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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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Hi there, congrats for the 1500 subs. How about the bros reaction to an MC who's an empath?

Brothers with an MC Who is an Empath

This should not have been as hard as it was but maaan, my brain just wasn’t working. Finally got it done though!

Intro:

An Empath is essentially someone who is highly sensitive to outside stimuli like sounds, personalities, energies, emotions, or just hectic/chaotic environments. They tend to absorb the emotions of others into themselves because of this. Though their sensitivity can grant deeper understanding for others, it comes at the price of the Empath’s own emotional and physical health if not given enough time to decompress which can lead to feeling drained, irritable, depressed, or overwhelmed.

Lucifer

Oh boy, if there was ever any demon not in tune to his own emotions…

He started out legitimately not knowing what an "empath" was and frankly he didn't care to know. His main concern was just keeping the MC alive.

Though that didn't seem to be too hard because they apparently get tired quickly… or at least they had to take extended periods away from most of his brothers.

He wasn't sure why, he first assumed it was because they found his brothers annoying but that didn't seem to be the case either...

He'd see them grinning with Mammon after a jackpot, relaxing with Satan in silence, and even crying with Levi over things so niche and pointless he couldn’t imagine that they actually cared...

It wasn’t too long until they set their sights on him.

They always seemed to know when he was stressed or when he needed to talk to someone. He'd even be embarrassed to admit there were days when he’d just hover somewhat close to them, face more or less slathered with "I really need to talk right now" but too proud to make the first move.

After some time, he decided to look up what an empath was again and it all clicked into place. They probably knew when he was tired because they could just sense it off of him.

And who knows how exhausting that must be for them...

After that little revelation he actually started paying more attention to his own health to keep it from spilling over to them, but he would still go to them to talk from time to time. He honestly never expected a human to become his closest confidant.

Mammon

Mammon has BIG energy. He’s one of those personalities that just brightens a room he walks in but damn… if he’s not a little exhausting to be around sometimes…

Truthfully, he was kind of into their whole “I know how you feel so you don’t have to say it” vibe though it was really confusing to start with...

On the one hand, they never made fun of him for his sensitive side. Not once. And they seemed pick up on the days where he wasn't feeling his best as well, which only made him happy and want spend more time with them.

But on the other hand, he'd be lying if he said that their need to recharge away from him didn't catch him off guard a lot... Hell, for the first few weeks of getting to know the MC he thought they didn't like him at all!

It took the MC sitting him down and explaining to him that they're more sensitive to things like lights, sounds, and emotions for him to kind of get the picture. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him, they just needed to be somewhere calm.

Cue a lot of “Okay human, I’ll be calm. Promise! Ya won’t even now I’m here!” in a well meaning, but pretty loud voice and not getting much better from there, bless his heart...

Even after he eventually gets the picture and stops hanging off of their leg, it does bum him out to be separated for however long it takes for them to get better (at worst, it can be days).

But he really gets excited like a puppy whenever they finally come back again! Big grins and lots of hugs (good luck peeling him off now).

Levi

Levi is... best taken in short bursts.

Though his personality isn’t big like Mammon’s, he does have a lot of lingering negativity around him. Not exactly his fault, being Envy and all, but not great for someone who’s sensitive to emotions.

In truth, Levi genuinely loves being around the MC because they “get” him even if they don’t get what’s happening.

While his brothers may roll their eyes or struggle to understand how he can put so much emotional investment into an anime or a character, the MC would always seem to feel and respect that his emotions were genuine and let him experience them without question.

… But at the same time, that sensitivity meant that they got carried in with him through his every emotion, good, bad, or somewhat erratic depending on the situation…

Add to that his higher than usual need for validation, investment, and feedback due to his insecurity and unfortunately he’s easily the most emotionally draining person in the House...

It took some time to explain to Levi what an empath was and that their desired space wasn’t because there was something wrong with him or anything, they just needed breaks. Thankfully, being an introvert himself meant that Levi understood this a lot quicker than Mammon.

In truth, being with Levi could be fun and rewarding for both parties. During his high points, his happiness truly does shine like no other, just… don’t overdo it.

Satan

In the beginning, Satan was honestly pretty impressed how quickly the exchange student saw through his fake smiles. They’d know that there was no actual joy behind them and thus avoided him for the most part.

This was before they formed their pact so he was perfectly fine with that. Let them hide, that’s the smart idea.

But after getting to know them and going through the body-switch, he started to see that it was deeper than just some good intuition on their part. Something about them… reflected the people around them...

They appeared to be acutely aware of the emotion in a given person or a given room and reacted like they were soaking in the atmosphere they found themselves in. Taking it into themselves…

It truly confused him.

Satan is the picture of emotional control, it’s been taught to him again and again to always keep a good handle on himself because things go flying when he doesn’t. The idea of being so open to others just didn’t make much sense to him…

Why would anyone want to live so dependent on the emotions of others? It sounded chaotic just to hear about it...

But after he opened up to them about his own inner doubts he started to think it wasn’t such a bad thing. They appeared to be equipped to help him navigate his own emotions, especially the new ones he didn’t have the best grasp on yet.

He later did his own research into human emotions, discovered empaths, and that put it all into perspective. Like Lucifer, he did his best not to overwhelm them after that but there was little worry about that anyway. Satan is, again, emotional control at its finest.

Asmodeus

Oh, Asmo picked up on their human’s little quirk relatively quickly compared to his brothers. Being emotionally observant is just part of what makes him so good at what he does.

Honestly, he enjoyed just watching them from afar… Watching the way their eyes lit up when talking to a cheerful Simeon or how huffy and frustrated they’d get along with Mammon when things weren’t going his way. It was cute to him, like a child playing “Pretend.”

Eventually, though, he started to notice that it went a lot deeper than mere imitation...

One day, Levi came home distraught about the tragic death of some voice actor he fancied and the MC was right along with him, crying as if that loss was theirs...

On another, Satan had spent the whole day silently fuming and the MC was a complete wreck, tense and on-edge for no other reason than the feeling of aggression in the air…

And crowds… crowded rooms seemed to be the death of them. So much noise and constant input, they’d have to leave so quickly…

Asmo saw all these things himself, without having to be told, and he became a refuge for them when things became too much. He has a big personality himself, but he could tone it down for a time and offer them a place away for a while.

If school, parties, or the brothers themselves just became too much, the MC could always go to Asmo’s room to vent like they let everybody else to with them. He’d keep the place quiet and calm and just help them sort things out...

Thank their father for Asmo’s observance.

Beelzebub

Legit the calmest, sweetest, nicest person to be around. Truly the best companion for an empathic MC to have.

Beel’s personality is positive, sweet, and (most importantly) stable. He’s not too bombastic nor too withdrawn, he’s not riddled with hidden stress or self-loathing, and he’s not even manipulative in any way, he’s just… Beel.

Am I saying that Beel is the MC’s emotional support demon? Yes. Yes I am.

Being around Beel is like hooking them up to a walking battery recharging station. Something about him just exudes warmth and comfort… They could be wrapped up in his arms for days and never say a word yet still be perfectly content...

Beel doesn't really mind them coming to him when distressed either because he likes being able to help them when they’re feeling drained. It makes him feel kind of special, they don’t seem to go to anyone else in quite the same way.

Usually, one of his brothers will be in a bad mood and the human will flock to Beel like a protective barrier. They'll hug him or trail along behind him like a lost puppy, which he thinks is very cute.

If they’re feeling really out of it, he’d carry them around on his back while they rest like he does for Belphie sometimes. Any time his brothers try to get too close to them or look like they’re going to bother them, he’ll just carry them away to some place quieter.

Though, the MC did pick up the deep sadness he felt for Lilith and Belphie (while he was gone) from time to time.... Which, considering how kind and comforting he usually is, just makes that dip in mood all the more painful and distressing for them. Poor baby…

Belphegor

Belphie is another calm personality to have around, kind of similar to Beel, but since he's more prone to sadness and irritability he doesn't make the best companion…

If Beel is comfort, then Belphie is repose. Relaxed and peaceful, but also languid and sluggish… When Beel isn't around, then he makes a decent second, but only on good days.

Belphie has a mixed opinion on their uncanny ability to pick up on his feelings… He tries his best to be “mysterious” so having someone who can read him like a book gets under his skin just a little…

But he also really likes how much it helps them get to know him and understand where he’s coming from (being the youngest, he isn’t as used to being heard by anybody other than Beel). So, he’s very conflicted…

It didn’t help at all when it came to light that the MC could legitimately tell that he felt very hostile and angry towards them while he was still in the attic. When he asked why they helped him anyway, they told him so that they could make Beel happy again, regardless of how he felt about them which... ouch...

As if he could feel any worse about that particular incident… They could feel how guilty he was about that… right?

Even if they can’t he makes sure that they know that he’s sorry and he won’t do it again. Probably the lil’shit.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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sisterssafespace · 3 years

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Asalaam alaikum.. can you advise on how to deal with anxiety?

و عليكم السلام و رحمة الله و بركاته 🤍

أعوذ بالله من الشيطان الرجيم

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم،

ٱذۡهَبۡ إِلَىٰ فِرۡعَوۡنَ إِنَّهُۥ طَغَىٰ (24) قَالَ رَبِّ ٱشۡرَحۡ لِي صَدۡرِي (25) وَيَسِّرۡ لِيٓ أَمۡرِي (26) وَٱحۡلُلۡ عُقۡدَةٗ مِّن لِّسَانِي (27) يَفۡقَهُواْ قَوۡلِي (28) وَٱجۡعَل لِّي وَزِيرٗا مِّنۡ أَهۡلِي (29) هَٰرُونَ أَخِي (30) ٱشۡدُدۡ بِهِۦٓ أَزۡرِي (31) وَأَشۡرِكۡهُ فِيٓ أَمۡرِي (32) كَيۡ نُسَبِّحَكَ كَثِيرٗا (33) وَنَذۡكُرَكَ كَثِيرًا (34) إِنَّكَ كُنتَ بِنَا بَصِيرٗا (35) قَالَ قَدْ أُوتِيتَ سُؤْلَكَ يَا مُوسَى (36)

24. Go to Pharaoh; He has transgressed.” 25. He said, “My Lord, put my heart at peace for me. 26. And ease my task for me. 27. And untie the knot from my tongue. 28. So they can understand my speech. 29. And appoint an assistant for me, from my family. 30. Aaron, my brother. 31. Strengthen me with him. 32. And have him share in my mission. 33. That we may glorify You much. 34. And remember You much. 35. You are always watching over us.” 36. [Allāh] said, "You have been granted your request, O Moses

ٱذۡهَبَآ إِلَىٰ فِرۡعَوۡنَ إِنَّهُۥ طَغَىٰ (43) فَقُولَا لَهُۥ قَوۡلٗا لَّيِّنٗا لَّعَلَّهُۥ يَتَذَكَّرُ أَوۡ يَخۡشَىٰ (44) قَالَا رَبَّنَآ إِنَّنَا نَخَافُ أَن يَفۡرُطَ عَلَيۡنَآ أَوۡ أَن يَطۡغَىٰ (45) قَالَ لَا تَخَافَآۖ إِنَّنِي مَعَكُمَآ أَسۡمَعُ وَأَرَىٰ (46)

43. Go to Pharaoh. He has tyrannized. 44. But speak to him nicely. Perhaps he will remember, or have some fear.” 45. They said, “Lord, we fear he may persecute us, or become violent.” 46. He said, “Do not fear, I am with you, I hear and I see.

Surat Ta Ha (20) - طه 🤍

Dear sister, I found myself starting with these two passages that are of my absolute favorite passages in the holy Quran in general and in Surat Ta Ha in particular because in my mind when I hear the word anxiety it always connects to surat Ta Ha or what I love to call my anti-anxiety pill. Alhamdulillah.

Now why these passages? It might not be known or talked about a lot, but these verses are a proof that prophet Musa (as) had anxiety. In these verses, Allah swt orders him to go speak to the pharaoh, arguably the most tyrannizing criminal that this earth has seen. This task spikes prophet Musa's anxiety and in the first passage he asks Allah swt to (relax his chest) put his heart at peace and ease his affairs, then he requests support from a family member, his brother Harun (as) - and it is also interpreted that prophet Musa (as) had speech impairment, he has problems in his speech? Thus the " untie the knot from my tongue " duaa he made for Allah swt, so he needed to be also backed up by his brother. Can you imagine the amount of anxiety he must have been feeling and going through? Not only the Lord of the Worlds was directly speaking to him ( a surreal supernatural experience ) but also He swt was giving him such a BIG task! I mean sis! I have a thesis I need to finish and it feels like there is a mountain sitting on my chest 24/7, even when I sleep at night I have nightmares about it. And whenever I have to make an important phone call or go into the principal's office at work, I get the whole rapid heartbeats, stomachache, joint pain, shaky voice and whatnot. You know the drill.. Anyways, back to Musa (as), so what does Allah swt say? He swt doesn't tell him that he (Musa) is crazy or delusional, He swt doesn't accuse him of lack of faith, or of being dominated by the Shaytan's waswasah (whispers) like these now Shaykhs throw at us. He swt is the all-knowing, the most just, the most fair, the most merciful and the most gracious. He swt not only acknowledges prophet Musa (as)'s fear and immediately reassures him and calms his heart : you have been granted your request! " Ya Allah.. this gets me every time wallahi.

You know what's the thing we need the most when our anxiety hits? Reassurance. Full stop. Reassurance silences all the voices inside our heads, calms us down, puts our hearts to ease. And what a better place to get reassurance from other than Allah swt?

And Allah swt does it again, further down in the Surah, when faces with the task again prophet Musa (as) voices his worries again, and Allah swt doesn't get fed up with him, doesn't accuse him of being a coward or annoying.. He swt patiently assures him that He swt is with him and with his brother, He swts hears and listens. I once heard a tafseer for this verse that compares it to a mother's love, when her child goes out to play and she will reassure them by saying she is around not far away she could see them from the window and hear them if they need anything. How comforting, sübhanallah.

With that being said and clarified, let me cut to the chase before the post gets too long.

The first step to dealing with your anxiety is to actually accept it. Never be ashamed of it. It is something that even a high-ranking prophet experienced. It is not a sin, it is not your fault, it is just the way your brain is wired. And it is something that Allah swt is testing you with. And the first step to pass your test is to actually acknowledge and accept it. For me, it felt like my whole life made sense the moment I was diagnosed with anxiety. When my therapist actually uttered the words, which wasn't a long time ago, I felt so sorry for all the girls that I have been, throughout the different stages of my life whom had to struggle and push through the pain, the dilemma, the countless anxiety attacks and made it through without actually knowing what they had, while being called crazy, gaslit, disregard, attacked, humiliated, mocked, bullied, etc.. for something that they didn't do nor did they understand. So my first advice to you is to befriend your anxiety, you win nothing by fighting it and making it your enemy. On the contrary, she (oh trust me it's a she, lmao) is a part of who you are, to the point that it could define some of your personality traits, she lives in your head rent free, she is not going anywhere anytime soon, so you better make peace with her. Rejecting, hating, attacking, blaming your anxiety will only make it worse.

Another basic advice is to actually study it, learn it, identify your triggers, be in tone with your body, pay attention to your mood changes, your heart rate, the stomach pain, or whatever symptoms you experience, and identify the act or event or task that generated and triggered those symptoms. That's how you find your triggers, and then next time when you anticipate that thing, you could go through it in your head, you could rehearse or make plans, you could take all your precautions and whatnot.

As for remedies, I am no therapist, so I am not allowed to prescribe anything, but I do take pills myself when necessary. God knows sometimes it gets too much. Breathing helps. Deep thorough breaths from the tummy, they can help calm your heartbeats.. if when you feel anxious about something you would have the time to read some Quran then please do it, it really calms you down and distracts you from the problem even momentarily. Umm, you can listen to your comfort audio (be it a quran recitation or something like I have already mentioned in the post earlier today), talk to someone who makes you comfortable, whether a parent, a partner, a sibling, a best friend... and finally, I will give you my therapist's golden tip: if it doesn't work, ASK FOR HELP.

And eventually, always go back to Allah swt, the source of all comfort, the source of all reassurance and the source of all good. Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, "Allah said, 'I am to my slave as he thinks of Me, (i.e. I am able to do for him what he thinks I can do for him). So always try to think (after you are done freaking out 😅) that Allah swt has got you, and that probably all the bad things that you are scared of won't even come true. Allah swt is the most merciful and the most gracious, He swt is the best of planners and no one has out best interest more than the Pne who created us. Alhamdulillah.

Tbh, I could go on about this for days, but I think I have written the longest answer for an ask in the history of Tumblr. So imma stop here.

I will leave you with 3 very meaningful duaas that are supposed to be recited in the morning and evening adhkar, try to incorporate them in your daily routine, and you will soon notice the difference, bi idhn Allah :)

- بسم الله الذي لا يضر مع اسمه شيء في الأرض و لا في السماء و هو السميع العليم ×3

In the name of Allah with whose name nothing is harmed on earth nor in the heavens and He is The All-Seeing, The All-Knowing. x3

حسبي الله لا إله إلا هو عليه توكلت وهو رب العرش العظيم ×7

Allah is sufficient for me, none has the right to be worshipped except Him, upon Him I rely and He is Lord of the exalted throne. x7

اللَّهُمَّ إِنِّي أَسْأَلُكَ الْعَافِيَةَ فِي الدُّنْيَا وَالآخِرَةِ، اللَّهُمَّ إِنِّي أَسْأَلُكَ الْعَفْوَ وَالْعَافِيَةَ فِي دِينِي وَدُنْيَايَ وَأَهْلِي وَمَالِي، اللَّهُمَّ استُرْ عَوْرَاتي، وآمِنْ رَوْعَاتي، اللَّهمَّ احْفَظْنِي مِنْ بَينِ يَدَيَّ، ومِنْ خَلْفي، وَعن يَميني، وعن شِمالي، ومِن فَوْقِي، وأعُوذُ بِعَظَمَتِكَ أنْ أُغْتَالَ مِنْ تَحتي ×1

O Allah, I ask You for pardon and well-being in this life and the next. O Allah, I ask You for pardon and well-being in my religious and worldly affairs, and my family and my wealth. O Allah, veil my weaknesses and set at ease my dismay, and preserve me from the front and from behind and on my right and on my left and from above, and I take refuge with You lest I be swallowed up by the earth

P.s. you should know that I have written this answer for hours, taking as many breaks as my heart and my mind needed. I hope I managed to make a good enough answer for you 🤍.

May Allah swt calm your worries, and grant your heart sakinah and reassurance. Ameen.

Stay safe my dear, and don't hesitate to talk to me whenever it gets too much.

- A. Z. 🍃

#anxiety #sisterssafespace #surat ta ha

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the-crows-typist · 3 years

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Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one.

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience.

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded. “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember. “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

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camdentown-library · 3 years

Text

My guardian spirit || Thranduil x fem!reader (Platonic)

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Summary: Where war seems to have stripped all virtues from men and living beings of Middle-earth, the cold King Thranduil will save a child's life, redeeming her greedy and unfriendly mind. Requested? No Genre: Fluff;; a bit angst ;; platonic Words: 1294

It was chaos Dale, you believed that the ordeal and the pain that stormed your heart and that of all the few survivors of Laketown had ended in front of the high and imposing flames that made your hometown sink in the cold limbs of the dark water .. .your naivety as a teenager should have changed its mind. The ruins that had housed you that cold night, reminding you of how lonely and lost you were and now without the comfortable arms of your parents, the next morning had been invaded by a horde of merciless orcs. People screamed, ran away helpless. Your eyes shocked and now deprived of their innocence saw those ugly creatures tear to pieces men, women, children, elves ... no one was safer. Death was around you, in a vice that was closing more and more, strangling you and quickly making you one of the next victims. You tried to make yourself small in the midst of that theater of horrors, trying in every possible way to escape far away and find refuge in some small hiding place. Your heart feared that you would be stepped on by someone at this rate. You managed to sneak away from what may have been the main square and busiest area in that war, until you descended a small staircase that seemed to take you out of Dale. But a sinister growl made your legs shake and petrified you as if you were under the spell of an evil witch. A broad shadow covered your frail and frail figure, advancing further towards you, while your eyes wide with terror watched an ogre taller and more burly than the others, who had just torn apart a poor elven soldier, until his predatory attention fell on you ... Did he want to eat you? How did your mom tell in bedtime stories about ogres eating bad children? It didn't matter at that point, your prey instincts screamed at you to turn your heels and run, fast as the wind, like an elven arrow, fast as the flames of Smaug that had burned your parents alive. The ground beneath your tiny feet trembled with every large step of that ogre, who in the meantime had decided to charge towards you, like a mad bull, while your vision was clouding more and more because of your tears that now without shame furrowed your red and cold cheeks. You didn't want to die, not like this, you were so young, you were little more than a young teenager, you wished you had more time to grow a little more, grow happy, grow in peace, ripen like a healthy fruit and not troubled by mourning and war, from blood and desolation. Your legs grew weaker and weaker, like jelly, causing you to stumble badly on the stony ground of the ruins of Dale, thus decreeing your imminent demise. The ogre grinded its crooked and sharp jaws, letting out an animalistic and perverse laugh, as you overwhelmed by sobs you became smaller and smaller, dragging you to the nearest wall, as your knees had peeled during the fall. The monstrous body of that being became more giant, when the latter raised his sword with his hand, ready to give you the coup de grace, and without even thinking about it, terrified screams came out of your lips, while you closed almost squinting your eyes, and your little hands wrapped around your legs, as if you were a frightened hedgehog. It was over, your miserable existence ended there, without even someone mourning your departure. Yet ... that sharp, heavy blade never reached your frail body. You opened one eye terrified, afraid of what you might see in front of you.

That filthy creature fell to the ground dying a few feet away from you, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath you. You looked up fearfully and in front of you you found a tall and luminous figure, his body seemed to reflect the light of that sad sick sun, like a precious gem, his long and white hair moved slightly at the tips with some draft of wind . Its silhouette against the light kept you from seeing anything more, and your tear-dimmed vision wasn't really helping you. The mysterious man seemed to tilt his head, only now noticing your tiny presence and as soon as he glimpsed your terrified expression, he decided to slowly bow towards you so that he could study you better and only in that moment could you see the beauty of his face in all its glory. Your mom told you about elves, tall, beautiful like nothing in the world, strong and endowed with strong power and charisma. The bedtime stories at that moment didn't seem so loaded with adjectives and praise for these creatures, none of those words were too loaded.

"Shouldn't you be here baby, where are your parents?" the elf asked with a somewhat detached tone, you were afraid to answer and so you curled up more on yourself, then I seem to understand that he had to soften his ways a little to gain your trust "That monster hurt you? " he asked then, slowly bringing a gloved hand in shining armor close to your dirty, scruffy little body.

"No sir ...." you answered sniffling, feeling only then the pungent pain of the cold on the bare flesh of your peeled knees "But I fell ... and I can't get up" you tried not to be overwhelmed by tears, while his face seemed so empty of expression and empathy ... surely the elves weren't such emotional types. He then rested his eyes on your knees and moved his thick, dark eyebrows in a displeased expression. "Where are your parents, little human" "... The dragon Smaug burned them" you whispered still feeling a deep pang in your heart. The elf then seemed to take a few moments to observe you or perhaps to decide what to do, and for a moment you thought that he too would abandon you. But then he wrapped his arm around you, taking you in his arms without too much effort (maybe because of your underweight or maybe it was true that the elves didn't even sin in strength) "This is no place for you ... humans should take better care of their children" the man murmured almost to himself, under your confused and weak gaze. "Where are you taking me?" you asked as the elf began to quicken his pace as the sword he held in the hand that was not holding you was always ready to attack. "In a place where no one will hurt you" he replied quickly, and then stabbed a not too tall orc that he had loaded towards you. The elf ran up to a pile of rubble, where there was a small trap door on the ground, perhaps it was Dale's old sewers. He parried it and with extreme delicacy slipped you inside. "Stay here little girl, he only opened this hatch when you hear nothing but silence. Am I clear?" he asked sternly while you just nodded obediently, the elf looked at you worried for another moment but then put aside his now buried paternal instinct and decided to get up and turn to go back to fight. "Wait, what's your name? You saved me mister elf but I don't know your name" you said with the last strength left, he turned around almost astonished that you didn't have the slightest idea who he was and with a slight sigh he said: "Thranduil, little girl. Now keep your promise" and with that he turned quickly running towards that battle that probably would never have seen the light "I'll be back to take you back little human, it's a promise"

#lotr #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr imagines #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit imagines #thranduil

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obeymeaskme · 3 years

Text

Obey Me!: Human and Demon Hearts!

A/N: Remember to check my pinned post if you missed the other chapters! Another note; I had WAY too much fun writing the beginning of this! Hopefully it makes sense~

Chapter Three: Bonding's Mended (3/3)

Word Count: 1683

Rating: 18+

'Demon Feeding: A Start to the endless hunger of a demon's belly.

The cause of our behaviors dives deep into our past, when our kind and the celestial realm had known nothing but primal instincts. Humanity had not yet existed, and the earth realm was our battlegrounds. Flesh was torn by both Devil, Beast, and angel. Only our great Mages, now pacified by ash, can whisper to the book keepers of our carnal days. Yet while the Angelic build their realm, we still hunger, and wish to devour. Our hatred is barely ever quenched. Humans had been involved through their own ways. Growing and evolving long after our realms had taken refuge away from earth. But our history was rediscovered, and the three realms were connected.

Demon's had soon developed a taste for human souls. An almost sweet and pungent ecstasy only found in the spirit's layers. Yet the Angels seem to desire the human's souls for more pure and selfless purposes. So they say. We as a selfish kin must find ways around this. And we have. Humans are so very frail, but one cannot take from a living soul without their unwavering trust or agreement. But that's only for the whole meal. Ah yes- Just a small taste, barely a lick can satisfy. It was the Incubi, and the Succubi who have found the most pleasure in a Demon Feeding ritual. For many, a human's sensual pleasures are tied to their trust, and emotions. The Cubi have found their abilities to please have come in handy. They can easily sample the human soul, feeding of the human's energies, all while... entertaining themselves. The rest of us have begun to see the strings that connect Demons to humans as well. Even the Little Devils have their own ways. Most of us don't need a physical contract, or to eat away at their little dream worlds. No, just the sheer aura of a human's daily stress and anger are so divine, so tempting. No wonder the human world has grown fearful of us. They now know we can touch something they used to think they fully owned.'

A chill ran through Noelle's body. Not wanting to read more as she understood the narrator's point. The second sticky note was unlabeled, but since there were two options, this was probably the most plausible.

'Underdeveloped Magic and it's consequences.

Blood, bones and sacrifices were never needed to summon us to the human realm. Though the show and the fallen harvest are much appreciated. Though we now have an issue. Malaia has expressed a growing development in the human genes. Magic. It seems that now the human realm has entered into existence, they have developed their own magic. Most have realized what they're capable of, and are learning to manipulate it. They found ways to protect their realm from our hunger and manipulations. It's knowledge that is beginning to gnaw at my mind. Chewing it thoroughly. Yet it's not the well trained ones of magic that are the problem. It is the untrained ones we must look out for. Some of them have these hideous side effects they accidentally cause. Hell's fire wasn't enough to melt the flesh of a demon, but those flame's are so old. The new ones created by human magic are so fresh it can and will burn us to the bone, and perhaps past that if one is not careful. The other effects are as follows, but are just general nature.

Wart Tongue

Seared eyesight

confusion/forgetfulness

solidifying blood

barriers-'

The rest of the chapter went unread past Barriers. Noelle had gone through the index of the book and quickly read up on the different types of barriers until she came across one that explained her situation. It was a sort of magnetic barrier that if unchecked by a human with trained magic abilities, can cause harm to both demon and human.

The rest of the afternoon she spent her time locked in the library reading about magic, and trying to find a way to break her unintentional curse. According to her research the longer a demon is close to her, the more they will think unkindly of her, and will either tear her apart while their own body suffers the same, or manipulate her into handing over her soul. She also learned as to why this didn't seem to affect the brothers the same way. The types of demons are defined by their sins, with the Demon king and his associates being the exception. Thus different sins respond to her 'barrier' in different ways. Lust, and Greed are highly tuned to sense the danger of magic. Sloth, and Pride are most susceptible to giving into their instinct, and Wrath is unaffected due to their own constant rage with themselves. And Gluttony varied Demon to Demon. However, what concerned her was those who were spawned by Envy. Though it wasn't a reason that caused the disruption between Noelle and Levi, it was still concerning. In fact if Levi hadn't chosen to distance himself they'd both be very much dead.

Noelle had sighed heavily and texted Satan about the subject. And a quick reply came back. Satan seemed giddy and impressed with her progress on the matter. He then sent messages an hour later during his break about ways they can break the spell. But first she needed to test the strength of her barrier. He suggested that the only way they could do that was to snag Asmo, for when it came to surpassing a human's free will, he was a professional of sorts. Noelle swallowed hard at the suggestion, but once Satan had calmed her down over the phone, she agreed to meet him at Asmodeus' room.

The vibrant pinks and flowers decorating Asmodeus’ bedroom made her head spin. Yet it all looked inviting. There was even a cocoon chair that hung from the ceiling. Satan, Asmo and Mammon, for some ungodly reason, were already sitting on the fancy colorful rug. Asmo jumped up and ran to hug her out of habit with literally everyone else, but stopped short and gave a shudder along with a quick complaint.

“Owaahh~ You were right Satan, it's so hard being next to her! Which is really, REALLY inconvenient.”

Noelle blushed hard as Asmo withered in what she assumed was his growing lust over his forced restraint. That did not stop her from letting a remark slip from her lips.

“Oh hush- I thought you'd be into restraints.”

Asmo gasped while Satan and Mammon tried to cover up their laughter. After about 15 minutes passed, allowing Asmo and Mammon to get over their urges to run off, they sat Noelle right in front of Asmo on his bed. The barrier shielding Noelle had to be only so thick, and Asmo had the ability to get through shields and barriers with his lustrous charm. This was making Noelle exceedingly nervous that he'd take advantage of her in some way, but that's why Mammon and Satan were there. Mammon himself had actually been talked into taking Noelle's hand and ready to run out the door with her if anything went wrong, or if Asmo tried anything. Satan was there to make sure the other two didn't do anything too stupid.

Asmodeus was becoming giddy in getting to melt away at her guard, and possibly her heart as he says, and began reciting his usual spell while looking into her eyes.

“The eye's of a young, and beautiful mortal woman. They are so deep and golden. Even under those dark brown feathery irises...”

Mammon's snorting almost broke concentration of the two's moment, but was quickly corrected by a swift smack to the back of the head, as Asmo huffed and continued.

“Tell me Noelle~ Let me look into those pretty little eyes. Please, learn to place your trust in me. Tell me your desires.”

The soft whispers of Asmo's request had flooded her senses with a heated calm. No one else but Asmo could see the hidden and still seas of her mind as it became blank. All but a few trails of thought were left behind. He could sense her clarity, and saw her unrivaled trust in him. It was warm, and soft. Like a small candle by bedside. Asmo smiled softly, and brushed some hair behind her ear, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed but she could still hear him, even then, deep in her mind as it went fully numb and the focus of her desires came to light.

“Tell me your desires”

The words vibrated behind her eyes and a single soft word came from her lips.

“Leviathan.”

“...”

“... uh-”

All too quickly Noelle had jumped in her skin as she regained her senses, and a deep violet red painted her face. When she did come back around and her vision stopped spinning from the sudden jolt, she saw the three brothers in hysterics, laughing on the floor and bed. Satan had put his hand on the wall beside him to balance himself, and covered his face. He was doing all he could to restrain his laughter. Mammon and Asmodeus had zero shame as they bellowed out, both of them grabbed at their guts, and caused Noelle's embarrassment to burn on her ears.

“Sh-SHUT UP! IT'S NOT FUNNY! WHAT DID I SAY!”

Satan was the first to calm down, clearing his throat more than once, trying to speak clearly.

“Did you not hear yourself? A-Asmo- What did you do! Tchh-”

Asmo shook his head, and had to cling onto Noelle to stay balanced on the bed.

“F-for a second I thought you said your deepest desire was- pffft Levi!”

Noelle silently stood up, covering her face and left the room while Satan yelled after her about knowing how to break the spell. But that was going to wait until she was able to recover from her current, flustered state.

#obey me: human and demon hearts #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphagor #obey me fanfic #obey me oc

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wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part One

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting, blood and gore, mentions of death and murder, mentions of trauma, some satanic themes, etc.

word count: 7,1k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

A/N: It’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience and support! Please enjoy!

“—this plan is fucking insane!”

“You said anywhere was better than the mansion!”

“That was before I knew you were claiming sanctuary with the very people that sent Teenage Chewbacca to maul Jinyoung and I!”

“It was Minho who turned Changbin! How many goddamn times do I have to say that to get it through your thick skull!?”

The incessant bickering of the two voices gradually lifts Jinyoung from his slumber, reintroducing his mind to the workings of reality. He flutters his eyes open, surprised at the lack of light, and forces himself to sit up. At his sudden movement, his head roars with pain, sending a dizzy spell through his limbs. He manages to swallow the temporary vertigo and keep upright, quickly realizing his current position in the backseat of a car.

“Jinyoung?... Oh thank god—he’s awake.”

“It’s about fucking time.”

“(Y/N)? Jaebeom-hyung?” Jinyoung squints, attempting to map out your and his brother’s silhouettes through the blackness. He manages to pinpoint the annoyed glare of the latter in the passenger seat, thus concluding that you are probably driving. “What happened? How did I get here?”

“While you were taking a snooze, that fucking superwolf broke into our home and nearly ripped my throat out.” Jaebeom snorts, “Of course, not until after he impaled me with my own landscaping.”

“I managed to stake him before he hurt Jaebeom.” You pipe in, “But we don’t think it killed him—only slowed him down long enough to let us get away.”

Jinyoung shakes his head in both confusion and shock, immediately regretting the decision when his brain pounds like a bass drum. He allows himself a moment to pass the ache before cautiously speaking, “And… where exactly are we going?”

“Yeah, Wonder Woman. Why don’t you tell my brother where your brilliant idea for refuge is?”

Jinyoung can feel the intensity of your glare from the back seat.

“I’m taking us to the wolf pack.” You murmur softly, “If anyone has a chance of talking Changbin down, it will be his own people.”

“And as I was explaining to our dear (Y/N), the wolf pack also has a pretty large bounty over our heads.” Jinyoung hears Jaebeom release a heavy sigh before leaning back in his seat, “We’ll be attacked the moment we step foot out of this car.”

“Would you stop being so damn paranoid?” Your frustrated demand echoes throughout the car, “Not everyone is out to kill you—”

“I’ve made a lot of enemies over the centuries, little dove… Killed a lot of people—pissed off even more.”

“Maybe, but I know you didn’t kill Jackson Wang.”

The car grows dead silent minus the heavy breathing of who Jinyoung assumes to be his hybrid companion. He tries to make out Jaebeom’s expression, but it’s too dark. His imagination will have to do.

“Everyone says you did, but I know there’s more to the truth.” You say, “I may not know what exactly happened, but Jackson’s death wasn’t your fault—either of your faults.”

“And how exactly do you know this?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that the pack is our only viable option at the moment, and I need you to trust me on this.”

Jaebeom sighs, “Good God—this is not happening.”

“I trust her.” Jinyoung answers without hesitation, reaching across the council to lay a hand on the hybrid’s shoulder. “We have no reason not to, hyung.”

“And why the hell not?” To his dismay, Jaebeom shrugs away from Jinyoung’s touch. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you with my life.”

“Because I could have let Changbin kill you… but I didn’t.”

Jaebeom grows silent again. And although no words are said, Jinyoung knows—and knows that you know—that the conversation ended in your favor. Jaebeom may be a paranoid, narcissistic sociopath, but even he is capable of hope in the darkest of moments.

A sudden gasp disrupts the hushed atmosphere, resonating from beside Jinyoung a mere foot away. For the first time, he notices a third body propped in the seat next to him. The figure writhes and releases a set of whimpers before growing still once again.

“We have another issue.” Jaebeom murmurs darkly, “Changbin bit Tzuyu during our fight, and when I tried to heal her with my blood… it didn’t work.”

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean it didn’t work?”

“Minho transformed Changbin into a weapon that would have the power to kill you and Jaebeom—the only two invincible beings in existence.” Your explanation causes Jinyoung’s heart to sink, “His venom can’t be cured by Jaebeom’s blood, so…”

“So Tzuyu is going to die unless we find a cure.” Jaebeom finishes with a hum, “We better get to it fast cause the hallucinations are already starting.”

“The pack will help us.” You affirm. “I know they will.”

Jinyoung truly hopes that your confidence is well placed. Afterall, it is his, Jaebeom and Tzuyu’s lives all on the line.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do this.” Mark stresses, flipping through the grimoire with enough force to tear the pages. “This spell needs a lot of power—”

“Can’t you do what Youngjae does and channel something? Like a celestial event?”

Mark shakes his head. “Even that won’t be enough. I would have to channel the power unnaturally… through black magic.”

“It’s only one spell—what harm could it do?”

“Black magic is dark magic, Jack.” Mark directly addresses his werewolf companion, shaking his head even more feverishly. “It’s unpredictable… We could offset the balance of nature and—”

“I don’t give a shit about the balance of nature, Mark!” Jackson cuts in, “This may be our one and only chance to get rid of the Primes—to protect our town and the ones we love… Don’t you think that’s a little more important than upsetting the magic gods?...”

“You don’t understand—magic always comes with a price.” Mark says darkly, “I can’t trust what will happen if I use black magic… For fucksake, Jackson—I could kill you.”

Jackson places his hands on Mark’s shoulders, staring deep into the witch’s eyes. “I trust you with my life, Mark… and I know you won’t let me down.”

Mark debates with himself, attempting to find a solution past the chaos of his thoughts. His gut tells him it's a bad idea, but Jackson, his best friend, is telling him otherwise. He’s right—it is only one spell—and like he said, Jackson trusts him…

Mark just has to trust himself too.

“Alright.” He finally nods, “I won’t let you down… I promise.”

“Mark-hyung—Mark!”

At the call of his name, Mark’s mind springs from unconsciousness. His eyes snap open, discovering multiple familiar faces staring down at him. He releases a pained groan, just now recognizing the ache running through his entire body, before murmuring softly:

“What… happened?”

“How much do you remember?”

Mark attempts to pilfer through his memories, recalling his argument with Minho that resulted in the theft of his magic and the moments thereafter where said witch transformed Changbin into a super werewolf. He closes his eyes shut and leans back with a huff.

“How long have I been out?”

Youngjae hums, “At least a couple hours. Minho locked us in the old crypt after you passed out, so we really don’t have any sense of time.”

“Sounds fucking fantastic.” With a deep moan, Mark forces himself into a sitting position. His spine wails at the movement, but he pays it no mind and instead stretches his arms over his head in an attempt to work out the knots in his bones. He also takes the time to survey his surroundings, discovering, just as Youngjae said, to be inside the dingy, crumbling underground cavern beneath the mausoleum. He can’t remember the last time he’s been down here—how ironic.

“I’m guessing Changbin made a beeline for the Project Estate?”

“Didn’t even hesitate.” Youngjae answers, “You don’t think he got them… do you?”

“I honestly could care less about the Primes right now.” With Youngjae’s help, Mark manages to push himself to his feet before finding purchase against a stone pillar. He takes a second to catch his breath, then continues, “There’s an exit down here that leads into a bunch of old tunnels underneath the graveyard. If we can find it, there’s a chance we might—”

“I wouldn’t think about it, hyung.” Mark’s suggestion dies on his tongue as his favorite witch emerges from a dark corner. Beside him, Youngjae releases a surprised gasp while seeming to shrink in on himself. Mark, on the other hand, doesn’t budge.

“Enjoying this villain complex a little too much, don’t you think?”

“You don’t seem very happy with me, Mark-hyung…” Minho smirks.

“Okay—you’ve had your damn fun.” Mark sneers, “Let us all go before I really start to get pissed.”

“Like you can do anything about it anyway, without any magic and all—” The witch wiggles his finger in which the ancient ring still rests. “—and don’t worry. Once the blood moon fully passes, you’re all free to leave.”

“You’re a real fucking psycho, you know that? You really think Changbin is gonna manage to kill both Jaebeom and Jinyoung by himself?”

“I could care less if he does.”

Mark’s eyes narrow, “Why are you keeping us down here? What else could you possibly want?”

“Well, I want to make you suffer as much as possible… but that was already kind of obvious, don’t you think?”

“I’m serious, Minho!” Mark’s hiss echoes between the stone walls of the crypt, bouncing back in his ears like a record on repeat. “Why go to all this trouble to kill the Primes? To mess with me? Are you really that desperate for revenge? That you’d hurt your own people trying to get it?”

Minho shakes his head with a growl, “You all made it very clear that I was never a part of this coven.”

“That is such bullshit!” Mark peers over his shoulder to find Lia emerging from another part of the cavern, followed closely by a quivering, wild-eyed Jisung. “You just never got over the fact that we chose Mark as coven leader—not you!”

“At least I could have kept Nayeon alive!”

“Nayeon’s death wasn’t Mark’s fault! It wasn’t any of our faults!” Lia screams, “Why are you so strung up about this anyway!?”

“Because I loved her!” The atmosphere grows strangely tense at the young witch’s confession, effectively forming the beginnings of a large lump in Mark’s throat. That mass only grows as Minho continues on, “She was the only one who understood me! She believed in me when no one else would!”

Through the corner of his eye, Mark can see the same shock and pain spreading along Youngjae’s features as his own, as well as Jisung’s.

Lia’s expression, however, does not change. “I think you forget that all of us loved Nayeon—all of us are still grieving. It’s not just you.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Then make us understand for crying out loud!” Lia exclaims while throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “You go on about all this bullshit that we never try to include you, when it’s you who never tries—it’s you who always pushes us away!

“We’re supposed to be a team—a family… We are all that’s left of this coven, and look at us now.”

Minho remains silent.

A single tear cascades down Lia’s cheek as she shakes her head. “Nayeon-unnie would be so disappointed… in all of us.”

At her words, Mark feels his heart practically sink into his stomach. He notices the blank expression etched across Minho’s face, wondering what could possibly be going through the young witch’s mind. For a moment, he has hope that Lia’s speech actually knocked some sense into him—that he’ll actually make amends and set them free.

But alas… he speaks too soon.

“Apné sà mene…” Mark immediately recognizes the incantation for a boundary spell, attempting to hurry toward the doorway in which Minho retreated towards. His chest smacks into an invisible barrier, sending his body sprawling back to the crypt floor. Both Youngjae and Lia rush to his side to help him back to his feet—a new pain lingering in his side.

He glares at the retreating witch with all his might.

“You’re gonna regret this.”

“Not as much as I regret ever looking up to you.” Minho waves his hand one final time, making sure to flash his ring, before disappearing up the staircase that leads out of the crypt. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Mark watches as he goes, continuing to do so until he hears the familiar sound of a closing door.

He turns to the trio. “Any chance one of you can break the boundary spell?”

“I might be able to siphon enough power from Lia and Jisung to take it down—” Youngjae shakes his head, “—but it will only be temporary. Maybe ten seconds or less?”

“That’s better than nothing.” Mark nods, “When Youngjae breaks it open, you guys will go through the passageways and head to the Wang Cabin to warn the wolf pack—”

“No.” Lia interrupts his explanation, “Minho will be able to sense our magical energy the minute we step foot out of the boundary. You, however, do not have any magic at the moment.”

“You need to warn the pack, hyung.” Youngjae agrees with a nod, “You’re the only one that can get out undetected.”

Mark feverishly shakes his head, “There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you three here. It’s not happening—”

“Don’t worry about us.” Lia says, “I have a plan to stop both Minho and Changbin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Minho bound Changbin’s power to his own in order to complete the transformation.” She explains, pointing up toward the ceiling. “Once the blood moon is over, Minho will no longer have the power to uphold the spell, so Changbin will no longer be able to remain in his enhanced form, which means…”

“Which means we have to stop the spell before the night ends.” Mark breathes, “Okay… How do we do that?”

“Youngjae can siphon Minho’s magic which should give us enough power to counteract the spell completely… that is, if we can get close enough.”

“Once Mark-hyung warns the pack, we’ll have more than enough backup to take him down.” Youngjae adds, “We need to do this now, before he comes back.”

Mark shakes his head again, “I don’t know about this—”

“We can do this. Trust us, Mark.”

Lia’s determined gaze strikes a chord deep within Mark’s chest. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so serious and resolute��

He’s never seen her look so much like a leader.

“Fine.” He reluctantly agrees, “Let’s do it.”

“Lia? Jisung?” At Youngjae’s call, both of the younger witches offer their hands for the siphoner to take. His own hands glow as he begins the counter incantation, gesturing for Mark to make his move with a nod of his head. Mark does as requested, carefully sliding past a crack in a nearby pillar to enter the secret passageway.

He spares one final glance at his coven mates, admiring the fierce passion along each of their features, before turning into the tunnel and becoming one with the shadows of the night.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Sometimes you forget life even existed before your time in Moon Dye Bay. Maybe it’s a result of your newfound interest in supernatural existence, or possibly due to the close relationships you’ve made throughout your stay. In the entirety of your time of living, you’ve never once called anywhere home, and while you still refuse to commit yourself to such a description, you can’t deny that this strange, little town has come pretty damn close.

Before you moved to Moon Dye, you lived in Chicago for about a year while finishing up your graduate work. Not quite in the city, but in a borderline rundown suburbia on the outskirts. There, you rented a decent condo for dirt cheap and found a well-paying, easy office job right down the street. It was every college student's greatest dream—until it wasn’t.

To this day, your mind still doesn’t recall the event as vividly as it should. Probably in an effort to ease the underlying trauma and fear. Even so, you don’t like to think back on it too much… Who would—when you’re the only survivor in a massacre of dozens of innocent people?

But even so, if it weren’t for that day, you would never have ended up in Moon Dye Bay… nor learned that fairy tale creatures aren’t quite fictional afterall.

You push the thought away to focus on pulling into the nonexistent driveway. The passenger beside you releases a rather loud groan as the car rocks back and forth, but you choose not to comment on his obvious distaste of your driving. You’re too exhausted… and frankly, you just don’t care at this point.

“You guys stay in the car.” You say while killing the engine and shrugging off your seatbelt, “I should talk to them first just in case, so try not to get yourselves in any more trouble while I’m gone.”

Jaebeom clicks his tongue, “Says the one who can’t seem to go one day without being attacked.”

“Hyung—” Jinyoung goes to scold his brother, but your voice beats him to it.

“Last I checked, it was your girlfriend, your proxy vampire minion, and, surprise, surprise, you who have all tried to turn me into a human blood bag.” You exit the car before throwing one final glare at the hybrid, “Keep treating me like some sort of liability, and the next time someone tries to kill your pompous ass, I won’t be so kind as to save your fucking life.”

With that, you shove the vehicle door shut with a little more force than necessary and storm toward the cabin, attempting to push the annoyance from mind. You wouldn’t usually waste your breath on something like Jaebeom’s pettiness, but with the combination of the stress of the current situation and fear for everyone’s lives at stakes, you really don’t want to deal with the hybrid’s need to make you feel like the dumbest person on the planet.

You eventually reach the front door, lifting a hand to knock at the wooden surface. The ominous silence of the nighttime tugs at your nerves as you wait—hopefully one of the wolves is actually up at this hour… maybe you should have called beforehand?

As each minute passes, your patience grows thinner and thinner. Even after another series of rather obnoxious knocks, no one opens the door. You debate returning to the car and discussing a Plan B with your undead squad, but decide to check the backyard first. Maybe the pack is having some sort of late night bonfire…?

You carefully navigate your way around the cabin, using the light of your cellphone as a guide through the darkness. Minus catching your toe on a loose board in the decking, you manage to make it to the back of the cabin unscathed. However, the sight that you find is definitely far from that of the bonfire:

From what little you can see, the yard is completely trashed. Picnic tables lay in splintered halves while other pieces of furniture are either smashed to smithereens or tossed to the side. Even Dahyun’s clothesline is no longer standing, and is instead strewn carelessly across the grass along with its collection of unfolded laundry. A particular sweatshirt catches your attention, appearing somewhat dirty in the minimal light. Once you’re close enough, you take the garment in your own two hands to better identify the mysterious stains… and you almost wish you hadn’t seen it in the first place when the realization settles in your head:

A large splotch of fresh blood is decorated across the fabric like an unfinished painting.

“Shit…” You curse, searching the area for any other possible clues of the pack’s whereabouts. Near the edge of the pond, you discover what seems to be an array of footprints in the mud, leading into the black of the quiet forest. There are multiple sets, you find, and you hope they all belong to the werewolves in question…

You know you should return to the car and report your findings to Jaebeom and Jinyoung, but something in your gut tells you that someone is in trouble.

Before you can dwell on the cons, you push forward into the woods, following the muddy footprints as best as you possibly can. Between pushing away mischievous branches and stepping over lazy logs, you’re almost reminded of the path you traversed before you met with Mina… You can only hope the events that follow this time aren’t as horrific.

“Yugyeom!...” You call softly, trying not to mistake each tree trunk as the silhouette of a person. “Bang Chan!... Anyone out here!?...”

The screech of the nightly breeze is your response. You eventually lose the footprint trail, unable to base your path off of anything but intuition. Your desire to turn back is strong, but you’ve come this far… and you doubt you’ll even be able to find your way back to the cabin at this point.

Your body tenses as a high-pitched wail enters your ears—a wail that sounds oddly similar to that of a human. Against the siren in your head screaming red flags, you head in the direction in which the noise came from. The silence pesters you as you go, practically electrifying your nerves from the inside out.

Out of nowhere, your foot catches some kind of large branch or rock, sending your body sprawling toward the earth with a loud gasp. You manage to break your fall with your arms, ignoring the gentle ache in your wrists, and scramble to grab the phone you dropped on the way down. Your anxiety is practically through the roof by the time the device is back in your grasp, but you muster up the courage and move to continue your search. However, the reveal of something that looks oddly like a human limb freezes your muscles.

It wasn’t a branch you tripped over… it was a leg.

“(Y/N)...”

It takes you a moment to identify the voice between the shock and fear, but all at once, your uneasiness shifts to concern.

“D… Dahyun!?”

After moving your light for a better view, you discover the female wolf slumped against a tree and covered head to toe in what seems to be a combination of blood and sticky mud. Her clothes are practically stained crimson, which you quickly realize is the result of the large jagged rock protruding from her abdomen.

“Holy shit… What happened to you?” You drop to her level to better assess her condition. There are more wounds embedded across her arms and chest—wounds that resemble claw marks…

“It was Changbin…” Your heart practically plummets to your stomach at her revelation. Dahyun pauses to cough—a couple projectiles of blood spewing from her lips—before continuing, “He attacked the pack… but he—he was different… Super strong and super fast and—and… It’s almost like he was—”

“Upgraded.” You finish, “Minho transformed Changbin into a weapon to kill Jaebeom and Jinyoung—the same spell Mark tried to use on Jackson.”

“It was more than that, (Y/N)...” She shakes her head, “Changbin wasn’t… wasn’t like himself…”

“What do you mean?”

“He was a monster…” You allow the wolf to grab your hand, ignoring the sticky feel of her blood against your skin. “I don’t—I don’t even know if anyone else is still alive… I don’t—I mean, I can’t—”

“Shhh.” You hum gently, reaching up to push away the hair melded to her sweaty forehead. Dahyun somewhat calms at your touch, but just from the wild expression along her features, you can tell the poor girl is scared out of her fucking mind.

“We’ll deal with that later, but right now, I need to get you out of here—”

You don’t have the chance to finish your sentence before she’s practically lurching away from you.

“No! You’re the one who needs to leave!”

“Dahyun—”

“He will kill you, (Y/N)!” She hiccups, “You need to run before he finds you!”

“I’m not just going to leave you here to bleed out—”

“She’s right.” You whirl around at the new voice, and to your surprise, discover a disheveled Yugyeom emerging from the darkness. Similar to the female wolf, gaping claw-marks decorate his face, chest and lower abdomen. His arm also seems to be broken and his knee badly dislocated—you can almost see the bone peeking out of his skin.

You hurry to catch the wolf before he collapses, carefully lowering him to lean against the same tree Dahyun is propped against. A pained wheeze passes his lips, but his expression remains as stoic and as determined as ever.

“If you care about your life, then you’ll run.”

“And if I care about yours and Dahyun’s lives?”

“We’re already as good as dead.”

“No—” You shake your head feverishly, “—I refuse to let you throw yourself to the big bad wolf like some fucking martyr, so you either start moving or I’ll drag you by the skin of your teeth.”

Yugyeom’s expression softens. “You sound like Jackson-hyung…”

If it were any other situation, you would have allowed yourself the time to respond to the newcomer’s comparison… but you’d rather not stay and risk the chance of encountering any more surprises.

“C’mon.” You carefully throw Dahyun’s arm over your shoulder, mindful not to push the rock deeper into her abdomen. Once you’re sure she won’t buckle back to the forest floor, you offer your free hand to the third party. “None of us are dying tonight.”

A familiar, malicious chuckle has your limbs growing numb.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Like a creature of the night, a smirking Changbin saunters into view. His clothes are torn and tarnished with blood, yet there’s no trace of injury along his skin. With the little light you have, you can just barely make out the black veins decorating underneath his eyes—the magic is already starting to consume him.

“Listen to me…” You murmur cautiously, maneuvering your body so Dahyun is safe behind and out of reach. “You’re under the effects of dark magic, okay? You’re not yourself—”

“I’ve never felt more like myself than I have now.” Your eyes dart around the area as Changbin leers closer and closer, attempting to find something sharp or heavy enough to knock him out. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any tea mugs or large branches in sight—

“I don’t want to hurt you, Changbin…”

“Really? Cause I sure want to hurt you…” He smiles devishly, “In fact, I’m just dying to rip out your fucking throat after that bullshit stunt you pulled back at the manor—”

“Leave her out of this, Bin.” Yugyeom hisses, clutching his chest while keeping himself supported against the tree. “If you have a problem, then take it out on me… Not her.”

“Oh, don’t worry… I’ll get to you next, hyung.” Changbin suddenly approaches, providing you no preparation as he snatches your wrist and pulls. With the little strength she has left, Dahyun attempts to defend you, landing a couple heavy hits against the attacker’s head. However, it only takes a good shove to send her flying to the ground—leaving you helpless in the arms of the beast.

You try to throw your own punches, but Changbin is both stronger and faster by miles. In the blink of an eye, he has your figure pinned to the ground with a calloused hand around your throat. Your lungs immediately go into a frenzy as the superwolf cuts off your oxygen supply. You claw at his fingers, breaking skin and fighting for breath, but his grip remains as firm as steel.

“…Think of…” You choke—your eyes beginning to roll to the back of your head. “…J-Jack…son…”

“What the fuck did you say—!?”

A loud bang erupts through the area, drowning out Changbin’s demand. Through the dark spots of your vision, you notice a gaping hole in the center of his throat. Another bang sounds, and this time, his head is blown to shreds of brain matter and skull. His grip immediately loosens, permitting your intake of oxygen once more. You quickly scramble away from the now unmoving corpse, gasping for air and clutching your swollen neck.

You’re almost glad it’s dark, so you can’t see the extent to which Changbin’s head had been mutilated.

Your ears are still vibrating when someone takes your shoulders.

“Jinyoung…?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No—no… I’m fine.” You allow the vampire to help you back to your feet. “Is… he?”

“For now.” Jinyoung hums, leading you into a nearby circle of light. To your surprise, you discover Mark carrying Dahyun with one arm and supporting Yugyeom with the other—a large shotgun splayed along his back. “Mark is a remarkable shot… I don’t think you wish to see, but Changbin won’t be bothering us for at least a couple hours.”

You release a sigh of relief. “Great… But now what?”

“Yugyeom says the rest of the pack is holed up in a secret bunker deeper into the forest.” Mark speaks for the first time, “We should head there… We all need to talk.”

“There’s no time like the present.” Jaebeom pipes up, emerging from the shadows with an unconscious Tzuyu in his arms. “I don’t know about you guys, but I really don’t want to be here when this guy wakes up…”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jackson is floating, aimlessly traveling through a white fog in which reality doesn’t quite reach. The Other Side is funny like that—Jackson doesn’t exist in the eyes of nature, therefore, when he’s not visiting the land of the living, he’s merely suspended in a state of nonexistence with nothing but the company of his own thoughts. He’ll spot the spirit of a fellow supernatural every so often, but even then… he’s completely alone.

Until he found you.

A wave of fondness spreads through Jackson’s veins—as if he had drunk a comforting cup of hot tea. In all the time he’s spent in the neverending nothingness, he never once thought he’d be able to feel again… but like a firework in the black of night, you sparked every bit of hope and passion and liveliness lingering within his mortal spirit. Maybe it was your determination that reminded him of his past self, or maybe it was your eyes—so bright with the stars of mortality—that made Jackson want to live again, to experience the warmth of your smile and the chill of your gaze in the depths of a true beating heart.

Something about you just makes him feel so… human.

Jackson snickers to himself before peering over his shoulder, having previously noticed some kind of blurred silhouette in the distance. It’s too far to tell, but he can just barely make out the approaching shape of another spirit—likely a newly deceased supernatural. He prepares to retire back to his thoughts, but is, however, interrupted when an ice-cold feeling overtakes the entirety of his being. Jackson freezes, both from the cold and his realization:

The witches know about his plan… and they’re not happy about it.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“—so once Youngjae siphons Minho’s power, he’ll be able to reverse the spell and turn Changbin back to normal.” Jaebeom keeps his focus on the witch as he relays his explanation to the many other audience members scattered around the bunker. He never thought the day would come where he would actually be working in tandem with Mark Tuan, the motherfucking magician himself, but here he is—

“What if Youngjae can’t perform the spell in time?” The pack’s beta, Yugyeom speaks up from his seat at a small, cardboard table stationed in the tiny kitchenette. He stretches his newly healed knee out in front of him before sparing Mark an inquisitive glance, “What happens then?”

“Minho’s power is the only anchor keeping Changbin alive, most of which he's drawing from the eclipse. Once that power runs out, then Changbin’s form will give out, which means—”

“He’ll die.” Dahyun finishes, pacing from one end of the underground shelter to the other. If it weren’t for the blood stains on her clothing and the large bandage encompassing her exposed abdomen, it would be impossible to tell she had been stabbed only minutes ago.

Being a werewolf certainly does pay off.

Mark nods, “Yes.”

“How long do we have then? Roughly?”

“‘Til the moon goes down, so about an hour and a half. Two hours at the most.”

“Shit.” She curses, “We’re so fucking screwed.”

“Let’s not jump to the worst of all evils so quickly.” Jaebeom fights the urge to roll his eyes as his brother, always the hero, appears from the next room before assuming his perch beside your sitting figure. He hands you an ice pack while still speaking to Mark, “You’re certain Youngjae will have enough strength to disarm the witch?”

“Not really, but it’s the only option at this point.”

“While this pathetic excuse of a plan is super great and all, there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room.” Ignoring the harsh glare the witch sends his way, Jaebeom continues, “There’s a cure for werewolf wonder’s bite, right? Some sort of witchy antidote or spell—?”

“As sorry as I am for your vampire girlfriend, I never thought of a cure when I designed the spell.” Mark’s eyes flash with something akin to resentment, spilling amusement through Jaebeom’s veins like a toxin. “When I want something—someone dead, I want them to stay dead.”

Jaebeom snorts. “Still the same punk ass kid you’ve always been, Tuan… It’s nice to see that nothing’s changed.”

“You’re a fucking prick—”

“Mark-hyung. Don’t.” Yugyeom places a calming hand on Mark’s shoulder, stopping him from storming over to where Jaebeom is currently smirking like a fool. The wolf glances at the latter before shaking his head, “We have bigger things than petty rivalries to worry about.”

To Jaebeom’s disappointment, Mark agrees with a sigh.

“Right… It’s just been a real shitty night.”

“For all of us, it’s safe to say.” Jaebeom doesn’t miss the warning look his brother sends his way, shaking his head scoldingly before turning to the witch-werewolf pair. “Could Changbin’s blood possibly reverse the venom’s effects? Similar to Jaebeom?”

Mark shakes his head, “Changbin isn’t a hybrid like your asshole of a brother. His blood has no healing properties whatsoever—”

“But there has to be something.” Your voice immediately cuts the former off, allowing Jaebeom some time to suppress the urge to fly across the room and tear the witch’s tongue from his mouth. “Youngjae once told me that magic always has a loophole, so a cure has to exist—we just have to figure out what it is.”

“I admire your positivity, little dove, but we don’t exactly have the time for trial and error.” Jaebeom peers over his shoulder at a sleeping Tzuyu—who is still showing no signs of possible consciousness or life in general. Her skin is flushed and sweaty with fever, but he can sense how her limbs tremble beneath the poison coursing through her veins. His chest tightens for a moment, only until he returns his focus back onto the conversation at hand:

“Minho might have an idea, but it’s a long shot.” Mark exhales, “Once we take him down, there’s no guarantee he’d tell us—if there is a cure, that is—and with the combined effects of your and Changbin’s venom, I have no clue how long your girlfriend has until—”

A sudden clatter has everyone leaping from their seats. Yugyeom flies to the bunker door in mere seconds while Mark snatches his shotgun from the kitchen counter behind him. Through the corner of his eye, Jaebeom notices Jinyoung usher you behind his form before pressing a small pocket knife between your fingers. The blossoming of the black bruises along your throat sparks rancor through the hybrid’s veins, and he readies himself into his own fighting stance.

“Yugyeom!?... Are you in there!?”

Yugyeom’s hostile expression transitions into one of relief—the tension melting from his body like snow. Although the voice is apparently familiar to the rest, Jaebeom remains tense as the beta goes about unlocking the bunker door. He almost expects a cackling Changbin to come bursting through the trapdoor, but is pleasantly surprised when a new figure comes into view—another limp body thrown precariously over his shoulder.

“Oh my god! Chan—Felix!” Dahyun immediately rushes toward the pair. Her gaze practically alive with fear. “Holy shit—is he alive!?”

The newcomer, who Jaebeom assumes to be Chan, sets down the teenager, presumably Felix, on one of the bunk beds with the help of Yugyeom and Mark. He catches Jinyoung helping a third figure, a teenage girl who can’t be over eighteen, into the bunker as well. Judging by her glassy irises and quivering lips, she seems as if she is going to burst into tears at the drop of a thimble. The group’s collective ragged appearance, Jaebeom knows, signifies the aftermath of one hell of a fight.

“What the hell happened out there, Chan!?” Yugyeom’s demand awakens the hybrid from his trance, forcing him to return his focus to the newcomer.

“H-He found us…” Chan murmurs darkly, “I… I tried to protect them… but he was too strong…”

“How is that possible?” Jaebeom frowns. “Sabrina the Witch over here blew his fucking head off—”

“They had to have been attacked before then.” Jinyoung places a calming hand on his shoulder, which he is quick to shake off.

The strange werewolf nods in agreement, “We took our time to get here—didn’t want to risk running into him again…”

“Wait…” The room grows hushed at Dahyun’s exclamation. When Jaebeom turns toward the female wolf, his annoyance falters at the panicked expression etched along her pretty features. “Where the hell is Chaeyoung…?”

Chan remains silent and still, like a boy fresh out of war, but Jaebeom has witnessed enough in his many lifetimes to see the answer written all along his face.

Yugyeom stands. His expression grim, almost sorrowful, as if he already knows too.

“Bang Chan… Where is Chaeyoung?”

“…she’s dead…” His whisper is barely audible, yet the hybrid can see how deeply those two words wound the crowd around him. “…bled out… there was nothing I could do…”

“Fuck…” Dahyun shivers before burying her face into her palms and letting out an even louder curse, “Fuck!...”

“I’m so sorry…”

Your soft voice carries over the female wolf’s sobs. Fascinated, Jaebeom watches as you maneuver your way across the bunker to kneel in front of a now sitting Bang Chan. You take his trembling hands between your own and peer up at the wolf with the most sympathetic gaze he has ever seen—his own heart can’t help but lurch at the sight.

“I hate to add to the list, but we have another issue—” Mark groans, pulling his hand away from the incapacitated teenager’s neck to press it against his own perspirating forehead. “—Felix was bitten…”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

“Dahyun—please.” Yugyeom sighs, “I just—shit.”

“We need to find that cure. Now.” Jinyoung steps forward, turning to speak directly to Mark. “I will go to the graveyard to assist your coven. With my help, it should be fairly simple to disarm the rogue.”

“Don’t underestimate him. You’re still gonna have to put up a damn good fight.”

“I can well manage on my own.”

Jaebeom shakes his head with a sneer, “I seriously doubt that, considering you got yourself poisoned the last time you played goddamn Superman.”

As much as Jinyoung puts up the invincible front, Jaebeom has known his brother for a long, long time—and also knows that the previous encounter with the superwolf left him much weaker than before. He can see it in the trembling of his hands and the pained lines etched along his forehead. He’ll get himself killed long before he reaches the graveyard.

“Jaebeom should go too.” You rise from your kneeling position to join the group. “Two pairs of hands are better than one. You can protect each other.”

“Absolutely not.” Jinyoung disagrees, “Jaebeom needs to remain here in case Changbin resurrects again.”

“We don’t have the time to worry about that. The witches will need all the help they can get.”

Jaebeom scoffs, “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but (Y/N) is right. We don’t know what we’re up against—better for us both to be there than just the one.”

Jinyoung stares at Jaebeom for a brief moment, as if searching his face for some hidden secret, before inhaling a deep, yet silent breath and finally nodding, “Fine. But if Changbin attacks—”

“We’ll handle it.” Yugyeom nods, “Thank you… for doing this.”

“We all have something to lose.” Jaebeom doesn’t miss the glance Jinyoung sends in your direction before making his way over to the bunker exit. “I just wish to make sure that no one else dies.” The last bout of final farewells are shared along with the reminder for everyone to remain on their best guard. In an attempt to follow his brother, Jaebeom moves to climb the ladder, but is stopped by the call of his name:

“Jaebeom, wait!...” He pauses—his interest piquing as you rush toward his temporary perch. Your gaze is shy, he notices, but still contains the fire of a thousand burning suns. “Just… be careful out there, okay?”

His response is indifferent. “Not to worry, little dove. I’ll make sure Jinyoung returns to you in one piece.”

“Promise me you both will return in one piece, please…”

Jaebeom’s annoyance immediately dissipates at the stressed enunciation of your words. His cold expression melts into a mixture of surprise and astonishment, mirroring the conflict brewing throughout his chest. He clears his throat, attempting to expel the emotions creeping up his back, before nodding:

“Y-Yeah, sure.” He gulps, “Can you… take care of Tzuyu? While I’m gone?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course. Just please stay alive.”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, untrusting that his words will make sense if said aloud. After providing you a silent farewell, he climbs the rest of the way out of the bunker where Jinyoung is waiting. His brother offers a pointed glance when he completely exits the safety of the bunker.

“I trust you’re ready for this, hyung?”

“Let’s get this shit over with.” Jaebeom rolls his eyes, “I’m getting real tired of running from Teenage Chewbacca.”

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perlen-gold · 3 years

Text

Tale of a Forest

Prompt: *Freebie* for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: M!Fenhawke

They seek refuge in the embrace of the tree.

The rain, decisive withal light, descended upon them at no notice.

In one moment, the forget-me-not-blue and snowdrop-white sky an exuberant brightness, in another handfuls of ashen-grey clouds were summoned by the wind to befall the lands with astonishing rains.

Fenris espied the riven tree first. Born from one root it stretches its triplet-trunks luxuriously like a three-fingered hand. Above, their crowns reach to rejoice again and, while still bereft of their leafy dress, numberless limbs entwine twistingly as if to warm each other. It stands alone, as if left behind by its comrades.

So they are hurrying towards it with quick steps, their rebounding feet falling lightly on the springy gras spraying larksome drops of rain every which way.

Between the three bough-branched, moss-matted trunks Hawke and Fenris shed their cloaks to put them up. If not drying they would at least provide a woolen canopy fending off most of the hoydenish rain. The wetness is not fancying itself a storm, yet prevents the toilsome start of a fire.

Under this they settle, Hawke leaning against the inner side of one of the three tilted trunks, and soon he reaches for Fenris who is still busy with the arrangements of their makeshift roof, dauntless rain drops tugging at the white strands of his hair, afly now and then in the welling wind. In one well-practiced, fluid motion Fenris sinks down on Hawke’s lap, his arms around his waist.

Thus huddled midst the three-faced tree they listen to the quiet weeping of the skies.

After a while, Hawke reclines his head and smiles, eyes aglitter. “You wish to continue our fight from earlier on?”

“I did not fight with you,” Fenris answers, “You did not yet know you were wrong.”

Roaring, Hawke throws back his head, his throat resonate with laughter. “They do not know where to go. They are refugees now.” he says after a moment, smiling appreciatively up at the man sitting in his lap, anticipating the game.

“Which did not prevent the man from attacking me with blood magic when we drew closer.” Fenris counters with arid readiness.

“I was assailed by the Templar first.” Hawke retorts slyly.

Fenris’ response is instantaneous and fast: “Whereas the blood mage attacked me behind my back.”

“Of course he did, you cannot expect the poor lad to attack you to your face.” Hawke replies, candid.

“I was bending down for some badges to help him.” Fenris indignantly snorts.

“Well,” Hawke continues with relishing insolence, “you forgot to shed your murder-face first.”

Slightly Fenris’ eyes narrow, pondering this for a time while leaning back. “He was trying, if only amateurishly, to use my blood, Hawke.”

“Yes, and that is very outrageous,” Hawke concedes in serious graveness, “but the boy was only sixteen and, I think, he was far too afraid to cut his own little finger.”

Fenris grimaces and therefore Hawke, sensing advantage, is quick to plunge on: “Whereas the Templar I was to try and talk out of threatening the poor boy – “

“You mocked her.” Fenris interjects dryly.

“ – whereas the Templar I was trying to jolly along”, Hawke insists, “with her sword nearly hew off my arm.” he ends with a gleeful triumph.

Head slanted, Fenris raises a dark, versatile eyebrow. “The Templar who was about eighty years? At least?”

“She was a very agile eighty-year-old.”

“She,” Fenris dissents with blithe stubbornness, “did not use blood magic.”

“Because she did not know how to. Neither did the boy.” Hawke explains mock-gravely.

“He meant to. Although I even smiled at him.” invokes Fenris displeased, his eyes an emerald conflagration.

“Baring your teeth at a mage is not smiling, Fenris. It is murder-face.” Then, as though adding an afterthought, Hawke impishly grins. “I, of all people, should know.”

At this the tension shatters and this time it is Fenris’ turn to give a low laugh, Hawke can feel it spiraling in his chest, a plumbless, youthful sound, his chesty voice vibrantly flying up to bead between hundreds of lucent drops of rain.

Gently, Hawke bows his head. Thus, Fenris forehead comes to rest upon his, their breaths mingling.

They listen again for the soft thuds and whispers of the rain.

After a while they kiss. Both hungry and savoring, a tender, silent game of questions and answers of lips. They graze each other’s skin, seek softly for familiar spots, a patch of rough skin, an unfamiliar and late bite, slightly swollen.

A little later Fenris and Hawke talk, dripping clouds lazily passing by, their voices quiet and clear to each other.

Hawke tells Fenris of his mother, the feel of her hard, rounded belly which he touched with young hands as a small boy, of his brother and sister, how they were born in the midnight blue middle of a storm-wrapped night, how he used to play hide-and-seek with tiny Carver and climbed ancient trees with little Bethany, and the fire the two of them once started, unwittingly, in his mother’s prized flower bed.

Hawke tells him stories of his childhood, stories of white-capped mountains which send their frigid howls down into snow-swirling dells in a Ferelden white, of forests so dark and mystical, moss-green and bark-brown, brimming with tales of walking trees and talking wolves hidden between shades of innumerable greens in short summer, every conceivable shade of white in winter. Lands, fields and streams still ruled by chilling winters and long-dead kings.

How did you survive, Fenris asks as the pads of his fingertips trace along the arcs of Hawke’s cheekbones and scrub against the defying black of his beard, in this threatening cold? What does a frozen sea look like, Hawke?

Hot meals, Fenris, long-burning, flame-red fires from crepitant logs and twigs during long nights, and warm, heavy furs like the wild men wear in the south.

Fenris, in turn, talks then of dense jungles and tangled vegetation, the unmatched feeling of overwhelmingness in opaque, dark, colossal jungles of towering trees, giant green leaves, spear-like sunrays that pierce the otherwise impenetrable green, smoothing darkness. Of tall stone pagodas overrun with twining vines. Of roaring cataract waterfalls amidst lushes of leafy, muggy forest pervading the sight, the sun a remote memory under the eclipsing canopy of virescent leaves, a luminous baldachin shrilly alive with all manner of cries, chatters, chirrups and sundry shrieks. Of a turquoise blue ocean which sheds its color to a cryptic midnight blue after sunset, leaving a taste of salt on skins. Of a stupefying onslaught of water, dripping, drenching, dousing during incessant rains permeating for weeks on end. Inbetween these onrushs the continual dripping of beads on ferns and creepers like a sheet of crystals, mixing up with the pervasive thin layer of sweat on the skin, adding to the moisture in the air. Of the everlasting, impermeable, out-reaching fog veiling warriors of egregious stealth and skill, who harbor but secrets of the origin of the legendary Griffons from the vast mountains tangy with cinnamon and nutmeg, a fragrance that weaves in and out of the luscious greenery of ferns. Here, Fenris pauses. Somewhat lost in reflection, contemplation. As always.

At first, this was difficult for Fenris.

Speaking. Talking. About good things, too. Things worth to remember.

Testing the power of your tongue. Letting your voice fly out of your chest and settle somewhere within another heart.

Letting lose things, of birds and beasts, flowers and thorns, things you are not sure you dare to examine yourself, things that bear both blossoms and poison. Power indwelling and evoked in both. And by letting them lose, that power transfers into the listener.

So Hawke started it. By letting fly small stories. Kirkwall, the first year he lived there, Ferelden, his hometown Lothering. Short tales that grew larger eventually, as Fenris tried, hesitantly, warily, distrustfully the power of his own voice. Hitherto he had spoken, oh yes, words burst forth from within by runaway emotions, unbridled, only to be shackled again and frowned upon afterwards. So, with incredible difficulty, tentatively, cautiously, with a lot of faltering and long considering pauses between words while Hawke listened to him in silence, Fenris tried.

What does a white beach look like, asks Hawke, rubbing Fenris’ arm lightly as his quiet stretches on, how does a warm sea leaping at your naked toes feel like? How does it taste, the moist sky and jungle air?

And Fenris tells Hawke, under the shelter of softly padding rain drops, of ensanguined beaches and mossy ground trembling under the everlasting combat of Tevinter soldiers and Qunari warriors. Fenris tells, his voice clear and quiet, after great consideration, also of Minrathous, a city of marvels and terrors alike. Of how he endured nights of stomach-punching, mind-dulling hunger in a palatial, marble-pillared place brimming with food, of nights filled with the heart-pounding, ceaseless listening for hunting pursuers, of the guilt and pleasure of stolen crumbs of bread over a dead body.

There are stories, yes, stories Fenris does not talk about which Hawke hears in the mute, overpowering echo of his silence. Stories Hawke both fears and yearns for.

Therefore, Hawke talks of his father.

The tickle and scratchiness of his father’s ebony beard under his boyish fingers The way his mouth curved, sagged and arched into infectious grins. The reverberation of his resonating laughter when no one else would laugh but anyone be provoked into it by his quiet smile in a fuliginous hut. . The smell of tender arms. Of his father taking him for walks by hours on end into the winding forests, teaching him magic, pure simple magic, and considerably more. His father whom Hawke invariably, ineradicably venerated and revered, a man of such kindness and protectiveness that he would help anyone who stumbled across his path. A man of unparalleled strength of will who wielded his magic before Hawke’s admiring boyish eyes with skill unrivaled, a man who seemed not to draw magic from the elements but rather be flooded by it from nature itself, while Fenris’ gaze lingers upon Hawke’s features with a softening, gentle expression whereas Hawke’s voice deliquesces to a throaty hoarseness.

Thus, a forest of stories arises, familiar ones they have shared many times before to one another so that they sound like lullabies from forgotten childhood days to either Fenris or Hawke. A forest grows of stories which they find new aspects to each time they tell the other again, a fresh point of view to ponder, a new silver light in the snow of a cold morning to behold, an almost forgotten, dusty taste to palpate in their mouths. And new stories as well. Stories which they are strangers to themselves until they have finished telling, somewhat scared, their gaze intend and steady upon the other’s face.

Inbetween stories they kiss again, patient and slow and between hushed words, indignant laughter and childlike giggles to find them.

The rain obscuring their sight, they have not seen the sun riding low in the sky and being pulled below the earth, illumined with streaks of light threading their way through the clouds. On the opposite side the moon rises behind the horizon as a vast, unbelievably sublime coin. It is aglow in ember-colored tones.

Meanwhile the rain has stopped, the clouds somehow, somewhen drifted along, revealing a welkin unsullied. Along the branches of the three-fingered tree buds glister lightly with the occasional drop, each heavy with the power of a rainforest’s monsoon, falling with a dead Ferelden king’s immortal might. A pale pink brushes the skies in the early evening, enchanting the horizon into a silky teal flowing into dainty rosy hues, dissolving to mysterious lilacs and, ultimately, velvety cobalt blue, their pastel shades disintegrating into one another.

The rain over, they rise from the embrace of the tree. Hawke tastes the squishy ground first with his boot, the grass springy and spongy underneath him. They bring down the almost soaking cloak which sustained shelter for them all the same.

Albeit smudged with winter dirt, the rain has bestrewn the wet ground with a scatter of shyly budding blossoms. But lying on a green bed of silk, violet crocus flowers wreathe among snowdrops of impeccable ivory and valorous-greened, saffron-yellow daffodils. Once night descends and soars again, hidden birds will begin their songs of time-old tales in every direction despite the cold dawn.

As of yet, Hawke and Fenris listen into the evening air, indicative of battle and fear, fading at last. The barely interrupted fighting has stopped to an exhausted stupor.

The lake from which they ran around midday lies shimmering and serene, struck by spring twilight, its depth wrought in the remembrance of a waning winter, not yet radiant with the lapis blue it will don to bedazzle its entranced surroundings.

With the cease of daylight, the war cries gradually cease too with tired people soon returning to their makeshift camps and jealously guarded camp fires, holding their enemies at bay by the threat of a night ambush, and a sort of weary silence returns to this once tranquil land.

Hawke’s boots squelch and Fenris’ incorrigibly bare feet slap onto the wet grass. Both of them look up to glance not at the spectacular fulgent full moon but westwards.

Behind them, under an unblemished plum-purple firmament, the low horizon would emanate a peach-colored, splendid glow, were it not for the bilious green exuded in the sky above. As both Fenris and Hawke look in its direction, upon their faces is cast a haunting light which throws their features into unfamiliar shapes, rifts and cracks, defacing, distorting them almost into unrecognizability.

Tentatively, Fenris hand touches Hawke’s chest.

“No news from Varric yet.”

Almost absent-mindedly, Hawke’s hand comes to rest on the pocket underneath his armor, too, where a carefully folded, thin package of swiftly-written and often-read letters rests, not speaking at once.

“I would never have believed to say this: No.”

Thoughtful, Fenris looks back at eerie sky. They both appraise it for a while.

This night, although they do not yet know of it, they will spend with rare company, sharing their food and secureness despite Hawke’s being careful of unearthing his name and self. Young and unkempt, a girl of maybe ten years will observe Fenris with curious child’s eyes, after setting fire to a winter-brown scrub, whom he calls witch. She, consequently, proudly informs him when I grow up I will become a witch of the wilds. They thereupon continue staring at each other, she peering, he glaring, till the girl lifts her dirty hands to snatch the apple in mid-air, revealing a gap between her teeth with her grinning at his gift.

For now, however Fenris’ hand easily slides into Hawke’s with well-practiced ease, a modest squeeze tiding through Hawke’s fingers, filling the chill which has descended upon them with warmth, a breathlessness and contentment flaring up inside him, as they set off for the winter-worn, mage-marked, templar-torn, spring-awaiting lake.

Behind them the solitary, three-stemmed tree slowly becomes one with the sinking crocus-purple night, a forest of trees fading with it.

______________________________________________________

😄 Okay, normally I don’t show drafts and I really don’t feel comfortable sharing things I feel are not only unrevised but still rough, blurred and incomplete BUT I really, really, REALLY wanted to contribute something to this last day of February and @14daysdalovers so I’ve worked through this for the last three days on end and I'm deciding now to simply bury my face in my hands and be done with it! 😆😅🙈

💗 Thank you so much @scharoux for your invariable efforts and considerate kindness! With your help what would have been a disheartening, quarantine-ridden February was transformed into weeks of pleasure, creativity and love! 💗

🌹 THANK YOU!!! 🌹

PS. A million thanks, too, to all those incredible, invisible people who actually bother to read my stuff!!!

#fenhawke #m!fenhawke #hawris #fenris #hawke #garrett hawke #14daysdalovers #another part of that still incomplete fanfiction of mine #please ignore me #my writing #Dragon Age II #dragon age 2 #dragon age #Dragon Age: Inquisition #fenris x hawke #hawke x fenris

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dazaii-sann · 3 years

Text

DAZAI x CHUUYA FANFICTION: ONE-SHOT [LOVE OR GUILT]

Blue.

Brown.

Green.

Yellow.

Orange.

Varied colors blended with each other like a 24-color palette. The wind blew from the west, causing the nearby tree leaves to dance along with the non-existent beat. The blue, clear water rampaged in silence, creating an almost seemingly soft serenade. A huge shining orb in the distance was split in half, projecting its reflection on the calm, unmoving water from below.

The whole place is quiet as if every single living soul had already vacated the area.

Well, not quite.

Two figures stood beneath a tree's shadow, taking refuge and solace after a whole day of struggles. The calm, light afternoon breeze soothe their souls as they look at the orange-painted sky.

Silence ensues but for them, it's what they need.

The quiet rage of the sea.

The hushing sound of overlapping leaves.

The way the remaining rays of the dusk kiss their flesh.

The sound of their even breathing.

Sounds romantic, right?

It is, except for one thing.

Everything, everything seems to retain its brilliance but something decided to exclude itself from that small band of glow.

A redhead's eyes… It's empty. The very exact opposite to his surrounding's radiance.

Meanwhile, the brunet beside him stood still, unmoving, as if he's already accustomed to that kind of scenario.

But is he?

No. Definitely not. Not in a million years.

Seeing his ex-partner like that made his knees wobble. All the remaining courage in his body had left him that even panning his head to Chuuya became an impossible task.

The guilt is slowly consuming him, pulling him into a world far more hellish than hell itself.

They stayed like that for a while, the stillness of the setting sun completely vanished into existence and was dethroned by a huge dark blanket covered with stars. The moon is in its crescent form, seems incomplete but whole all the same.

The coldness of the night embraced the two up to their bones, causing them to shiver.

"It's getting cold, Chuuya. Let's go inside?" The brunet proposed without looking at Chuuya.

He can't. Or maybe he actually can, but he chose not to.

Chuuya nods his head slightly and Dazai saw that movement from his eyes' corners.

Dazai's feet move in front of Chuuya's rear. With a slight push, the wheels on Chuuya's seat were sent into motion, carrying Chuuya's body along with it. Trails of the redhead's wheelchair and the brunet's footprints were engraved in the shore's sand and were immediately erased by the wave's arrival.

In just a few minutes, they reached a small house built near the shore. From its size, one can conclude that its interior can only shelter two people at once.

Upon entering the house, Dazai turned on the lights that he closed before going outside with Chuuya this afternoon. It has a simple structure. A kitchen, two couches and a table in between them, the comfort room, and a shared bedroom.

Dazai carefully lifts Chuuya's body and transfer it to one of the couches.

"You're so light, Chuuya~ Am I not feeding you well?" Dazai tried to annoy Chuuya like he used to back in the days but the redhead's expressions didn't even change. Not even a single move in his facial muscles. The brunet knew from the very start, that he could no longer hear Chuuya's annoyed response coming from his own mouth but he's still hoping, hoping that he could still hear Chuuya's voice one more time.

Chuuya's just like a lump of flesh without a soul inside of it. It is said that the soul is the trigger of an ability.

Maybe that's the exact reason why Chuuya lost his.

Ah no… There's no one to be blamed but Dazai.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

After moving Chuuya in a comfortable position, Dazai left him and went straight to the kitchen.

Dazai was a bad cook. Everyone must ready their pitiful stomach before taking in Dazai's food. Not only that but for the aftermath (puking included). But who would eat those kinds of stuff (can't consider them as "food") in the first place?

Everything changed when he started to live and take care of Chuuya over the past 3 years. He learned how to prepare varied homemade viands. Well, he doesn't want the redhead to eat canned goods every single day!

Dazai turned on the flame and let the ingredients fly and land on the pan's heated surface. He hummed a familiar tune, hoping that Chuuya might remember its tune but to no avail.

Dazai arranged the food into a plate and went to the redhead, utensils in his other hand.

Without a word, he scooped a spoonful and brought it closer to Chuuya's mouth.

"Say ah~"

If anyone could see this kind of scenario, the brunet looks like he's feeding a 3-month old baby.

"Well, he's indeed a baby," Dazai said at the back of his mind while moving the spoon back and forth.

After that dinner, Dazai once again carried Chuuya to their bed. It's not that big, but not too small. Just enough for the two of them.

Dazai then wrapped his arms around Chuuya's body. To give him warmth, a human's warmth to liberate the coldness of the night.

With the brunet's slender arms encircled around the redhead's body, and Chuuya's head leaning against Dazai's shoulder, they fall asleep.

Almost at the same time.

***

For three years, the very same sequence of events happened.

Watching the sunrise and sunset together.

Helping him to eat his own food.

And then finally, cradling each other until they got consumed by the God of Sleep.

Have they grown tired of it, especially Dazai?

Even he doesn't know the answer. He was known as the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia, someone who can see through everything. But why can't his superior, almost inhumane mind comprehend this feeling of longing?

Longing for what?

Is it for the return of his ex-partner's glory or the longing to return to his old life?

Maybe, but maybe not.

Dazai thought that the same exact happenings will happen again for today, and the days after that.

But he's wrong.

On with their usual routine, they watch the sun's tiny movement, trying to pull itself up higher in the sky as if it's trying to assert dominance and power. Somehow, the sunrise resembles Dazai every time he rose to bed, struggling his way up like he was being pulled down by the Earth's gravity. To make it less fancy, he's just simply lazy.

"C-chuuya… Is that you?"

Dazai froze, literally.

T-that voice…

Dazai panned his head to where the sound originated.

"A-ane…san…"

Kouyou smiled, but there's hidden remorse in it. The intensity of her eyes changed the moment it landed on Chuuya's frail body.

She looked away and face the brunet once more.

"It's been a while, demon."

***

"So… You're still taking care of him?" Kouyou sat in one of the couches inside of their house.

"Mm…" A simple nod is the only response that he could offer. He's not in the right mood to entertain a conversation right now, especially to those with whom he had ties.

Despite his seemingly uninterested remarks, he's still on the lookout. Who knows? Kouyou might try to do something funny. As for Chuuya, he doubts that this woman will do such a thing.

"I see… I see…" At the same time, a mocking laugh escaped out of her lips. Dazai, on the other hand, painted confusion throughout his face.

"It's all your fault anyway. You've got to clean your own mess and atone with what you had done."

Dazai clenched his fist as tightly as he could.

"Why are you still taking care of him?"

Dazai's lips went agape, trying to utter a word or two but failed miserably.

Why then? What keeps him from escaping and leaving Chuuya behind?

He doesn't know.

"I…"

"Do you love him?" Kouyou's question streak kept on bugging Dazai's feelings.

Dazai's so sure of that fact not until Kouyou retorted once more.

"Or is it because of guilt?"

Guilt, huh?

The brunet said no more and silence governed the two of them.

"Now demon… Which one is it?"

***

Darkness… Just pure darkness…

Or at least, that's what Chuuya sees.

He can't feel anything, nor grasp reality. He's just there, floating in the middle of nothingness. But amidst that abyss, he can feel his bones cracking, his body collapsing, and his blood leaking out of his system. The pain must be immeasurable and unbearable but none of those physical pains can equal his suffering.

He hates the dark, the emptiness because it always made him feel alone.

He can hear a huge crowd of people screaming at the top of their lungs as if their lives are in danger of death.

Yes, that's actually the case.

They're fleeing, away from the young boy in the middle of that immense object and that enemy he's battling against.

Their abilities clashed and the fiery battle caused a deal of damage to the establishments and facilities in the city, but Chuuya came out victorious. Yokohama is safe once again. The civilians already evacuated, thus no casualties recorded.

Everything's fine now.

But Chuuya's still not.

He's on his limit, and his rampage will continue up to the end of his life.

He had already accepted his fate, that corruption will disappear along with his existence but a bandaged hand tamed him.

But it's already late.

Chuuya got hospitalized after that. His life was saved, but his nervous system was badly affected.

Dazai couldn't help but blame himself. He was doing a lot of paper works at the armed detective agency's office (forced by Kunikida of course) but the unexpected foe barged its way to Yokohoma without even knocking.

That's why he's late to arrive at the scene.

Why did Chuuya activate his corrupted form without him?

He's such an idiot, an utter idiot…

But he's far worse than that.

***

"Chuuya~ Let's go outside?" Dazai asked his ex-partner but the latter shook his head weakly, much to the former's surprise. It's the first time Chuuya declined his invitation.

Instead of going outside, Chuuya points his finger to their room's direction, by which, Dazai understood and followed. Maybe Chuuya is just sick of watching the sun's routinary motion every day or he just wants to rest.

To ease his boredom, Dazai cooked for their supper, but a creaking sound came out from Chuuya's location.

Dazai dropped the spatula in hand and sprinted to their bedroom only to find Chuuya scribbling something on a small piece of paper. Because of his malfunctioning muscles, the pen he used created a noise as it dropped on the floor.

"Chuuya? What are you doi-" Dazai is stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw the letters inscribed on his paper. Beside the redhead is a small calendar with eighteen days crossed out for the month of June.

Today's June 19. Dazai's birthday.

"Ha…" Chuuya struggled to say something with his shivering and shaky voice. "Ha…ppy bir-th-da…y, sh-itt…y mac…ke-rel."

Dazai's heart starts to pound harder as if it wants to leap out of his ribcage. His head feels so fuzzy, but light at the time.

What's this feeling…?

Sadness?

Happiness?

Longing?

But Dazai knew that it's more than that.

"Now demon… Which one is it?"

"Ane-san… I already know the answer." He said at the back of his mind before embracing the redhead. He leaned closer to the former executive's ear and whispered, "Thank you, chibi."

Chuuya might not be able to restore his condition the way it once was but for Dazai, that doesn't matter now.

Whether Chuuya the petite mafia executive who kept on bickering with him back in the days or the Chuuya who's struggling to write a single sentence of greeting over a sheet of paper… Dazai's always fond of him, whatever the version.

And that will not change until the end of time.

-END-

#dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #double black #dazai x chuuya #bungo stray dogs

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

style

pairing: eb!frank x reader

summary: frank realises he’s in love with his sister’s best friend. inspired by taylor swift’s style, a prequel to this.

You've got that long hair slick back, white t-shirt and I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt, and when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style. So it goes, he can't keep his wild eyes on the road, takes me home, lights are off he's taking off his coat

Parties had never been Y/N’s cup of tea, she found them more to be an excuse for people to drink and smoke their worries away rather than deal with their issues. It was more of an escapism, in her mindset, for those which daylight brought too much worry and thus the night darkness and blinding neon lights allowed for a forgetfulness of what awaited outside. As one to try and solve whatever came her way, she absolutely despised them. There were better ways of socialising. However, Clara seemed to be just like her brother when it came to partying as right now, the house that during Christmas looked like every American sitcom’s house looked more like the drug den where the mafia would be hiding out with all the empty solo cups and random people making out on various corners.

Nevertheless, she was here and somehow here sounded better than her cold, mouldy student apartment. With a solo cup in hand, Y/N had taken refuge by the door, looking as people exited and entered the home and taking mental notes about Clara’s behaviour and how to properly tease her once her drunkenness faded away. Still, the real reason why she wasn’t inside freaking out whenever someone did use a coaster was Frank. When she agreed to come to the party, not in the wildest of her wildest thoughts did she think Frank would be around. He lived in the city and, following his mother, would only come out if he was broke or in huge trouble, however, here he was. Well, at least his broken up, terrible car was and considering how much he loved the piece of junk, he was probably around trying to flirt with as many university girls as he could while she was hiding, not wanting to face the events that took place during Christmas.

- Y/N ... - she could hear Clara almost sing out her name as she stumbled onto the porch of her home, tall and probably older man next to her which made alarm bells sound on her mind. The drunk girl must’ve realised that as she quickly explained who was next to her. - Y/N, this is Jack. Jack is a friend of Frank’s and he’s a writer like you. Thought you’d like to chat.

- Pleasure. - he stuck out a hand for her to shake which she did, worried look still settled on her face. Clara, happy with her match making, returned to the inside of the house, probably to down more of the cheap cider she had gotten from the corner shop. - So, what are you majoring on?

- English at Yale.

- Yale, that’s a big one. How is it going so far? One of my mates has started a teaching assistant position there, all I hear are good things from it. - he was nice, maybe too nice. Nice enough that Y/N wondered if he had a weirder darker side he wasn’t showing to her as that would be the only reason someone would decide to be friends with Frank whose occupation was still a big question mark on her head.

- Well, it’s Yale, never changes that much I suppose. - she shrugged, not entirely sure how to keep the conversation interesting.

- Who are you hiding from? - he leaned by her side, a much less used solo cup in his hand with clear liquid which Y/N guessed by the colour and smell was probably vodka. Not her favourite poison. She raised her brow at his question, wondering if she was putting it out in the world that she was constantly trying to escape from that party. - No one wears full black and then hangs by the porch unless they’re trying to hide from someone.

- Maybe I’m in mourning. - she tilted her head slightly up, smirk on her lips as she took the last sip from whatever cheap corner shop strawberry flavoured wine she had been drinking for the past hour. - Besides, July nights have the best night skies.

- I’m afraid I’ll have to agree. - Jack looked upwards to the particularly clear sky. It was one of those weird hot nights which contained only the slightest of warm air coursing through and one of the most stunningly clear skies. Had she been back in her youth, Y/N would have been rushing outside with her telescope to see if she could see any celestial bodies.

Meanwhile Frank was having his own sort of fun. He was never one to say no whenever his sister rarely invited him to a party with her university friends as that normally meant a wide array of less than five dollar spirits, cheap keg beer and people willing to give you a cigarette if asked. It also didn’t hurt that university girls were extremely easy for him to flirt with, however, tonight, he was looking for Y/N. He had even arrived earlier to see if he could catch her helping Clara with the decorations but she was nowhere to be seen and in the past four hours, he hadn’t seen or heard her name. It wasn’t like Clara was much of help, ignoring him whenever he asked for her best friend.

Things were starting to get boring and he wondered if he’d be better off at home either sleeping or having quality alcohol. As he saw yet another couple climb up the stairs to what he hoped wasn’t his childhood bedroom, he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Y/N most likely wasn’t at the party, it wasn’t her style, and he was wasting time. Besides, he was a fully grown man and she was a girl in the middle of university, not even mentioning his sister’s confidant. This was probably just his instinct of trying to stick it up to his sister by screwing around with her friends.

Frank threw his cup onto the growing pile in the bin and grabbed his jacket Moving through the crowds of people and ignoring the few girls who tried to stop him by grabbing his hand, he eventually made it to the red entrance door which was slightly open to reveal Jack. Maybe he was up to go to an actual bar, Frank thought to himself. However, what he wasn’t expecting as he stepped closer was to see Y/N in a slip black dress with a drink in hand and a stupid little smile as if Jack was telling her the best of jokes, which he probably wasn’t considering he had no sense of humour. At least not a good one.

- Hey man, you alright? - Jack noticed him as he turned to place the cup on the ground. - Going home already?

- It’s a university party, I’ve had my few share of it. - his eyes lingered on Y/N who suddenly found the tree of their front garden the most exciting and fantastic thing in the whole world. He probably should’ve just ignored it and let it slide but he couldn’t help it. - I see you’ve meet Rory.

- Shut up, Frank. - she rolled her eyes at the nickname he refused to drop. Jack looked utterly confused at the both of them, he was certain Clara had introduced her as Y/N and not Rory. Was he that drunk already? - Frank insists in calling me Rory, I’ve told him to stop.

- You know each other? - he moved his finger between both his friend and Y/N who was trying to find something to look at other than Frank.

- We’re acquaintances. - Y/N quickly replied before Frank had any ideas or any snarky comments, which, let’s be honest, he most likely did. - Spent Christmas together.

- Oh ... - Jack rubbed his neck and, feeling the atmosphere settling between the three of them, decided to go back inside with the excuse of needing a refill which he clearly didn’t. If looks could kill, Y/N’s look as he left would’ve dropped him straight to the ground in less than a second yet sadly they couldn’t and now she was stuck with the last person in the world she wanted to be stuck with.

- Flirting with my friend to get my attention? - he spoke up in that tone of voice that made her want to hit his head against the side of the house. - You could’ve just come and find me.

- Knock it off. - she threw her plastic cup at him, watching as the pink of her drink stained his shirt and took off inside the house to try and find her purse. Why she had stayed in so long she didn’t know but suddenly the moldey, icy apartment sounded like paradise to her.

Y/N entered the storage closet which Clara had conveniently turned into a coat hanger and stared to look for her coat and purse. All she wanted to do was find her coat and her phone so she could call an Uber and evaporate from this party before Frank could find her and make another snarky remark. Sometimes she wondered if he only existed so he could poke fun of her.

As she kept browsing through the endless sea of jackets, between the noise of the crumbling fabrics, she heard the door being shut behind her. Y/N rolled her eyes, expecting it to be Frank trying to play a trick on her but as she turned to face the door she didn’t see Frank. Instead, she saw one of her colleagues with whom she shared Medieval Narratives class with.

- Hi Nate. Looking for your coat?

- I was actually looking for you. Clara said she saw you come in here so I followed you. - he took a step closer to her, turning their once comfortable distance into one that she wasn’t very comfortable with. - You look stunning tonight.

- I know. - she said, taking a step back hoping it’d send a message that she was not keen with such closeness. She grabbed her coat from the hanger and purse quickly and tried to excuse herself but he refused to move. - Nate, I have to go. I have some essays I need to look into and I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.

- C’mon, I’m a nice guy. - he put his hand on her waist thus ending the tiny shred of patience that was still within her. With a might, she kicked him in the leg, making him crutch which gave her enough time to reach for the door, opening it wide and power walking out of it. However, he seemed to not be done with the constant following. - NEXT TIME DON’T DRESS LIKE A WHORE IF YOU DON’T SOMEONE TO APPROACH YOU!

She stopped on her tracks, still facing the door as she wondered if she had heard it correctly. By the sounds of the people surrounding her who had suddenly stopped their chats allowing her to listen to the music playing wide and clear, she had heard it well.

- You’re drunk, Nate. - she turned around to look at him, still keeping her distance and surrounding herself by other party goers who had found her answer not interesting enough to hold their attention.

- And you’re clearly still the same uptight goody two shoes who needs a good fuck to be put in her place. - Y/N rolled her eyes. Just what she fucking needed tonight. As she prepared to find a comeback for that and return to her beloved mission of reaching her home, someone punched him, the strength of the blow itself sending him to the ground. - What the fuck?

- Stay down if you know what’s good for you. - she recognised that voice way too well to know who it was. Her gaze went from Nate who was standing on the ground, clearly following orders, to Frank who had just punched him hard enough to scare him into not going up. God, great. Just what she needed, Frank to get a saviour complex.

Deciding this was too much for her, she returned to her mission of reaching the outside which after a few “are you okay?” from some of her friends who were sober enough to recognise the situation, had been successfully reached. Y/N sat down on the sidewalk by the house, phone in hand as she read that her driver would be in her with an hour. On that specific moment, she agreed with Frank as she let out angry huff.

- Fuck the suburbs. - she mumbled, bringing her knees up to her chin. There was no way this night could get any worse.

- Are you alright? - Y/N looked up to see Frank. Had she not been harassed by someone she probably would need to see again, she would’ve probably found the strength within to tell him to leave her alone. - I can leave if you want me too, Y/N.

- Nice to know you can use my name. - she commented. - You didn’t need to do that, didn’t need your help.

- Yeah, I know but he was asking for it. - he took a seat on the sidewalk, a bit further from her. - I think Clara’s got the rest of the beating handled. God, she’s ruthless when she drinks cider.

- Should’ve seen her during Fresher’s week. She climbed up the roof of our student housing topless and screaming the lyrics of "Wake me Up Before you Go”. - Y/N giggled at the memory of her and her flatmates trying her hardest to remove Clara from the wet roof.

- How come you never tell me the interesting stories? - Frank slightly turned to look at her. He couldn’t see her face completely due to her hair in front of it, but of what he could see, she thought she was the most stunning thing brought to life.

- Well, you never ask me. - she too turned to look at him. - You cannot tell Clara that I told you that.

- Can’t promise anything. - he raised his hands. - How long til your Uber arrives?

- An hour. - she huffed again. - Now I understand why you like the city so much.

- Get up. - he raised from his seating position, lending her a hand so she could do the same. - I’ll take you home.

- Frank, I will not enter the death machine again specially when you’ve been drinking. - her eyes turned to the same car. God, how come someone whose parents were well off decided to get that type of thing and call it a car?

- Cheap alcohol does not affect me besides I want to give you a ride. Just to make sure you’re safe.

- I’m safe enough in an Uber, Frank.

- Consider this, you’re an university student and it’s not gonna be cheap to catch an Uber during a Friday night. Just humour me, you don’t even have to speak with me, I’ll just drive you and drop you off. - he took his keys from his jacket pocket, the little keychain catching the little and she couldn’t help but let out a small smile as she recognised he was still using the keychain she had given him for Christmas. - You pick the music?

- No snarky comments? - she decided to negotiate. - And by snarky comments it includes calling me Rory Gilmore, Gilmore, Rory or any variation of the name. You will make me hate watching Gilmore Girls.

- Fine, deal. - Y/N followed Frank into his death machine also known by common people as a car. He kept his promise, not saying a single word and only turned on the radio which was playing some instrumentals. Throughout most of the journey, both their gazes were set on the road, not entirely sure how to interact to each other. She was the first to break the gaze from the road, turning her head ever to slightly to look at the side of his face. Y/N would never admit it out loud that Frank was an attractive but he was and somehow managed to look even better whenever his face was calm. Lips partially open, eyes slightly narrowed as his hands gripped onto the steering wheel. Her gaze settled on his parted lips, almost as if she could feel them against hers like Last Christmas.

If she were to be completely honest, she had put the event right in the back of her head fully knowing exactly what type of guy he was. She didn’t need to hear it from him, she knew it from accounts from Clara who’d normally complain about how many girlfriends her brother had gone through and how he liked to mess around with her friends to get under her skin. However, she was still a woman with taste and as such she found him wildly handsome.

- Stop staring at me, Y/N. - he pulled over one of Yale’s residencies, not entirely sure where Y/N and Clara lived. - We’re here.

- Thanks. - she put her hands on her lap, diverting her gaze from him. - Uhm, I think I should also thank you for punching Nate.

- I would punch whatever guy disrespected you. - he shrugged, almost as if being her protector came to him naturally. - Even if you flirted with my friend prior.

- I did not flirt with Jack, Frank. Even if I did it was none of your business. - if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve said he was being jealous. - Clara introduced us, if you must know.

- You can tell me you fancy him. I saw you all smiley as if he were a comedian which let me tell you, sweetheart, he definitely isn’t.

- I don’t fancy him. - she harshly opened the door of his car, huffing as she stepped out. Frank did the same but instead of lighting a cigarette, he instead walked to her, arms crossed. - Even if I was interested in Jack, I wouldn’t owe an explanation. You, out of all people who is constantly screwing around.

- Just asking, sweetheart. No need to get worked out over it.

- If it bothers you so much at least admit it, Frank. Don’t sulk about it like a school boy. - she took a step forward, heel clicking against the worn out asphalt of the ground.

- You’re my baby sister’s friend, I couldn’t care less.

- Seems like you’re awfully interested, Frank.

- You wish I was. - he put his hand on his pocket to fish for his cigarette pack along with his lighter. - Is that why you were flirting with Jack?

- You know what ... - she dropped her purse to the ground, hands coming to grab his face as her lips collided with his for the first time since Christmas. The kiss went on for a while, lasting substantially longer than she had intended.

Y/N tested the waters plenty of times by pulling away slowly but, much to her surprise, Frank took a step forward each time with a smirk against his lips as he slowly pushed her against the side of his car. She thought it would last forever or at least until one of them lost breath. That someone proved to be Frank, who pulled away, a very large stretched grin across his wet chapped lips as he stared down at her, her eyes staring right back.

- Hey! - a bright light shined their way, interrupting the moment. She looked in the direction seeing one of the campus security guard with a flashlight in hand. - No funny business on campus grounds.

- Sorry. - she mumbled as the guard went his merry way. Her eyes settled back on Frank. - I should go back to my flat.

- I’ll walk with you.

- No. - she raised her hand. - You can go back, I know the way.

- Y/N ... wait. - he rushed after her. - I know you don’t wanna talk about it but I don’t flirt with you just because you’re my sister’s friend.

- It’s really not the point, Frank. I know the type of man you are and I know exactly how you act. I should probably know better but I don’t and I’m a few cups in of cheap wine so my judgement is clouded.

- Listen, maybe when your judgment isn’t so clouded, we can discuss this.

- Sure, Frank. - she sighed, tired and wanting to go into a hole and scream at herself. What was wrong with her? God, this was worse than when she had a crush on the neighbour’s son. Why would she kiss him? Out of everyone? Was she feeling way too thankful for him being her weird white knight, she did not know, all she knew is that she needed to leave his sight, fast. - Good night.

- Night, Ace.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/N #frank imagine #frank x reader #endings beginnings #eb!frank

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scullysexual · 4 years

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{untitled post col fic: 3}

Season 9 canon-divergence. 2002 becomes the last documented year. The Colonists come and wreak havoc over everything that was once known and normal. From buildings being blown up to certain parts of the world not in existence anymore. When a simple patrol assignment goes wrong, Mulder finds himself bargaining his way to the top while Scully sinks lower and lower.

Chapter One // Chapter Two // AO3

I have a summary!

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - -

Chapter Three.

The end of the road that the Hoover Building sits on his blocked off. What Mulder feared has happened, smoke fills the air. Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances speed down towards the building, people gather around wondering what is going on. It’s the third, fourth, fifth, maybe even tenth high power building to go down.

As soon the car is parked, Scully is unbuckling her seatbelt and climbs out of the car, Mulder not too far behind her. It may be a weekend but people still work, they would’ve been working if they hadn’t decided they deserved a weekend off.

That realisation gives her pause.

In the chaos of all the people, in the police that shout and tell civilians to back away, Scully can see a few staff have made it out but not all them.

In the thick of it, Scully spies Skinner. She sighs with relief, running towards the ambulance he sits in. His head is cut from bits of debris that fell but other than that he looks well.

“Aren’t you two glad you took the weekend off,” he says when he sees them.

The Hoover Building sits in a pile of rubble. Paper flies down. Desks and computers and other furniture sits against the bricks and metal, if Scully looks dark enough she’s sure she can see a body or ten buried beneath it all.

“It is Terrorism?” Scully asks. 9/11 only just happened the year before.

“They don’t know,” says Skinner. “There’s been reports all morning of buildings of power going down. You heard about the White House?”

Scully nods.

“We started evacuating as soon as,” Skinner continues. “We thought we’d have time then boom!”

Scully looks back towards the rubble.

“Do they know how many are dead?”

Skinner shakes his head. “But I know we didn’t get even half out.”

Another AD calls Skinner over. Mulder, who has been looking at the sky the whole time says.

“I think it’s happening, Scully.”

“What’s happening?” She’s barely listening instead staring at the place she spent more time in than she did at home.

“I think it’s beginning.”

It sinks in then what he’s saying to her. She turns to see him looking at her and she lets out a shaky breath.

“You mean the colonisation?”

He nods and looks around at the people who still linger, watching.

“Think people will listen to us now?”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He stays up all night, wondering what to do.

Scully sleeps beside him, tossing and turner. Just getting her to sleep had been a handful. A red portable radio sits in the living room and tells them each day of more destruction, more violence. Scully was worried. Tales of people taking others in just to hand them over. The word slave was being thrown around, from labour to breeder, there was no doubt in Mulder’s mind that he and Scully would be separated.

He would not turn them in.

Which begged the question of where could they go? Apartment blocks were being searched, people being dragged out and hauled into vans. They couldn’t stay here much longer.

Mulder lays down, just as confused and lost as he was two hours ago. He rolls onto his side, coming back to face with Scully. Even in her sleep she’s just as restless and puzzled as he is, her face contorting and tiny gasps exiting her open mouth.

A piece of hair has fallen across her face, absentmindedly Mulder’s fingers brush it back.

How long do they have, he wonders? How long could they run for? Was it even possible? They were able to blow up buildings from satellites Scully was adamant did not exist, surely those same satellites could follow them, track them, and thus lead the Colonist to them.

Whatever their solution was Mulder would fight for their freedom. He will not let them come complacent in this new world.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

One by one they blow up state after state. Leaving parts or leaving none at all. They hear it unfold through radios that are still able to catch a signal.

Scully listens to their portable radio, shaking from the cold, her knees tucked towards her chest. Home is gone and they seek refuge in abandoned buildings. Their options limited, staying with people too dangerous as they risk capture, anyone looking to be in the Colonists’ good books for handing refugees over.

The radio is her access to this new world now. She listens each day to the number of humans taken prisoner. Mainly, she’s listening out for her mother’s name, her brother and sister-in-law’s, their children, her nephews but there is nothing. Names are rarely mentioned, mainly it’s just numbers, and those numbers rise higher and higher each day.

The sound of a door opens and Scully lowers the volume on the radio, grips hold of her service weapon. Rationally, she knows who it is but still as the shadow approaches she aims the gun higher, finger on the trigger, ready to pull.

“It’s me,” comes Mulder’s voice. He holds their dinner in his hands- tins.

Scully puts her gun down and lays her head against her knees again, turning the volume back up.

Mulder eyes the radio with contempt and hatred.

“Listening to the radio again?” he says as he opens the tin.

Scully says nothing.

“It’s not doing you any favours.” He grabs their bowls, pouring the cold beans into them and hands it towards Scully.

“I don’t want beans.”

“Just don’t want beans.” He sounds irritated. “Right. Would you like me to magic a chicken for you?”

Scully clutches her knees closer to her chest as his irritation makes way for anger.

“How about some bacon and eggs?” he asks, his sarcasm cutting through. “Or better, a tutti-fruity dreamsicle?”

She doesn’t answer and her silence seems to anger him more. His eyes now blazing, he picks up her bowl of beans and hurls it across the room where it shatters against the wall.

The action brings tears to Scully’s eyes, a slight whimper that has Mulder turning. Maybe it’s the way she looks; small, cold, and wet, her hair a curly, tangled mess, clothes dirty and pinned to her body that makes him regret his actions yet there is no move to comfort her. This…thing has driven a wedge between them, one that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere any time soon.

Mulder’s eyes move from the radio to the gun. He sighs and picks up his own gun, his bag and makes his way towards the exit, his own bowl of beans left discarded on the floor.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s asleep when he returns, wrapped up in a sleeping bag. The radio plays static and Mulder reaches over to switch it off completely. An empty bowl of beans next to it.

She moves in her sleep, a tiny gasp escaping her open mouth. A stray hair has fallen and Mulder brushes it aside, tucking it behind her ear.

The movement wakes her.

She looks at him with eyes not fully open and Mulder smiles softly however Scully gives him an unsure look.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Where did you go?” she croaks, rolling over, her eyes closing.

His hand combs through her hair.

“Just for a walk,” he says. “I didn’t go far.”

“Hmm…”

He knows he should apologise but apologies don’t come easy to them anymore. Sorry means it won’t happen again and they know it will happen again.

“I see you ate the beans after all,” he says with a smile.

“I got hungry…”

He lays beside her properly, not letting go of her and instead of an apology tells her.

“I will try, Scully. I’ll try to do better but please promise me you’ll stop with the radio.”

Her eyes open again, big and blue, and sad, so, so sad.

“I don’t know if I can promise that.”

He smiles again, expecting as much.

“Try for me, please?”

She looks away, her tongue comes out to lick her lips and then she looks at him and nods.

“Thank you,” he answers kissing her forehead.

They sleep wrapped up in each other and when morning comes, the radio stays off. They eat canned fruits for breakfast, pack up their stuff, and head off to their next destination, they’re relationship and little more healed.

#post col sad angsty fic #chapter 3 #i write

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realmonsterboyhours · 4 years

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Anguism (GodNaga!Beej Lore Post)

This is something I’ve had in the works for a while. I wanted to expand on GodNaga!Beej’s lore, and the religion practices Scarabee would use. Please note that this is a false practice, created so we wouldn’t end up offending anyone who practices real religion when we talk about Scarabee. Everything you will need will be below the cut! Trigger warnings: Mention of blood, mention of violence.

Anguism- A religious belief system worshiping Betelgeuse/Beetlejuice, an eldritch abomination. Also known as a “God of serpents”

(Anguis = Snake/Serpent in latin since he predates christ)

Origin of Betelgeuse:

Born from the explosive creation of the second brightest star in the constellation Orion, Betelgeuse was the product of a spare fragment of the star colliding to the planet earth which had disrupted a snake den. Thousands of years later an earthquake shook the remains free from the rubble of the long-forgotten den. What was released was a horrific creature, half-man, half-snake.

In his search for purpose, the beast found refuge in cave systems where he resided for thousands of years that unbeknownst to him was rather close to where a small settlement of early humans would eventually reside. Revered for his strange shape, and his immense power it wasn't long until the locals had begun seeking him out for protection and prosperity.

In return for their praise and sacrifices, he offered the humans protection, and for centuries he served them. Night after night he would watch out for the members of their small town, returning children lost in the forest, blessing crops, and livestock. The people worshiped the serpent for generations, passing beliefs, prayers, sacrifice ideals, and the likes down from father to son and so forth.

As time moved forward and with the rapid spread of Christianity, the few faithful followers took to his shrine where they wrote everything they could in books, scrolls, and tomes. The history, and practice all were archived and stored in a small temple where worshipers would come to pray or leave their offerings.

Misfortune struck the village when they were attacked, raided for their ‘false God’, and the settlement was burnt to near ashes. All remaining members of the religion were taken by those who lead the raid, never to be seen again.

In a furious rage, the serpent emerges, thus begins a great wipe of carnage and destruction. The snake god had taken on a form even his most devout followers would likely have not recognized. Those who witnessed it had gone mad, or simply dropped where they stood, their minds not able to comprehend what they had seen. The rage took place for days, those who were ordered to try and subdue the monster lost their lives, like lambs to slaughter until the great beast settled after day three.

Shocked and appalled by the state he found his beloved village, he retreats, with the last of his strength he retrieves the books and scrolls and hides them away within his own temple, protected with the last of his magical ability before he collapses, only to wake seasons later bound in chains to a large pillar in the broken remains of his once-grand temple’s atrium, where he remains, locked and powerless for centuries, hidden away in the ruins of his only home, defeated and left with the weight of guilt of his followers' lost lives and his inability to protect them.

Practice Belief:

The main focus of his belief is based on trust, blind obedience, and sacrifice. In return, you receive a benevolent God, and those who earn his favor will be gifted with immortality, or an afterlife to serve him.

Worshipers:

Anyone can worship this God, but the hidden knowledge often times makes it nearly impossible to hear of or practice so the religion is quite small. Worshipers gain favor over time in their trust, tasks given to them by the beast. Sacrifices and gifts are also required. This ‘level’ makes the majority of his worship. Most followers of his fall under this category. In basics, you simply serve him, and in return, he will help when called upon.

Devotees:

Devotees are a group of individuals that have earned his respect. These individuals are blessed with the ability to see their God first hand, or may be requested or summoned when he may need. He may telepathically visit these followers with insight to their future, if they are in danger, or other things similar.

Marked:

Also known as ‘priests’ of his religion.

Those who are marked have earned his highest favor. In a way, he has claimed them with a mark that will bond those marked with him forever. Those who are marked may expect eternal life serving him. Those who are marked would be offered the knowledge written in ancient times. Special powers would be granted, typically powers manipulating shadows, or altering one’s own body are gifted. “Priests” or those who are marked will be taught the serpentine language that is exclusively distinct to the beast. Only the most devout, trusting, and self-sacrificing would ever be considered to be marked.

Tools of practice:

Tools of practice are very aligned with an eclectic pagan. Divination tools and ceremonial daggers are primarily used tools. Presents and gifts from the beast should also be used in practice, including protective jewelry and collars from him. The use of alcohol is also strongly suggested, and nearly every spell, and offering to the serpent includes dark alcohols. Of all tools used it is important to note that intent, trust, and faith will always be the backbone of this religion. Those who cannot simply trust cannot worship this deity.

True magic versus spell working:

There is a stark difference between true magic, and spell working within this religion.

Spell working can be done within any level of this worship. Spell working would include making things like spell jars, candle magic, divination, offerings and prayer.

True magic is only accomplished by those with the serpent’s mark. Users of true magic are gifted from the serpent himself and typically have abilities that control shadows, or manipulate their own form at will.

Common historical offerings for Beetlejuice:

-Gold, jewelry, coins, money, jewels. -Small offerings of virgin blood. He was known for feeding directly from them or through small vials. -Livestock, raw red meat, hearty breads -Alcohol -Personal letters of devotion -Acts of devotion could be protecting those at risk, protecting and caring for the shrines, caring for snakes.

Common modern offerings for Beetlejuice:

-Dark alcohol. -Red meats and hearty breads. -Coins and special trinkets. -Acts of devotion include protecting those in need, caring for snakes, and if allowed visiting him, or communicating with or praying to him.

Common themes or repeating imagery:

-Snakes, crows, beetles -Green, black, white, gold -Elements of earth and fire -Bones and ash/soot -Mist/fog -Autumn -Bogs and open fields -Shadows -Broken glass/chains/broken stones -Old books -Dark blood like that found in veins -Things repeating in threes -Ouroboros

The mark

Being marked by the serpent God is something akin to a marriage but not in the traditional ideas. It binds you two forever, it shows both himself and the recipient just how much they mean to one another. The mark is given usually in private, a small ceremony between the two may be held, usually pertaining to drinking, sharing a meal, sharing some form of promises and then finally the mark is given when the serpent bites you and pours some of his own power into the recipient. The mark heals quickly and the bite leaves a very small marking of a snake on the skin of the one he marked, that spot will work as not only his vow to you but when either party touches the mark the other will feel a warm feeling spread from it. It can be used as a sort of built in security system that the God uses to warn the recipient of danger. Very few have ever been marked, he does not take it lightly. In current official lore Scarabee Shoggoth is the only surviving marked/priest, and in the past only three others had ever been marked who were taken away during the attack on his temple. He to this day does not know what happened to them, their marks have long since gone cold, and their life force had gone during his years of unconsciousness. He mourns them greatly and every 100 years on the anniversary of what he presumes are their deaths he pays respect to his lost followers.

Information about Betelgeuse/Beetlejuice himself.

Appearance:

His most typical appearance is as naga, about a 10 foot tall. His tail is thick and constrictor like, black and white stripes that are slightly iridescent in certain lighting, with black ventral plates. His upper body is large, he has quite a bit of muscle from the way he moves around, large arms, broad shoulders, and well defined back muscles. His chest is also quite strong. His stomach has a lot of muscle but a thick covering of fat that makes him look quite chubby. He has long black hair that falls down past his shoulders and chest, usually to rib length. Can be straight or wavy and messy. His hair is styled in a half shave with a few braids that are beaded with gold. His ears are pointed, he has two small black horns on the top of his head that curl in and back. He's got several piercings, and wears almost exclusively gold and emeralds. Around his waist is a black and white striped cloth that he can be drawn without.

It should be mentioned that he can control his form at will. He can make himself smaller, bigger, human, naga, snake, or otherwise strange monster form that is unfit for human eyes.

In his human form he is tall, similarly shaped as his naga form in terms of body size. He typically wears dark colors, favoring blacks, gold, and dark green or jewel tones. His hair is still long, coming to about his collar bone.

Personality:

Rough, abrasive, and more than a bit full of himself. He can be selfish and jaded, he's quick to anger, and he's quick to punish. He very much embodies the act first and ask questions later. He can be a bit quick to jump to conclusions and can be very hard to get to know. Can be quite a trickster, often cat-like and chaotic. He gets a sick rise out of terrifying newcomers just for fun.

Things to consider for self-ship:

Obviously this is completely open ended for you the reader/viewer/shipper to do whatever you wish with the story or ideas you have, but these may help you make some decisions!

He is meant to sort of have a pre-existing relationship with Scarabee. They are in fact some sort of romantically inclined. Proving your loyalty to Scarabee would likely bleed over to the deity over time. Self shipping with Scarabee and GodNaga!Beej as a poly deal is a common mode for sure, however, if poly isn’t your thing or you don’t want to ship with Scarabee at all, you could just as well meet him without Scarabee’s help. He’s open ended for the ease of the reader to write/draw/hc/or do whatever they want. It’s also important to note that while he is rough and abrasive, he is not incapable of feeling emotions like love, and lust and the likes, he us just far less likely to experience it than others might. He tends to get a bit confused by affection, and isn’t quite sure what to do with it, but it IS a massive ego boost for him.

Trivial facts:

-We nicknamed him ‘Snubban’ for “Snake Husband”. -He has a potent aphrodisiac venom. -He can and will give you a golden collar or bracelet if you don’t want to be marked, or just if you offer yourself to him. -Nicknames from him are typically akin to small animal names like “Rabbit” “Mouse” “Little Pet” “Lamb” etc. -He does in fact shed! Usually once a year, often gets real bratty and princess-like, making Scarabee come down to help him with the shed since it’s so itchy. -He usually stays within his temple, but he does in fact visit the estate as an extended universe character, and also has been known to simply venture out to see what humans are up to in his human form sometimes. -Scarafaggio and him would have crossed paths in their time on the earth. We’re still ballparking ideas on that. -My HC for his voice would be similar to Thresh from League of Legends. -

#Hax HCs #Lore Post #GodNaga!Beetlejuice #GodNaga!Beej #Naga!Beej #Naga!Beetlejuice #Snubban #Lore #Scarabee #The Conglomerate #Extended universe #anguism #blood #violence

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ninjaslegos · 3 years

Note

For her clothing you could make the Accessoires in those colours or search Up a specific theme/Core (example Dark Academia) If you Need Inspiration for the clothes.And would you mind Sharing Info about your oc?:0 she Looks already pretty cool

I didn't think anyone would love her this much I-

I know what I want two of her outfits to be; one is a dress they wear on special occasions, like when they go to the fangblade competition to cheer on their 'dad'. The other is their 'concealed' outfit I mentioned, which looks cool in my head, I just need to get it on paper. I'm thinking they wear a lot of warmer clothes since they're in the sky for a long time, (the monastery in the mountains, The Bounty, riding dragons, etc.) I actually really like the jean shorts and leggings style so I at least know what they'll wear for pants.

Infodump below :)

(warning, IMMEDIATE death mention)

Anya comes to Ninjago after trying to run from home; she slips on ice, falls down a hill, and crashes into a tree, where she essentially bleeds out/freezes to death. They wake up just outside Jamanakai village and feel cold and confused, so they seek refuge in the village. However, upon seeing all these tall, crayon-yellow people, she freaks out, and they freak out, calling her one of Garmadon's goons and attacking her. They drive her under an overturned wheelbarrow, where she hides out until the ninja arrive. Scared, injured, cold, hungry, and confused, they nearly die of heart attack when four very tall men come to beat her up. She acts like a feral cat; growling and hissing, and bares her teeth, curling herself up and pressing far away from them as she can.

As the brave one, Cole treats her like a cat and holds his hand out. Very tempted to bite and run, she's panting heavily, and her eyes are darting around. Instead, Zane warns Cole not to touch her without talking first, so he tells her it's okay, that she's safe, and that she can come with them. Jay is freaking out about aliens in the meanwhile, which doesn't put Anya at ease, so Kai has to walk him away from the situation.

So Zane and Cole get her to calm down, feed her, tend to her wounds, then she goes into hiding again. She just becomes this little creature they have that they put food out for and leave alone while she hides somewhere; they can't find her when she's hiding, thus they can't kick her out. Besides, they know she has nowhere to go. After a week of this, Cole gets brave again and starts hanging around her food areas until she feel comfortable near him to eat beside him, and he can even pet her hair/rub her back.

He does this until one day she just goes "oh by the way my name is Anya." and the ninja freak. They thought she was some sort of animal from another planet and couldn't talk, so they apologize and formally invite her to live with them. They start treating her more humanly, and she's grateful for it. After being treated like some sort of thing to awe at and pity on Earth, she's finally glad to have people actually listen to her.

Her relationship with Cole becomes a father/daughter one. Zane is like her trusted friend/the cool uncle. Kai starts to form a smallish crush on her, but they're clueless as hell, and Cole is ready to throw hands with him. Jay is still really wigged out about the whole situation, but after they talk about it, he feels better about having them around.

Anya turns into a fighter who wears special gauntlets with spikes on them. Because of her power of Will, she can't really die because she genuinely believes she can't die here because she has cool alien powers. So she uses this deathless ability to beat the shit out of people until she is unable to fight anymore. Examples include trying to deck Garmadon in the face despite being half his height, threatening the Great Devourer (which was stupid on their half because if they were eaten the Devourer would've become a literal god), kicking Clouse in the shins for shits and giggles, and eating random things in Prime Empire which made both her AND Unagami sick.

In later seasons, they go on the mission to stop Garmadon to revive the Grundle and turn young, but they get returned back to normal because they get hit with the tomorrow tea. But when Garmadon goes back in time with the other ninja and mess up the timeline, it turns out in the other timeline Kai didn't like her (because in this timeline, she ended up showing up early, so he blamed the loss of Nya on her) so he made her stay behind when they went to the comic shop, so she loses her adult memory and is stuck as a kid and has to grow up again. This makes Lloyd jealous that 'oh she gets a second childhood while I had to grow up too soon'. This plays a big big role in season 4 (where things get worse) and season 5 (where Morro takes her along and Lloyd can see how much she is hurt because of her second life, and finally gets over his feelings about it.)

SPEAKING of Morro, when they didn't know who the Green Ninja was, she trained like crazy because she wanted to prove that she could be strong, and could be worthy of being the Green Ninja. This set off a lot of red flags for Wu and he felt bad knowing they might go down the same path as Morro, but he couldn't do anything because he didn't know what to do to get her to calm down and stop without upsetting her. Luckily things went okay,

Also in season 5, Morro possesses her, which upset her and sent her emotions spiraling so hard that she actually became a big slime creature, but the ninja help her out by singing to her. She calms down, before attacking the Preeminent. Before Morro leaves her body though, she eats the Preeminent, which causes her to transform into a giant monster who, when they eat people, sends them to a peaceful dimension full of food and houses and places to play. People can stay there if things are looking Bad in Ninjago, before they can return home if they're ready (for example, during season 9/10, she contains people in her dimension, then they can escape through her mouth again. They run off because they're scared, and no one sees them for a long time. In season 6, Nya and Jay saw her in the tower with Echo, who has named her Hero. The ninja feel devastated to find this out, so once they go back in time, they make an excuse to find Anya/Hero. She's not there though, because she remembered, and she was scared.

In season 9 though, just before Harumi is killed/crushed, Hero barrels into the rock creature and battles with it. She isn't as scared as she was anymore, and when Cole comes back, he manages to finally calm her down, and she reverts to a human form.

(For those who don't want to read all of it she is full of love AND trauma and was definitely the weird kid who was way into bugs and pretended to be a cat in elementary school)

That's really all for now...but I definitely feel inspired for outfits now! Thank you!!

#I *was* going to work on my oneshots but...a chance to talk about my OC? 😳 deal

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masked-buffoon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Preying in the dark (Part 1)

Warnings: mentions of murder, murder attempt, mentions of parricide, heavy language

Disclaimers : I do not own any of the BSD characters, only my OC and a few other ones created for the purpose of this story.

Author notes: finally, here is the first part of the first chapter, the very first introduction to my story! If you can’t wait, feel free to read it on AO3 ;)

I was cold, I was hungry, I was tired, and I was purposelessly wandering in the streets of Yokohama, looking for some place to stay. Above me, the pale full moon shone darkly, making the night all the more sinister and the silence incredibly tended. There was a lingering feeling of danger in the air which made me shiver, but I could not pay too much attention to it. Whatever were to occur, there was no place I could run to, no refuge I could seek to hide, nowhere I could go to rest. I was alone, by myself, in thrall to the unknown and unsafe world without even a light to guide my steps. I was lost.

"You don't belong there, you scum. Get out of my house! Filthy garbage!"

The last words I had heard from the man whose blood ran into my vessels still echoed in my ears. They had been the very start of my demise, but also the beginning of my freedom. Although I was starving and exhausted by precariousness, I was free from that cage, from that place where I had spent my entire childhood. I had never known more than the four walls of my bedroom. My fifteen first years had been spent recluse, curled up under the blanket of a bed with a book on the pillow. Would it not have been for literature, I would have been completely oblivious to the world. I would have naively followed that older man, the other day, who had kindly offered to welcome me. I would have stupidly been caught stealing in a supermarket. I would have dumbly sold my body to a brothel in order to survive. Really, I was fortunate to have read this much. At the very least, I was aware of the ways of the world and knew that money ruled it, supreme, powerful, creating selfishness and making parents abandon their child out of greed. I sighed slightly and let myself slump down on the cold concrete ground. I had been walking around with an empty stomach for a week. Maybe was it time for me to give up and make my way to the slums. No one could make a living in the back alleys of Yokohama, unless one sold oneself or got involved in drugs.

Exactly seven days ago, I had been chased from my family. I had had a feeling, lately, that my time would come, that these people would throw me away at any time, and I had not been wrong. In broad daylight, at around ten in the morning, the doors of the mansion had closed forever behind my shaking back, and I had been abandoned like a dog its owners did not want anymore. Like any stray animal, I had first roamed around the house, hoping it was a bad joke, hoping perhaps they would not be as heartless as to ditch their older daughter with no further thoughts. I had prayed that there was still a trace of humanity left in those monsters playing my family, but unfortunately, it was in vain. They had sent the butler, who, because he was the only one to actually care about me, had scared me off with a firearm instead of shooting at me. Treated like a nuisance, I had had no choice but to run away and escape that madness. Why had it come to such extremities? I believed it was related to the fact I had hold a revolver toward the father, aiming at his chest, out of anger. In fact, this action had triggered these events, had unraveled the morbid plans the man had been plotting. What was one supposed to do upon hearing a man delightfully boasting about disinheriting his child and sending her in the streets to her death? It had gone on for ten whole minutes, during which he had explained his wife he simply could not kill me with his own hands because it would attract the police's attention and he did not want his reputation to be ruined. I had wondered if he had thought about ruining his reputation when he had called members of the Port Mafia to sign a contract, a month ago. I had kept listening to his disgusting words. His wife had never been the active one. She could never have stood against her husband, could never have done a thing for me and had only ever been good at wearing pretty kimonos and nodding at the man's gross statement. The younger me had believed she was simply scared and did not dare going against the fat man. The younger me had believed so strongly this mother loved me, and had been deceived. Had she loved me, she would have at least tried to see me in secret. There had been plenty of opportunities to sneak inside the room, to talk to me, to take me in her arms, to kiss me and comfort me, but I had never seen her. Never, ever. These gestures, she only gave to my younger, Ruriko-chan, whose smile had never failed to soothe my painful heart. I was not jealous, simply disappointed in the people who called themselves my family. As the man's loathsome laugh had echoed in the living room, I had calmly walked toward a drawer in the corridor and had grabbed a pocket revolver he had been hiding for years. Stating I had only known my room was, in fact, a false statement, for I had been allowed to come out a year ago, on my fourteenth birthday, when Ruriko-chan had pulled me out forcefully despite the parents' disapproval. How the matter had been solved, I was not sure about it. Maybe had she succeeded in convincing the mother. Since that day, I had explored the corridors of the mansion and had accidentally found the gun. With the weapon in my hand, I had made my way inside the living room, mind and eyes empty, and had mechanically pointed it toward the gruesome pig in front of me. Luckily for the panicking him, my aim had been poor and the bullet had barely missed his empty skull to land into the expensive vase behind him. I had been tempted to shoot another time, but the recoil provoked by my first try had propelled me on the floor and my arms had felt too tired to raise again.

"My vase!" He had yelled "You useless piece of sh*t!! Do you know how much that thing costs?!"

A sudden anger had overwhelmed me and I had leaned onto the nearest couch to stand up, before pointing the barrel toward my own head. I had wanted to know if I was more valuable than a furniture, which I thought was stupid as I recalled the scene. He had only huffed, waving his hand in a much disinterested manner, while his woman had jumped on me to take the weapon away from my hands.

"Yōko, you can't do that...!" She had seized the revolver "You can't do that, my daughter..."

"Don't call me that." I had slapped her hand away "Don't bother with your hypocrite words. I know what you were talking about a moment ago and, surely, I will not do you the pleasure of taking my own life. You disgust me, all of you."

Afterwards, I had locked myself in my room for three days. By the end of that short period of time, I had been abandoned, discarded in the streets. Which had brought me to the current situation.

Why did my parents loathe me so? It could seem out of the world to reject one's own offsprings. Even the most fierce animal would raise its kids. Then, why? The reason was the fact I was an ability user. Although many considered power to be a blessing, mine was a curse, which gnawed at my life, chewed on my health and weakened me by depriving me of sleep. My ability enabled me to read people's mind within a certain range. However, it was impossible for me to control it and thus restrain it, which was why I could constantly hear everyone's thoughts without being able to stop them. Because of that, the father, a businessman with many secrets, called me a freak, and the mother did nothing to arrange the situation, always darting her eyes away and avoiding troubles. How I had survived for fifteen years old with a constant headache and insomnia, which did not help my state, remained a mystery, mostly when the so-called parents, wealthy, so rich they threw money through the window by buying expensive antiques and trinkets, had refused to spend a yen in pain relievers or at least sleeping pills. It was a given that children were to respect their parents, who despite hardships, despite troubles of their own, had raised them. Mine had never even thought about feeding me, and had it not been for the butler, I would have starved, forgotten, aliterate and miserable in my room.

I had often thought, during the previous week, that if only I had successfully killed the man, I could have maybe improved my life. Once the selfish and greedy parasite would have been eliminated, perhaps the mother would have hugged me and cried how much she would have loved to do that sooner. Once the master of the house would have been dead, perhaps I would have been the happiest teenager in Yokohama, despite becoming a murderer. A murderer... It was nonsensical to me that people killing their fellows had to suffer greater punishment than those hurting others for years, just like what I had been through. Had I killed him, I would have been charged a criminal and would have ended up in prison for my entire life, for, underage, I could not receive death sentence. However, had his torture been discovered, he would have experimented a few years in jail before coming out freely as though nothing had never happened. That injustice, the unfair laws people had created, added to the torment my ability created and I found myself more restless than usual. Letting out a sigh, I stood up from the cold concrete I was sitting on and slowly dragged my feet toward the slums. I did not know what I was supposed to do at the moment, nor what I was able to accomplish in my state, but, surely, the shallows would provide a safer shelter than the cruel back alleys of the town.

Next >

#bsd #bsd oc #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc

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vajranam · 3 years

Text

Milarepa

The story of how Jetsun Milarepa followed Marpa of Lhodrak.

In the region of Ngari Gungthang, there lived a rich man by the name of Mila Sherab Gyaltsen. This man had a son and a daughter, and it was the son, whose name was Mila Thopa-ga, "Mila Joy to Hear," who was to become Jetsun Milarepa. When the two children were still small, their father died. Their uncle, whose name was Yungdrung Gyaltsen, appropriated all their wealth and possessions. The two children and their mother, left with neither food nor money, were forced to undergo many hardships. Mila learned the arts of casting spells and making hailstorms from the magicians Yungton Throgyal of Tsang and Lharje Nupchung, and brought about the death of his uncle's son and daughter-in-law together with thirty-three other people by making the house collapse. When all the local people turned angrily against him, he caused such a hailstorm that the hail lay on, the ground as deep as three courses of a clay wall (about 3 meters).

Afterwards, repenting his misdeeds, he decided to practise Dharma. Taking the advice of Lama Yungton, he went to see an adept of the Great Perfection by the name of Rongton Lhaga, and asked him for instruction.

"The Dharma I teach," the Lama replied, "is the Great Perfection. Its root is the conquest of the beginning, its summit the conquest of attainment and its fruit; the conquest of yoga. If one meditates on it during the day, one can become Buddha that same day; if one meditates on it during the night, one can become Buddha that very night. Fortunate beings whose past actions have created suitable conditions do not even need to meditate; they will be liberated simply by hearing it. Since it is a Dharma for those of eminently superior faculties, I will teach it to you.”

After receiving the empowerments and instructions, Mila thought to himself, "It took me two weeks to obtain the main signs of success at casting spells. Seven days were enough for making hail. Now here is teaching even easier than spells and hail-if you meditate by day you become a Buddha that day; if you meditate by night you become a Buddha that night-and if your past actions have created suitable conditions, you don't even need to meditate at all! Seeing how I met this teaching, I obviously must be one of the ones with good past actions."

So he stayed in bed without meditating, and thus the practitioner and the teaching parted company.

“It is true what you told me," the lama said to him after a few days. “You really are a great sinner, and I have praised my teaching a little too highly. So now I will not guide you. You should go to the hermitage of Trowolung in Lhodrak, where there is a direct disciple of the Indian siddha Naropa himself. He is that most excellent of teachers, the king of translators, Marpa. He is a siddha of the New Mantra Tradition, and is without rival throughout the three worlds. Since you and he have a link stemming from actions in former lives, go and see him!"

The sound of Marpa the Translator's name alone was enough to suffuse Mila's mind with inexpressible joy. He was charged with such bliss that every pore on his body tingled, and immense devotion swept over him, filling his eyes with tears. He set off, wondering when he would meet his teacher face to face. Now, Marpa and his wife had both had many extraordinary dreams, and Marpa knew that Jetsun Mila was on his way.

He went down the valley to await his arrival, pretending to be just ploughing a field. Mila first met Marpa's son, Tarma Dode, who was tending the cattle. Continuing a little further, he saw Marpa, who was ploughing. The moment Mila caught sight of him, he experienced tremendous, inexpressible joy and bliss; for an instant, all his ordinary thoughts stopped. Nonetheless, he did not realize that this was the lama in person, and explained to him that he had come to meet Marpa.

“I’ll introduce you to him myself," Marpa answered him. "Plough this field for me." Leaving him a jug of beer, he went off. Mita, draining the jug to the last drop, set to work. When he had finished, the lama's son came to call him and they set off together.

When Mila was brought into the lama's presence, he placed the soles of Marpa's feet upon the crown of his head and cried out, "Oh, Master! I am a great sinner from the west! I offer you my body, speech and mind. Please feed and clothe me and teach me the Dharma. Give me the way to become Buddha in this life!"

"It's not my fault that you reckon you're such a bad man," Marpa replied."I didn't ask you to pile up evil deeds on my account! What is all this wrong you have done?" Mila told him the whole story in detail.

"Very well," Marpa acquiesced, "in any case, to offer your body, speech and mind is a good thing. As to food, clothing and Dharma, however, you cannot have all three. Either I give you food and clothing and you look for Dharma elsewhere, or you get your Dharma from me and look for the rest somewhere else. Make up your mind. And if it's the Dharma you choose, whether or not you attain Buddhahood in this lifetime will depend on your own perseverance.”

"If that is the case," said Mila, "since I came for the Dharma, I will look for provisions and clothing elsewhere.”

He stayed a few days and went out begging through the whole of upper and lower Lhodrak, which brought him twenty-one measures of barley. He used fourteen of them to buy a four-handled copper pot. Placing six measures in a sack, he went back to offer that and the pot to Marpa. When he set the barley down, it made the room shake. Marpa got up.

"You're a strong little monk, aren't you?" he said."Are you trying to kill us all by making the house fall down with your bare hands? Get that sack of barley out of here!" He gave the sack a kick, and Mila had to take it outside. Later on he gave Marpa the empty pot.

One day Marpa said to him: "The men of Yamdrok Taklung and Lingpa are attacking many of my faithful disciples who come to visit me from U and Tsang, and stealing their provisions and offerings. Bring hailstorms down on them! Since that is a kind of Dharma too, I will give you the instructions afterwards."

Mila caused devastating hailstorms to fall on both these regions and then went to ask for the teachings.

“You think I'm going to give you the teachings I brought back from India at such great cost in exchange for three or four hailstones? If you really want the Dharma, cast a spell on the hill-folk of Lhodrak. They attack my disciples from Nyaloro and are always treating me with downright contempt. When there is a sign that your spell has worked, I shall give you Naropa's oral instructions, which lead to Buddhahood in a single lifetime and body."

When the signs of the success of the evil spell appeared, Mila asked for the Dharma.

"Huh! Is it perhaps to pay honour to your accumulation of evil deeds that you are claiming to want these oral instructions that I had to search for, never considering the risk to my own body and life-these instructions still warm with the breath of the dakinis? I suppose you must be joking, but I find this a bit too much. Anyone else but me would kill you! Now, bring those hill people back to life and return to the people of Yamdrok their harvest. You'll get the teachings if you do-otherwise, don't hang around me anymore!"

Mila, utterly shattered by these reprimands, sat and wept bitter tears. The next morning, Marpa came to see him. "I was a bit rough with you last night," he said."Don't be sad. I will' give you the instructions little by little. Just be patient! Since you're a good worker, I'd like you to build me a house to give to Tarma Dode. When you've finished, I'll give you the instructions, and provide you with food and clothing as well.”

"But what will I do if I die in the meantime, without the Dharma?” Mila asked. “I’ll take the responsibility of making sure that doesn't happen," Marpa said. "My teachings are not just idle boasting, and since you obviously have extraordinary perseverance, when you put my instructions into practice we will see if you can attain Buddhahood in a single lifetime." After further encouragement in the same vein, he had Mila build three houses one after the other: a circular one at the foot of the eastern hill, a semicircular one in the west and a triangular one in the north. But each time, as soon as the house was half finished, Marpa would berate Mila furiously, and make him demolish whatever he had built and take all the earth and stones he had used back to where he had found them. An open sore appeared on Mila's back, but he thought, "If I show it to the Master, he will only scold me again. I could show it to his wife but that would just be making a fuss." So, weeping, but not showing his wounds, he implored Marpa's wife to help him request the teachings.

She asked Marpa to teach him, and Marpa replied, "Give him a good meal and bring him here!" He gave Mila the transmission and vows of refuge.

"All this," he said, "is what is called the basic Dharma. If you want the extraordinary instructions of the Secret Mantrayana, the sort of thing you'll to have to go through is this... "and he recounted a brief version of the life and trials of Naropa. "It'll be difficult for you to do the same," he concluded.

At these words Mila felt such intense devotion that his tears flowed freely, and with fierce determination he vowed to do whatever his teacher asked of him. A few days later, Marpa went for a walk and took Mila with him as his attendant. He went south-east and, coming to a favorably situated piece of ground, he said, "Make me a grey, square tower here, nine storeys’ high. With a pinnacle on top, making ten. You won't have to take this building down, and when you've finished I'll give you the instructions. I'll also give you provisions when you go into retreat to practise.”

Mila had already dug the foundations and started building when three of his teacher's more advanced pupils came by. For fun, they rolled up a huge stone for him and Mila incorporated it in the foundations. When he had finished the first• two storeys, Marpa came to see him and asked him where the stone in question had come from. Mila told him what had happened. "My disciples practising the yoga of the two phases shouldn't be your servants!" Marpa yelled. "Get that stone out of there and put it back where it came from!"

Mila demolished the whole tower, starting from the top. He pulled out the big foundation stone and took it back to where it had come from. Then Marpa told him, "Now bring it here again and put it back in. " So Mila hauled it back to the site and put it in just as before. He went on building until he had finished the seventh storey, by which time he had an open sore on his hip.

"Now leave off building that tower," Marpa said, "and instead build me a temple, with a twelve-pillared hall and a raised sanctuary.”

So Mila built the temple, and by the time he had finished, a sore had broken out on his lower back.

At that time, Meton Tsonpo of Tsangrong asked Marpa for the empowerment of Samvara, and Tsurton Wange of Dol asked for the empowerment of Guhyasamaja. On both occasions, Mila, hoping that his building work had earned him the right to empowerment, took his place in the assembly, but all he received from Marpa were blows and rebukes and he was thrown out both times. His back was now one huge sore with blood and pus running from three places. Nevertheless, he continued working, carrying the baskets of earth in front of him instead.

When Ngokton Chodor of Shung came to ask for the Hevajra empowerment, Marpa's wife gave Mila a large turquoise from her own personal inheritance. Using it as his offering for the empowerment, Mila placed himself among row of candidates but, as before, the teacher scolded him and gave him a thrashing, and he did not receive the empowerment. This time he felt that there was no further doubt: he would never receive any teachings. He wandered off in no particular direction.

A family in Lhodrak Khok hired him to read the Transcendent Wisdom in Eight Thousand Verses. He came to the story of Sadaprarudita, and that made him think. He realized that, for the sake of the Dharma, he must accept all hardships and please his teacher by doing whatever he ordered.

So he returned, but again Marpa only welcomed him with abuse and blows. Mila was so desperate that Marpa's wife sent him to Lama Ngokpa, who gave him some instructions. But when he meditated nothing came of it, since he had not received his teacher's consent. Marpa ordered him to go back with Lama Ngokpa, and then to return. One day, during a feast offering, Marpa severely reprimanded Lama Ngokpa and some other disciples and was about to start beating them. Mila thought to himself, "With my evil karma, not only do l myself suffer because of my heavy faults and dense obscurations, but now I am also bringing difficulties on Lama Ngokpa and my Guru's consort. Since I am just piling up more and more harmful actions without receiving any teaching, it would be best if I did away with myself."

He prepared to commit suicide. Lama Ngokpa was trying to stop him when Marpa calmed down and summoned them both. He accepted Mila as a disciple, gave him much good advice and named him Mila Dorje Gyaltsen, "Mila Adamantine Victory Banner."As he gave him the empowerment of Samvara; he made the mandala of its sixty-two deities clearly appear. Mila then received the secret name of Shepa Dorje, "Adamantine Laughter," and Marpa conferred all the empowerments and instructions on him just like the contents of one pot being poured into another. Afterwards, Mila practised in the hardest of conditions, and attained all the common and supreme accomplishments.

The trials that Milarepa had to undergo before receiving the teachings from Marpa, as well as being a purification of past Karma, an accumulation of merit and a psychological preparation, also had a bearing on the future of his lineage, each detail having a symbolic significance which, by the principle of interdependence would affect Milarepa’s own future and that of his disciples.

~H.H. Patrul Rinpoche from the text Words of My Perfect Teacher.

#wisdom #spirituality #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #zen #self care #visualization #tibet

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