doesn’t leave you guessing for long and makes his intentions clear when he not-so-gently peels you away from Jungkook.

However you imagined Min Yoongi, it never came close as to whoever it is that stands before you. His eyes study you as a predator would; a viper ready to sink its teeth and deliver a deadly venom into the flesh of its prey. But you level his gaze without an excess of trepidation, matching your confidence with his.

“The punishment for which is death.”

In an instant your composure crumbles, knees buckling beneath you. Yoongi grabs you by the shoulders, chuckling. “A little too early to be kneeling, don’t you think?”

He turns to his men, but you can't make out what he says even though he’s in front of you. Your attention is focused on his waistband. Within the loop of silk fabric, on his right hip, your left, is a small dagger. The only thing you hear is the rapid beating of your heart, pounding wildly against your ear, against your ribcage, against your fingertip.

You slowly reach for it with your hand, and just as he turns to you—

“You’re one sly fox, aren’t you?” he says languidly, his calmness beginning to irritate you. Liquid drips onto your knuckles, and you realize he’s grabbed the weapon by the blade inches before it met his face. His grip on the object tightens, and you wince as he takes the dagger from your grasp.

“What would your father, that useless fool…” he pauses, lifting your chin with his bloodied hand. He presses the tip of the blade against your neck ever so softly, before dragging it across your skin. You inhale once, the metallic odour filling your senses as you hold your breath. “What do you think he’d do if you returned to him without a body?”

“Don’t you dare hurt her!” Jungkook struggles to free himself. You can but only watch helplessly as they strike him repeatedly into submission.

“Please,” your lip quivers as you plead once more. “I don’t think it’s necessary to go this far.”

Yoongi neither mocks nor does he laugh as a response, and there’s a hint of odd curiosity within the furrow of his brows. His silence wills you to continue.

“We truly didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries. We were just— General Jeon said he was familiar with the area, so we thought we could stop by safely before heading into the main city where the palace is.”

Yoongi retracts the blade from your neck and wipes the blood off using his sleeves. He pulls out a leather flask and takes a swig before pouring the rest on his injured hand, inhaling sharply as the liquid makes contact with the cut. You remember the cotton handkerchief in your pocket, and you linger on the thought of giving it to him. But before he tears off the edges of his outer robe, you quickly shove the item in his palm.

He stares at his hand, then at you; a look of doubt and disbelief is well-read on his face. When the blood soaks the linen thoroughly, he decides to wrap it over his wound like a makeshift gauze.

“So you’re the famed General Jeon,” Yoongi finally says as he tightens the handkerchief, pulling the loose edges with his teeth. “Seeing as you’re not an old man, I’ll take a guess that you ascended the ranks and replaced the elder Jeon. Your father, presumably.”

He turns to address Jungkook, crouching down in front of him. You wonder how Yoongi knows about him just from the mention of his last name. But you didn’t have to wonder for too long.

“You probably got the title for killing my brother, right?”

Your eyes widen in panic, thinking that Yoongi would try to exact revenge against Jungkook. “Wait—”

“Ah, I’m a bit jealous, honestly,” he chuckles. “I wish I could have seen that gunpowder when it exploded in his face. Tell me, was it as rewarding for you to have the final massacre that ended the battle as it was for me to hear that my younger brother died in the process?”

You step backwards in utter disbelief. How could anybody be cruel enough to celebrate the demise of their sibling?

Then, as if being struck by lightning, you realize the bleak situation you’ve put yourselves into. How can you be so naïve as to believe that your father’s idea of peace-keeping will bring anything but more chaos?

Tears swell in the corners of your eyes, collecting all the frustrations you harboured within the hour. Jungkook musters the energy to respond, and with his head hung low he says, “I don’t find solace in killing, not even my enemies.”

“How honourable. I guess that’s how you became a general. It’s certainly not from your skills,” Yoongi says with clear disdain in his voice. “I mean, you got the one person you’re supposed to protect captivated. Honestly, I was going to applaud you for killing the mercenary I sent. But it all still led you back here, in a position that benefits me the most. It just took a little bit longer, but it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“You bastard!” Jungkook lunges forward, aiming to grab Yoongi by the neck. A valiant effort on his part that only ends in frivolity.

Yoongi merely scoffs as he stands back up. “That, I am.”

The idea that he’s responsible for the attempt at your kidnapping evades you. That he would try to do so when it’s clear that your destination is here, within his kingdom in the first place; you struggle to find a sane reason as to why.

Yoongi moves beside you, seizing hold of your wrist. You stand in defiance this time, twisting your arm loose from his iron grip. “What did you mean to accomplish by sending those men? Your Highness?” Your patience of being overtly courteous with him wears thin. “Min Yoongi!”

He inhales sharply through his teeth. “Unfortunately we’re both pawns in this war, thus we have our roles to play. I have mine. You…you’re simply the means to an end.”

Whatever he’s reluctant to reveal with his words, you’re willing to find within his eyes. In between the callousness of his expression lies both doubt and remorse.

Or, at least that’s what you’re inclined to believe. You’d rather create an illusion in your head that he does not mean for any of this to happen; that the person you’ve sacrificed what little freedom you have in order to be married to is not a tyrant. For the sake of your kingdom, your people, Jungkook—Min Yoongi simply cannot be a tyrant.

Perhaps you are naïve, after all.

“Take them away.”

a/n: it’s finally here! i’m so so so happy to be releasing this chapter after almost a year of hiatus. i’m sorry for leaving without saying much. i found my relationship with this website/tumblr in general start to become toxic for my own mental health (ie. expectations i had for myself, feeling burnt out, etc.), so i had to delete the app and just stay away for awhile. when i got back there were a few messages of encouragement and just overall kind words (even likes/rb’s!!) throughout the months that i wasn’t here, which gave me all the courage i needed to finish this chapter.

nevertheless, hope you enjoyed reading! ♡

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook scenario #jungkook x you #jungkook royal au #yoongi fic #bts fluff #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #bts historical au #jeon jungkook #min yoongi #jungkook #yoongi

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yandere-mha · 3 years

Note

Please. What about a yandere aizawa but he's the grinch/yeti that hates Christmas?

Before I start this request, I just need to express to you how amazing you are for sending this in lmao. Merry early Christmas/holidays you guys <3 Mr. Aizawa Becomes Krampus.

TW: BODY HORROR, KIDNAPPING, DRUGGING, AND STALKING.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Yandere Grinch!Aizawa:

Has termites in his smile.

Has all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile.

Mr. Griiiiiiinch!

But forreal though this man is almost cartoonishly bitter and angry at the world. Whether he went up in that mountain by choice just to get away from everyone or if the civilians of the town found him so unpleasant that they banished him is unclear to you. Everyone has their own version of the story.

Aizawa, alone and rejected, becomes more and more jealous of people who have people to love. This is something he craves desperately as he watches the town of lovers, parents, and friends utterly alone. They don’t even realize how lucky they are and it makes him see red.

The longer he stays up there with no ways to groom himself and no people to please, he becomes progressively more smelly and hairy. His teeth turn yellow in color and his long, black hair becomes matted. His skin becomes pale and his eyes become sunken in from lack of sunlight and excessive sleep. His finger and toe nails become long and jagged like claws, collecting dirt and grime underneath the surface. Think Smeagol’s transformation into Gollum.

He takes a specific liking to one person though. You’re so beautiful and lovely to everyone. The whole town loves you, but you never take that for granted as you spread the message of “love thy neighbor”. Does that mean you love him too?

He always watches you from the safety of his mountain all year, never going down there out of the fear that you’d scream and run away. He’s aware that he’s not looking his best right now.

As the winter chill sets in, he feels more isolated than ever. The snow storms get unbearable at such high altitudes and he craves the warmth of your body against his. He even begins to hallucinate your form walking towards the cave in the blistering snow. You don’t even know he exists in your warm, fire-place lit home and he needs you to just see him.

After this, he hatches a plan to kidnap you and take you to his cave to live with him forever. If he couldn’t find people who loved him down the mountain, he’d make a whole family of his own up here.

This yanks him out of his deep depressive state as he desperately tries to sheer his hair to a more appropriate length on a sharp rock. He foraged for mint leaves to chew in his mouth and rub all over his filthy body. He smells so strongly of mint that his foul scent is - almost - successfully smothered and his entire face feels like it’s on fire. The things he does for love.

Once he’s ready for his closeup, he excavates down the mountain, puts enough Benadryl that he found in your medicine cabinet and crushed up in your hot cocoa to tranquilize a horse, and tenderly cradles your sleeping form as he picks you out of your bed.

You awake on the floor of a dark, frosted cave. The first thing you notice was how your lower back and neck ached from laying flat on a hard surface with only a rough, scarf-like material wrapped around your body; this was definitely not your bed. Your entire body is numb and stiff from the cold stone and as you begin to come to you senses, you start to pick up on little things like the howling of the storm outside, the sickening smell of mint mixed with grotesque body odor, and finally the sight of a cave monster with an irritated - or... nervous? - scowl on his face as he clutches a collection of frozen pansies so tightly and close to his chest that they were being crushed.

You’ll never see your family again.

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lachesis-games · 3 years

Text

Trouvaille Short Story

m!Trouvaille

tw: swearing, mild violence

This trip started out very simple. Go into the forest, gather spell ingredients, then get out. Getting dragged underwater by a sticky horse was not part of the plan.

While the others were searching for normal herbs like tarragon, nutmeg, or wormwood, you and Antigone waded knee deep in a wide pond. Morning sunlight streamed through the trees, casting an ethereal glow on the water’s surface.

“Remind me again what you need curly pondweed for?” you call out to her.

The witch doesn’t look up from her task when answering, “They promote growth in spells. And encourage perseverance.”

The plant itself was plentiful. Too plentiful, as she told you earlier that it was an invasive species. But every time you thought you found a good stem, Antigone waved you off, stating that your pick was too dark or too old or too tough.

You straighten up and stretch out your aching back. Tedium aside, the forest was beautiful in the morning. Red dragonflies skimmed the surface, creating ripples that jostled the aquatic flora. The natural song of chirping crickets and croaking frogs sounded throughout the clearing. At the water’s edge, a few meters to your right, you can see a dark figure among the cattails. It’s wide, but short, and moving slightly.

When you get closer, you can make out the creature’s long gray mane and thick black body. There are mossy spots and algae strewn across its body. It looks like it lives near the pond, but something about it seemed out of place in the tranquil forest.

“Um, Antigone?” you try to keep your voice down.

“What?”

“Are there supposed to be ponies in the forest?” You take your eyes off the animal to glance at her over your shoulder.

Her head snaps up and she drops the flat woven basket she’d been holding.

“Shit!”

Before either of you can react, the pony whinnies, rears up, and charges you. You’re too slow to dodge and it rams into you. Instead of sending you flying, you find yourself stuck to its flank as it dives deeper into the pond.

The pond is much deeper than expected and every few feet, the water gets colder and darker. Light brown sediment billows up as the probably-not-actually-a-pony settles into the bottom.

The surprise attack, along with your wildly thumping heart means you’re losing air fast and the creature doesn’t seem like it’ll surface any time soon. Your elbow is fastened tight to the creature’s side. If you can just get to your dagger!

You open your eyes and regret it. The sting of the dirty water only hinders you more. You can’t see anything more than two feet in front of you clearly.

Panic sets in and you thrash and kick, desperately trying to separate from the creature. Its skin’s adhesive surface clings onto you. The harder you thrash, the more you pull at your own skin and clothes.

They say to be completely calm if you’re ever being held underwater, but the proverbial “they” are stupid and clearly have never been drowned before.

Black spots dance across your vision. Your lungs burn and your head starts to ache. Great. The artifact wouldn’t kill you. Nor would vampires or werewolves or any other badass way to die. No, you’re a lucky one. You get to die via drowning, stuck to this thing like gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.

The pony flinches and so do you. It kicks up sediment in its panic. You get tossed around along with it until you feel a small hand on your shoulder. Sharp claws dig into you as it drags you away from the pony.

You can finally make out Antigone’s silhouette as she pulls you close. She presses her lips to yours. Air fills your lungs. Your vision and headache settle, and the burning sensation in your lungs subsides.

A blast of light breaks through your clenched eyelids. Her mouth is on yours again, breathing life into you. For some reason, though, she doesn’t do anything else. Just sits there and keeps breathing into you whenever your lungs start to burn again.

There’s a heavy splash above you. The cold sediment kicks up again and tiny bubbles pepper your face.

Someone hooks their arms under your armpits and the next thing you know, you’re being dragged up the bank of the pond.

Head spinning, you cough up what feels like gallons of water. In your delirium, you think you hear your name.

“There you are!” a familiar voice cries.

You rub your eyes and look up.

T.V. takes a step towards you, then stops. You want to tell him you’re alright, but Jackie grabs you in a bone-crushing hug.

Her clothes are soaking wet.

“We saw the basket floating in the pond! What the hell happened!?”

You hack more water and algae out of your lungs.

“Water pony,” you wheeze out.

“Huh?”

“Kelpie,” Antigone says through violent coughs. Despite her having been the one to save you, she seems much worse for wear. Dakota white-knuckles her hand.

“Kelpies are shapeshifters.” He pants, also soaking wet. T.V. is the only one bone dry. “They take the form of a pony or horse and drown people for fun,” he explains. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, “It dragged me down underwater. Antigone came to save me.”

Dakota’s eyes widen as he grabs the witch by the shoulders.

“You did what? Are you high?” he demands.

“Wait, hang on!” Jackie interjects. “What’s the problem here? She kept them both alive until we got there!”

Dakota crosses his arms. “The problem here is that Annie can’t--!”

Antigone cuts him off. “What was I supposed to do? Let the kid drown?” she rasps and shrugs off her knit sweater.

“Of course not! I just--” Groaning, he buries his face into her neck. Antigone allows the touch and strokes his hair gently. Her tired gaze flickers over to you. Jackie’s concerned voice steals your attention.

“Let’s get you back to the shop,” she says, holding a hand out to you.

You clasp her hand and the two of you pull in tandem. The moment you put weight on your feet, searing pain shoots up your leg.

The ground rushes up to meet you, then stops when a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle.

As soon as their fingertips make contact, your head erupts in a pain like someone took an axe to it. There’s a ringing in your ears and you cry out.

Whoever’s holding you lets go and you hit the mud, writhing in agony.

“I— I’m so sorry!” T.V. manages through his groans of pain, hands clenched tightly to the sides of his head.

It feels like your skull is full of liquid metal. The cool water of the pond is tempting all of a sudden, kelpie and all.

Antigone presses a cool hand to your forehead and whispers something in a language you can’t understand.

Your head is still heavy, but the white hot pain ebbs.

She crawls over to Trouvaille to give him the same treatment. His agony seems to decrease faster than yours.

Through your delirium, you hear her snap at him, “That was unbelievably stupid!”

“I know,” he replies, rubbing his temples.

“You know? Mistakes like that can be fatal. Do not let your bleeding heart be the reason you both die.”

Carefully avoiding her eyes, he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t talk to him like that!” you protest through the pain.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “I don’t need one idiot defending another idiot.”

Jackie crosses her arms, “Very original with the insults.”

“I’m just calling them as they are. If they feel insulted, that’s on them.”

You clench your teeth, “He said he was sorry!”

“Sorry won’t bring back the dead,” she says directly at Trouvaille. Rounding on you, she says, “Let me take a look at that ankle.”

Your left ankle is inflamed and is taking on an angry red color. It must have happened when the kelpie hit you. The throbbing pain only grows as the adrenaline flushes from your veins.

She pokes an especially puffy part.

“Ow, fuck!” you cry out, hands grabbing onto your injured leg. “Why would you touch it!?”

“Punishment for being too slow to dodge the thing,” she deadpans.

“You think getting nearly drowned wasn’t enough punishment?”

“No.”

Thankfully, the poking ceases. A purple light emits from her clawed hand. She hovers over your ankle.

“Well, that is going to need a splint.” She retracts her hand.

“You can mend ribs but you can’t unsprain an ankle?” Jackie demands.

“For one thing, ‘unsprain’ is not a word. Second, normal treatment would take weeks. I can make it a few days. Any other grievances, hotshot?”

“Maybe if you were paying attention, oh powerful witch, you could have done something before it got this bad!” she shoots back.

The witch’s mercury eyes narrow. “You want to blame me for this?”

“I do. What are you gonna do about it?” Jackie takes a step forward.

“Don’t pick fights you can’t win, you little--” Antigone begins.

Dakota nudges her.

“We should head back.” They share a tense look, but she ultimately backs down. Then he turns to you, “Can I carry you?”

You nod in agreement. He places his hands under your knees and behind your back, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

As he stands up, he takes on a comically cheerful tone. “Thank you flying Dakota Airlines! Please fasten your seatbelts and keep all electronics stored away until we reach cruising altitude.”

“Does this flight have snacks?” you jokingly ask.

“Check my pocket!”

You reach down into his kangaroo pouch and pull out a waterlogged 4 pak of Nutter Butters.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just carry these around?”

He shrugs. “I’m a growing boy.”

“You’re 25.”

“Okay? And?”

You chuckle. On the trek back to the car, you look over his shoulder to see sunlight glimmering off of caramel hair. Trouvaille strolls several feet behind you. He gives you a weak smile but makes no attempt to get any closer.

Reaching out for him, you beckon him closer. Not to touch, but you don’t like the wide berth he gives you.

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouths.

‘Don’t be.’

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead of coming to you, he speeds up to catch up to Jackie.

The few seconds that he’s near when he passes by makes your hair stand on end. You almost reach out to stop him. You don’t. You can’t. Dakota readjusts you in his arms. After making sure everyone’s out of earshot he finds your gaze.

“Try not to be too mad at Annie. She just wants to keep all of us safe,” he says.

You briefly wondered if he swallowed too much pond water.

“You make it sound like she cares,” you grumble.

“She does. She really does. You know how if you don’t socialize dogs at a young age, they have trouble with other dogs later on? She’s like that.”

Raising an eyebrow, you reply, “Would she be mad at you comparing her to a dog?”

“Not if you don’t tell her.”

You chuckle and look ahead to see the three of them walking side by side. Trouvaille turn his head slightly. For a moment, you lock eyes before he pointedly turns back around. Your heart reaches out for someone who won’t reach back.

“Hey,” Dakota recaptures your attention. “Sometimes the people we care about decide for themselves that we’re better off without them. Those people are amazingly stubborn, but we love them anyway. Probably because we like pain, but whatever.” Up ahead, Jackie jokes around with T.V. while Antigone keeps her distance off to the side. “I just...” you sigh. “I don’t know what I think. I tell him I’m fine and I’m not afraid to get hurt, but he still pushes me away.” “I think that half of it is protecting himself. You may not be afraid of getting hurt, but he might be. Give him space, but let him know he can come to you.” “Easier said than done.”

Dakota shrugs. “Just know that these things take time. And patience. So much patience.” You glance back and forth between him and the group ahead.

“Why do you sound like you speak from experience?”

He grimaces, “If I said I don’t know what you’re taking about, would you believe me?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Your gaze drifts between the trio in front of you.

“You can’t possibly--”

He cuts you off, “Wow, wouldya look at that! We’re at the car! Everyone please place your tray tables in the up position while we begin our descent!”

Trouvaille and Antigone are locked in a tense conversation. They stop to watch your approach until the witch mutters something and relinquishes her claim to the passenger seat. T.V. slides into the car without sparing you a glance.

#trouvaille #trouvaille game #ch:Trouvaille #ch:dakota #ch:Jackie #ch:antigone #snippet #some days you get snippets

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zhaozaipalooza · 3 years

Text

Your Weekly Insight into SA Culture! - The Ocean

ALRIGHT Tui, you’ve had your turn in the spotlight (rightfully so, all hours are Yue-loving hours), BUT the ocean is pretty significant in Hinduism, and clearly to the navy. So we’ll shift the lens for a minute, and come back to the Moon Spirit next time... ;s

I know three main stories involving the ocean in our mythology, and boy, they’re dramatic. There’s the god Rama from his own epic, the Ramayana, who pulled a very close Moses when crossing the ocean to reach Lanka and rescue his wife. Instead of large-scale waterbending, though, it was more along the lines of earthbending. Rocks inscribed with Rama’s name were tossed into the ocean, and voila - his name itself defied gravity, and the stones were used to form a floating bridge.

And guess what? You can see this bridge from space! Check out Rama’s Bridge, or the Ram Setu, located off the northwestern coast of Sri Lanka.

The second and third stories would be the incarnates of the actual Avatar in our mythology: Vishnu, known as the superior deity - who dealt with the ocean flooding the world on two separate occasions. These floods served as a sort of “cleansing” before a new epoch, washing away the old world and starting anew. The first appearance was in the form of a fish, the next a boar.

Matsya, the Fish, was actually the very first incarnation of Vishnu (there’s ten total, the tenth is yet to arrive... *Scooby-Doo theme music*). Matsya warned mankind of the flood and told them to save their grain, and to usher living creatures onto boats (yeah, God, stop playing favorites with Noah << guys that’s a JOKE).

Varaha, the Boar, is the third incarnate, and like his name suggests, was called to dealt with rougher circumstances. The asura Hiranyaksha dragged the entire frickin’ earth to the bottom of the sea, and Varaha singlehandedly raised it back to the surface using his tusks. (TW: some bloody demon-slaying below.)

And hey, looks like there’s another ocean-related incarnate I’d forgotten about. The second incarnate of Vishnu, Kurma, the Tortoise, churned the ocean, such as one churns milk. The ocean itself was considered to be full of mysteries, so when it was stirred, many of them emerged! Among them were new gods and goddesses, rich gems, powerful horses, and other divine creatures and treasures.

Now, the more conceptual belief-oriented aspects of the ocean were highly diverse, and I found it all brilliant. We’ve already seen the ocean as a reset mechanism for each new age (called a “yuga”, I believe), and as a swirling enigma, full of magical secrets. Sagara or Sumadra would be the name of the actual ocean god, and MAN, what a realm he presides over...

Existence is compared to the ocean, which manifested all worlds, beings, and materiality. Rivers are seen as connected to the supreme entity Brahma, with us as the individual souls flowing back to a cosmic whole. The ocean is seen as the source of life and immortality, producing an elixir that was drunk by gods and asuras to live forever. The ocean is also seen as all-pervading, in the form of storms, tempests, waves, and monsoons.

Hindu philosophy compares the ocean with instability and struggle, which humans have to cross in order to conquer themselves. In early times, the ocean was considered to be the edge of the earth, hence seen as the realm of immortals, the wellspring of creation, and the universe itself! The ocean is a “subterranean world”, filled with living and celestial beings, water spirits, nymphs, etc. The ocean is “the resting place of the sun”, the battleground of gods. The ocean is consciousness, commotion, tranquility, suffering, support, death, life, infinity... a yin-yang on its own!

I didn’t know half of these meanings myself before some light research. Just incredible!! Really a shame the ATLA world didn’t dive deeper here... though we always have the chance to take it upon ourselves!

And that’s your South Asian two cents on the black koi fish, basically ~ give it up for La! 🎉🎉

#bro... the ocean be lit #ray’s insight into SA culture #tw: blood #zhaozai palooza 2021 #atla #avatar the last airbender

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier.

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents.

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

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