#whether its in a human au or him as a nation

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x f. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. 12k words

AUG'S NOTES. if there’s ever been a more spontaneous fic in history it would be this… every sentence is write is purely self indulgent…. (genuinely a written version of the stories i make in my head while laying in bed)

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

It’s a fever dream walking into the Kingdom that, compared to yours, looks positively flourishing with life. Beasts of all kinds roam about, carrying on with their daily lives, oblivious to the winds of death they’ve swept your way.

Everything in your body feels as if it’s shutting down, unable to feel the sensation of your legs as you trudge forward, the younger, much kinder Beast ensuring you kept pace.

Freezing temperatures carry on the longer snow falls, gluing strands of hair to your forehead, blanketing your lashes while your nose runs incessantly.

In front of you now lies the castle, far grander than you could’ve ever imagined. Twin spires peek above the low-hanging clouds, stone columns towering above.

From your distance you spot two knights positioned on either side of the entryway, large armored helmets with hawk feathers adorning the ridges.

One knight stops your ascent, the light-haired man rolling his eyes profusely.

“Minho, this is important.”

“Important enough you’re bringing a Mage into the Kingdom?”

His voice smooth as honey, he sports a dominant tone when speaking. Stare observant, he watches the other Beast’s expressions with uncanny precision.

“Because if you haven’t noticed Hyunjin,” He leans forward a bit, whispering. “You have the entire Kingdom’s attention.”

At this, either of the Beasts who escorted you turn around, and upon doing so are met with hundreds, if not thousands of eyes boring into their soul. Whether it’s younger Beasts or aged soldiers, those heinous vermillion orbs seem to see through you.

You gulp.

“C’mon,” Hyunjin harshly beckons, nudging you forward through the gates with the younger quick on his tail.

Every color in the Palace is monochromatically grey, although strikes of royal blue reside in large drapes hung from perched balconies.

Similar guards to those outside sift throughout the room, familiar hawk feathers litter everywhere in sight, paving paths to the core of the room where a throne sits.

Pointed edges flank either side of the massive chair, the ocean blue rug underneath reflecting up and out of the ceiling — a glass design stretching wide across the throne room, emphasizing the dusky weather outside.

According to the younger Beast whose title you learned as Jeongin, the King was currently participating in a hunt with Changbin (the lead hunter of the Palace), so after hasty appreciation of the sheer volume of this breathtaking castle, you’re forced toward the dungeons.

Jeongin wears a pitying frown, promising to return with some food to your chambers in the case the King doesn’t arrive for a while.

At least someone in this Kingdom doesn’t insist you’re beheaded.

“Finally, somebody else is here.”

A voice erupting from the darkening depths to your right make you jump, chained wrists clanging abruptly. Through minimal lighting of the burning lamps hastened upon the walls, you make out the silhouette of a man, face bunching in a sweet manner when he smiles.

Unusually, his hands aren’t chained.

“What’re you in here for?” You begin, gaze narrowed in confusion. The chubby-cheeked stranger smiles haphazardly.

“I would ask you the same thing. I’m the King’s Advisor, he just gets tired of me and puts me in here sometimes,” Your chamber-mate sighs, and once you take in what he professed, the urge to laugh becomes too strong to control.

Laughing for the first time in quite a while is sort of relieving, especially when this new acquaintance of yours begins whining his dismay, aimlessly trying to hush your giggles.

Red eyes. You can see them blinking up at you, gleaming when he grins his pointed teeth.

Quickly pausing, you wait in horror as he gradually sniffs in.

Your stomach sinks.

“Wait… You’re a Mag—“

His phrase is cut off by a loud ringing noise, a familiar echo of keys tunneling down the dungeons stairwell.

Another stranger unlocks the door. He’s burly, with curly hair in disarray. Cuffs of animal fur wraps around defined biceps, his top a tight-fitted arrangement of fur and woven leather paired with small iron spikes studding the shoulder lining.

A scar passes down the corner of his lip, long since healed but remaining faded.

“C’mere,” He ushers, voice gruff and rumbling when he unlocks your shackles, big hand pushing you forward up the stairs.

If anybody here had pure Beast in their bloodline, it would be this man. His demeanor is rough, but his touch on your back is surprisingly gentle whilst guiding you upward.

Again you’re granted with the wondrous sight of the Throne Room in all its historic glory, although your gaze directed at the floor keeps you ignorant to so many heads bowed, so many voices cast to silence upon the click of footsteps approaching.

And when you look up, you meet strikingly blue eyes—perhaps a genetic mutation of a sort.

They’re stunning, enrapturing almost, and you find the need to break eye contact immediate, more dire than normal while staring down at you.

Plump, full lips and perfectly sculpted facial features seem that of a Greek god’s, too ethereal to exist in your reality. A glittering, silver crown sits stark atop a black nest of hair.

Either arm rests on the sides of the throne, and you swore you’d never seen someone look so, King-like. That, and the massive cape of wolf-skin draped over his back.

A devil, dressed as an angel.

“Your Highness, this Mage was found near the L/N Kingdom by Hwang Hyunjin and Yang Jeongin while scouting the territory.” A palace-woman announces, the same guard who lingered outside, Minho, standing to your side.

Your blood boils, disregarding every ounce of amazement once inhabited.

It’s him. The man responsible for the demise of loved ones you couldn’t count on all of your fingers and toes.

Minho, as if sensing your frothing rage, mutters through his helmet a staggered warning—remaining upright and unmoving at attention.

“Do not move and do not look into his eyes unless you’re asking for death.”

Your patience dissipates, lip twitching involuntarily.

You can’t remember the last time you were genuinely angry. You were happy, surrounded by people you loved.

Those people weren’t here now, they were killed.

“You murderer! You’re a—“ Your attempt at lashing out at the King stalled when Minho kicks the crevice between your knees, forcing you down on the carpet below.

���Monster! A bloody— fucking— Monster!”

Palace representatives gasp their bewilderment, some beckoning you away to the dungeons, others urging Minho to end you right here and now.

It wouldn’t matter, would it?

The King’s raised hand stalls the accusations, his familiar clicking footsteps nearing closer till he stands before you.

Shifting down into a squat, the man tips your chin up to meet cerulean again, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Don’t get it mixed up little one,” He murmurs, the pad of his thumb controlling your movement.

“I did not kill your family. Your family killed themselves.”

Fist sharply winding around for a punch, he catches it before you can even register your predicament, iron grip strong enough you fear he might just snap your wrist in half.

“And I wouldn’t recommend fighting back, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Concluding his threat the further he bends your wrist, you whine, face scrunching from the pain until he finally stops, amusedly surveying your expression.

Denying your own enraged shaking, you suck your teeth, focus vehemently pinned onto him.

“Why would you care about my safety?” You snarl, trying to wriggle his hold off to no avail.

“Because,” The King cocks his brows. “I like you.”

About to spit another word, he interrupts you, index tracing the veins of your arm.

“Plus, I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.”

You shiver.

Your second day and you feel as if you’re officially going insane.

The only person tolerable here is Jeongin, that chamber guard whose name you don’t know, and Felix, the castles cook. You barely see the King, and even when he’s present he’s usually quartered in his study.

What he does there remains unknown, information learned in the mere form of startled maids leaving the room and gossip among those wandering the Kingdom.

“Do you know what he does?”

Felix looks up from the dish he was laying in front of you, wispy blond locks bouncing with the movement.

“Does what?” He piques, ridding a stray piece of hair clinging to your sleeve.

“The King, what does he do all day long?”

One thing about Felix you love, his honesty. Regardless of if most would tell a quick fib and flee, Felix, although occasionally working around a topic, takes the time to actually explain things to you.

Allows you to learn more of the place you’re going to have to call home.

“Hm..” He pulls a chair from your right to drop into, and for a moment, you see Ms. Maewether in that smile of his. Your heart aches.

“Chris— I mean, King Bahng is always busy. He plans trade agreements, oversees the hunts, and basically keeps this castle alive.”

Chris?

“Who’s Chris?”

Felix nearly squeaks, burying his head in his hands. Evidently, you weren’t supposed to hear that part, but an eagerness to know more about this solitary King kept your hesitance at bay.

“That’s his name. Christopher Bahng, but you’re not allowed to call him that and not allowed to tell anyone about us having this conversa-“

“Tell who?”

You quite literally almost fall backwards in your seat, failing to anticipate the pair of hands placed on Felix’s shoulders.

A pair of hands, followed by a pair of ocean blue eyes, boring right into you and the horrified boy in front of you.

King Bahng. In the flesh.

“Oh.. Hey Chri— Hello Your Highness.”

Again he corrects. These two must know each other.

“Tell who, Felix?” He speaks, tone nothing short of teasing—though the boy looks just as startled, practically sweating through his clothing.

Still adorning that flanking wolf-cape of his, his dark hair is slightly messy, expression distorted curiously.

You hate him to admit, but King Bahng is horribly attractive.

“Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Highness,” Felix chirps, fixing you with a ‘Don’t say a word’ glare you cease to argue with.

Rising up from your seat quickly as if you had any duties in this Kingdom to tend to, you find yourself stalling.

You have so many questions. …And the overwhelming urge to slap him across the face.

You’ve received a fair warning on the latter.

“I’ll be off now, Your Highness.”

The last words come out involuntary, used to referring to your own father this way. It made you sick to know you regarded his murderer the same.

And though the King didn’t stand extremely tall (considering how young Beasts were already your height), his hulking stature felt as if it could swallow you whole, pointed canines flashing when he smiled, sending your head reeling.

Pleased.

King Bahng was pleased hearing something nonthreatening come out of your mouth.

Vile.

Yet, you simply curtsied and hurried off, ceasing to notice the immediate growl Felix directed in the King’s direction.

“Good lord, I know she smells good but you’re practically undressing her with your eyes,” The freckled boy grumbles, returned with an uninterested expression from his friend.

Before the King can head off to whatever meeting he has planned, however, he spins on his heel.

“Have you consulted Seungmin about the scent-blocking salve?”

“Possessive, are we?”

His glare shuts the cook up immediately.

“If there is one Mage left, it’s mine. And since she’s the survivor, she’s mine.”

Yeah, he’s not beating the possessive allegations. But if he’s going to gain your trust, and eventually, after much thought, become mates, he’s keeping every other Beast in the Kingdom at a distance from you at all times.

“Jeongin will report when it’s completed. And Chris?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t expect her to warm up to you.”

King Bahng hums.

“I don’t.”

And with that, Felix follows your exit, leaving the King to his own devices, your nectar-sweet smell lingering in his nose.

“If I stare at the same wall for hours and hours, shouldn’t it break by now?”

“You’re a Mage, not telekinetic,” Han replies, repetitively scanning over a piece of parchment assumed to be a guest list.

In the midst of your incessant boredom, you found yourself following the King’s Advisor around, peering over his shoulder at the endless list of haughty names written in languid ink strokes. 

Amongst them, you ceased to find your father’s name. You knew it wouldn’t be there, but somehow, you wished if you blinked enough it would magically appear. 

King L/N, written in that same, cursive font. 

Rounding a corner, you conclude if there’s anyone you avoid more than King Bahng (a.k.a Chris), it was Hyunjin. That man was a serpent in a Beast’s body.

Catching sight of his dreaded ponytail, you hastily retrace your steps, hiding behind a massive doorframe while Han stares at you as if you’re a rodent scurrying at his shoes.

“He won’t bite y’know.”

“If only you would’ve been there when he first found me,” You whisper angrily, practically clawing at the wood desperately till he leaches you out.

Leaching enough, in fact, that you end up right in Hyunjin’s line of sight, who surveys you up and down with a cocked brow to the point you’re sure steam is billowing from your ears. 

Mocking. Ruby-red, mocking eyes.

He does bite. He sinks his teeth into the flesh and tears. 

You won’t bleed without biting back. 

Han’s iron grip tightens on your arm as slowly, oh so slowly, Hyunjin walks closer. 

The strategist prowls, edging right up in your face—noses a thread-width apart.  

His glower sets your fury alight, lips curled in a deriding notion.

“No need to glare, wouldn’t want wrinkles ruining that face of yours.”

“No need to get so close unless you plan to kiss me, mutt.”

Though, just as Hyunjin preapres to lunge, a big hand holds him back, animal fur cuffs indicating it isn’t the King who stepped in.

The man who had fetched you from the chambers earlier divided either of you. Shorter, but evidently stronger. 

“Control yourselves, both of you. For as long as she stays in the Kingdom, she’s The King’s property—“

“I am no one’s property,” You snarl, and the guard turns.

Basked in clear lighting, you can finally see him. Honing dark brown hair hanging above his eyebrows, the same scar resides by his mouth, though, his eyes are much kinder than you expected.

Taking a slow inhale, he reads your conflicted expression like an ornate mirror.

“One mage in the Kingdom of Beasts? Sorry to break it to you, but yes, you are his property. So as long as she’s here, nobody lays a finger on her, understood?”

Glancing to each person, either of them ease their apprehension, the bewildered Jisung next to you stifling a breath, Hyunjin rolling his eyes with a loud huff.

Baiting seconds pass, and in that period of time do you realize you never caught his name. Specifically, the guard’s name.

“Excuse m-“

“Seo Changbin,” Han interjects. “His name is Seo Changbin.”

Ah. Right.

Now on the roster of least-likely to kill you, Jeongin, Changbin, Felix, and Han.

Filled with a need to evade, you stand merely as a spectator as each horridly red hue snaps to stare at you, your heart spiking an alarming rate. 

The King’s Advisor’s fingers tighten to the point you’re sure he’s blocking blood flow.   

“You need to leave. Jisung, get in contact with Seungmin and see when the salve is done,” Changbin instructs, already shoving Hyunjin away.

Salve. What salve?

Failing to give you any explanation, you’re dragged off, boisterously complaining before the highly annoyed man abruptly pauses, finger nudging your forehead irritably.  

“You smell.”

Then he leaves, and you’re left to wonder if you’re still in primary school or the Kingdom of Beasts.

You smell? What’s that supposed to mean?

First thing in the morning, you’re torn from your slumber with a blazing sun scorching your eyes.

Your canopy beds silken drapes doing little to block the attack, you whine to an apologetic Jisung who merely sighs in return.

“Sorry sleeping beauty, but we have an appointment to attend this morning. Can you handle getting dressed on your own?”

You roll your eyes, groggily pulling yourself upright. “I was an heiress, not helpless.” 

To which he cracks a miniature grin and slips out the door, allowing you to hurriedly strip off your chemise and messily arrange your stays and petticoats.

Out of all things you’d been deprived of, a part of the L/N Clan unable to be divided was your garments.  

Somewhere, in the midst of fabric and citrus scented soap, you swear you can still smell bits and pieces of home.

What this appointment entailed you failed to ask, gingerly hustled down winding hallways barely illuminated with sunlight. 

The Kings Advisor expertly winds further and further down, georgian architecture littered in symmetrical golden portraits and decorum, casement glass windows twinkling as you walked past. 

Having reached a dead end, you’re pleasantly surprised to watch Han jar a brass doorknob open, paving a breathtaking view of the garden ahead. 

Garden had to be an understatement. This amount of foliage was nothing short of a forest. 

Flowers of all kind surround your walk to a shrouded greenhouse, abnormally brick relative to it’s stone-castle counterpart. Its walls are overgrown in slithering vines, door nearly invisible without proper inspection.

Jisung, having noticed your amazed expression, chuckles.

Granted, it’s been years since you’d seen any form of green vegetation, your astonishment felt justified. 

“We’ve arrived.”

Oh how you wish to stay here forever. Not captive by the Beast Clan, no, but in this garden, hidden.

And if the last door took effort to pry open, this was a new challenge entirely. Through thickets of dense hedge and tangled branches, Jisung had to quite literally ram himself into the chittering wood for entry.

“Knock next time would you?” A voice projects from inside, belonging to a man clad in rounded spectacles, a slightly hooked nose, and cleanly hair parted to the side. 

The Kings Advisor, apparently having known him, beams his prize-winning smile upon seeing the man.

“Seungminnnn—“ Han drawls out, excitedly waddling over to wrap him in a crushing hug. Stiffly, Seungmin pats his back, an action you fondly watch from afar. 

“Ah!” The more ebullient of the two springs up, turning to you. “This is Seungmin, he runs the apothecary here.” 

Nodding stiffly, Seungmin ushers you to one of the many mahogany chairs circling a gateleg table; a vase—likely jade with its pale green hue—filled with indigo hydrangea presides in the center.

“And,” Han’s outburst cuts off your awe. “He’s practically my little brother.”

Now you’re in awe again, but for a different reason. And by the evident frown on Seungmin’s face, he can tell.

“Shocking, right?”

Yes, shocking for certain.

Though, before you can reply, Han slaps his hands on either of the man’s shoulders, expression transformed into one of seriousness. 

“About time I left then, yeah?” Was spoken while his form hurriedly retreated out the door, leaving you with more questions than answers to what just occurred.

“..He forgot something again.”

Biting back your laugh, you finally take a seat, given ample time as Seungmin shuffles off to the side to acknowledge your everything to its fullest extent. 

Matching the plant-infested interior, verdant drawers scatter the corners, a lone, looming medicinal cabinet left ajar as the chemist poured over a variety of assorted concoctions. 

Air stained with a damp smell of earth, you notice, much to your curiosity, the longevity of such a place.

This apothecary, though inside the castle, feels like an entirely new settlement of its own. An establishment existing before the war, rebuilt (inefficiently) enough to where it was only required to stand stable.

From first sighting you’d grown an attachment to it, but this newfound understanding, these newfound details setting the apothecary apart from your predicament let you imagine yourself anywhere else, back to a nostalgia you longed for.

A short term fix.

“This.” You’re handed a phial from overhead. It’s a slightly green substance, thicker in texture that rests heavy in your hand. “Is for you.”

Slipping across from you, he surveys your analyzing, arms crossed over a deep brown waistcoat.

“And this is..?” You inquire, looking up from the cork-sealed glass.

“A salve. You had better not waste it, material is low as is and I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.”

Well that didn’t answer your question. You’ve heard conversation about a specific salve for days on end, but no genuine explanation caved in—

‘I’ve been waiting years for this winter to end already.’

Repeatedly mulling over the words, you can practically feel your heart palpitating, head beginning to spin. 

..End already? The endless winter.. ending?

“So you’re saying,” You murmur, placing down this special salve in order to truly regard him.

“There’s a way to end the Endless Winter?”

His brows crease critically, seemingly sarcastic.

“There’s an end to everything sweetheart. Life, death. Start, finish. War,” He meets your eyes with a conniving grin, a face you hadn’t seen on the man before.

“Peace.”

Automatically, you roll your eyes. 

Peace? Peace when there was no peace left to be made, no kingdom remaining to make peace with?

“And how do you think the nonexistent Mage will make peace with Beasts?”

Seungmin grins.

“Well there is a Mage left,” He scornfully states, flicking your forehead whilst you palm the sting, frown evident. 

“And as far as making peace goes, marriage.”

Marriage. 

What.

“Wait- so you’re telling me big bad King Bahng could’ve just hooked up with a Mage and called it a day and everything would be fine?”

Seungmin clears his throat.

“One, Bahng doesn’t ‘hook up’. Two, it’s not as easy as that.”

Of course it’s not as easy as that. Why would it be?

You wish to claw your eyes out of your head, anticipating his explanation. 

“Because if you weren’t aware before, marriage ties between Mage and Beast are very difficult to establish. Bahng is picky on everything, and even pickier when it comes to mates.”

But before you can argue there were thousands of suitors roaming the L/N Kingdom for him to pick from, Seungmin interrupts. 

“Plus, if anyone else were King I’m sure we would’ve had peace decades ago. You’re lucky you’re in the castle right now, otherwise you would be eaten alive.”

Your face scrunching worriedly, he rakes an exasperated hand through his hair, plopping down on the vanity’s chair.

“Your scent.”

Again, you’re reminded of Han’s ‘you smell’ comment. Why is it showing up a second time?

He groans frustratedly, wordlessly praying you understand.

You don’t.

“Mage have specific scents. You can’t smell it since you’re not Beast. But let me tell you, you smell fucking delightful.”

Oh.

That’s what he meant by eaten alive, and the entire ‘you smell’ conundrum.

Seungmin, rather entertained with the shock written on your face, shrugs his shoulders, nonplussed by the crassness of his earlier statement.

“Now you get the use of the salve, right? And why you’re not allowed to leave the castle?” 

Your mouth feels dry of response, beckoned toward the exit without so much as a peep passing through your lips.

However, right as the you’re halfway gone, he stops you, brows cocked.

“Do us all a favor and marry him, will you?”

And like that, the apothecary’s door thumps closed behind you.

If only the “him” he was referring to wasn’t King Bahng, you might’ve agreed.

Marriage in the L/N Kingdom had been a sacred event.

An event you’d been prepared for since childhood, fed daydreams of a day you would be married to a prince-like man with perfect features and a perfect personality, every element fabricated from a young age.

Truly, you loved it. Loved visualizing a life shared with your loved one, whoever that man would be.

Little did you know he might just be King of the Beast Clan.

No. You refused. Marrying a murderer, the murderer of your family, was the last thing you would oblige to. 

He sent the command, he led the attack, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of marriage.

Although, one problem. Similar to life back at the L/N Kingdom, supplies only lasted for some time before shipments became low, and pretty soon (according to Seungmin) the salve you were given would run dry. 

Meaning, your meager chance of protection lay completely exposed, susceptible to any Beast daring enough to try something.

Two sides of a coin remained. Heads, you marry the murderer of a King and spring returns, or tails, you abstain and are eventually left vulnerable.

You’ve always been the person to confront a difficulty head-on, but, in this case, a different, defensive approach crossed your mind.

Run away. 

Despite Seungmin’s sensible reminder to not leave the castle, what other option sounded suitable? 

Die physically or mentally, pick your poison. 

Or maybe, never drink the poison in the first place. Evade.

Three days have passed since you received the salve, and after applying it behind your ears and between your elbows at dawn, you were free to do as you pleased—within the castle walls. 

Yet, tomorrow’s dawn would be divergent. Tomorrow, you would be days away from the Beast Clan. 

Sneakily roaming around, you managed to find certain outlets to your disposal. Nearby the chambers you’d been kept in was a moth eaten, hooded cloak seemingly unworn for quite awhile. Ideal for an anonymous escape.

Furthermore, amongst the colloquy during a dinner with Changbin and Felix in the Great Hall, you distinctly recall overhearing information about the stables.

If you were to flee, you needed a horse, and thanks to the guard, you knew right where to find one.

Unable to sleep the night before, your dry eyes blink through the dense darkness, sweeping the candlestick from your side table for a minimal source of vision.

Lathering a copious amount of salve all over your skin, you slip down the winding stairwell, grateful for the shadowed moonlight gazing down upon the Throne Room as you venture.

Bingo. There’s the cloak.

Sweeping the fabric over your shoulders, you slip the hood over your head, creeping down the steep steps leading into a surrounding ward.

On your left, across the butcher’s vendors. 

Blindly searching, the whinny of a mare alerts your close distance, carefully winding through lead ropes and linked fences to the first horse in sight. 

You have to be fast, the sun will rise at any moment it pleases, and it’s impertinent you’re gone by then.

Hoisting a mere saddle pad over the back, you deem the saddle too noisy, slipping the reins overheard and adjusting their length accordingly. 

Jogging forwards, you’re brisk to gain a running leap atop the horse prior to the thunder of hooves charging forward.

Closer to the gatehouse you near, a luckily open drawbridge allowing easy passage across. 

Faster, faster. You can’t afford to slow down. Daylight is beginning to peer above the horizon, warming your back with rays of sunlight amongst a snowy landscape.

And when the kingdom wakes up, it’ll be as if you were never there. 

But, an undecided factor stayed. Where would you go? There was no kingdom left for you, no home to go to.

For now, you needed to prioritize finding a hiding spot, if only for a night, that supplies warmth.

Given the opportunity, too long out here and you or your horse will indefinitely succumb to the frigid conditions.

Veering off sharply, you sidle beneath a barren magnolia tree, its thick trunk barely blocking the unforgiving wind. Pretty soon you’ll have to keep on, but for now, you’ll savor the temporary peace.

Blue skies indicate it must be nearing morning, and you assume the castle will be slowly waking up. By now, King Bahng would likely be awake as well, you’ve been told he doesn’t sleep well anyway. 

Scouts. He’ll send scouts most likely. Knights like Minho or Hyunjin.

Ugh, the mere thought of Hyunjin finding you a second time makes you nauseous. 

Except, the longer you consider it, King Bahng is the worst case scenario.  

I could break you any time I wanted, Mage. So behave.

Those words send an entourage of chills slithering up your spine, and not from the cold.

Because while Hyunjin is a type of spiteful strong you want to avoid primarily due to how annoying it is, King Bahng is a quiet strong, the kind that wouldn’t confess his anger, but have you witness it firsthand instead.

Enough thinking. You have to go. 

Using the bumpy roots below you for leverage, you wind a leg around the horse’s back, aiming to reach the edge of the territory before midday.

That was the goal, until you’re pummeling to the ground.

The moment is instantaneous, your horse releasing a shriek as it’s swiped right off its feet, slipping onto hard, icy ground and simultaneously crushing you in its descent. 

Almost like vomit you feel the screech of pain building in your throat, a numbness in your right leg along with the warmth of blood soaking your clothing doing little to sustain level breathing.

Then, in the midst of your hysterics, you look upon the visible side of your horse, a pair of claw marks scratched right across its stomach.

Scrambling out to the best of your abilities, you bite your tongue, praying this is one of Hyunjin’s sick, sadistic games and not an obvious ambush.

You refuse to die like this. You’ve survived once and you’ll be damned to give up now.

“I’m impressed. You’re not as weak as I thought.”

A sneering tone speaks from behind you. According to the claw marks, Beast, but not one you remember. And with your current state—being unable to rise to your feet—you’re utterly incapable of ascertaining an identity.

Instantly, your hand reaches up to trace the alcove beneath your ear and neck, any ounce of hope disappearing upon feeling for the salve. 

Gone.

“Now, care to tell me what a Mage is doing in Beast territory?”

He’s hiding behind you on purpose, drawing you into a sensory overload, a panicked frenzy of adrenaline and fear. 

Deer caught in headlights. 

A curved claw unlike those in the Kingdom of Beasts winds your head back, staring straight into the face of something you can hardly deem Beast, more like wolf.

He has this terrifying look in his eyes, and breath that stenches of metal and flesh.

This man is the kind of Beast you’d grown up believing in. Violent, merciless.

Minho, Hyunjin, hell, anyone. Please. 

As if second instinct, you assess everything around you, snatching the closest stick to you and jarring the sharp end through the bottom of his chin with all your might.

A gagged, sort of howling sound emits from above you, putrid-smelling blood spraying all over your face. 

In split seconds does another form appear in your peripheral, your dread heightening before ultramarine stills the horror in its tracks.

King Bahng. 

He’s quiet, expertly slicing the back of the neck, the attacker dropping to the ground motionlessly.

“I could’ve handled it myself.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t respond.

If the first Beast hadn’t killed you, he certainly would. He said it himself, whenever he pleased, he could break you.

So when King Bahng’s arms extend toward your position on the ground, you prepare for the worst, crawling backwards as quickly as possible.

Surprisingly, he kneels down in front of you, and, as your vision clears, you notice the concern written on his face. 

Weird, the feeling compiling in your gut as he looks at you like that. The way your eyes build with tears, lungs finally hacking for as much non-congested air available without a single word said.

Just by his expression alone, you’re a fit of blood and tears, the aftershock hardly helping ease the experience. 

Crying, in the middle of a forest, with King Bahng as a witness.

“I know, I know,” Is all he whispers, and you barely recognize when he hoists you into his arms, the searing sting of your leg your only indication of movement. 

Smoothly maneuvering you again his chest, he cradles your body close, one hand directing his horse as you ride back to what you assume to be the Kingdom. 

Through the aching pain, you can’t even be upset about returning, merely focusing on the subtle warmth of his body and the strength willing you to say something. 

“You speak nothing of this moment,” You murmur, the King’s body erupting into a tremor of laughter. 

“I speak whatever I like whenever I like, sweetness. No one touches what’s mine, yeah?”

Mine. You hate the effect he has on you. 

Yet, your snarky remarks are depleting in tandem with your energy; the soothing, shushing sound he’s making and the repetitive thump of hooves doing little to keep you from sleeps tempting beckon. 

Eyes drifting closed, his tightened grip pulls you closer, your cheek smushed into the fabric of his coat whilst lost in slumber.

“Hold on a bit longer for me, we’ll be there in no time.”

Recovery, to your luck, is swift. Either that, or Kim Seungmin is secretly a Mage, because within a week spent off your leg, you’re back to normal. 

A little sensitive to weight, but overall, healed.

Initially, despite the agony blazing through your body, you were thankful you barely recalled seeing anyone, swept into the apothecary immediately. 

The last thing you wanted to see after returning would be the faces. Plus, what about your friends? Jeongin, Felix, Han? You’re sure they looked destroyed. 

Except, it’s all fake. A feign kindness given to you only by sympathy. What do the faces matter anyway? 

You gorge that question to the very back of your throat when said Cook walks through the apothecary’s door, utmost apprehension apparent. He grabs your face, brows knit—but not in an angry sort of way, more like staving-down-tears. 

“Don’t you ever do something like that ever again.”

Past him, you can’t help but smile seeing Seungmin’s softened expression watching Felix, adoring his preciousness just as you are. 

“I promise.”

Nodding curtly, he turns around, leaving you to view the many ingredients scattered across his apron. 

He rushed here, cute.

“I’ll bring breakfast down here.”

Craning, you can barely make out his deep voice, lowered to a nearly inaudible decibel. Ears flushed pink, you’re filled with a worrisome amount of happiness seeing Felix’s embarrassment trying to maintain an upset facade.

“Hm? What was that?”

Ah, at this point you’re picking fun.

“I said I’ll bring breakfast down here.” 

Precipitously slipping outside, both you and Seungmin are left to stifle your bubbling laughter, graced with the most appetizing platter you’ve had the pleasure of eating a few minutes later.

However merciful those first few days were, dissipated. And in a short amount of time, you could feel the eyes boring into your back, the questions resting on the tip of tongues.

All the same, nobody mentioned it. And if anything, that made the paranoia grow. 

It was gradual. The subtle shadow you swore you saw in corners, the terror stopping your heart in your chest when you swear someone breathed down your neck. 

Your body may be healed, but your mind certainly isn’t.

To a degree that two weeks later, you’ve found sleep nearly impossible, lingering in the kitchen in the wee hours of morning, teetering on your wits end.

Some occasions it’s Felix who you see first, wiping the sleep from his eyes, loading coal into the furnaces to heat the kitchen for the day. Other days it’s handmaids, shuffling around busily, carrying goods to and fro.

This time, Minho arrives first, for once wearing regular clothing opposed to his usual armor, steaming saucer in clutch. 

Perhaps this is an opportunity, he is a knight after all.

“Hey Minho?”

Tired eyes sweep to your figure on the table, the rim of his cup held to his lips.

“I’m too paranoid and at this point I might die of sleep deprivation,” You huff, referring to his raging, bed-headed self . “…Could you teach me how to use a sword?”

He’s staring at you like you‘ve grown two heads, pulling a chair back to settle in, arms crossed over his chest. 

No sentences need to be said aloud, merely spectating the gears turning in his head enough to set your nerves on edge. 

Yet, in the midst of your waiting, you note a peculiar bruise peeking from his collarbone, another lingering a tad bit lower. 

“And you think a sword is going to protect you?”

The question is genuine, lacking the bemused nature you were expecting.

Another thing you’ve noted throughout your sleepless nights was the continuous amount of times you’d watch the King’s Advisor sneak into his quarters, a realization keeping your response baited.

Seems his love life isn’t a concern.

“Hey, those marks on your neck and shoulder, are those from Ha—“

“When do you want to train.”

All lightheartedness vanishing, you have to chew your lip to avoid ticking him off further by giggling.

“Tomorrow?”

Pushing in his chair with an agreeable hum, you merely whisper a hurried “Thank you” he grunts at, rushing off to who knows where and giving you leeway to recover from the hilarity of it all.

Tomorrow, however, came far too early, not anticipating to be woken up at the crack of dawn, grumpy enough the prospect of blackmailing the King’s Advisor became dangerously tempting. 

Yeah, good luck. He’s not budging until you’re on your feet. 

Seems you underestimated Han Jisung’s stubbornness.

Rushed into a loose gown, you’re led to the Inner Ward, an open sector in the middle of the castle. 

Upon being met with a too-smug Minho, you can practically see the word “payback” hovering above his head, busying himself with fetching supplies.

Perhaps this is karma coming back to bite you.

Ouch.

Except, you’re puzzled. You’re being taught how to deul, yet your teacher isn’t adorning armor nor gear of any kind.  

At your confusion, the knight chokes a cocky guffaw.

“First, we learn how to properly move.” He hands you a wooden sword. “If I so much as leave a scratch on you I’m as good as dead.”

Again, he may appear snarky, but his tone is nothing short of serious. Minho is hard to read.

Wait.

Seeing past your panic, the Beast seems to answer your unspoken question.

“King Bahng is visiting the villages today, he won’t be back till the evening.”

A wave of relief grounds your bones, standing rather pathetically while Minho aids in critiquing your position, instinctively shifting into his own in front of you.

“Now, there are a lot of things to consider when dueling. I’ll narrow things down. Don’t overestimate or underestimate your opponent, trust your gut, be aware of everything, and lastly, do not be afraid to deceive.”

Promptly, he’s lashing out before you can even process his advice, wooden weapon drawn above his head as your grip tightens, attempting to block the strike only for his foot to press into your stomach, sending you falling right onto the ground instead. 

“Isn’t that unfai—“

“Like I said, deception is your greatest weapon. In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.”

He reaches a hand out for you to take, helping you back up again only to both fall back into your stances. 

“Keep in mind, your sword isn’t your only weapon.”

Minding his instruction, you continue onward, sparring heartily till the beating afternoon sun becomes too hot to bask in any longer. Amongst the four hours you had been consumed in training, you’ve snagged certain valuable points.

Calmness is crucial. Your mind streams clearer when you parried, void to the opponent’s increasing frustration—given an advantage of both agility and focus. 

Two, unpredictability is a gift. Minho is especially good at being unpredictable. 

Whether he charges headfirst or aims the forte of his sword toward particularly weak points, you begin to mimic his performance, growing closer and closer to conquering those signature tactics.

Of course, your enjoyment can only last for a bit before it spoils. 

Spoiling as in, Hwang Hyunjin’s random appearance, sauntering into the area as if he’s King himself.

“Well look at this, didn’t think I’d see our runaway and Minho here.”

There’s an air between Minho and Hyunjin, one that forbids Hyunjin from egging his superior on, just like when you were first brought to the Kingdom. Lucky for you, you could be degraded as much as he approved of.  

Feigning a dramatic gasp, he gestures to either wooden sword held in raw palms.

“No way, you’re learning how to deul?! Don’t tell me you’ve never learned basic attacks? Oh right, you never had to fight, huh, princess?”

You bite the skin of your cheek, minding your composure.

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

Now he’s asking for it. 

“Say,” He sneers. “Let’s duel.”

Keeping Minho from intervening, you apologetically nod to his disproving expression. He knows it’s stupid, even while fetching his armor and adjusting the metal plating to your body, and you do too, but you can’t afford to back down, you won’t.

Testing your abilities carrying a legitimate sword this time, Minho grants Hyunjin a terse scowl, their own wordless agreement to tone down on anything too harmful.

Somehow, it grates your nerves further.

Straight away, he charges his right foot forward, the metal colliding with a loud ring, narrowing your body to shield your unprotected side.

Hyunjin, though skillful in his wrist mobility, clearly uses his size compared to you as an advantage, carelessly throwing around his jabs whilst relying on form alone.

You shuffle back and forth continuously, the commotion of metal rifle drawing the attention of Beasts alike throughout the castle, stopping their movements to survey.

Lurching himself forward once more, you will your legs to support you, balancing the crushing force of his pushing ascent with as much strength as possible.

“If you win, you get whatever sensible award you want,” He grits, using pure weight alone to gain higher vantage. “But if I win, you marry King Bahng.”

Suddenly, interrupting your stunned reaction to his proposal, Minho’s reminder breaches your eardrums.

Deception is your greatest weapon.

Honestly, you’re bewildered Hyunjin hadn’t played petty thus far, and you have no doubt he will any moment now. 

You can’t afford to waste the opportunity.

Maintaining your gaze targeted on his face, you steal the chance, slipping your sword right beneath his feet, hooking the guard just fast enough to cause his legs to buckle. 

The tip of your sword centimeters from his neck, you cock your brows, finding satisfaction in the glare he’s boring into your skin from his spot on the ground.

In a game of swords, it doesn’t matter how dirty it’s won, it matters who won.

“If King Bahng wishes to marry me, he will deul me himself. That decision isn’t up to you.”

Stalling his immediate laughter upon nudging the sharp point right up against his pulse point, you chuckle.

“I might have to do this more often, you’re not bad when you shut your mouth for once.”

Dropping your sword, you reach out a customary hand he rejects, either of you following Minho to the side stalls to return his armory before a haunting voice stops you in your tracks.

“One more match?”

You’d been ignorant to the Kingdom’s sudden burst of energy, the trembling chains of the drawbridge dropping onto cobblestone ground, the gates shifting open. 

Having appeared through thin air stands King Bahng, constantly arriving at the worst of timing. 

He’s clad in traditional armor, though his has fancier plating, cleaner sheen, azure hues hidden within the gorget.

Your stomach ties itself into a knot, piecing together the details.  

“If this is about the deal, I don’t think I-“

“Oh please princess, this was never up to you. We did this for the sake of the Kingdom, you think we ever considered your say in this?” Hyunjin interjects, quickly escorted away by a frowning Minho and an additional guard you don’t recognize.

Huh?

What… What is he talking about? For the Kingdom? What does he mean for the sake of the Kingdom?

Do us all a favor and marry him, will you? Seungmin’s words ricochet in your skull, the parts assembling perfectly into place.

But if I win, you marry King Bahng.

Marriage. 

They knew all along. They knew you were set to marry him and yet, no one told you.

If your betrayal had been violently inflicted, you would look like a rag doll. All this time, these moments you thought were glee-filled, hopeful.

Lies.

Tearing the King’s chance to speak from his fingertips, you pick up your sword, denying your shaky, white knuckles and replacing those broken feelings with rage instead.

No, you can’t afford to show weakness. You must replace these feelings as quickly as possible. 

No weakness, no mercy. 

“Fine, let’s duel.”

“But-“

“Pick. Up. Your. Sword. And fight me.”

Releasing a sigh, he cautiously pulls his own sword from its sheath, waiting to be counted off unlike Hyunjin.

However skillful you’d been before had completely vanished. Though, you would give yourself the benefit of the doubt, this fight meant your future, meant the minuscule bit of freedom you’d gotten to experience here.

The last thing you wished was to realize you had been lied to, but even more so to realize you’ve been lied to in front of the entire Kingdom, curious faces peering from the castle’s allures.

Your swings sloppy, you credit the severity of the blows as you attack and defend, evidently dueling with fatal intent.

You’ve lost this battle, you know it. Your senses are too overwhelmed to assess spatial awareness, and every muscle in your arm cries out for relief. 

Swept off of your feet in a repeated cycle to earlier, you accept, sitting below the tip of King Bahng’s sword, your defeat.

Almost automatically, the pieces of pride you’d attained after your victory against Hyunjin amounted to nothing. 

You may beat everyone else, but you will never beat this man, now matter how hard you try. The odds will always soar in his favor, and you will suffer the results of it.

This is not a game you’ll win. Because from the beginning, you existed as a marionette, enjoying such naivety till the comprehension as to who controlled the play hit you.

This theatre was particularly unforgiving.

He won.

If your insomnia before was grueling, this was an entirely new extreme. 

Averaging a meager two hours per night, you’re positive you’ve memorized the guest list by heart, staring blankly at the crinkled parchment, unblinking.

In a matter of days, the congratulatory ball will be held. 

You’ll be attending said ball as the bride.

Weeks ago, the guest list had simply been a past time, a mandatory errand for the King’s Advisor, a ball you weren’t aware, and wouldn’t be aware, was meant for you.

Your chest feels.. sad? Empty? 

Yes. Empty is the word. An emptiness gutting you from the inside, the ugly drawback of exhausted options and worthless optimism.

There’s a lot of things to ponder on as well, factors you have to analyze, ensure it wasn’t another stage for an audience you so foolishly performed.

No escape. 

Tuesday, two days before the ball, Jeongin drops by your door, carrying a package under his arm and that effortlessly adorable smile gracing picture-perfect features.

“This is for you, from.. um..” The anxious boy stammers, placing the binded package on your room’s veneer. 

“You can say his name, Jeongin, I’m not mad.”

He exhales audible relief, slender fingers wrapping around your hand before you can bid him farewell.

“He— The King, he’s a good person.”

You force a tight grimace, agreeing despite your contradicting expression.

Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore.

Slipping from bed once the young boy’s footsteps fade in the distance, you gingerly unwind crimson ribbon, allowing the leather exterior to unfold. 

Inside lies a gown.  

A gown that, investigating how breathtaking it is, should be considered nothing short of a ball gown the longer you stare.

Designed as a mantua, the white fabrics paired with lace neck frill and engageantes add an elegance you’ve never seen before. Light, subtle blue hides beneath ruffles of the skirt, further accented by equally blue lace strings fastening the back together and outlining the seam of your square-cut stays.

You can only marvel at the gift given by your future husband, wishing so terribly you could simply run into his arms and pretend everything was well. 

If only it was under better terms, as if nothing had happened. If King Bahng was another man, it’d be possible.

And Wednesday night, the root of your problems bares his face, knocking at your door while you were under the impression it was Han instead.

Acting as if you didn’t care was much easier around everyone but him, especially when you were halfway into tying the laces of your dress, the dress he had purchased for you.

What awful circumstances.

“Don’t touch me,” You hiss, regarding the man across from you with a frown.

Lifting either hand in the air, he seemingly invites you to figure out the impossible strings yourself, cueing a very aggravated, very futile attempt at tightening the ties of your ball gown before (hesitantly) allowing the man to slip behind you.

Of course you had to choose now to try it on.

His touch irritably careful, he ensures the fabric is snug fitting but breathable, each woven thread in its coordinating pattern.

Where he learned this you have no idea, only aware of how horrific this close proximity is, your restlessness growing unbearable.

Running his tongue over his top teeth, he backs up slightly, taking you in with apparent speechlessness.

He clears his throat.

“I won’t apologize because I know it means nothing to you, but please, let me explain. I intended to tell you, I just-“

He sounds timid, like a child.

A sour, bitter fury froths like bile in your throat. You want to explode. 

“No. No. I didn’t want this! I won’t!” You wind around, pointing an accusing finger to his chest. “You killed them all, my family, my loved ones, children. I hate you. I hate you!” Your voice breaks, a gravelly, disgusting drawl raking your throat raw. Salty, burning tears drip down your collarbones.

Grievance. An innumerable stage of sadness you hadn’t reached before now, overflowing.

As he tries calming you down, you only grow angrier, pushing from your path to the door, ripping the handle awry.

Instantly, his arms wrap around your middle, hauling you back as you kick and scream, fingernails digging into any available skin, dress puffing as your legs flail.

Catastrophic.

“No- No!”

You’re certain the entire kingdom can hear you, but that’s the last concern occupying your headspace, too focused on escaping, far off as you had done earlier, anywhere but here.

“Stop crying,” He commands, either hand on your wrist pinning your back to the bed, expression morphed pitifully. His calloused hand swipes the storming rivulets from your cheeks. 

“Please, Y/n, please stop crying. It hurts.” 

Your response shortens into a simple sob, aching.

“It hurts..?” You murmur, eyes shifting over his face. “…You hurt?”

Incessant crying causing your skin to burn, he only blinks at you.

A fit of anger forms just as fast as it disappeared in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re hurting? You’re the sick son of a bitch that killed my family and took everything I’ve ever loved away, you don’t deserve to hurt!”

Sucking in a necessary inhale, you angrily flail, wrinkling your nose at the careful tilt of his head, the distance of his face from yours, every scar, every pore close enough to see.

What happened to the King who threatened to break you? Why is he pitying you, looking at you with such kindness?

Longing to bring up how useless the deal was, how the benefits of the marriage aren’t your responsibility, you simply glare, emotions a whirlwind you can’t explain, can’t say aloud. 

And all he does is stare. Staring like you’ve said nothing at all. 

You want to cry out, want to curse him for all eternity, curse those blue eyes that seem to pave a pathway through your soul.

But you don’t. He beats you to it.

“..Do you know why my eyes are blue?”

What?

“Because I’m not fully Beast. My mother was a Mage. She turned against my father after I was born, left us, and vowed to do everything in her power to destroy Beasts.” 

Your face contorts nonsensically, his tight hold on your wrists loosening the longer he speaks.

“And I assume,” He redirects your head, forcing you to maintain eye contact. 

Rearing deja-vú reminds you of your first encounter. 

“No one ever told you Mage’s started the war.”

You scoff.  

“Or that the Mage planned to cut off all trade supply simply out of spite. And so, I did what I had to—“

“You did what you wanted to. You killed helpless people because of your own problems, my family had nothing to do with it!” Vocal cords throbbing the louder you scream, you try kicking your legs to no avail. 

“Your family, Mage, had everything to do with it. My people would have died-“

“Mine already did. So now what?”

A minuscule pinch occupies his brows.

“You weren’t supposed to be alive.”

“But I am, so you might as well let me join them.” 

He sighs, a stray, obsidian strand of hair hanging over his forehead.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You test the words on your tongue, wedging your hand out to grab his face, feeling the dip of his jaw as he sucks in a breath.

When you first met, he had told you he’d break you. This change of heart confuses you, grates more anger in your chest.

“And why is that?”

Opening his mouth, he momentarily closes it, then opens again, contemplating the statement with caution.

He’s right, in some way. 

You’re not supposed to be alive, not supposed to be saddened. You were meant to be in the ground with them, be one of the many bodies littering the L/N Kingdom, granted an eternal sleep. 

Yet, you aren’t. 

You survived, and you despise this man with every fiber of your being for that.

But things cannot change. You can’t bring them back, and his situation is just as painful as yours. 

You both lost people, or, would’ve lost people.

An explanation or an apology, as he said, isn’t necessary.

So you’ll get what you want, tangibly.

Forcefully grabbing his chin and jutting him closer to you on the bed, your voice drips with venom, noses mere breadth apart.

“Then end this winter and marry me, Your Highness.”

For a split second you swear his gaze drifts to your lips, but you shake the thought away, his sharp canines glinting off the mirrors reflection. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one to propose?”

“You killed my family, no need for formalities.”

“Care to remind me why you agreed to marry him? Weren’t you planning to kill him?” Felix piques, apron woven around his thin waist, skillfully measuring flour that’s dusted over his nose.

You needed to get your anger out, then devise a plan. Show King Bahng you weren’t going to succumb to his charms, tricks. Ever.

You hum from your spot on the counter, conversing just as you’d done back in your kingdom with Ms. Maewether. 

Technically, he was your new Ms. Maewether.

“Oh no, I still plan on killing him, I just want something first.”

Except, you didn’t talk about murder in front of Ms. Maewether. That was new.

He raises an eyebrow.

“And what would that be?”

Snapping your fingers, you cheerily tap your heels against the cabinets below.

“I want to see spring again.”

Silence overcoming the kitchen, it takes Felix a full minute to understand your preposition before bursting into unadulterated laughter. Well, until he realizes. Then he pouts.

“Aw, I was really looking forward to seeing Chris rejected at the altar.” The smaller Beast whines, popping a piece of sugary sweet dough his mouth and handing another to you.

“Hey, now that’s just cruel,” You mumble, muffled by the delicacy you’re currently chewing on.

“According to you yesterday, not really.”

Ah. Right.

“We just… have a lot to talk about.”

The phrase sounds stupid, but it’s true. Logically, emotionally it’s true. There is a lot in need of discussing.

For now, you’re indifferent.

“I’ve always thought you two were similar.”

The cook’s outburst catches you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always wanted to protect what mattered to you most, and maybe, one day, you can understand why he did what he did.”

Leave it to Felix to be your reasonable opinion.

Nevertheless, an invisible barrier rests between you two. A lie. His lie. The Kingdom’s lie.

“Felix, I will never understand why he did it,” You humorlessly chuckle, hopping from your spot. “So tell me, why did you lie?”

All morning you debated the right time to confront him. Tonight was the night, the congratulatory ball, the wedding. Why wait? 

Freezing with his back turned to you, he stops mid-slice, dropping the knife atop the cutting board and gradually facing you. 

Oh Felix.

His nose flushed pink, lips quivering, you allow him to race forward and hug you, head tucked into your shoulder while you stand there, motionless.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was decided from the start, but we were told not to tell you, not until King Bahng told you himself.”

You want to tell him it’s okay, make some jokes, act like things are normal. Though your arms stay glued to your side.

“I guess Hyunjin beat him to it, huh?” 

His arms tighten around you and, with a sigh, you pat his back, gently nudging him off of you where you can hold that sweet face of his.

“But don’t worry about me, alright? I can handle this, and I forgive you, so let’s move on from this, Lix.” Tenderly rubbing the skin of his cheek, he meekly smiles, an action you can’t help but feel relieved seeing.

You’re strong. You have to be strong. For Felix, for Han, for Jeongin, for your friends throughout the Beast Clan, you’ll be strong. You’ll enjoy wearing the gown regardless of who bought it for you, cherish the wedding no matter the man you’re wedded to.

If you’re going to have to live like this forever, you might as well make the most of it.

On today’s occasion, you’re dressed by a hand maid sent to your quarters, polished and puffed to perfection by the time five o’clock arrives and the banquet officially begins.

And when you see yourself in the mirror, you’re not exactly sure who stares back at you. 

She’s pretty, yes, but she isn’t Y/N. She’s a Queen, the Queen of the Beast Clan.

Your stomach wrenches.

By tomorrow, you’ll be married. Married to King Bahng. You will be a wife, the wife of a King just as the L/N Kingdom intended. 

The thought continues to plague your mind, sucking more and more oxygen from your lungs that as you’re escorted to the ball room.

You can hardly inhale and exhale normally as Changbin, whom you appreciate enormously, walks you down the aisle, past an abundance of people you’ve never seen before. Beasts, business men, acquaintances alike.

Sensing your panic, your linked arms allow him to spare you a meager glance you anxiously return.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

All previous calmness long dissipated, when you finally redirect your attention from your feet and take in King Bahng waiting at the altar, your rampaging anxiousness increases tenfold.

As the audience claps and either of you turn with your backs facing the crowd, you scorn your lack of a poker face when the King rests a hand on your back.

“Breathe,” He utters, only a whisper you heard. 

Wishing to thank him, you bite your tongue, considering the man you’re referring to in the first place prior to replying.

A sharp nod of your head is enough.

Stifling an exhale, you spin on your heel, both bowing to the public before facing each other and holding hands, an action that shouldn’t cause goosebumps to swarm your arms, but does anyway.

“You plan to smash my face in at our wedding?” He murmurs below the customary vows, acknowledging your fingernails digging into his hand.

“Keep giving me ideas and I migh-“

The retort vanishes when he presses his lips to yours, doubling back in shock before his palm on your back keeps you close.

Granting you breathing room if only for an instant, a slow grin tugs at the edge of his lips. 

“Then before I die, let me have this first.”

And he dives right back in again, kiss surprisingly tender compared to what you’d expected. Something bruising, dominating.

Instead, the King was soft. Soft as he held your cheek in a hand, soft when pulling you in by the waist.

Separating if only for a fraction of a second, you reach to hold his face, every instinct beckoning you to push him away dissipating into nothing but the nullified drone of your head and the insistent racing of your heartbeat.

“Are you that nervous, pretty? Your heart is-“

You pull him to your lips once more, hating how easy it is to forget, how his lips numb your thoughts—though unable to get enough.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

The guests hollering in your peripheral the lone sound breaching your eardrums, you can’t help thinking. 

He did this for his people just as you would’ve done. As for the Mage instigating the war, some secrets shall remain hidden, unable to be answered. You have to accept that among many things. 

The King has done nothing but care for you, and as much as you resent him for it, you respect him, if only a tiny bit, as well.

He’s irritable, and not to mention annoyingly handsome. His sympathy-filled eyes might be the death of you, and those dimples of his are stupidly lovable.

But he’s your husband, and somehow, strangely enough, you don’t find yourself hating the thought as much anymore.

Not when he holds you, and especially not when he kisses you as if it’s your last.

After the many hours spent celebrating, you couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about returning to your quarters.

Joined by King Bahng, you find traversing as easy as ever with the help of the (half) Beast behind you, helping navigate past multitudes of people, oddly comforting touch on your back guiding you through the hallways.  

Arriving at your room, he pauses, awkwardly shifting his weight on his heels, bewitching gaze flitting left and right, uncharacteristic to his usually smug attitude.

“…Was the kiss too much?”

King Bahng, asking if his kiss was too much?

You wanted to photograph this moment in your mind forever, debating on whether you should tease him about it, egg the normally stoic King on. 

However, you tip his chin down, pressing a chaste, soft peck to his lips, amusedly observing him freeze before melting into your touch.

“Could be better.” 

He huffs a sigh in response, and you’re left wondering if this is the same man who threatened to break you, the one who now looks like a pouty toddler.

Although, just as you slip by, he takes ahold of your wrist. 

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You crack a smile.

“Good night Chris.”

And, suppressing your chuckle, you close the door behind you.

Hastily undressing into nightwear and slipping into bed, you stare up at the ceiling, hours passing from the ticking of a clock in the corner, echoing around the room. 

Then, abruptly, your door creaks open.

“My gods, what are you doing here?” You whisper into the darkness, the door creaking behind his crouched form, King Bahng’s crouched form.

“I needed to see you.”

Ah. Don’t say things like that. 

Pulling the covers further over yourself, you squint accusingly at the man as he enters, silencing your urge to reprimand he saw you mere hours earlier, presumptuously sitting opposite to you. 

He scans what’s visible, fixating on your hand for a moment.

“You kept the ring on?”

Noting the gleaming jewel on your ring finger, you can’t help but feel slightly bashful. It’s not like you’re really married, but the thought sends a sort of satisfaction spreading throughout your chest. 

“If I take it off, will it become winter again?”

He grins, giggling childishly. 

“Is that the only reason?”

Debating on your response, you wet your lips, looking back up at his barely distinguishable face shrouded in darkness.

You have no doubt he’s thriving off your hesitance. 

Oh how badly you wish to wipe that look clean, but in reality, keeping the ring on feels as if a part of you from your own kingdom is with you, similar to your old clothing.

The part of you that, if not invaded, would belong to someone loved, newly wedded.

“No,” You mutter, though the phrase is barely audible.

He perks up.

“Hm?”

You regret saying that. But he’s already heard, there’s no use lying aimlessly.

“I said no, that’s not the only reason.”

“Care to tell me the other reason?” 

Rapidly averting your attention to your hand, you discover speaking is easier when not looking at him. 

“Keeping it on makes me feel like I’m really in love. I like imagining that, being married.”

You miss the sad lilt crossing his face.

“We are married.”

Without missing a beat, you meet his stare.

“Are we?” 

Unlike before, there’s no waver to your voice, no caution. 

Winding around to your side of the bed, he settles beside your feet. 

You clear your throat.

“I wanted to see spring again, and to you, I’m simply a present. A playtoy to your disposal. This isn’t marriage, not how I was taught, this is just a business arrangement.”

Nevertheless, the hurt leaks into your voice. So long to a resilient tone. 

“Y/N, don’t do this to me.”

Come to think of it, it’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name apart from last night. 

Having had enough of his nonsense, you spring for his collar, dragging him below you on the bed. Opposite to earlier, you’re on top this time, you’re in control.

“You don’t deny it.”

A silence passes.

“I would deny it a thousand times, but you wouldn’t believe me. And I don’t blame you for that.” 

He sucks in a breath.

“I only ask you don’t doubt this marriage. This isn’t a business arrangement, and I will treat you with as much respect and love as possible, even if you don’t want me too. That is what marriage is, how I was taught.”

It’s your turn to inhale, lost within the confines of this dark space. 

“Chris, do you love me?”

You both have people you love, people you want to protect, wanted to protect. It wasn’t his intention to hurt you, not when he found you after you ran away, not when ordering a salve to keep you safe, nor now, as you lean above him. 

Like he told you. You weren’t meant to survive. You were supposed to be peacefully asleep, forever. 

This man, this Mage, this Beast, is as much a murderer as your savior. You choose how to condemn him. 

“I do, more than you could ever imagine.”

How can you stay mad at a guilty man, a man who kept you alive when you were on the brink of death? Who now professes to loving you, wanting to give you a marriage you’d been cheated of, give you everything you’ve been cheated of with everything in his power. 

Hovering right by his lips to the point your chests touch, you place a miniature kiss there.

“I hate you, so much.” 

Then another kiss.

His arms, wrapped around your more elevated form, drag you down in an embrace. One hand presses your face to his shoulder, another rubbing circles on your back. 

“And I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Raising up, you can’t contain the tremor of your lip, the way your eyes shakily close shut as you steal a third kiss from his lips, a kiss he returns, hands carefully holding each side of your face.

“Chris?” You manage, currently straddling his lap, his body resting against the headboard. 

Kindly, he keeps a palm against your lower back, helping you balance.

“Can you show me what it means to be loved?”

You never understood how a person could melt until this moment. He wears that look again, like in the forest. The look that makes you cry.

What love looks like for Christopher Bahng, you don’t know. You have no doubt there will be ugly moments, moments you’ll reconsider, rethink. 

You’re both hurt, some wounds still hurting. But for him, for you, you’re willing to take that chance.

“I’d be honored.”

FIC TAGLIST. @stayceebs97 @duhgirl @yourgirljanvi @readr1221 @spearbinnie0327 @hyunjinsartpeice @cheesytangerine @palindrome969 @luminouskalopsia @kiaralynn3838 @chrizztopher97 @starlost-andfound @weeping-angel-in-the-tard1s @zaggprincess2

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids x reader #straykids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #bangchan x y/n #skz x y/n #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst #bang chan angst #bang chan comfort

[fatehbaz]

In September 2022, the Australian High Court upheld a law that effectively allows “preventative incarceration,” or the imprisonment of people even after their sentence has been served, based on whether or not a court thinks the prisoner might be at risk of committing a future crime.

Indigenous people make up 4% of the population of Western Australia, but 40% of the state’s prisoners are Indigenous.

At Western Australia’s Banksia youth prison, 75% of incarcerated youth are Indigenous.

Australia allows for the imprisonment of children as young as 10 years old.

---

Excerpt:

Casuarina prison is a sprawling, concrete jungle on the southern outskirts of Perth, Western Australia (WA). It is a maximum-security, adult facility, home to people who may never leave its confines. However, on July 20, the penitentiary “welcomed” a new cohort of prisoners: 17 kids under the age of 18, who had been moved from the Banksia Hill Juvenile Detention Center to Casuarina [...].

When current WA Premier Mark McGowan was elected in 2017, his Labor party promised to lower the rate of Indigenous incarceration in the state, which is the highest in the nation. First Nations people are 16 times more likely to be incarcerated in WA than non-Indigenous people, a number that has only risen despite the promise of the government.

Dr. Hannah McGlade, a Noongar academic and human rights lawyer, isn’t surprised by the state’s failure to uphold its promise. “Our government cares little for Aboriginal lives,” McGlade told The Diplomat. [...]

In the past month, the Australian High Court upheld a law designed to keep the worst offenders in prison indefinitely, even after their sentences have been complete.

Known as the High Risk Serious Offenders Act (HRSOA), the legislation was challenged in Australia’s apex court when Peter Garlett, a 23-year-old Noongar man, was imprisoned after stealing AU$20 and a necklace while pretending to be armed. Despite this being his first adult offense, when his sentence was up, the Western Australian government asked the High Court to keep Garlett, now 28, in prison.

The court agreed, effectively paving the way for preventative incarceration in Australia.

Though five of the seven High Court judges upheld the constitutional validity of the HRSOA, many academics, lawyers, and activists who deal with the lives of First Nations people inside the legal system on a regular basis, note that this will only further trap Indigenous Australians in the carceral system. Garlett had been in near-continuous detention since he was 12, and this became the rationale for keeping him in prison beyond his criminal sentence.

One of the judges even hypothesized that the law could “potentially lead to the imprisonment of one seventh of the entire prison population of Western Australia for offenses that they have not committed.” [...]

“This is a crystal-clear example of an indirectly discriminatory law: one that is not discriminatory in its express terms but is discriminatory in its practical effect.” [...]

Though Indigenous people make up less than 4 percent of the state population, nearly 40 percent of Western Australia’s prison population is Indigenous. That is particularly troubling given the horrific record of Australian prisons. Since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody in 1991, over 500 First Nations people have died while imprisoned in Australia. In 2020-2021 alone, 13 prisoners died in custody in WA – five of them Aboriginal.

No custodial or police officer has ever been found criminally responsible for any of these deaths.

The structural forces pushing Indigenous people into Australia’s prisons start early. In the Banksia Hill Juvenile Detention Center, three-quarters of the inmates are Indigenous. Despite its mandate to rehabilitate people for their eventual release, reports show some of the prisoners receiving as little as five hours of education a month. In April, the state’s prison watchdog outlined a series of “cruel, inhumane, and degrading” treatments in the facility’s Intensive Support Unit. Children have reportedly made suicide pacts due to their treatment, with some being kept in isolation for 23 hours a day. [...]

Penglis and McGlade point to the age of imprisonment in Australia being only 10 years old as devastating. [...]

---

Text by: Dechlan Brennan. “How Western Australia Criminalizes Indigenous Children.” The Diplomat. 7 October 2022. [Italicized first lines/heading in this post added by me.]

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

AU where you're a minor god, living all the way back before the Archon Wars. you're not one for fighting- in fact, you revel in the quiet gentleness of peace whenever you can, preferring to stay out of conflict and take care of your little patch of land as well as anyone who happens to wander close. yes, apart from your pacifist nature, the other gods would agree that your unconditional love for everything that lives is what makes you stand apart from the others. every creature that you come across is cared for, whether injured or perfectly healthy, and in this way you manage to remain and live in your humble home, like you have for years. what the others are unaware of, however, is just how far your kindness reaches. it had been cloudy the day you found him, the air humming with unspoken electricity and rain. it never truly rained around your home- not unless you wanted it to, of course- but still, the sky spoke of things yet to come, and you watched outside, curiously. you were proven right when a small bird landed on your window, chirping and hopping about, clamping its beak around your finger and lightly tugging to get you to follow it. it leads you to the woods and through the trees before stopping at a small clearing and sitting on your shoulder. a monster lies in the grass, collapsed from exhaustion near a gaping opening in the earth. with a gasp you run over and kneel beside the beast, quickly taking assessment of all the injuries you see and can't see, when suddenly its body jolts and it wakes, wheezing and letting out a horrible, broken hiss. the creatures weakly grasps a spear in an attempt to defend itself, but you gently hush, nimble fingers quickly tying bandages around the gravest of wounds and gashes. slowly the growls and snarls fade to pained whines, and with some support you're able to get the monster to your house, to safety. you know it's from the Abyss- how could it not be? but it's hurt and you can help, which is far more important to you. the creature- calling himself "Foul Legacy" slowly learns to trust you, and you find that he's sweet and curious, always looking around at the sunlit world in awe. he follows you everywhere, minus meetings with the other gods, and delights in having you run your hands through his soft ginger hair. the first time he purred, you had to bite your tongue to prevent from singing from the sweetness of the sound. soon he's well enough to leave, but he doesn't. Foul Legacy continues to shadow you, always following the same path you wander, resting his head on your lap as you read in the fields. he likes it here, in the sun, with you, and you say nothing because you love having him here just as much as he loves being here. the local humans, mortal and unknowing of the Abyss, have started calling him your companion, to which you always laugh and correct them, because you're each other's companions. it makes Foul Legacy purr and chirp happily when you say that, nuzzling his head into your hands and listening to your gentle laughter, a peaceful, quiet, happy life. then Celestia opened up seats- seven seats, seven gods, one for each nation. no more, no less. you're one of the first targeted, of course, your pacifist nature making you a seemingly easy target. but Foul Legacy fights back, with twice the aggression and bloodlust, the attackers finding themselves fleeing in terror. he protects you as you protected him so long ago, and in the evenings he cradles you gently so you can fall asleep in peace. he's determined to keep you alive, even if you're not the Archon in the end, that doesn't matter as long as you're alive and well. he loves you, after all. one day, you're out caring for your plants. you're worried, they've been wilting, see, because of all the destruction. you sing for them- plants like song, especially the glaze lilies, and Foul Legacy turns his back to survey the area. there's the swish of a blade and a gasp, and his head snaps in your direction to see a sword protruding from your stomach, blood dripping onto your withered plants. a screech catches in his throat as he lunges to catch you, but you're already stumbling, death creeping its way towards you. and you, the sweet, solitary god who cared for even the Abyss, falls.

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #gi ajax #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #genshin x reader #childe x reader #eheheheheheheeeee #*evil little cackle* #i love 'ray of sunshine' you and big moth monster protector #if there's enough interest i might make a part two #there's a lot of ways this can go too!!! #wifi's brainrot #short scenario #angst

[chiptrillino]

Chewing that part time pirate zuko... And also the fact that I'm obsessed with yuyan archer Mai. So here's the deal: after the war mai got to do whatever the fuck she wanted because she's one of the fire lord's best friends, who's going to stop her? So she goes to finally learn from the yuyan archers, doesn't take long bc 1. Zuko is surrounded by prodigies and 2. Have you SEEN mai's aim? She has the yuyan technique down in a week

The fire nation advisors are extremely worried about the fire lord at sea, and zuko sees mai, recently fully realized yuyan archer, and goes "she'll be my body guard so you people shut the fuck up". Sometimes mai takes her brother on the trips just because she can

(side note, i think the ship is metal solely so toph can be comfortably on board and still be able to navigate her way around)

Also, i forgot in my last ask, i was going to say that yue absolutely knows who zuko is, not just as fire lord, but as sokka's friend bc like... She's always trying to see where she can help the gaang, she saw when zuko joined and everything since, so when she sees zuko chasing pirates it's not just "oh I'm so bored look at that human trouble" but rather "oh I'm so bored oh wait i can help sokka's friend"

I'm undecided in whether aang is splitting hairs so to say about yue casually coming to the human world, or if he's out there acting as a yue lawyer trying to convince other great spirits to not give her grief but also not follow along on her idea bc... That would get messy very fast

Also. I love azula, i love that she's a menace, zuko leaves her in charge when he leaves and the fire nation advisors and ministers and the like are terrified of that. Azula loves it. She may also have implied she'll have zuko killed at sea (for the laughs and to see if anyone is not scared enough of that possibility. It's useful to know who wouldn't miss zuko to check if they're also actively treasonous). The gaang hears of this and they're extremely uncomfortable by the idea bc they're not sure if azula is being serious each time

honestly, just the threat of "azula is in charge" and she is chuckling in the bg. is like the biggest threat zuko could make. And all ambassadors, diplomat and council man are suddenly at their bestest behavior in a sense of " no fire lord please don't leave us we will do what ever you want"

its pointless though. zuko needs his brake and well. yeha he has mai and tom tom and just who ever wants to come along comes with. beating up criminals is a healthy and productive coping mechanism with stress i think.

it's fun seeing you so exited with this au anon, hahah I agree with every addition you bless me with, hahah

I guess aang is splitting hair depending on with who he argues. if it is with humans, he just has a dead tired look in his eyes and just exhausted sighs out, "do i look like i control the moon?" like truly humans are so stupid? You think the avatar can tell a greater spirit anything?

on the other hand, when dealing with La, other greater spirits or Yue himself. he is like... trying to reason with them, which is just... very difficult and nerve wrecking because it's not like spirits do listen. they stay above him, and just want harmony and balance. but yue is for her convenience disturbing the balance. its like a partner therapy. and aang mediating between them. La thought the new yue would be different. and yue wasn't aware what she all signed up with. new compromises were created. aang: good thing i was able to convince yue and la to wait for your sacrifice sokka! sokka: .... my sacri-WHAT?!?!?

#atla #chip!ask #sorry for getting more into spirits #thats my current brainroat point of focus... #sokka you may can run but one day i will turn you into LA! #its your desteny!

[someuncreativi2]

[] What the Alia Fabula AU Archons do after the game ends []

(Spoilers for first four chapters of Genshin Impact)

As we can see throughout Genshin Impact, the archons change along with their respective nations. This makes me think of all the ways they can change and what they might do at the end of the game. So, including my own fan made archons, I have set out what they would do after the end of the game.

Firstly, Venti. To me, I see him changing the least; he probably still drinks his wine and plays at taverns and protects Mondstadt and whatnot. After all, it worked as well this time as every other.

Next, Zhongli. I have no doubt that he will continue to protect Liyue, but considering he’s given up the position of Archon, I see him trying to blend in with humans more- adapt to their modern customs, fit into societal norms, et cetera.

For Raiden, I think her arc is characterized by accepting change; Inazuma changed, meaning her ideals have failed, but ultimately, she is fine with that. It is still Inazuma, no matter what. For this, and also the Archon quest in general, I see her as trying to be more laidback- not hands off, but she’s trying to let Inazuma run its course.

Nahida is a unique case. She doesn’t have respect like the other Archons, and she doesn’t actually know much about being an Archon, seeing as how the Akademiya locked her away for her whole life. Personally, I see her trying to widen her horizons as much as possible, not only because she is the god of wisdom, but because she has a genuine interest in learning more about the world and its inhabitants.

Then, there’s Marione. In this AU, Focalors is someone else completely- Sandrone impersonating the Archon for her own gain. In this time, Marione was lessened to just a servant of Focalors without any free will of their own. After the game ends, after Sandrone resigns from head of Fontaine, I imagine that Marione would go around and try to regain their lost respect; meeting with the other Archons, restoring Fontainian nature, and rebuilding their own reputation.

Murata, like Nahida, is an interesting story. In this timeline, her and the previous Archon had a friendly rivalry going on, that is until the Cataclysm made her the only Archon of Natlan. Out of rage, she waged war on everyone and anyone who she saw as responsible for her friend’s death. Her chapter would be summarized by self-reflection- no individual was responsible for these happenings, but most people don’t realize that because they haven’t given themselves time to process. After this, Murata would put her war-prone tendencies to rest, focusing on trying to give not only her people the care they need from their god, but also herself the time to emotionally heal.

Odelayo is, to me, one of the only Archons that might legitimately give up the title of leader for their own selves, next to Zhongli, of course. After hundreds of years of living in fear and isolating herself from the world, desperately trying to shield herself from being hurt again by someone she wants to love- whether that be her family, her people, or even Pierro- she realizes, through the other Archons, that she doesn’t need to continue thinking that love, the concept she holds dear, is anything but good. Whether it be self-love, friendship, romance, or what have you, yes, you have to be vulnerable, but love has its place, and love can help us realize a lot about our world and ourselves.

After the game, as I said, she’d resign from being the Archon of Cryo (truth be told, she never actually wanted to be a god, much less the patron deity of Snezhnaya). She turns to trying to enjoy her life with those she cares about, traveling the world to see it for the good it has to offer rather than the bad.

In relation to these ideas, I drew a quick (well not quick cuz it took 4 hours somehow) piece of Odelayo traveling around Inazuma in a boat because fun

Oh btw Raiden isn’t here because she’s like sight-seeing in her own city and not because I didn’t have room for her lmao

#ask away! #ask blog #ask me stuff #ask me things #cryo archon #genshin archon #genshin fan character #genshin impact #genshin oc #hydro archon #pyro archon #send asks #opinions #sketch #tsarista #canon divergent au #genshin fanart #headcanons #murata genshin #edgy vibes #probably #spoilers #maybe spoilers? #idk man #Alia Fabula AU #Alia Fabula

[acollapsar]

AU: 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓

STORY: INTRODUCTION. Sebastian Michaels is a unique individual, the result of a rare encounter between a human and a demon from a distant realm in ancient times. Born and raised in Fontaine, the nation governed by the Hydro Archon, the God of Justice, Sebastian's life took an extraordinary path as he became a skilled butler to the prestigious Phantomhive family.

With a long life spanning 500 years, Sebastian's experiences have honed his skills to absolute perfection, making him a master of his profession. His exceptional reputation in Fontaine is a testament to his unwavering dedication and loyalty, as he continues to serve the Phantomhive family across numerous generations.

CHARACTER STORY: I. As Sebastian Michaels excels in his profession, rumors and questions abound among the citizens of Fontaine. They marvel at his youthful appearance, his unparalleled abilities, and his enigmatic nature. However, Sebastian has successfully concealed the truth of his half-demon heritage and the source of his longevity, ensuring that only the family he serves is privy to the secret that allows him to live for centuries.

The rumors whispered throughout the city often miss the mark, weaving tales that are far from reality but hinting at something more than mere humanity. Over time, many have come to believe that Sebastian is not truly human, an assumption that holds more truth than they realize. After all, when one remains in the presence of regular humans for centuries, serving the same family generation after generation, it is inevitable to garner a reputation that transcends one's chosen profession. People notice, people question.

If you dare to ask Sebastian about his origins or the extraordinary feats he accomplishes, he will meet your inquiry with a knowing look and an amused grin. It is not the first time he has been asked such questions, and he responds with his characteristic wit, simply stating that he is nothing less than "One hell of a butler."

CHARACTER STORY: II. Sebastian Michaels was born and raised in the middle-class district of Fontaine's capital, 500 years ago, during the height of the cataclysm. In those challenging times, the weight of tragic events seemed to burden his mother more than anyone else he knew. Despite their relatively good terms during his childhood, Sebastian could not recall a single moment of seeing his mother in a cheerful mood. Her smiles were scarce, and when they did appear, they were seldom directed at him. It was as if she fulfilled her role as a mother out of necessity, with an air of reluctance and a sense of having no other choice.

Yet, despite her distant demeanor, Sebastian could never bring himself to resent her. Nor could he find it in himself to love her deeply. He recognized that she provided for him, ensuring he had a roof over his head, an education, and enough food to eat. In his mind, these were the basic necessities one needed to survive. He questioned whether he was expected to ask for more, or if what he received was all that a mother could provide.

CHARACTER STORY: III. Long ago, when Teyvat was a realm roamed by gods and monstrous creatures, a significant upheaval occurred with the opening of seven seats at Celestia. These seven seats granted permission for gods to ascend and become Archons, ushering in an era of war that lasted for at least a millennium. In their bid to protect their territories and expand their dominion, gods clashed, and many met their demise in the process. Some were reborn, while others' anger lingered, manifesting as hellish creatures known as demons.

As the war raged on, the victorious seven gods claimed their seats as Archons, while those who failed met various fates - some were killed, others sealed away, and some fled to lands beyond Teyvat's borders. The consequences of killing a god were not without repercussions, and the remnants of their anger continued to haunt the world in the form of demons.

While Teyvat had its share of these malevolent beings, it was not the only realm that harbored them. The existence of other worlds and realms outside Teyvat's boundaries, though not common knowledge, was undeniable. Whether the events of the cataclysm were connected to the emergence of a particular demon in the world of Teyvat remains uncertain. Nevertheless, this demon managed to form a contract with a young woman from Fontaine. The contents and nature of this enigmatic contract have remained shrouded in mystery to this day.

CHARACTER STORY: IV. From a tender age, Sebastian felt a sense of detachment, as if he didn't quite belong. Odd occurrences plagued his childhood, baffling him and those around him. Sleep rarely brought true rest, and despite his seeming lack of fatigue, he was often left with a lingering emptiness, an insatiable hunger that no amount of food could satisfy. It was as though something essential was missing, and this feeling persisted throughout his life.

Even his mother appeared to recognize the peculiar nature of her son's existence. When intense fits of anger and inexplicable tantrums overtook Sebastian, his mother would instinctively lead him to the kitchen. In those moments of turmoil, plates, glasses, family heirlooms, and even living beings became the targets of his unfathomable outbursts. With ease, he could upend the dining table and hurl it out of the window.

The lack of understanding as to why he acted out only exacerbated Sebastian's anger and frustrations. However, a curious remedy emerged - whenever his mother offered him a freshly cooked Mince Meat Pie, something within him seemed to calm. The act of eating the pie brought a semblance of peace, dulling the hunger and anger, yet leaving him not fully satisfied. This enigmatic pattern left Sebastian pondering: What was he truly missing?

CHARACTER STORY: V. In the present day, Sebastian Michaels' role as the butler for the Phantomhive family he serves extends far beyond mere household tasks. He assumes the mantle of the family's loyal guard dog and devoted servant, a role hidden from the prying eyes of the world. This clandestine duty involves safeguarding the family's reputation and eliminating any threats that could harm them in any way. Only the family and their closest allies are privy to this side of Sebastian's responsibilities, as he must maintain the appearance of a refined and impeccable butler in the public eye.

Operating in the shadows, Sebastian's mastery in agility, stealth, and manipulation allows him to eliminate adversaries without leaving a trace of evidence. In the land of the God of Justice, where reputation holds great significance, this ability is vital. His hands, metaphorically speaking, appear as clean and spotless as the pristine fabric of his gloves. These secret missions become a source of satisfaction for Sebastian, offering a release for the anger and frustration stemming from his unquenchable hunger, which normal human food fails to satisfy.

Indeed, the prospect of orchestrating a bloodbath without getting caught, and leaving no evidence behind, amplifies Sebastian's ego. It becomes a preferred outlet for dealing with the seemingly endless hunger that plagues him. The question arises: Why would someone like him go to such great lengths to protect the well-being and reputation of a family without seemingly gaining anything tangible in return?

STORY: EMILY THE XXXIII. Sebastian's most cherished possession is Emily XXXIII, a pitch-black cat with bright yellow eyes. She is the 33rd cat in a lineage of well-groomed and cared-for felines that can be traced back for approximately 480 years. Felines hold an exceptionally special place in Sebastian's heart, being his absolute favorite type of pet. He finds their very existence to be among the few pure and good things in the world, leading him to welcome them into his life 33 times over during his long existence.

To the untrained eye, Emily might appear similar to any other black cat, but Sebastian's keen observations reveal her unique qualities. Having memorized the appearance and behavior of every feline he has owned, he can distinguish the subtleties that set each one apart.

Emily is a devoted companion, following Sebastian wherever he goes and keeping him company on his off-duty hours. It is a rare sight to see the butler without his feline friend by his side. In return for her loyalty and affection, Sebastian showers Emily with boundless love and care, making her one of the most pampered pets in all of Teyvat. Treats of the finest fish dishes are her reward, and she thrives under the affectionate attention bestowed upon her by the doting butler.

STORY: VISION. On his 18th birthday, Sebastian's world is turned upside down as his mother goes missing. Concerned for her well-being, he embarks on a search to find her, delving into the mysterious circumstances surrounding her disappearance. Eventually, he stumbles upon her, engaged in a deep conversation with an entity that is clearly not human. To his shock, he learns that this otherworldly being is his father, a demon from a realm beyond Teyvat. It becomes apparent that his mother had made a contract with this demon, which led to Sebastian's existence as a half-demon.

In the course of their conversation, the truth unfolds, revealing the reason behind his mother's distant demeanor and lack of affection. She had no choice but to take him under her wing as part of the contract with the demon. The revelation leaves Sebastian torn between anger at his mother's seemingly reluctant love and excitement at finally understanding the true nature of his existence.

As the conversation reaches a crucial point, and just before the demon reveals his true intentions for the contract, impatience gets the better of him. The demon attempts to claim what is rightfully his - her soul. In desperation, Sebastian's mother turns to him for help, appealing to the remnants of their once-close relationship. However, the mixture of anger towards her and the overwhelming excitement of discovering his true identity lead him to withhold his assistance. He decides to watch and observe, curious to see what the demon will do.

In a heartbreaking moment, Sebastian witnesses the demon devour his mother's soul, unleashing a flood of emotions within him. Anguish, anger, and a newfound sense of determination surge through his being. Yet, amidst the turmoil, he experiences a profound sense of belonging and purpose he had never felt before. The realization that he is a half-demon brings clarity and a newfound sense of identity. He embraces his heritage, determined to find his place in the world and forge a path that is uniquely his.

In the aftermath of this life-changing encounter, Sebastian finds himself clutching a shiny red gem - an awakened Pyro Vision. The Vision represents not only his fiery elemental power but also the culmination of his self-discovery and acceptance. From that moment on, he sets forth as a half-demon, half-human, navigating the world of Teyvat with a newfound sense of purpose.

#v: AU. ／ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞 * genshin impact

[yurievinstitute]

With all of your Heart & All of your Soul & All of your Mind ~ Chapter 1

by Sephi

Fandom: (Compilation of) Final Fantasy VII

Pairing: (M/M) Sephiroth/Cloud Strife (AU, military setting, Jenova shenanigans, slow burn/eventual smut&romance, mind control/etc.)

Summary: ShinRa is running the race for complete and total world domination under their hidden empress Jenova's hand. Owing their success to she and her four sons' mysterious and horrific powers, they press onward with an entirely novel project: psychic human bioweapons, harvested to work as devoted "swords" for Jenova's lineage. Cloud, a member of ShinRa's pre-military youth program, has no idea what he has signed up for...

Excerpt:

The last of whatever was left of ‘Cloud’ faded away. He had entirely slipped into a pool of undeniable, inescapable, mind-bending bliss, so pleasurable that it stung. His empty mind was open, unfurling for the fierce presence that was soon to come down upon him. The full force of the true heir of the ShinRa empire was close, approaching to claim rightful ownership of all ShinRa had to give him.

And Cloud was ShinRa property, now.

Read on: AO3 | FFn | Tumblr (under the cut)

 A/N: Greetings! ＼(￣▽￣)／

While this fanfiction is still in its infancy, the setting is an AU I have given great thought to. I debated sharing this for multiple reasons - I feel like there is a great deal that has happened ‘before’ this story begins. This kind of drove me crazy when I was deciding whether or not to publish. Ultimately I decided I would have much more motivation if I made it public, and that I would be committing to reach some kind of conclusion rather than getting distracted.

I will do my best to attempt to fill in the gaps for you here. I think most of you are here for Sefikura and *not* for six chapters of worldbuilding. That being said, if you have any questions or just would like to talk about it, please contact me. I'd be more than happy to elaborate.

Simply put, this AU takes place on another planet. Not Gaia, but enough like Gaia that it has similar landmarks, characters, that kind of thing. The biggest difference is that there are multiple distinct nations. These used to be sort of like our planet with borders, their own cultures, etc., but ShinRa has been dominating the world with the "help" of Jenova and the use of high-level sciences. In this world, Jenova is decidedly mysterious… is she an alien race? She presents as a human woman but I won’t necessarily say what she is or isn’t. She is not a public figure for ShinRa, but she has gained complete control of the organisation and therefore their world conquest operation. Basically what I’m saying is this: ShinRa is Jenova’s lapdog.

The lifestream exists here but it’s modified, moreso to be like a collective unconscious / spiritual realm rather than a physical stream or whatever. All the people who inherit “S Cells” (probably going to coin a new term just for ease of use in this fic) have various powers that allow them to manipulate the mind/consciousness of any person who has *not* inherited them. Sort of like vampirism, or like ‘hacking into their mainframe’ I guess, for lack of a better comparison (and so I don’t get too long-winded).

There are countries against ShinRa because people are aware that something is very wrong/strange and it is unclear what Jenova’s true goals are - she seems to need something in particular from “normal people”, and she needs to be in a position of absolute power in order to do it. There's a sense of desperation behind her actions; she has to press onwards, to push others, by all means necessary. There are voices on the wind that say that somewhere, somehow, a revolution has begun against her tyranny. This is one of the places that our story begins…

Thank you for reading!

It would absolutely make my day if you let me know any thoughts you had when reading~

Huge thank you to J (YurievInstitute) for all the beta work and to Ciel for her constant support! Thank you both for always humouring my fantasies...

✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

Today, something interesting was finally happening in the otherwise empty boardroom. People of all shapes and sizes decorated the wide mahogany table, unique uniforms worn proudly—it could have easily been a painting of all the most prolific "who's who" of our time. Perhaps most interesting among all these individuals was the loud silence that pounded every square inch of space. It was a stillness of profound respect, admiration, and fear. It was unspoken, yet commanding. It was unquestionable that every man, woman, and child present had something to say about this meeting, but it was held back solely by this reverence. And all this for a particular woman—a woman who had finally arrived.

Sephiroth had been staring blankly down at his papers. He was already familiar with every point of what was about to be addressed today. What he wasn't briefed on could be easily assumed based on the guests in attendance, the current political climate, a little fishing at the Midgar Stock Exchange, and some 'personal research'. His bored expression betrayed itself instantly as large cherry wood doors creaked open. He was the first to rise from his seat, bowing his head with a simple "Good evening, Mother." That would be the most emotion he would publically exhibit for the rest of the occasion.

The click of long heels echoed through the board room. She carried herself gracefully, purposefully all the way down the passage. The guests were treated only to her runway reflection cast against thick black windows – windows with an exclusive view that “ShinRa’s Finest” had named the best view in the country two years running, a view ignored by every single pair of eyes in favor of her figure. The bright city far below the ShinRa building twinkled and danced, playing off the silver coiled around her neck, fingers, waist—the brightest silver, which only belonged to her and her children's hair, almost glowing beneath the light. If she noticed that a participant trembled as she clicked past them, she made no show of it. No one deserved her attention but the boy who had dared to address her. 

Jenova was taller than a model, taller even than her son, a fine man slightly over six feet high. As she traced around a corner of the table, coming now to the true focal point of the room, she finally permitted a pleased look to pool over her features, softening the otherwise straight lines. Her eyes crinkled in a way somewhat fitting for a woman who held the title "Mother" as she moved closer to her son, her haunting, serpentine gaze growing more intense. There was a tangible sense of envy that loomed in the room, jealousy of that fondness she reserved only for her sons. Sephiroth could feel the eyes now fixed upon his bowed head. He chose, like always, to focus on the only ones that mattered.

The largest empty chair was ornate in a way that outshone even the rest of the room. One of her pale hands rested upon the carved wooden angels of the arms of the chair while the other reached out for the hand of her son, who sat on a smaller throne beside her. The table had been designed specifically with her tastes in mind, curved like a horseshoe before her. Other than a few central fixtures, like the chandelier hanging low in its warm, gentle light and a large screen under the glass tabletop for demonstrations and the like, there were hardly any distractions. The guards – who doubled as servants – seemed to blend into the backsplash of the wall, their decades of rigorous training evident through their lack of presence.

"You may be seated." Jenova brushed her son's hand gently before fixing the back of her juniper-green dress, casting her eyes from the left side of the room to the right as each person who caught her gaze in succession anxiously settled back down into their right place. A slight smile played at the corners of her lips, but perhaps Sephiroth was the only one who could see. He was the last to take his place before her. Hooking her right leg over her left, she sighed in a way in which only she could, almost as a demonstration. She seemed to be most comfortable in places like these, where her audience was captive and anything but.

"Who among you would like to open?" Her tone shift was subtle, but a challenge all the same. It would be best interpreted as "Who would dare to waste my time?" The deafening silence that had been nearly forgotten now returned, yet the collective anxiety made itself known in how audibly the guests shifted in their seats, their expressions twisting, some choosing to stare anywhere but front and center where she sat... waiting. Sephiroth could choose to waste energy tuning into those pathetic thoughts, but now that his duties were over he would choose instead to zone out, just as he did every meeting. He stared out the window over the little herds below as they hurried home late this Friday evening; he chose to imagine their lives, sometimes comparing them with his own. An interesting motorcycle soared by on the inner plate roundabout and caught his eye – perhaps they would get along. His mind drifted and time fell away, and he surfaced only to check that he was not required to specify anything or demonstrate something for Jenova's benefit.

From time to time Sephiroth would have to stare absently at the speakers, all poor actors, as they attempted to explain what their branch or operation had accomplished in the three weeks that had passed between this corporate ritual and the last. Jenova believed wholeheartedly in taking risks, so she funded anything that caught her interest. She had funded and taken advantage of many projects that everyone else had ridiculed, and had this to thank in part for the ease of her great success. Although those not bowing to her ideology would never outright admit it, it was the common consensus that ‘ true science’  could only take place with the resources that Jenova and ShinRa allocated. Many of the lucky hopefuls—scientists and researchers—would desperately crawl over each other to get to pitch their pipe dream to the very queen of ShinRa. Of course, tonight was no different. Petty pandering to her ideals, self-indulgent projects packed with a brand new ribbon to try and squeeze what they could from her. Fools all, thinking they were smart enough to trick her before ever being in her presence, Sephiroth thought to himself. He respected these men and their despicable ploys the least.

Normally he would have drifted away until the end of the evening, but the voice of a strange man broke through his reverie.

"... Considering his—and yours, my lady—uh... abilities," They always struggled to label the exotic and horrific powers of Jenova's bloodline. "wouldn't this theory make sense? Surely the use of human weapons would be significantly less expensive to produce and could be better controlled than the current artificial intelligence we utilize. You see, we struggle with problem-solution algorithms. When the AI runs into an issue it can't understand, it bootloops. We just aren't at liberty to fix a weapon every time it can't figure out how to do its job." The man adjusted his glasses, taking a moment to inhale. To his disbelief, he had everyone's attention. "However, if we could train humans... soldiers, if you will, solely to operate as weapons for you or for your sons, they would be able to solve problems in a rational, predictable way. It would work even for things they may not be trained for, as long as the solution is founded on common sense." 

For the first time this evening's meeting started, Jenova turned towards Sephiroth. This was typically how she showed interest in approving a new project, and it was also his cue to speak on her behalf. 

"Explain in a sentence how you expect to collect willing human subjects." His tone was ice, but it was all show, only to perform and to mask his apathy. After deliberating as long as socially permissible, he offered the response that both Sephiroth and Jenova had expected. "They would need some strong convincing. We have an idea—"

Now Jenova laughed at a joke only she seemed to understand. She firmly settled both her feet onto the floor, her hair spilling over her shoulders, landing in pools along her thighs and further downward still as her chest heaved three times. She seemed to gain instant control of her laughter as quickly as it caught her.

"All of you..." She cast her fingers out from the scientist, spreading across each guest regardless of if they had spoken their piece or not. All in attendance knew that meant that they were dismissed—all except for the single scientist that she singled out from the rest. Sephiroth waited like usual, assuming that he would remain with her until the very end as he always had. To his surprise, that fierce gaze turned on him next. Twisting. Punishing. 

"Good night, my angel." Her tone was devastating. Sephiroth bowed once more, kissing the top of her soft hand as he went. He gathered his clipboard and papers without a word, hiding his shock and shame to the best of his ability. It was all for naught; he knew his Mother could pick through every thought, no matter how incomplete, like a dog prying meat from a bone. Sephiroth allowed himself a glare at the scientist before he was out past the guards, who jumped over themselves to open the door for him. For a moment he stood in the center of them, parroting one of the many rehearsed exchanges he was permitted to have with her. 

"Good night, Mother." 

The doors shut. He lost sight of her, and with her went all he could ever dream of his future. He sensed that something was different, but he couldn’t begin to understand what awaited him, how profoundly it would annihilate him, or that it would change everything he’d ever known. 

 ✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨✲´*。.❄

 Months had passed since that fateful night. Sephiroth reflected on it from time to time, the tantalizing project that was kept so secret from him—and him exclusively, at that. His younger brother Kadaj had a point to sneer on more than one occasion that he'd seen or heard something; likely a bluff, but it rustled him nonetheless. There was as much jealousy as there was camaraderie between the four of them; the triplets publicly recognized their brother as superior, particularly as the figurehead of their mother's movement, but what was truly left unspoken was the vast and deep-seated trauma Jenova had fostered around each of them to pit them against one another, dare they attempt to overthrow her. 

One of the usual guards, a man Sephiroth knew better than his brothers in many ways, was tasked with driving him back from his last rotation of public performances. ShinRa had him drifting around the country, organizing units, training others in his arts, but he spent most of his time on exactly what took the most energy out of him—television and radio.

Sephiroth lay back flat against the passenger seat chair. His uniform hugged him snugly, perfectly tailored to the height of luxury but somehow always a bit uncomfortable. It never really struck him until he was out of the spotlight; being driven home meant he could finally relax as much as he could ever allow himself to. He loosened one of the belts around his waist, jingling the golden medals across his chest before settling his leather cap across his thighs. When he wasn't under direct observation—something he rather enjoyed about this driver—he had a tendency to run his fingers through his hauntingly silver hair. He smiled to himself softly, grateful he'd never have to cut it like any of the other men beneath him. 

"I don't know how you do that." Now came the predictable small-talk, another pleasantry Sephiroth didn't have to calculate. His shoulders relaxed back into the cool vinyl seating. His driver turned to look at him before continuing; a show of consideration. "Don't you just think all of those reporters are the lowest of the low? Man, if it were me..." 

Sephiroth had his eyes closed now, knowing it would take the pair over four hours to get back to headquarters. He could see exactly what his confidant was doing without even having to use his powers, same routine as always; the groan of the window rolling down, the click of the steel lighter—well-loved and bright red—the deep breath he'd suck in as he broke off onto the highway, release...

"Pass me one, Reno." 

Reno laughed. The sound rolled into a pleasant harmony with the engine as it roared to pick up speed. "That bad, huh?"

They both knew the answer. The lights cast swirls of long green and orange tails over the windows, the glow of the city mesmerizing through dense smog. There was a stillness even here on the outer highway plates at this strange hour, right between the depths of night and the birth of the morning. It felt like soaring through an open sky, and he imagined the trails of fluorescent lighting on concrete tunnel walls as shooting stars. Sephiroth ran his free hand gently against the crushed black velvet of his gloves, neatly laid across his lap under the rim of his cap. If he could fly, he knew he’d want command over wings that felt exactly like this.

Sephiroth was never expected to answer when Reno talked, and he relished that. Reno’s love of chatter gave off the impression of someone who couldn’t sit still, but he just loved to play the clown for his friends’ amusement. He always had it in him to appreciate comfortable silence. Two cigarettes later, though, he was chittering again, breaking up the crackle of the classical music on the radio.

"They've got like five entire platoons of those scouts at the place," he began. "You know. The youth programs. Silver Soldiers, or whatever. For some reason they've got them all hanging out waiting to do their physicals at HQ’s labs..." 

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed. "Any idea why?"

"That's what I'm asking you, buddy! It's weird. You know how I feel about it. It's like drone  city  in there. Don't they usually send a dude out to sort them out at those backwater towns they come from?" Reno paused to think, focusing on the dotted white line as it curved around the middle lane. "Bigger question," Sephiroth could see Reno's exceedingly bright ponytail flip out of the corner of his eyes as Reno turned to face him. "Why send you?"

The car went silent again as Reno merged onto a ramp.

"Why would they send me to deal with freshmen?"

By the time it clicked, they were already being waved through security at the front gate. 

 ✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲。*。¨¯`*✲✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄✲´*。.❄¨

 "One day, when I make SOLDIER, I'm gonna live here." 

"No, you're not."

"Am too! I'll live on the top floor, too. Up where all those fancy penthouses are. I'll make First. They'll give me a really fancy uniform and an even cooler gun, I bet."

"They won’t."

"Can you guys stop and just enjoy the view for five seconds?! We're in a freakin' glass elevator right now and you're fighting over guns again!!"

The trio of children, all different ages, admired the view of the city as they climbed up the tallest building in the country. The two boys respected the younger girl enough to stop. The blond, Cloud, was the first to press his fingers against the glass. 

"Do you think they're the type of people to care about fingerprints and stuff?" Zack asked, face suddenly stern. A severe expression looked almost funny across his features.

Aeris giggled at him before planting both of her palms against the glass next to Cloud. She gasped at the view as they crashed through the smog barrier, rising higher still. For the first time since making their long journey to the capital city, they could finally see the stars.

Cloud envied Aeris’s easygoing demeanor. He was nauseous, nearly buckling under how frighteningly real it all was and under the uncertainty of what the next hour would bring. He knew what it could mean for the rest of his life, for all of his dreams and desires. He would be weighed, as they all would be, in the same way a butcher would measure a lamb. Before he'd brought his fingertips to the glass, he'd almost believed that he would fall right through, crashing down into the city below. He could've gotten lost in that daydream if his nerves hadn’t anchored him firmly to his body.

As hard as it was to meet Zack's optimism today, he happily received it. Even if he didn't believe it.

The three were chosen, as all who came of age were chosen, to be evaluated for their potential to contribute to their country. The boys had already eagerly enrolled in various pre-military training programs, as all their friends had, and as their parents had encouraged them to. Although much of the process was cloaked in secrecy, it was common knowledge that the various physical evaluations that took place over one's final years of freshman training would determine which rank one could expect to hold during the transition into real military organizations and beyond. As genetics were rumored to have a role, the trio were equally concerned, all for different reasons, that they would surely be discarded or, in the best case, not considered. Zack was the most confident, as his father had received a handsome grade long before it was Zack’s own turn. He laid himself across the floor of the elevator, convincing Aeris to lay beside him so she could "get a panoramic view" of their new world.

The entire ride would take approximately 40 minutes. The building was intentionally designed to allow a systematic web of cables and elevator capsules to operate simultaneously, all with the aim of bringing guests to their unique destinations as required. Due to its sheer size, multiple routes of ascension were essential. This was especially necessary, not simply due to convenience or courtesy, since a vast majority of floors were restricted to specific security clearances, let alone to the general public. These small, ten-person-maximum-occupant elevator capsules could be programmed with the exact permissions and routes required. After boarding, participants were taken to the test waiting room, processed, and then released. Such advanced technology streamlined the process, an absolutely essential point of function for a delicate operation employing hundreds of monthly applicants. 

While the three expected, or perhaps hoped, that there would be more of a triumphant signal that they'd arrived, they each more than sobered themselves in time to get off at their target floor. They hopped up, smoothing out their rookie uniforms—a modest-looking periwinkle blue—and took turns adjusting the others’ neckties and pins.

Cloud took one last look at his reflection, searching the blank gaze of his shadow desperately for clues toward how tonight would end. Before he got his answer, Zack grabbed his arm and pulled him silently out into the maw of the waiting room, and Cloud’s final glimpse of his true reflection melted into the skies of Midgar.

#sefikura #ff7 #ffvii fanfiction #sephiroth #cloud strife #fic rec #DS #this fic is over 20k long by the way and still updating so. read it

[cowboy-alfred]

been thinking a lot about punk!arthur…

whether that’s human au or not…i think a canon au would almost be more interesting…

arthur turning to punk in the 70s…what values would he ascribe to it? ik no one agrees with how nations relate to their governments (whether they’re complicit, or if they’re even consulted, comes to mind especially), but how would this arthur feel about the queen? would he subscribe to the same punk that the Sex Pistols subscribed to? all shock and no actual value? smiling and having tea w his queen in the day and going out at night in homemade crust pants (which. ok. i think he could genuinely pull off the homemade look. he’d for sure MAKE his clothes and patches and stuff)?

i love the look of punk!arthur & punk (generally) is v superficial in its politics (all rage and shock but no actual solid politics outside of explicitly political bands) (anyone that says you can’t be conservative and punk knows nothing about the history of punk as a subculture) so he’d fit right in, i think. having political patches that he knows the meaning of and vaguely hypothetically agrees with…saying punch nazi’s and meaning it but the important part to him isn’t in being a safe person for Jewish people to talk to, but in violently picking fights in public.

(does that make sense? the same sentiment that’s behind “rb to make a terf mad” and not “rb to make a trans person feel safe. feel loved.” the importance isn’t placed in the marginalized group. the importance is in the violence and hatred that’s socially acceptable to flaunt. anyway,)

would he feel himself hypocritical? bc for all i say that punk is generally un-political, there is SOME politics that are agreed upon generally—at least, if you’re not a skinhead. and the british monarchy Being Bad is one of those things. would he clench his teeth hearing people say fuck the queen?

or would he 100% be fully on board. genuinely believing every moment of anti imperialism, of protest, of anger. and then a decade later he’d take out his piercings and cut his hair properly and shove his crust pants and battle jackets in the back of some closet, wipe his hands and go back to his government job. which is worse, do we think?

#emyrs.txt #i’m sure this is incomprehensible. i did not proof read this. #it’s also. 2am. and i’m getting over a cold. so. apologies. #LMFAO #anyways. punk arthur to me is interesting. bc i fundamentally believe he wouldn’t ever be punk. #bc i just think the general agreed upon politics are too leftist for him to even tolerate. #but also the thought of him turning to socialism. to punk. to genuinely believing in his heart capitalism and imperialism is Evil. and then #a few yrs later going. well! that was fun :) i’m going to go have tea with the queen now :) #just fully not seeing how hypocritical he is. very funny to me! #and also. i think it’s funny to imagine him going. ‘someone should change this!!!! >:(‘ #as if he doesn’t personally know the queen. as if he isn’t literally capable of changing ‘this’ if he tried. #same energy as politicians going. wow..this sucks…someone should fix it… #like girl!!!! that’s your JOB. #ANYWAY!

[bewitchingbooktours]

Boondocks: An Asian Evil Apocalyptic Thriller by Jaydeep Shah

Boondocks: An Asian Evil Apocalyptic Thriller

Survive the Doom

Book One  

Jaydeep Shah

Genre: Apocalyptic ThrillerPublisher: Rage PublishingDate of Publication: June 9, 2022ISBN:9781734982657 (eBook)ISBN: 9781734982664 (Paperback) ISBN:9781734982619 (Hardback)ASIN:B096WRWG1DNumber of pages:383 pagesWord Count: 74,668 wordsCover Artist: bookcoverzone.com

Book Description:

They believe it is only about defeat and escape.

Little do they know; it is something more than that. It is about the rise of the dead and the world’s destruction.

Lost in the desert of Rajasthan, India, Rahul and Elisa learn the truth about a wicked wizard named Dansh and some enchanters performing resurrection rituals.

Though they try to stop him, Dansh knows black magic and they find him a challenging adversary. Even worse than him, Rahul and Elisa soon discover that the churel named Dali has returned. Soon, the King of the Underworld, an immortal rakshasa named Sekiada, will make his way to the earth with the force of his thousands of fallen angels to conquer the world.

Rahul and Elisa must find a way to stop them and save humanity.

Terror inflames the nation. The country’s best commando, Aarav Singh, and the best local police officer, Arjun Rawat, reach the city’s border near the desert with the force of gifted soldiers to commence battle against evil. They turn the border into a battlefield to prevent the demons from entering the city.

The apocalypse is struggling to reach its highest peak as the Asian evils slowly spread across the nation: churels, rakshasas, pishachas, daayans, shaitans, and many more hair-raising bloodshed lovers.

Rahul must find a way to murder the immortals: the wicked wizard, the king of the Underworld, and the strongest churel of all time, and Elisa must gather her own courage to battle the demons, especially one of the immortals, to prove women are not weak.

Welcome to the world of horror, where the characters play games of deceit and betrayal to achieve their goals, and the demons enjoy slaughtering the humans.

The end is near. Or it’s just the beginning!? Dare to witness the apocalypse, but only if you are comfortable with bloodbath and barbarity.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/QtcQ7QB36bU

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CHAPTER ONE

The Present

The white Mahindra Scorpio Jeep ran along the deserted road. Rahul kept his foot glued to the accelerator as he followed the route to Jaisalmer under the clear blue sky and the burning sun. His and Elisa’s cellphones had lost signal, so Elisa, his girlfriend, was directing him using the paper map. It had been three hours, and Rahul had been driving without a pause. So far, they had only had a sandwich they bought in a restaurant near Nathdwara that morning. Their stomachs lurched now, craving food.

“I’m hungry as hell,” said Elisa.

“There must be a restaurant or something coming up soon,” said Rahul, and just then, his eyes fell upon a building on the right side of the road that looked like a restaurant. It was about fifteen feet away from the road in the desert. He accelerated, and the engine roared. Slowly, they came to a halt near the building.

Rahul lowered the window and read, “Manu Da Dhaba.”

“Mənu Də Dhabə!” Elisa said, pronouncing the words correctly, tilting her head, and squinting at the name on the vinyl awning.

“Would you like to go here?” he asked, unsure whether she liked spicey food. He had heard from his parents that Dhaba food was delicious, even better than five-star restaurants and hotels in the cities. But his and Elisa’s relationship was only eight months old, and he had never heard her mention Indian food before. In the United States, they spent their time in Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and American restaurants like Red Lobster.

Elisa gently pushed him back into the seat so she could get a closer look and asked, “What does this mean?”

“Manu Da Dhaba,” he answered. “An eating house.”

Elisa licked her lips. “I’m hungry as hell. I’m going in.” She unbuckled herself and jumped out of the Jeep, running toward the eating house, her brown Michael Kors’ Nouveau Hamilton purse hanging on her shoulder.

“Hey! Wait for me,” he shouted, hanging his head out of the window.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she shouted, laughing, as she entered the dhaba; Rahul grinned as he pushed his head back and murmured. “Alright, girl. Let’s see what you order!”

Hesaw a board indicating that the parking lot was behind the building, so he drove around and parked up. He fixed his hair, looking in the rear-view mirror. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out and entered the dhaba through the backdoor.

“So—” He stopped as he found Elisa sitting on a chair at a round table, gaping at their map. He was alarmed to see that it was covered in water. The map was their only solution to reach Jaisalmer and explore more Rajasthan cities, but it was now drowned. A metal water jug, now empty, lay next to it.

“What did you do?”He asked in a blend of shock and panic, still staring at the map.

Elisa startled and looked up at him. Worried, she stood up from the chair, shifting her distressed gaze from him to the map and back. “I’m sorry. I was marking a few more places we need to visit. But I accidentally nudged the jug and spilled water all over it. I’m so, so, so sorry.” Her eyes were almost wet with tears.

He swiftly grabbed her in his arms and tried to calm her down, patting her head, “No worries, and my dear. I’m sorry for the way I reacted. We’ll find another map. I’ll ask someone here.”

“I hope you’re not upset with me,” she said.

“Not at all. It’s humans’ error to make errors,” he said. “I could have done this as well. It’s just a mistake. Don’t worry. I love you.” He smiled.

“You’re so sweet,” she said, tightening the hug for a fraction of a second. “I’m glad to have you in my life. I love you, too.” Her worried face glimmered with a smile.

Rahul kissed her on the head.

Still in their hug, Rahul looked around and saw a young couple, only a few years older than them, exiting from the back door.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, making to walk after the couple, but at that moment a young server wearing a white shirt—not tucked into his khaki pants—arrived to serve the food Elisa had already ordered. On seeing the spilled water, he pointed to the next table and said, “Excuse me, could you please move over here? I’ll clean this up.”

At his words, Rahul stopped. He must have a map. “Thank you,” said Elisa in a soft voice, giving a quick appreciative smile.

They moved to the next table and waited for him to serve the food.

“What’s your name?” asked Rahul as he placed the bowl of sabji and a plate of two Garlic Butter Naans down.

“Bhim,” he answered, now setting up the dishes for them.

“From Mahabharat, an ancient Indian epic?” joked Rahul, smiling. The waiter chuckled as he served them Garlic Butter Naan.

Rahul cleared his throat in hesitation. He looked at Elisa and then the waiter. “Could you please do me a favor?” he asked after a moment.

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

“Could you please arrange a map for us?”

Elisa’s face flushed with embarrassment.

Bhim was holding a serving spoon halfway over the bowl, the orange-color Paneer Sabjiwithin ready to be poured onto their plates, and he glanced at the wet map on the previous table. It had become so wet that it would fall to pieces if he tried to pick it up. “I could try.”

He served the sabji and then left the table, leaving the bowl there for them to serve themselves more if they wished.

“You knew what to order?” asked Rahul, wanting to change the subject to divert Elisa’s attention from what she had done to the map.

“My boyfriend is an Indian guy, so I know a little about Indian food.”

Rahul smiled; his plan was working. He could feel it in her excited voice.

“Oh, really?” he said, “but I don’t remember hearing anything about Indian food from you.”

“That’s because you never talked about it, even though I love talking about your culture,” said Elisa. “You turned yourself into a complete American. You always want boiled vegetables, eggs, Buffalo wings, chocolate chip cookies, cheeseburgers, and so on. It was completely fine for me that we didn’t eat Indian food together, because I was waiting for the right moment to surprise you.”

“Wow!” said Rahul, and gulped down a bite. “When did you learn all this?” He hummed. “I must say you do surprise me. I find it amusing, fabulous, and fantastic.”

Elisa let out a quick laugh.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “I learned to cook some dishes from YouTube,” she added, tearing the naan with her fingers and dipping it into the sabji, “the revolutionary platform of entertainment and education.”

“Sounds great!”

Bhim returned and interrupted them, “I’m sorry, sir.”Rahul and Elisa looked up at him expectantly. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find a map.”

“You have no map?” asked Rahul in shock. He believed employees of any dhaba would usually keep maps, just like any restaurant or hotel would, especially if it was at a deserted place like this.

“I asked my boss, the proprietor, and he tried to find one but could retrieve none.”

“Are you sure?” asked Elisa before Rahul could say something, using a smooth flirty voice, a broad smile on her face.

“I’m sure, ma’am,” said Bhim, his tone slightly changed. It was as if Elisa’s voice melted his heart somewhat and made him feel shy.

“Please find one for me,” insisted Elisa, her voice now completely sensual, her smile so damn cute, and her gaze completely alluring as she played with her hair.

All the while, Rahul remained silent. He knew what she was trying to do. She was attempting to lure the waiter to do her bidding.

Bhim’s lips quivered and he looked down at the floor, not able to manage to look at Elisa anymore, perhaps finding it hard to release his words. Anyone could have fallen for her. Even as her boyfriend, Rahulhad to stop himself from kissing her at that moment.

“I-I’m so-sorry, ma’am,” he stuttered in hesitancy. “We really don’t have any map.”

Elisa looked at Rahul, chewing her lip.

He sensed her disappointment. “Let me try,” he told her, speaking by moving his lips in a way that didn’t let out any words. It was a common trick he used with Elisa when playing games with their friends or in any situation where they didn’t want another to hear their words.

Rahul shifted his look to Bhim.

“Even if you have one map that you can’t give us to take, please let me look at it,” Rahul asked, suspecting that Bhim might be lying. Perhaps they needed it for themselves. “I’ll take a picture of it on my cell phone and return it to you guys.”

“I’m extremely sorry, sir.”Bhim looked at Rahul with his face dropped, finding himself helpless. “We have no map.”

He walked away before they could continue.

Rahul couldn't eat anymore as he had satisfied his stomach, and Elisa seemed to have finished too, leaving some food on her plate. Perhaps she was also full, or perhaps she was just distressed. They just stared at each other with worry. Neither had an idea how they’d reach Jaisalmer.

For a moment, Rahul thought about going back to Nathdawara the way they came, but he didn’t remember the way. I could have asked that couple. Then, I would at least have map’s picture in my phone.

“Shit!”

“I’m sorry,” Elisa said.

“It’s not you,” said Rahul. He didn’t want to make her upset or cry. “I was just thinking that I should have gone after that couple.”

“We can check if they’re still outside.”

“They left over forty-five minutes ago. I don’t think they’d be outside still.”

“Let’s test our luck!”

Rahul left the dhaba, and Elisa rushed out after him after leaving some rupees on the table, believing it also included some tip for Bhim.

Both stood at the back door and scanned the parking lot, but the couple had already left in their car, the evidence being the stripes on the sand going away toward the asphalt.

 * * *

 The sun was heading back toward its home as the night approached. The Jeep was still racing even after four hours of driving. Miles and miles they went, but only the desert was visible around them. There was not a trace of hope of them reaching their destination. The route seemed to be secluded; not even one car passed them. In the middle of the colossal desert, the Jeep seemed like a rat running around in the middle of nowhere, trying to find something to feed its stomach.

“Where are we?” asked Elisa. “Oh, damn God! I should have been more careful.”

“Hopefully, we will reach Jaisalmer soon, if I have mysteriously caught the correct route.”

“I feel miserable. I’m extremely sorry for my silly error,” said Elisa.

“It could also have been me.” Rahul glanced over at her, and then he fixed his vision back on the road.

When his eyes captured something in the distance, he accelerated in excitement.

The car slowly came to a halt near a timber frame sign board. He lowered the window and read, slightly craning his head out to see: KENDRAA VILLAGE.

He was surprised at finding a village in the desert. He looked at Elisa, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Narrowing her eyes as if she were thinking something deeply before letting the words out of her mouth, Elisa said, “I don’t think I saw this village on the map.”

“Are you sure?” asked Rahul.

Elisa looked at the board, then down, as if she was trying to recall the map on her knees.  “Yes. I’m pretty sure this village wasn’t on the map.”

“If that’s the case,” said Rahul, “it maybe an abandoned village, so we might not find help. But there’s a better chance to try there than wait for someone on the open road.” He looked at the dashboard and his eyes widened in dismay as he noticed the fuel gauge. “We’re running out of fuel,” he sighed and shook his head.

“We better find someone here!” said Elisa, her voice full of concern.

Rahul looked up at her, then out at the colossal dry landscape. They were in the middle of nowhere, where human essentials could be barely found.

He exited the car, and Elisa followed after him.

“I hope we find kind people here,” said Rahul, standing with Elisa at the edge of the asphalt, trying to get a clear look of the place. Their eyes were fixed in the distance, about a thousand feet away, where the hundreds of small triangle-shaped huts stood peacefully.

“That’s so negative, Rahul. Can’t you think we will find kind people?” she asked. “Be positive, honey.” She stroked his hair, but his worried gaze was shifting around, careful of any danger.

“My grandma used to tell me to stay alert, especially when you accidentally find yourself somewhere where you shouldn’t be,” he said. He instinctually took out his cell phone from his jeans pocket. As he did so, he accidentally pulled out a locket along with it. It fell onto his shoes.

Elisa bent down and picked it up. She ran her fingers over the pendant. It was made of diamonds. “Wow! So beautiful.” She gazed at him and asked, “Where did you get it from? And when?”

“It’s a long story,” said Rahul. “I’ll tell you another day.”

“No. Please tell me now. We have nothing to do here.”

“All right,” said Rahul. “In brief, my grandma gave me this locket to keep me protected from negative energies like ghosts and spirits.”

Elisa hummed. “My boyfriend needs protection from things that don’t exist,” she chuckled.

“It’s not funny!” defended Rahul, unlocking his cell phone.

“Whatever!”

In every place Rahul had visited in Rajasthan in the past two days eating pizzas and sandwiches, he had seen people raising their cell phone in the air to catch signal, and it seemed to work for some of them. And so, Rahul decided to give it a try.

“What’re you doing?”

“Trying to catch the network,” he replied, “to call the police for help.”

“Seems like you now want to become a complete Indian,” she chuckled, looking at him as he struggled to extend his hand high enough.

After a few seconds, Rahul frowned. Still no signal.

“Stop stressing, honey,” said Elisa. “We’re wanderers. Let’s explore this place, and we’ll find someone to help us. At the same time, you can take photographs for our Instagram account, and I’ll shoot a video for my YouTube channel.”

“We don’t know whether this place is safe or not. I hate haunted and strange places. I only visited Bhangarh Fort yesterday because you wanted to,” said Rahul. Suddenly, his eyes fixed on the locket in Elisa’s hands. “Give me that, please.”

“No. I’m throwing it away,” mocked Elisa.

“Please don’t tease me, babe,” said Rahul. “Please give it to me. I don’t want to lose it and then go crazy; feeling like a ghost will haunt me.”

“Don’t cry, my baby boy,” said Elisa, laughing. “Here it is,” she said, extending her arm.

Rahul took the locket from her hand, and as he was putting it back into his pocket, an orotund voice came from behind, “Do you need help?”

Both spun around to see an old man standing right in front of them. He was wearing a black cloak and holding a long wooden stick as if it were a cane; the right side of his face was burned, and he was suffering from camptocormia—a medical term that Rahul knew, thanks to one of his good friends who was a doctor. Every time, he spoke to this friend, Rahul learned a new medical word, one of which was camptocormia: a bent spine.

Looking directly into Rahul’s eyes and then shifting his look to Elisa, the man said once more, “Do you need help?”

Elisa grasped Rahul’s hand; her gaze fixed on the man. Rahul’s lips quivered as he tried to speak. The stranger’s sudden appearance and his strange appearance had troubled him for a moment.

However, suppressing his feelings, Rahul finally asked, “Who are you?”

The man kept his blank stare locked on his. Elisa tightened her hold on Rahul’s hand.

The man’s silence somewhat bothered him, and before the man could introduce himself, Elisa whispered, “Why on earth did we have to encounter this creepy guy?”

Panicked thoughts were rushing through Rahul’s head. Is he a bandit? Is he here to loot us and kill us?

Rahul and Elisa stared at each other, and Elisa edged back, trying to hide behind him, believing Rahul could protect her. Rahul remained standing in place, looking out the corner of his eyes to verify whether any more people, partners of this man, were standing around them, blocking their way of escape. When he saw no one, he focused on the man and waited for his reply, trying to suppress his fright.

Elisa remained half visible behind Rahul, her worried eyes also fixed on the man, her fear escalating.

“Pardon me if I scared you,” said the man, observing the expressions on their faces. “I didn’t mean to.”

Rahul and Elisa stayed quiet and continued listening.

“I’m Dansh,” said the man after a short pause. “It seems like you lost the path.”Dansh smiled. “I know I look a little creepy because of my burned face. That is what bothers you and many other people, I can understand. My look generates a ball of fear inside other people.”

Rahul and Elisa glanced at each other.

“Trust me, sir,” said Dansh. “I have met many like you. Lost wanderers. And you don’t have to worry about anything. I’m a guide here. I could help you explore this place if you want, or I could show you a path back to the city.”

Elisa ceased her grip on Rahul’s hand. It was although, inexplicably, she suddenly felt light and free. I can’t judge him just because of his face, she thought.Now that she had heard something sweet from Dansh, something that could help them reach their destination, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

“I’m sorry,” said Elisa. “We didn’t mean to insult you. We just weren’t expecting anyone else to here. I believe there is a tragic history behind your scars.”

Dansh nodded. “It happened when I was a kid.”

“My commiseration is with you.” Elisa pursed her lips.

Rahul still was looking at Dansh suspiciously. His grandma used to tell him ‘Trust everyone, but not blindly’. However, Rahul felt that he had a valid reason to not trust Dansh: he was a stranger, a stranger with a harrowing physique and a burned face, just like how the horror movies presented villains. And as you often learn in movies, it was often the kind, helpful person you later found out was the villain. “Do you want to explore the place, Rahul?” asked Elisa.

Rahul glanced at her and then fixed his gaze on Dansh. Then, with no agitation in his spirited voice, he said, “It will be great if you just show us the way back to the city.”

“I know I can’t force you to explore the village,” said Dansh. “But it will be my pleasure if you do so.” He paused for a moment. “I will accept whatever you will give me in payment.”

“Please give a moment while we decide, sir?” Elisa said as she took Rahul aside near the car. “Tell me the truth,” she said, looking at his face. Rahul was looking at the huts in the distance. “You think he’s a sinner?”

Rahul locked his eyes with hers. After a short pause, he sighed and peeked at Dansh. Then, as if he had mastery in reading people, he said, “He’s a crook. I can bet.”

Elisa peeked at Dansh, who was also looking away at the desert in the distance. “No doubt he looks scary because of his appearance. I was also scared. But we can’t judge him by his looks. He’s an aged person. He’s trying to earn some money, showing his village to the lost travelers.” She waited for Rahul’s reaction, but he stayed quiet. “Please. Let’s explore the place.” When she tried to take Rahul’s hand, he let her take it, and she folded her fingers over his. “For me. Please.”

Rahul continued looking at her. He knew they had little choice but to accept his help. They were lost; it was getting late, and they had no idea where to go. After a brief pause, he sighed. “All right. Just for you.”

Elisa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Rahul smiled, looking at her contented face. Then he shifted his gazebo Dansh. His smile disappeared. “I don’t think I can trust this guy, though.”

“I believe you will learn to!” said Elisa. She turned and stepped back toward Dansh, grinning. “We would like to explore the village with you, please.”

A broad smile appeared on Dansh’s face. “It’s my pleasure. I will also arrange a place for you to stay for the night.”

“Wait,” said Rahul. “We could give you only 5000 rupees for tonight. We’ll leave tomorrow early morning.”

“That’s fine,” said Dansh as he extended his hand. Rahul took out the money from his wallet and handed it over.

Dansh securely put the money in his cloak’s pocket. Then he walked ahead of them. “Let’s go,” he said, his gaze fixed on the sand.

Elisa and Rahul followed as he continued to walk toward the village, Elisa’s thoughts filled with enthusiasm at how she could create a vlog on this place, and Rahul’s with concern and doubts about Dansh.

I hope he’s not a sinner, butchering people as you see in some horror films.

I hope he’s not a wizard performing dark magic to sacrifice people to bring something to life.

Whatever it is, I just hope we at least get a chance to escape.

About the Author:

Jaydeep Shah is an avid traveler and a multi-genre author. As a bachelor’s degree holder in Creative Writing, he aims to entertain as many as people he can with his stories. He is best known for Tribulation, the first book in the “Cops Planet” series.

In addition to those books, The Shape-Shifting Serpents’ Choice, Jaydeep’s first young adult flash fiction written under his pen name, JD Shah, is published online by Scarlet Leaf Review in the July 2019 issue. Currently, he’s endeavoring to write a debut young adult fantasy novel while working on a sequel to his first apocalyptic thriller, Havoc.

When Shah is not writing, he reads books, tries new restaurants, and goes on adventures.

Website:

www.jaydeepshah.com

Instagram:

www.instagram.com/imjaydeepshah  

Facebook:

www.facebook.com/imjaydeepshah

Twitter:

www.twitter.com/imjaydeepshah

Pinterest:

www.pinterest.com/imjaydeepshah

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[meeps-madness]

Just imagine...

The beautiful holy trio of hair and clothing stylist connoisseur and esthetician god, Francis.

He can dress you, bring life to your hair, and make your skin glow like the heaven gates. Absolutely. He's the mom friend that looks at how you're taking care of yourself; just to click his tongue at you for the lack thereof. Only to take you on a shopping spree for health essentials for hair and skin right after. Also, reminding you constantly afterward to wash your face properly and drink enough water daily. Or how he praises you for taking his advice and feels all proud of himself. Throwing compliments left and right.

Obviously, I have to imagine a scenario where he visits Arthur, just to look at him with disappointment and disgusts. The unusual monotone to his voice as he comments 'dull and dry' while looking at Arthur. The sudden jolt of irritation and offense from Arthur as he questions his remark. Francis only waves it off for now, only for when their next visit with one another comes around. Francis hands him a gift bag filled with creams and serums to rejuvenate Arthur's skin. A sudden dilemma for Arthur to decide on thanking him for the gift in itself, as it's what you should do or if he should dislocate Francis's jaw for the obvious offense. Most likely going with the latter first and the former second.

#just wanna see esthetician Francis #whether its in a human au or him as a nation #doesnt matter #his eye for beauty and health care plus his cheeky remarks #love the thought #hetalia #hws france #hws england #aph france #aph england

[sunboki]

— ENDLESS WINTER. TEASER a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. Beast! au, Mage! au, enemies to lovers (she wants to kill him), marriage au, angst

WARNINGS. violence, kidnapping, mention of a past war, descriptions of murder, reader is injured, hyunjin is a bit of a pain, hinted minsung (hehe), blood, kissing (dubcon), cursing

WORD COUNT. estimated around 12k

AUG'S NOTES. me and my inner thoughts… as a fic 😭 i cannot believe this is my longest writing yet!!! hopefully you enjoy!

SYNOPSIS. As heiress of the Magus, otherwise, Mage Clan, you find your position ripped from your fingertips when the Beast Clan conducts a raid. Left the only survivor, you make it your priory to stay alive in a ravaged Kingdom. That is, before you’re captured.

alternatively :

Starvation becomes the least of your problems when you meet King Bahng.

Hiding in the kitchen’s cupboard was definitely not your intention.

Neither was the Kingdom getting raided by the Beast Clan or being the (presumably) lone survivor in the castle, but fate would have its way, whether you liked it or not — this one just a bit more severe than usual.

Your mother once told you of the Beast Clan, of their ferocity and inability to handle things diplomatically. In her opinion, Beast were barely able to be considered Human.

Well, these words came after the Mage-Beast War; a grueling, disgustingly brutal dispute that caused what was referred to as the “Endless Winter”, a curse put upon the nation by a Magus overseer bidding every day of every year with, well, “endless winter”.

She told you how the ground used to be a wondrous green. Soft beneath your fingertips like feathers. Now, blankets of snow stretched as far as the eye could see, killing off any remaining expanse of foliage.

Although years had passed since then, your Kingdom was still recovering, still navigating importing routes in order to supply necessary goods.

Yet, everything was rapidly adapting, whether that was the snow-shoe rabbits roaming your vast tundra or the unexpected growth of fur on the bottom of the horse’s hooves.

Growing, learning.

Magus, though a lineage of magic practitioners, had begun to dull over the centuries. There was no need to learn with peace eminent, and the more aged those wielding supernatural abilities became, the less said abilities progressed into your generations.

However, Magus is the hearth of your Kingdom, and for as long as you live, the title shall reign supreme.

A title that, used by enemies and allies alike, had modernized from its ancient form Magus, to Mage.

Dinner held in the customary hall began that night, seat upon seat homing each member of the family adorned in their extravagant clothing.

Your father occupied the upmost chair, his plate stacked full of greasy lamb and pork bones. You, on the other hand, had had your fill chatting the cook’s ear off, slipping sweet potato wedges here and there as you talked.

Ms. Maewether was her name, a sad soul who carried her love in her cherished dishes. A love reserved for her late husband, a Beast himself, who unfortunately passed in The War.

Back then you asked her questions to the moon, about what they looked like specifically — if they really had eight inch claws like all the other children gossiped, if they could feel.

The last one was important, because everything Ms. Maewether told you you believed without a doubt, and the number one thing she pressed was that Beasts can feel, so very deeply. Just like humans.

The War changed that, and tension rose tenfold, especially as each Kingdom recovered from their countless casualties.

Luckily, your life had been peaceful, having been born young enough you could hardly remember.

Had been peaceful.

A scream from outside redirects the table’s conversation, relatives and siblings alike turning their head to gaze out the window.

Your blood runs cold.

Beasts, left and right, are slaughtering. Their clothing stained in blood that certainly isn’t their own, blades in clutch.

Immediately, panic ensues. People are trampling over each other to get out, disregarding every instinct but to stay alive. It’s chaos.

Dodging flailing bodies, you anchor yourself in a secluded cupboard below the countertops, shrinking as close to the wall as possible.

A few moments after everyone evacuates the Dining Hall do you hear cries. Yelling, gargled sounds. You cringe back imagining, stifling your breathing as much as possible.

Suddenly, a thought comes to mind, a thought that might just be responsible for saving your life.

Smell.

Ms. Maewether warned you a Beast’s smell is like no other, like a dogs. Twenty times as heightened as a persons.

So slowly, silently, you fish your hand into the small bit of darkness in front of you, locating a small bottle of cooking grease you wince upon finding — forcing the awful smelling concoction over your body, masking your scent.

Right after sitting down the container does the door creak open, heavy footsteps belonging to none other than a Beast. You can hear it in their sniffing, the clicking of their claws. Chills scatter your arms.

Another enters as the second door creaks, muttering something incomprehensible to its companion. At this point you’re pressed to the other side of the cupboard, both hands covering your mouth.

Your heart thunders in your chest, beating unbearably loud the longer you huddle.

Walking past where you lie, a Beast stops, body ducking down close enough you can hear its labored panting. You wait, waiting for the door to be flung open and for your death to await.

It doesn’t. And you thank whomever above for the echo of its presence fading away into the distance, barely relaxing against the highly uncomfortable hiding spot.

Instead, a blood curdling screech rips through the atmosphere, comparably close to where you hide. Abruptly, it stops, the thump of a body against the floor making you staunch the nausea building like bile in your throat.

It takes three days for you to finally peer out of the cupboard, the entirety of the Kingdom completely void of a soul.

Taking your first few steps around do you notice a woman, obviously slain by the puddle of blood surrounding her and the putrid stench. Her mouth hangs open—horror-stricken, frozen in place. You vomit in the sink.

For about a week do you roam the murder-house of a castle, finding purchase in a non-blood-bathed room and the many, thought to be endless amount of food.

You won’t leave, simple.

As long as the Beast Clan believes they’ve killed everyone, you’re safe.

That reminder was assuring, until your food supply dropped exponentially and a new problem situated itself on your platter.

Worst case scenario you die of starvation, the likelihood high if you stay here. Solution? Hunting.

Granted, you’re not the most skillful hunter, but you’re also not horrendous with a bow. Except, it’s not your aiming abilities you stress, it’s the chance someone sees you, the enemy sees you.

Four weeks in and you’re left with no other choice than to bundle yourself in layers upon layers of clothing and heed the feeble weaponry available.

Blizzard frost permeates your vision, wobbling steps making your hunger evident the more you roam. A horse would’ve been effortlessly useful, but selling yourself into that fantasy had been futile upon realizing they either took or killed all escapades.

A hare catches your eye, pale fur barely divisible from the terrain below. Carefully, you crouch down, elbow stretching the arrow back as far as possible whilst maintaining a solid grip. Steady. Steady.

Shoot!

The arrow flies, puncturing the animal in its chest enough to where it thankfully doesn’t suffer, flopping over rather pathetically instead.

However, your success is short-lived.

Stalking forward to snatch the creature quickly, a shadow looming overhead halts your footsteps. Behind you.

Before you can think to run, you wind back, meager arrow in hand providing little defense against the attacker.

First thing you take in is how huge they are. At least six feet tall if not taller, brilliantly ruby eyes revealing its true identity.

Beast.

With ease the man has your efforts pinned, curiousity overflowing as the animal looks at you. Yet, he doesn’t look like an animal, and apart from those eyes of his, no other factors would’ve revealed him to you but that.

This Beast has a fox-like face. A younger stature and smaller, slanted features.

“Hyung, what is this?” He asks, lifting your petrified frame like you were the rabbit you’d killed earlier.

His older counterpart glances over, and any hope of getting released plummets upon those wild crimson hues focusing in on you—knowledgeable as to what you were.

The cooking grease had long worn off, and your identity was likely as apparent as can be.

Mage.

Older Beast easily roaming through the snow, his fingers tangle into your hair, drawing out a cry when he jerks his hand up, forcing your gaze to meet his through the searing sting of your scalp. The younger grimaces.

His long, nearly white hair is tied into a ponytail, sharp cheekbones and calculating stare beyond intimidating. Beneath his left eye you note a small, distinct mole.

“One remained, huh.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #straykids x you #straykids x y/n #straykids x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids angst #straykids fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x you #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bangchan angst #bangchan fluff

[schrodingersauthorii]

In honor of Salvage Ch. 18, I have prepared the first chapter of my Phoenix Salvage AU. @muffinlance , there’s one scene that’s 100% an improvement in my overall writing structure I pulled from you, and I bet NOBODY can tell which one it is.

—————————

The young soldier must have somehow heard the blade coming. He didn’t have time to cry out, but the panic stains his face. Not quite the easy death Hakoda wanted, but unavoidable, and still far kinder than leaving him to the sea.

Two years of fighting had left many too-young Fire Nation soldiers dead on this deck, but this was different than a battle. Different even than a mercy kill, back when they thought maybe Fire Nation prisoners would simply accept a fate other than death.

The soldier wouldn’t have left them any choice in the end. But he hadn’t forced their hands. Not yet.

One of the men murmured a prayer, a simple benediction for the journey to the next life. This wasn’t the clean up after a battle, and there might not Fire elders speaking rites for the kid somewhere across the sea. The soldier might only have what they give him, and they're pragmatic people- not cruel.

The Fire Nation burns their dead. That would be kindest, but if they could safely build a pyre, then they could have safely kept a firebending prisoner. The young soldier have a sea burial.

The corpse vetoed this. Violently.

Akake and Tuluk yelped, dropping the suddenly burning body onto the wooden deck.

Fire shouldn’t be green and purple, Hakoda barely had to think, and the fire disappeared. He blinked the sparks out of his eyes, and the deck was as clear. No fire, purple-green or otherwise. Just a vaguely soldier shaped mound of ash.

Hakoda reached down to touch it: barely warm, and not so much as a soot mark beneath it.

Something stirred. Something tiny. Hakoda grabbed it without giving himself time to think about it. Whatever it was squirmed frantically in his hand.

Hakoda looked down, expecting- something. A still beating heart, perhaps. A reptile or worm, at the very least. Something repulsive and macabre. But a tiny, down-feathered bird trembled in his hand. He brushed ash off of soft, orange wings. Even filthy, the fledgling glowed like sunrise.

“It’s a bird,” Hakoda said, dumbfounded.

“A bird,” Tuluk repeated.

The bird cheeped in distress. Hakoda started to pet it, but it nearly fell to the deck in its effort to escape his hand. He quickly cupped it with both hands instead. The bird pecked at his fingers.

The entire deck stared in stunned silence. What were they supposed to do with a bird?

————————

Tolko presented a box hastily stuffed with hay from the albatross-pidgeon coop. Hakoda carefully dropped the chick inside. It burrowed down into the loose “nest,” still cheeping incessantly.

“He’s so cute,” Tolko gasped. “What are we going to do with him?”

Tolko stared at the bird with love already in his eyes. The bird stared back with… suspicion. At the very least.

Hakoda’s temples begun a warning throb.

“Ask Kustaa if he can… find anything,” he finally said.

Tolko cooed at the bird as he walked away.

Hakoda felt a dreadful portent hum in his bones: this would not end well, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

------

“What is that?” Kustaa asked.

“A bird,” Tolko said. And held the chick up to Kustaa’s face, as if not seeing the puffball was the problem.

“Which might also be a Fire Nation soldier. The Chief wants to know if you can find anything.”

“A soldier.”

“Yeah. He was drifting past, we fished him out, but he was. You know. A Fire Nation soldier. And he said he was a firebender. So.”

“So what?”

“He kind of...died. And spontaneously combusted. The bird was in the ashes. See?”

Tolko brushed the bird’s head and held up a sooty finger. The chick couldn’t really floof in anger- it was already at maximum floof- but it gave its best impression of outrage anyway. Tolko hastily placed it on the table before it could tumble out of his hand.

“This is a bird,” Kustaa said. “I’m a healer, not an ornithologist. Or a shaman. All I’m qualified to say whether or not YOU have brain rot.”

“Umm…” Tolko mumbled.

“Any headaches? Blurred vision? Acute pain in your arms or legs? Motor difficulties?” Kustaa asked as he prodded Tolko’s arms.

“No?”

“Then we’ll work with the assumption that Spirits were involved, not Swamp Fever. Hopefully, a minor Spirit.”

Kustaa leaned down in front of the bird.

“Can you understand us: peck two times, then three.”

Low and behold, the bird did… then stared at them and pecked a deliberate pattern of some sort.

“I don’t understand that,” Kustaa said.

A storm of outraged peeping.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Are you a Spirit, one peck for yes, two pecks for no.”

Two pecks, and more outraged peeping.

“...Are you a bird?”

In hindsight, it was incredibly bold of them to assume Zuko knew more than they did about anything.

--------

Tuluk entered Hakoda’s office after a single knock, and Hakoda’s temples immediately resumed pounding.

“Apparently, the bird insists he is the soldier, and NOT a Spirit,” Tuluk said.

Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose. And resolved to make an offering soon. There were stories about shapeshifting Spirits who forgot they weren’t human.

“Keep an eye on him,” Hakoda said. “We’ll head to the nearest port and find an Earth Sage. This is exactly the kind of trouble we don’t need.”

Tuluk nodded grimly.

A thought struck Hakoda. “How did…?”

Tuluk sighed. “Lots of questions. Lots of patience. Kustaa is positively charmed with the little menace.”

“He’s a bird.”

“A mean one,” Tuluk agreed. “But he’s warmed to Kustaa and Tolko, for stars knows why.”

Hakoda didn’t like the idea of a Spirit getting… attached to his crew, but he liked the idea of an upset Spirit on his ship even less.

“Keep an eye on them, please,” Hakoda said.

Tuluk nodded, understanding in his eyes.

“I’ll do my best, but that’s a conversation you need to have with Kustaa and Tolko. Probably the rest of the crew, too.”

Hakoda’s headache sharpened with knife-like intensity. Tuluk eyed him with concern.

“Chief. Nobody will blame you if you need a drink before that. Kustaa’s almost ordered a shipwide medicinal order.”

Hakoda sighed.

“After,” he promised. And didn’t clarify after what.

—————————-

Their youngest crewman tucked the surly creature into his parka, from where it eyed everyone and everything with deep suspicion. Tolko kept up a mostly one-sided commentary, which the soldier-bird seemed surprisingly engaged with.

“Do you know his name?” Punuk asked as Tolko showed the bird their snack break offerings.

“No,” Tolko said through a mouthful of salted fish. “It’s the character for ‘righteous rule,’ but we couldn’t figure out the pronunciation. So Birdie it is.”

“Birdie” cheeped aggressively enough to attract the other crewmen’s attention for the first time in hours. There was still work to be done, and his constant noise quickly faded into the background.

“That’s terrible. How about… Sparky? Ember?”

“Blaze.”

“Inferno.”

“Red.”

“You can’t call him red, he’s pink.”

“He’s definitely more orange than pink.”

“Orange still isn’t red.”

Ragnalok tossed an empty water skin at the pair.

“Stop torturing the poor guy. He already died once today.”

The trio went quiet.

“Way too soon, man,” Panuk said.

Birdie was… worryingly quiet for several hours after that.

-------

Tolko roused in the middle of the night, awakened by a faint stirring of downy feathers and soft cooing. Birdy was awake. Tolko couldn’t see it, but dawn must be on the horizon.

Birds liked dawn. So did firebenders, presumably. It was early, but Tolko wasn’t tired-tired, so…

Tolko scooped Birdy up in one hand and slid out of his hammock. “We’ll go top deck,” he whispered as he tucked Birdy into his collar.

Birdy cheeped in a maybe grumpy, maybe affirmative way. But it was soft, so Tolko didn’t think he was upset. Birdy was very, very good at communicating when he was upset, bird or not.

It still seemed uncharacteristic. And Birdy was slumping on Tolko’s shoulder in a way he hadn’t yesterday.

Tolko scooped Birdy back into his hand, and Birdy just… cheeped quietly. Cheeped once and fell silent.

Okay. It was early: Birdy might just be tired. It was a Thing, that birds got sleepy when it was dark- even if it wasn’t actually night. They’d go topdeck and watch the sunrise, and if Birdie still seemed off he’d come back and wake Kustaa.

Tolko climbed the last stair just as the sun broke free of the horizon. Birdie chirped softly again, and Tolko held him out into the light.

“It’s beautiful,” Tolko said.

And Birdie once again caught fire on the Spirits damned deck.

#avatar the last airbender #fanfic #phoenix salvage

[versadies]

Hey!!! How are you?

Congratulations on your 1k followers

Can I request aries + Kazuha + hc scenario + fluffy...?

Today is the last day of the event, I just saw it today, at least it wasn't after the event ended ;w;

⠀

⠀

I'm thinking about having a nickname to join the anon squad... Maybe 🇧🇷 anon? Your content came to a Brazilian person! Congratulations on your content reaching someone on the other side of the world :)

in the next life (hc scenario, reincarnation au)

penpal: hi hi, i’m doing great ty 🇧🇷 anon!! i’m so happy to know that my content has reached to the other side of the world 🥺🥺 i hope you like this <<3

prompt: aries the ram, red-string soulmate au

pairing/s: kaedehara kazuha x gn!reader

sypnosis: sometimes, happy endings can only happen in another lifetime. (or, hc on how you and kazuha met during the modern era of teyvat)

includes: slight spoilers to inazuma quests (2.0), fluff/slight angsty, reincarnation au, mentions of death, modern au, rushed ending

soulmates has always been one of the things that made teyvat special.

people had all collectively agreed that meeting their soulmate is one of the most treasuring moment, no matter how strange or hilarious the first encounter is like, no one should ever forget the once-in-a-lifetime moment.

with that said, most stories are usually soulmates– specifically how one meets their fated other. historical moments are no exception to this, such as an archon's first ever encounter with their soulmate during an annual rite, a forbidden love between an immortal being and a human, a sweet story of a soldier and a healer during a certain war, and the list goes on.

but where are stories that contains soulmates who had never met one another? or had a tragic fate that gave them no opportunity to get along with their soulmate anymore?

none.

some would say they'll meet in the afterlife, where they can live on in peace as the world goes on. while some would beg to differ and think that the two soulmates are just bound to not meet.

only little would suggest reincarnation.

and you and your beloved soulmate are one of those little people.

but you honestly didn't think that you and kazuha would be the soulmates with a tragic fate.

the both of you had met thanks to the resistance. when beidou decided to introduce kazuha to kokomi, he met you along the way– the right-hand-person of kokomi and his soulmate.

the both of you had instantly clicked when you met, the wide smile the both of you had appeared when you notice each other's red string being connected.

since then, you were inseparable.

on days when your assigned unit didn't need your assistance at the moment, you usually use those times to hung out with the samurai, often talking about each other's adventures and experiences with the best you can.

it was those days when you incredibly cherished the moments, making sure to remember every second of those moments you had with him before going on battles against kujou sara and her soldiers.

unfortunately for the both of you, the memories that you oh-so cherished would be the last one you'll ever make.

"see you in the next life... kaedehara kazuha," you whispered, staring at the samurai as the both of you lie down on the cold ground with soldiers fighting around the both of you, blood gushing out from your mouth. "whether it'd be in the next life or another, may celestia let us have another chance."

you watched as kazuha smiled lightly, his hand shakily trying to reach out to yours until he intertwines it together. "till we meet again, y/n."

as the war between the resistance and the raiden shogun continued, you and kazuha let out your one last breath before passing away.

much to you and kazuha's hopes, the war against the vision hunt decree won victoriously, with the raiden shogun lifting up the decree and brought inazuma back to its usual peaceful life before the decree.

of course, the resistance alongside the traveler paid respects to you and kazuha's passing, telling you that you and kazuha can rest now that they won.

as centuries flew by, teyvat had a major change among the nations. in this particular century, archons and visions had long been forgotten, with technology around the world being more advanced than before. as for soulmates? they still exist fortunately.

then there's you, a person who found joy in traveling around the world and tell the world about it. at least, that's what people think.

to you, you simply wanted to travel around teyvat to find a person named kaedehara kazuha.

recently, you started getting dreams of a man who goes by kaedehara kazuha. some were usually romantic that it gave you butterflies, some were conversations that you sometimes would forget, and of course, the dreams that often haunt you.

most dreams of yours were always lying down beside the man– who was bleeding to death. was this a sign of him dying? what is the purpose of these dreams?

you didn't know why this was happening to you. are you slowly going insane? or were you just overreacting?

whatever it was, you knew that deep down that it has something to do with your soulmate.

you went high and low around each nation you visited, often asking certain people if they've know a man named kaedehara kazuha, only to receive no useful information that could help you.

of course, your only source that could help you find him is the red string that connects you and your soulmate, following the direction it led you with hopes of it twitching as a sign that you're near.

unfortunately, none of the nations you've visited had no signs of who you're looking for.

your last stop is inazuma, a nation that's infamous for having beautiful firework shows and tourist spots. there's not a single place that isn't worth taking pictures of.

the moment you arrived to the nation using a boat,l you came across to a woman whose name is beidou.

"i don't know a man whose name has a kaedehara, but i have a son who coincidentally has the same name as kazuha!" she exclaims with a grin. "i don't think he's the one you're looking for though, i've never seen him hung out with someone like you or anyone else who isn't gorou."

you smile lightly at the woman, trying to not look disappointed. "i see.. thank you again, miss beidou."

she quickly waved you off. "good luck in finding the man you're looking for!"

the moment you immediately checked in ritou, you started exploring around the nation with no plans of stopping, hoping to see at least one person who looks like the man in your dreams or has their red string connected to your finger.

unfortunately, every area you've visited in the land, you still haven't found the end of the string, your hopes slowly dying down as time flew by.

you decided to explore more the next day, deciding to go back to inazuma city and have dinner in one of their infamous restaurants.

as you sat down on one of the stools while waiting for kanbei to cook your meals, you let out a disappointed sigh. if you couldn't find your soulmate anywhere, where could he be?

what if kaedehara kazuha doesn't exist at all? what if he died before you could even meet him and find out what's going on with your dreams?

you let out another sigh, rubbing the back of your neck in frustration. you hoped all of this wasn't a waste of your time. you honestly don't know what to do if you won't be able to find him at all, let alone what happens after you meet him.

unnoticed by you, your red string started twitching nonstop. a man suddenly enters the place, sitting down one seat away from where you are.

"rough day, kazuha?" kanbei asked, not bothering to look away from the pot as he continues to focus on cooking your meal.

"not exactly. i found a perfect spot to write haiku." the man, kazuha, replied.

as kazuha and kanbei continued conversing, you couldn't help but find yourself slowly drifting to sleep, now feeling the exhaustion from your exploration around the nation.

before you could completely pass out on the counter, you immediately woke up from the delicious smell of your meal, looking up to see the chef being finished with your meal already. perhaps the reviews weren't lying when they said this restaurant is fast with services.

you quietly thanked the chef when he placed the meal down in front of you, feeling your mouth watering at the sight of the delicious meal before digging up, still not noticing the red string twitching nonstop due to your focus on filling your hunger.

"thank you again, kanbei." kazuha speaks up as he grabs the packaged food from the chef's hands and hands over the payment.

"always happy to serve, kazuha. see ya tomorrow." kanbei said, watching as the man walks away from the restaurant.

out of curiosity, you glance at who you assume is beidou's son, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the same man that you've been seeing in your dreams–

along with his red string connecting to yours.

without thinking, you immediately jumped down from your stool, staring at kazuha, who already walked out from the diner without a glance of your direction. "i'll be back and continue eating my meal. apologies for my rudeness!" you exclaim before running towards kazuha's direction without letting a single word come out from kanbei, who was confused at your words.

"kazuha!" you yelled, hoping kazuha would hear your voice despite the sounds of cars and people being loud around the both of you.

you tried to call for the man again, only for you to get frustrated when he still hadn't heard a word from you. was he wearing earphones?!

you immediately look down at your string and back at kazuha, hesitating for a moment before shaking the string aggresively. please, please, please look back! please look like you're him–

you sigh in relief when he finally noticed his string shaking, causing him to stop his trakcs and look behind him to see you running towards him like your life depends on it.

his eyes widens at the sight of you running towards him, your face was all too familiar for him to remember. it can't be, you only existed in his dreams!

the both of you suddenly remember certain memories the both of you didn't even knew you had. memories of which the both of you used to be in. memories of the both of you walking around the infamous serpent head as soldiers trained with all their might for the upcoming war, memories of the both of you watching the stars and wish for the resistance to win victoriously, memories of your past life that you and kazuha had forgotten.

that was enough for kazuha to run towards you as well, his arms suddenly spreading wide open for you to clashed into, dropping his food without a care.

the moment you and kazuha finally had gotten closer, you tackled the man into a hug as tears prickled in your eyes, ignoring the questionable stares the both of you received from people passing by.

"i found you." you whispered, closing your eyes shut as you let out a sound of relief. "after so.. so many months, i finally found you."

kazuha hugs you back, pulling you closer to his body as he sighs in relief. now that there's no more wars or something to run away from, the both of you can start anew and live the life the both of you had wanted back then.

"i missed you."

#kaedehara kazuha x y/n #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha genshin impact #kaedehara kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kaedehara #kazuha kaedehara x reader #kaedehara x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin kazuha x reader #genshin x reader soulmate au #genshin x reader fluff #genshin x reader hcs #kazuha soulmate au #genshin soulmate au #genshin impact x you #genshin impact soulmate au #soulmate au #genshin impact fluff #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x gender neutral reader #kazuha kaedehara #kazuha hcs

[klixxy]

Genshin Fic Recs

so... i ventured into the vast world of Google looking for some good GI fic recs... only to find such a pitiful amount that i was promptly devastated. therefore, the solution is to make my own! :D

keep in mind most of these will be ChiLi or XingYun, and yes, i will try not to include smut unless it was one i really really liked. if anyone wants a separate list for just smut (though that will most likely be shorter) i can try to make one later.`

ft. my bookmark comments :)

CHILI

wrapped up in pure gold by beyondwinter

(chili; accidental marriage; chili/childe-centric; 22k words; ongoing)

"Do you understand its meaning, Childe?" He finally asks. There's a hard glint in his eyes, like he's trying to steel himself for his answer.

"Yeah." Loyalty and devotion, right? Between business partners? "I do. It's traditional, isn't it?"

Zhongli's eyes glow a warm amber in the near darkness, reflecting the soft shine of the lanterns. He studies his face with a strange intensity, as though Childe were a piece of high quality Nocticulous Jade being sold for suspiciously small sum and he's trying to find the blemishes that would explain the price. The weight of his gaze should be uncomfortable, boring into him like he can see into the very depths of his abyss-tainted soul, but Childe finds himself preening under the attention instead.

Childe accidentally proposes to Zhongli. Zhongli accepts.

The World is Water by Millereflets

(chili; smut; hurt/comfort; chili-centric; 7k words; oneshot)

Childe doesn't visit Zhongli until it's almost too late.

(my bookmarks: HOW DO YOU MAKE A SMUT SCENE SO POETIC HOLY SHITTTTT)

Set in Stone by seredemia

(chili; fake dating au; angst; some smut?; chili/chiilde-centric; 55k words; ongoing)

What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you're not only dating each other, but that you're also engaged?

In Childe's case, the answer is plain and simple: he goes along with it, of course. Absolutely nothing can go wrong if he makes a contract with the God of Contracts, vowing that the two of them will pretend to be lovers for the duration of his family's stay in Liyue. Afterwards, they'll return as normal and speak no more of this mess. No feelings or complications involved whatsoever.

Contract accepted. A fool-proof plan set in stone. Right?

Private Ledger of the Eleventh Harbinger by JuHuaTai

(chili; humor; getting together; chili/ekaterina-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

“So guess what I did next?”

Ekaterina contemplated not answering, but Harbinger Tartaglia was just… grinning and waiting. It’s honestly rather creepy the longer time passed.

In the end, she gave a long suffering sigh that seems lost on him, “You bought him the Erhu—“

“I bought him the antique, cor lapis based Erhu,”

-

When she first left her homeland for the unknown nation of Liyue, Ekaterina was ready to be many things: To be a soldier, to fell Tsaritsa’s enemies in her name, to bring glory to Snezhnaya and her leader.

Being a receptionist in a cozy bank wasn’t so bad in comparison, but she absolutely can do without the front row seat to Harbinger Tartaglia’s (expensive) love life.

i know i'm where i'm meant to go by paperclips (pastel_paperclips)

(chili; humor; fluff; chili-centric; 12k words; ongoing)

"Childe," Zhongli says suddenly. "I am enjoying myself greatly." Childe’s face breaks into a grin. "Then-" Zhongli gasps, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over to an unsuspecting peddler with a cart full of rocks. "Is that an intrusive igneous pegmatite formed in the Inazuma regions?" Childe’s grin smooths into a small, adoring smile. He has all the time in the world to figure the other man out.

OR: Finding the Geo Archon is on Childe's to-do list but hanging out with Zhongli is significantly more fun.

CHILIVEN

Crumbling Stone by avtorSola

(chiliven; ANGST; PAIN; mind control; zhongli-centric; 74k words; ongoing)

When Morax unleashes his plan to test the Liyue Qixing and his adepti, he does not take into account the stirring of the Abyss Order in the north and the corruption of Dvalin - for why would he fear an organization that works in such shadows? He is secure in his power, after all, unlike his flighty ex, the absentee archon of Mondstadt who rises only when his people are in danger.

But, somehow, the Abyss Order discovers his plan. Somehow, they capitalize on it. And he, the God of Stone who cannot sicken, is struck down - taken by an order bent on destroying all of humanity as Liyue crumbles around him. For even Archons aren't immune to Durin's blood, and Morax is no exception. But then the question becomes - if even Archons may fall to the agony of this corrupting burn - how is their traveling friend Aether immune?

The answer comes from beyond the stars - an ancient malice that knows no kindness or mercy. A malice whose legacy the Abyss Order now bears, seeking to topple all the Archons and their people into the void of utter destruction. And they have begun in Liyue.

Fortunately, it takes a long time to erode stone.

(my bookmarks: IM SCREAMING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

PLATONIC ZHONGVEN

left-behind city by trixstar

(platonic zhongven; angst; ANGST; venti-centric; 1k words; oneshot)

"An associate of mine has just informed me that Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon has been assassinated."

Venti blinks.

Or: Venti and how he copes with finding out he is all that remains.

i circle ten thousand years long; and i still do not know if i am a falcon, a storm, or an unfinished song by birdsofpassage

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 4k words; oneshot)

Venti and Zhongli, and the vignettes of a much-needed vacation around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: ; - ;      ;  -  ; )

oh ye with little faith by air_fried_air

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

Two former archons do a little tour around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: why are all genshin angst fics so melancholy.... i feel so empty)

the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma

(platonic zhongven; humor; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 21k words; finished)

Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth.

(my bookmarks: venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship-)

XINGYUN

the art of exorcism by Agried

(xingyun; ghost au; hurt/comfort; chongyun-centric; 9k words; oneshot)

On the road back from one of his jobs, Chongyun runs into Xingqiu, the wandering swordsman. And then they keep meeting, over and over again. or, alternately; how a ghost and an exorcist learn how to love, one step at a time.

Bane of All Evil by tzitzimeme

(xingyun; humor; romance; chongyun-centric; 24k words; hiatus)

When Chongyun unintentionally offends Liyue's second most powerful adepti, he vows to mend the thorny relationship between Adeptus Xiao and human exorcists-- even though no one has succeeded in currying Xiao's favor for over a thousand years.

His best friend Xingqiu offers to come alone, mainly because he's worried about what kind of trouble Chongyun will run into. Along the way, they receive help from others: Xiangling packs them meals for their journeys, while Zhongli gives them advice on what demons to track.

Childe is just there because he thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

[On indefinite hiatus due to burnout; sorry!]

kiss me slowly (so i don't forget) by xiwangmu

(xingyun; humor; romance; light angst; xingqiu-centric; 8k words; oneshot)

Wangshu Inn Bulletin Board

Guest Message: My best friend whom I harbor affections for kissed me last night, but due to his special condition he does not recall a single moment of it. I am quite conflicted about whether to disclose these events to him or not, because that would most certainly require me to confess my feelings as well. If anyone has experience in romancing boys with excessive positive energy, this one humbly asks you to share some advice.

Reply: Our greatest apologies—although we would like to offer some words in response, we simply cannot decipher your handwriting. Perhaps you may return with a neater message next time?

time trials by idlestars

(xingyun/many ships; humor; modern au; xingyun-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

A modern social media AU.

Xingqiu Teases Demons. Chongyun Almost Cries. [The clip shows Xingqiu, lit by the sickly green of night vision, as he stares bored into a dark room. He’s alone - Chongyun left to see if Xingqiu could lure out the ghosts. Xingqiu glances at the camera, smirks, and then opens his mouth.

“Hey demons, it’s me, yah boy.”]

OTHER/GEN

woe be the wallet of the god of wealth by glassdrachma

(gen; humor; identity reveal; keqing/zhongli-centric; 12k words; finished)

Or, the story of how the Yuheng of the Qixing came to idolize, befriend, and discover the identity of the God of Geo, in that order.

(personal comments: hilarious, made me burst out into laughter multiple times, and was just a masterful piece of writing)

to dream of dust by miao_x

(guili/gen; ANGST; hurt/no comfort; zhongli-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

Some nights, Zhongli dreams.

He dreams of soft light, golden song, and a gentle breeze whispering tales of millennia past. It is warm, familiar, and comforting.

It feels like home.

And then he opens his eyes, and awakes to reality.

(my bookmarks: oh zhongli... made me cry)

To drown in your own tears by C_rin_nyan

(guili/gen; ANGST; TEARS; PAIN; zhongli-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

As Rex Lapis, he had never shed a tear, even as he slaughtered hundreds, destruction following his every step. As Zhongli, he had shed much more than he would like to admit, however.

Or, “Zhongli’s soul gave its last scream long ago, yet even now, the echo of said sound was still strong enough to reach Rex Lapis.”

#fic rec #fic recs #fanfic #fanfic recs #genshin #genshin impact #ao3 #chili #tartali #zhongchi #xingyun #childe #zhongli #xingqiu #chongyun #venti #zhongven #guili #guizhong #angst

[mostly-mundane-atla]

How would the Ursa Adopts the Freedom Fighters AU change the Crossroads of Destiny? Does Zuko still choose to help Azula? In this AU, does Ursa retain her memories? I'm assuming so if her face is still the same, but also, think of the extra Angst Potential if she somehow doesn't remember! Zuko has to watch Ursa be mom to some other angry teenage boy while treating him as a stranger. And Azula!! I don't think she's in a place where she'd be willing to betray Ozai completely but maybe with her mother's influence she could be persuaded to look the other way and let them all go??

This is one of the AUs I leave in like, a nebulous state rather than having everything set in stone, but there are a few basic things that will always be the same

In any of these "Ursa interacts with the original series' main timeline" AUs, the idea is that the idea of what could happen to the kids if she was found out scares her more than whether they'll be okay without her. Sometimes Ikem is there, sometimes he isn't, whatever the case she ends up in Earth Kingdom territory instead of going to the Mother of Faces.

In AUs where Ursa and Jet interract especially, she constantly has Zuko and Azula on her mind, and one of the reasons she bonds with Jet so easily and wants to be there for him is because she has a boy his age and worries about him all the time.

Ursa has never disclosed to the Freedom Fighters that she is of Fire Nation origin at all, let alone that she was married to the current Firelord. As far as any of them know, she's just a refugee who was separated from her kids.

I think Ursa might have trouble recognizing Zuko at first just because it's been so long and he's changed so much from what she remembers. The scar would be the hardest thing to come to terms with. Ozai lied to her after all and she should have seen it coming but... he was his son too. How could he?

I'm not sure the effect she'd have on Zuko and Azula, other than throwing fat on the fire so to speak. Zuko is already so confused at this point about where he's going and who he's supposed to be. He loves his mother, but at the same time how could he ask her to understand? She disappeared into the night years ago and he finds her dressed in rags and caring for dirt poor war orphans from enemy lands. More than that she treats them as she would her own family. Doesn't she know this kind of life is supposed to be beneath them? How can she embrace being so undignified? What does he do with the hurt look in her eye when he tells her this, and her quiet confession that she was so miserable with his father and her "dignified" life in the palace? How is he supposed to feel when she says she'd wished she could have given this humbler life to him and his sister for all its warmth and mercy?

And Azula, where to even begin? Azula, who distanced herself from her mother so her father would love her more? Azula, who convinced herself that her mother feared her, didn't even consider her human but rather a monster? Azula, whose breaking point involves imagining or even perhaps remembering her mother saying "no, Azula, I love you"? How does she hear of her mother, alive and well, without feeling abandoned? Without the bitterness of a child who only seems to remember being told she wasn't kind or soft enough? Whose sense of superiority came from being more like her father? How does she not see this as a trick meant to weaken her? Does she double down in an attempt to seem more under control? Does she act like it doesn't faze her? How badly does she fail this, having brought her childhood friends to be her closest allies?

It's so much to think about

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla au #fire nation royal family #response #hoo boy there's a lot

[grub-xd]

The Cryptid Specter of Amity Park

Summary:

AU where the Ghost Zone and Human World are not dependent on each other.

In a tragic alternate future, the Ghost Zone is destroyed. Phantom is alone and suffers the fate of being forgotten and fading into myth. He remains in Amity after the events of the Ghost Zone but gains a new reputation.

Drawing included (at the bottom of the fic). 

Link: AO3

Amity Park, once a smaller city, had grown to become one of the leading energy fuel exporters of the 21st century. During the late 2020s, the nations of the world had to come together to find a new way to generate electricity, as fossil fuels became scarcer and made the climate crisis worse, most of these nations invested into green energy. The town of Amity Park had decided to investigate whether it could harness a different type of green energy, ectoplasm, as a solution to these crises. By 2035, the Fentons, in collaboration with Axiom labs, discovered a way to harness ectoplasm and convert it into electricity. It provided the cleanest energy along with the highest energy yield output than any other fuel source, and the mines were relatively inexpensive to establish. With this success, many nations began investing in their own ectoplasm mines with makeshift portals using Amity Park's technology, while phasing out most other sources of fuel due to its incredible abundance and efficiency, but there was a hidden cost.

By the mid 2050s, most of the world's nations were mining their own ectoplasm from the Ghost Zone. At first, this wasn't a problem. Both humans and ghosts thought the supply was infinite, or would at least regenerate at a rate high enough to never cause an issue. Unfortunately, by the time ghosts started noticing that there were negative impacts from the mines extracting too much ectoplasm in the 2080s, humans were dependent on ectoplasm for energy to continue life, just as they had been dependent on fossil fuels.

Efforts to end ectoplasm mining failed. The detrimental effects of the lack of ectoplasm became evident in the 2090s and by the first decade of the 22nd century, ghosts who depended on the abundance of ectoplasm in the Ghost Zone to maintain their existence had faded. Ghosts who had been stronger in the Ghost Zone than on Earth no longer were, and the rebound effects from the scarcity of ectoplasm made the Infinite Realms hostile. It was no longer worth it. Those who had not fallen to the increasingly hostile environment of the Ghost Zone eventually left, in search of a place to settle on Earth. Many found their own niche places, but no ghost societies ever recovered. Most who fled simply remained as lone individuals, searching for a place to belong and fulfill their obsessions. The Observants disbanded. Clockwork faded from his form, though still maintained a somewhat ethereal presence. The monarchy collapsed. The Ghost Zone was a shell of its former self.

As king, Phantom stayed as long as he could, but even he was forced out too. Amity Park may have been the source of all of this mining and his family had a hand in his home's destruction, but this place still meant something to him. This was what he knew. The people he loved and cared for once lived here. All he has left of them now are in his memory. He didn't want to leave where these memories had been made, so he stayed. Phantom would wander about the town, observing all that had changed. His parent's house, Casper High, downtown, the Nasty Burger, the forest, among other things.

Centuries passed. Humanity was able to use older sources of energy to supply themselves before all the ectoplasm ran out. When it did, most ghosts on Earth had faded. Phantom remained for some reason. He never found Vlad nor Ellie. He's not sure if they are still around anymore. He's looked ever since he left the Ghost Zone but never turned up with anything. Hope of ever finding them left Phantom too. During the passing of that time, Phantom faded from the legend he was in Amity Park into myth. His story about defeating Pariah Dark and saving the town were forgotten. Records that showed his good (and bad) deeds, old newspapers and such, were lost to history.

As with many myths, the kids of the future Amity Park would grow interested in the myth surrounding Phantom. He had earned the name "The Cryptid Specter," as no one could ever get a true look at him before he would notice them and suddenly fade himself out of sight. Most never chased the lost legend. Some kids however would occasionally hear about this myth and attempt to find him. Most of the rumors suggested that he could be found near a specific spot in Amity Park's forest, near its edge where it meets the plain, at night, when the stars were at their fullest.

At that spot, Danny, that was my old name, right? he would think to himself, would hover and gaze at the stars, wondering why he had to be alone and pondering how he could have saved the Ghost Zone from the fate it had suffered. This spot didn't have much meaning to him per say, but it was peaceful and it could bring him a sense of calm that he could find nowhere else. It gave him the strength to just be able to consider these questions.

Why? Why must I travel eternity alone? It's been how many years? 300? Or was it 600? Time blends together more as more of it passes. It's funny, despite forgetting my own name, I can remember Sam and Tucker, Jazz, Clockwork, Vlad, my Parents... heck, I even Mr. Lancer! I guess that shows where my focus was, with others, more often than even my own self. He can't handle it; he breaks and falls to the ground, near a rock.

Finally vocalizing his pain, accompanied by his tears, "I blew it! I really blew it! I failed to protect the Ghost Zone and all of those ghosts. I wish I could have done something different! Something that would have prevented all of this! Something where I wouldn't be left with this fate! Left to suffer alone, in my old home town, but is completely hollowed! All of those who I cared about have moved on! Why can't I!? Why does it have to be this way!?" He collapses completely and falls on the nearby rock, letting the sobs go to hopefully expunge his pain. As Phantom lied there, a stick snapped. Its echo muted his sorrows and drew his attention back towards the dark forest. He heard a couple kids whispering and asking if they could see "The Cryptid" anywhere, and that they had heard the cries coming from this direction. They may have heard him but they are not going to see him tonight. They can't... I'm not ready yet, he thinks to himself as he quickly fades from sight.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #ectober #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectober month 2021 #ectoplasm #Most characters die or fade #immortal danny fenton #ghost zone #au #ghost king danny #ghost king au #ectoplasm mining #ectoplasm harvesting