This idea of a character has been floating around my head for a while—doesn’t even have a name yet but they’re appointed as the general of a tyrannical kingdom, they may or maybe not be forced to serve under the king. Anyways I’m still playing around with this idea and sooo let’s just see where the general goes from here!
“They want war?” Their mistress hissed under her breath.
“If so, I’ll personally deliver it to their doorstep.”
The young dancer watched as their normally aloof and cool-headed mistress walk towards her as if she was vengeance itself. Fatal. Unstoppable. It was a side she intentionally hid from them since it was usually reserved for underground business.
A stroke of fear caressed her skin and she let out a shaky breath.
The frightening woman now stood in front of her and placed a hand on the dancer’s shoulder, “No one leaves tonight until I come back.”
The dancer’s lip quivered, “T-then what about Sofia?”
Her mistress’ expression shuttered and then tightened her grip on her shoulder, “She’s family. She’s the reason for what’s happening tonight.”
“...But what if she’s dead?” The dancer couldn’t hold back a cry, a broken sound escaping her throat as fear wrapped it’s icy fingers around her heart.
Their mistress didn’t answer yet a second later, arms suddenly embraced the dancer, she squeaked in surprise but eventually leaned forward and accepted it.
“If we return without Sofia—“ The mistress slightly pulled back and gazed into her eyes.
“Then you all must carry on with the dance. We all must.” Her voice softened at the end, “For the memory of her.”
The dancer quietly nodded, understanding the risks that came with the job. Such as missing dancers, dead dancers—Everyone knows what happens behind the curtains, they were informed first before a deal was made.
Everyone knows what it sits upon.
Unconsciously, the dancer took a step back and pulled herself out of the embrace, her knees feeling weak thinking about what tonight will bring. Their mistress was silent again before she gave her a curt nod and turned away.
One thing’s for sure though, she thought somberly, it was without a doubt that whoever poor soul evoked her anger tonight—will die.
Another bitter thought crossed her mind as she looked at their mistress pull out something from one of the drawers. A glint of gold caught her eye. The mistress slid her gaze to the side and observed the dancer under her eyelashes, a sly smirk decorating her painted lips as she brought up a lone finger to them.
Shhh.
The dancer closed her eyes.
Don’t you hear it already? The heads rolling on the ground?
(A/N: only had time for drawing but no for writing ;-; anyways this is a very rough concept art for Yasemin, though i’m having fun sketching out all the details! ALSO i do have a short chapter for this but i’m still writing it regrettably, maybe i’ll post it tomorrow when i’m not busy again *sighs* see yalls PEACEE)
Introducing my OBEY ME OC! Since I’m currently stuck in the Obey Me fandom, I thought why not draw some characters? So, these here are just some very rough character concept art that I wanted to share. At first, I was having a fun time designing clothes or whatnot so I did two versions: One with a long skirt with the hairstyle of two buns and one with pants with short flyaway hair.
Anyways, somehow I made some background lore of my OC here ya go:
Name: Zerachiel/Zera
Species: Angel
Age: Unknown (Estimated around the age of Lucifer)
Gender and Sexuality: Genderfluid
Physical Attributes: Pale Blonde hair with lilac coloured highlights; violet/electric blue eyes/brown skin/ a mole below and to the left of her mouth (will be updated)
Important Note: Zerachiel is the guardian angel of Solomon.
[A/N: Zera being Solomon’s guardian angel has a reason and it involves Diavolo, Barbatos and the Seven Brothers. That is all I will reveal now since I’m thinking of writing a fanfiction about it! So, stay tuned!]
DON’T REPOST/SHARE ON SOCIAL MEDIA (ask me first and give credit)
(A/N: I think the first part is the most poetic thing I have ever written...hmm enjoy!)
Maybe it was the charm of mortality.
The unpredictable but always constant presence of life and death. Even though it was a thing of woe, it was also rather majestic to witness how these beings exist with such fleeting lives yet somehow, they don’t feel the need to rush, accepting the inevitable outcome, regrettably without a choice, that awaits them in the end.
Maybe that was it. The fascinating vulnerability of humans.
The raw and pure emotions of their bleeding hearts. The flesh of their bodies pretending to be strong, but in reality, they were so weak. Their astuteness of themselves and the way they interact with their surroundings, fearlessly and bold in a world filled with the unknown.
Throughout the years, humans became many things, far too many, and yet they continue to evolve nonetheless. The words to describe them was between and beyond wondrous and terrifying, the good and the bad. Either way, the results don’t matter because humans were undoubtedly born into this world to leave a mark that’s uniquely their own, whether it was done selfishly or selflessly.
However, it was their faults, above all, that shackles and grounds them to this earth.
Failing when expecting to succeed. Achieving after working hard.
The frequent ups and downs, to fall or to fight.
Sometimes, there are acts of shame. Sometimes, proud accomplishments.
Humans are sinners and judges, in their own right.
They could commit anything and everything under the heavens, at times without restriction for they are lead by their innermost desires against their better judgement of what is right and wrong. They can freely believe in what they see fit considering they are not necessarily punished to think that they can be larger than life itself. It’s foolish. Naive. Still, the thought shouldn’t sound as liberating as it should, but it did.
“Hello? Are you here to visit me again?” Snow-like hair and wisdom behind those misty grey orbs.
It was, at long last, the charm of mortality that kept me here.
At the start, it was hard to adapt to their lifestyle but then after a while, I found myself making a temporary home amidst these beings destined to fade away despite being full of life, repeatedly leaving me behind to weep and honour them in their wake. Even if I was the only one or among many.
Although no matter how harrowing or painful each death gets, this world did feel like home.
And humans were now precious to me, like how children are seen as treasures in the eyes of a parent.
A prayer touched my lips.
If I am allowed and with Your permission, I would like to stay, please.
. . .
Why do you fear it?
The answer came to me in the form of a cheeky boy, little in size although wise despite his young age, that declared himself to be my recent companion.
“How come you don’t have wings?” He asked with a child’s interest, his eyes gleaming as if the question had been on his mind for quite some time.
Father has finally granted your wings back. The memory played by itself, the voice of my brother echoing in my ears.
I mentally pushed it away as I turned to the boy who sat beside me, a smile dancing upon my lips, “...I do have them, little one.”
He blinked owlishly, taking a second to peek at my back and then suddenly gasped when a bright light blinded him for a moment, “WOAH!”
“They’re just hidden,” I said quietly, brushing the underside of a wing to the top of his head.
The boy burst forward in wonder, “So can you fly? Like—like those birds!” He pointed at the sky where there was a flock migrating towards the east.
An intense yearning blossomed forth inside my chest whilst watching the birds fly away into the night, my eyes remaining fixed on them until they disappeared out of sight. I swallowed with great difficulty, a tightness in my throat as I offered weakly, “...I could.”
“Can you do it now? Can you show me?” Undeterred by my long silence, he persisted, jumping to his feet and circling me, careful not to touch my wings.
“Solomon,” I sighed, wishing the act was as easy to do as it is to say, “It’s a complicated matter... I’m sorry but—I won’t be able to show it to you.”
His eyes widened, “What? Why not?”
I let out a winded exhale, rubbing my hands together, “I...I am not deserving of them so I cannot use these wings.”
“Why don’t you deserve them?” The boy tilted his head, genuinely puzzled at my answer.
“Because, a long time ago,” I started apprehensively, “I’ve committed...an unforgivable act that made me lose my right to have wings.”
Solomon paused and then stared at me then at the wings, then back to me, a somehow more confused look painting his innocent features, “But...they’re...here now, right?” He scratched his head, “So that means it’s okay to use them...right?”
I parted my lips to reply although strangely, no words came out. I tried again, “...No...no, it’s a silly thing to assume that—”
“Why are you being so...so thick-headed?”
I gaped at the boy in shock, “Thick-headed? Do you even know what I did to receive such punishment—”
“Then why do you have wings?”
“I—well, it’s because…!” Flustered, I frantically searched for a reason good enough to pacify the boy.
“Don’t you like having them? Don’t you miss your wings? Don’t you miss flying?” His questions were like daggers to my naked heart, one by one, weakening my resolve with each stab. A fierce emotion swelled up inside of me, threatening to let loose.
“I do!” I said out loud and then closed my eyes, feeling the prickling tears, “I do miss having them. I cannot...even remember a single moment, an instance, where I didn’t long to feel its weight once more.”
“Then why…?”
“Dear boy.” I glanced at him, sorrow portrayed in my expression as I cupped his cheeks gently, “I hesitate because…” My eyes flickered, “The guilt I bear is heavy, far heavier than you can ever possibly imagine, Solomon.”
He frowned and the rest of his features followed—looking absolutely crestfallen. The sight saddened me greatly enough to make my heart twinge.
Raising my arms to comfort him, the boy took me by surprise when he abruptly grabbed my hand and shook his head. I could only watch as those clouded eyes met mine, not filled with the pity from earlier, but instead with steadfast determination.
“Fly. Just fly.” He said earnestly and pleadingly, “It doesn’t have to be for someone or even yourself—it doesn’t have to mean anything at all!”
“I think…” He scrunched his forehead in thought and then gave me a heartwarming smile enough to thaw the coldness of the night, “It’s a sign of forgiveness. Your wings are back because...you’re already forgiven.”
“So fly.”
I didn’t notice the tears running down my cheeks until Solomon wiped them away with his small fingers. I choked back and his brows creased deeper, evidently worried if he had said something wrong to trigger this reaction from me.
I only smiled at him in gratitude, “Thank you, Solomon. Sincerely from the bottom of my heart.”
I wanted to deny the truth for so long, I’ve come to accept a self-creayed false lie and forgot to love myself in the midst of it. Ever since the moment I’ve received the wings, I’ve only been finding excuses, and thus lengthening my punishment by default, when...there’s no reason to be looking, to even doubt when the proof is right there perched upon my back.
You’re forgiven.
I stood up, my wings rustling when I snapped them wide as I turned my face upwards, holding out a hand towards the boy.
“Would you like to fly, Solomon?”
. . .
“What was the unforgivable act that you did?”
“It’s a long story.”
“What’s wrong with long stories? I’m a good listener!”
“I’m sure you are, but my story is not for your ears, little one.”
“Then whose ears is it for?”
“It’s a secret.”
. . .
(A/N: Surprise! I know I skipped two days, I’m actually working on those two now but this one finished faster that’s why. I wanted to write more about this oc before but unfortunately and against my best wishes, my computer decided to delete almost every piece of writing I did, including those for my other ocs as well. SIGHHHH. But I’ve decided to bounce back and here we are, I’m looking forward to this oc even more!)
(A/N: I cannot, for the life of me, make these prompts shorter. But anyways, here’s some more of my Cyberpunk oc and a bit of world building)
WARNING: Mentions of Drug Use/Dark themes
The door shut with a soft click, the metal barrier cancelling out the harsh and turbulent noise of the downpour outside, as a clear ping pierced the silence of the room, signalling the automatic lock being completed.
I tossed the drenched sling bag somewhere on the floor, hearing it land but not bothering to check where, and started peeling the equally wet jacket off my torso, leaving me in a sleeveless black top.
I should take a shower first. I thought. But my legs didn’t move towards the bathroom to my far right, instead my eyes were fixated on the desk beside my bed, and then gradually brought them up on the old painting displayed right above it.
Later. This can’t wait. Heart and mind decided, I shuffled over to the desk in a sense of urgency, grabbed the painting by its sides and then plucked it from the hook. Flipping the frame around, a black plate covered the back of the canvas. With familiar ease, I slid my fingers across the upper corner edges and found the latch, successfully unfastening the plate to unveil a couple of worn-out journals hidden inside. Untouched.
A breath of relief escaped me, my fear of the notebooks being discovered momentarily disappearing.
I picked out the one I’ve been using as of late—the tenth one if I recall correctly, since I’ve already used up every bit of space from the others—and opened the journal where it had a bookmark.
The yellowed blank pages were a frequent sight as I ran a hand across the smooth surface while my other hand pulled a pen from a cup that was also holding a heap of markers and then started writing my thoughts—
It was a common enough phrase.
“CHANGE THE CHANNEL”
It doesn’t pique interest, at least to...someone like me, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicions, right?
I hovered the nib of the pen slightly above the paper, thinking if I should continue to write about the news we’ve received today. It was shocking enough that I even had to pinch myself a couple of times to see if I was dreaming or not because the news wasn’t just good nor great---it was the best fucking thing I’ve heard in years and it also just happens to be the one we’ve all been waiting for.
Setting down the pen, I reached for the hidden compartment again, took the very first journal I owned and then absently flipped through the filled pages, the crisp, crinkling sounds tenderly jogging my memory.
I stopped at the beginning of the notebook, a reminiscing smile graced my lips as I traced the old ink with the tip of a finger.
Don’t let anyone steal this.
I snorted, of course, this was written on the day I got my ass beat and left without so much of a coin in my pocket—thus, I was forced to resort to stealing. Strangely enough, this journal was the first thing I stole and to this day, I can’t seem to remember the reason why but I do remember how awful the act made me feel, the feeling lasted for days.
Nonetheless, those feelings subsided after getting accustomed to this lifestyle. Crime practically lived and breathed under my skin, these hands and feet of mine becoming my very own accomplices.
I closed my eyes as the usual barrage of emotions washed over me: disappointment, disgust, anger, hate—so much hate and all of it was directed at the only person I can blame at the moment.
Well to be fair, not once did I deny the indisputable fact that I hated how my life turned out, how everything turned out considering that there’s no one even left to impress, no one to see me pretend as if I wasn’t so horribly broken-down on the inside.
I hated how I was still here, anchored by some self-righteous bullshit I’d placed like a burden on my shoulders that one miserable night, a burden that still stubbornly carries the promise of changing the lives of so many other people.
My gaze landed on the scribbled date at the top of the page.
It’s been 6 years since the incident.
I breathed out my nose unevenly and closed the book with a snap, pushing it aside as I returned to the previous journal and picked up the pen to finish today’s log.
It’s happening.. It’s finally happening.
Today marks the fucking day of something revolutionary as we received reports, genuine physical reports, of a planned coup in all of five districts. And I know there had been a lot of them in the past and those who participated lost their lives after being executed on the spot… However, this time around, my gut tells me otherwise.
I think I mentioned this in my previous logs; it’s about the power balance shifting. It began to tip since last year and it hasn’t stopped till now. I fiercely believe that the power will eventually find its way back to us, as it rightfully should.
This was a long time coming after all. Years and years of effort had been put in just to dethrone those who forcefully robbed us of our lives and not just that---Our identities.. Our Family and friends. The voice itself of the public.
Letting out a tortured laugh, I wrote the end of the log:
CHANGE THE CHANNEL
Simple, dismissive and yet it holds the power of treason. It speaks the word of rebellion. I’m not afraid anymore because this phrase will take us one step closer to freedom.
. . .
“...Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Positive.”
I cast my partner a skeptical glance.
“...I’m 80% sure.” He nervously admitted, purposely avoiding my prodding eyes.
A huff of disbelief slipped past my lips as I demanded from him, “What did the message say anyway?”
“It was a recorded message programmed inside a toy, it only said the time and the address before self-destructing. But like I said, I don’t think I got any of the information wrong.”
“Maybe you misheard or missed something because this—”
I swallowed the sentence and did another scan of the building in front of us, our position from an empty terrace across the street granting us to overlook the supposed meeting place, the rendezvous as it turns out was a grand and luxurious night club.
It seemed that access was only given to those in the upper class but since it was fairly new and as far as rumors go, I heard it has an eccentricity to it, so the club wasn’t bustling like the other similar establishments scattered in the district. Still, entry to the venue remains as a privilege only to those who can afford to waste money, in this economy.
I eyed the flashy neon sign just above the main doors with slight distaste and a growing curiosity.
Island in the Sun
The name certainly snatches attention.
After seeing a bunch of people dressed in stylish clothes walk out, I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling a tiny bit insecure about what I’m wearing.
Hell, nothing about my attire was fancy by any means so I shot my partner another worried glance, “Do we really have no further means of communication with them? Do we really have to enter through the front? Can’t we just, you know, sneak inside a window? I mean, we don’t—we’re not—”
I gestured to his clothes and then mine, “We’ll stick out like sore fucking thumbs.”
“You do make a sound point.” He murmured and then lowered his goggles to finally address me, his grey orbs illuminated by the numerous bright neon signs, “I never expected our sponsor to be this...shameless? They’re practically waving their wealth in our faces, makes me wanna take a swipe at them.”
“Arman,” I quietly sighed, “What are we getting ourselves into?”
Is this what having cold feet feels like?
My partner surveyed me for a instant before having the nerve to roll his eyes, “Just treat this as one of our regular heists, Sonya. Aren’t you the least excited to experience what it’s like partying with the upper class?”
I stayed silent, not bothering to tell him that I did have prior experience, and just rubbed my temples, a headache forming at the prospect of how tonight will go.
“Time for a channel change.” My partner winked, his wise words partnered with the small gesture cracked my lips into a smile.
He then put a hand under his chin, thinking carefully as he relayed more of his thoughts, “And maybe get laid by the end of the night.” This time, I was the one to roll my eyes and got a glower from him in exchange.
“You could use it as well… When’s the last time you—”
“Shut the fuck up, Arman.” I tried snapping back but it turned into a laugh instead.
He only grinned toothily, looking guilty but proud, “Less nervous?”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“Wait.” He said all of a sudden.
I raised a brow in question, my hands already gripping onto the rails, poised to scale down at any moment.
“Clothes.” Arman waved a hand and I grimaced.
“Ah yeah, right.”
A terse silence passed before we both launched smirks at each other, the same heinous idea forming in our minds as he pointed towards a closed clothing shop a few blocks away.
“What say you for one more heist this evening? It won’t be as grandiose as the previous ones, I’m afraid.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
. . .
Your ass looks nice in that.
Yeah? I’m taking this one then.
...Well?
Your ass always looks great, Arman.
So you’re saying mine looks better? Thanks.
Wear a skirt and then we’ll talk.
Oh, Sonya, just watch and learn.
. . .
I leaned against a street light, scrutinising our target club while waiting for my partner to finish finding the ‘perfect outfit’ as he called it, his words not mine. In the end, I settled for a wine coloured fitted dress with a criss-cross pattern exposing my back, a black corset on top, a semi transparent blazer for my shoulders, and then I picked out simple knee length combat boots—in case the deal goes awry and we had to flee.
Hearing footsteps behind me, I peeked over and my jaw dropped as soon as I laid eyes on Arman.
He was wearing a skin tight turtleneck black dress, showing off his lean but toned figure, a beautiful velvet burgundy blazer that looked amazing on his broad shoulders and then his shoes were thick polished combat boots, almost same as mine, the only difference was his heels were an inch higher, making him look taller than he normally is.
I whistled in pure awe, “Damn, Island in the Sun is about to get a whole lot hotter.”
A smug expression graced his handsome features when he walked past me, swaying his ass deliberately, “Told you so,”
I huffed at his haughty but rightfully placed attitude and caught up to him, looping an arm around his, “Well, won’t you tell me—am I your designated arm candy or are you mine?”
“Why can’t we just be both?”
We toned down the volume of our conversation when we neared the establishment, Arman breaking off as he walked up to the main entrance. It was as we expected, one of the large bouncers blocked him immediately and then pointed to the side towards the long line of people waiting for their own turn.
Arman straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms, “We have an appointment with your employer.”
The bouncer examined my partner from head to toe, not looking the least convinced although the second after, he pressed a button on his collar, “Can you direct me to the boss’ line?”
“Hey!” A voice shouted off to the side where the line was, “Wait in line like the rest of—”
I whirled on whoever was speaking and gave them my most vicious glare, that person stopped in the middle of their sentence and then promptly averted their eyes. I scoffed at them.
“Boss, there’s two individuals here that say they have an appointment with you.” The bouncer said, nodding while listening to his receiver and then finally turned back to Arman, “I apologise but the boss doesn’t have any more appointments for tonight.”
Arman took this information calmly and then leaned in, a hand covering his lips as he whispered something to the bouncer, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.
The bouncer’s eyes widened, stared at Arnan and me before ultimately stepping aside, handing us two glowing yellow bracelets, “I’m sorry for the delay, the boss is expecting you.”
My partner brightened and accepted the bracelets, holding me by my wrist as he ushered us past the main entrance. Still confused about the whole ordeal, I reluctantly put on the accessory without saying a word, the bracelet giving a weird sting when it made contact with my skin, and then followed Arman inside.
“What was that?” I asked the moment we’re left alone.
“Did you forget why we’re here?” He quipped back cheerfully and the realisation struck me later than I would have liked.
“...What do you think this is for?” I changed the subject to both our glowing bracelets, raising mine to my eye level just to get a good look at it.
“I don’t know. Gimmicks?” Arman absently rubbed his, faintly knotting his eyebrows and then started inspecting the empty hallway we were walking through, “For a club named Island in the Sun, it doesn’t seem very hot.”
We reached the end of the hallway and the doors opened upon sensing us, revealing another set of corridors, three to be exact that split into different directions: There was muffled music coming from our right, while there’s really faint sounds of people chattering to the left, and then nothing from the one ahead of us.
I took a step towards the middle corridor, figuring it was where we needed to go but Arman blocked an arm in my way, “Don’t you want to check out the other rooms? We might as well explore before we get kicked out after our appointment.”
My expression definitely disapproved of the idea and he could see that, although I think I might’ve surprised him when I agreed to his request, “No more than five minutes.”
His grey orbs gleamed with excitement, “I’ll go this way,” he pointed to the right, “Take the left.” With that said, Arman pivoted and headed for the direction with the music, and I walked towards the left corridor.
The doors were glass so I’d seen what was inside while waiting for them to open.
I scrunched my brows in bewilderment at what awaited me. The room was massive so to say and furthermore, it has a second floor filled with—What were those? There were these weird opaque bubbles that had a hatch on the front with a keypad beside it and almost all of them were lit, vague silhouettes of people moving to and fro inside but nothing more than that.
My eyes landed on the pit with a glass dome in the centre, a couple of people were lounging on long circular couches whilst socialising with each other. I was so focused on the bizarre scene that I didn’t notice the doors sliding open and the cyborg standing off to the side, making me almost jump when it had announced itself.
WELCOME. WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?
“I---uh, what...does that mean exactly?” I awkwardly rubbed my nape, feeling the need to occupy my shaking hands as I peered up at the cyborg.
WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DEMONSTRATE HOW OUR ISLANDS WORK?
I simply nodded and the cyborg’s eyes immediately flashed bright, projecting a hologram into the empty space between us, leaving me to watch in wonder as a 3D model of one of the bubbles appeared.
ESSENTIALLY, OUR SPHERICAL ISLANDS ARE DESIGNED TO SERVE AS ADVANCED PRIVATE SUITS FOR SPECIAL CUSTOMERS. ITS CURVED WALLS ARE BUILT-IN WITH HIGH POWERED LED SCREENS THAT LETS YOU PROJECT ANY KIND OF SCENERY YOU’D PREFER AND IT’S ALSO COMPLETE WITH FURNITURE THAT CAN SATISFY TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR NEEDS.
The holograms changed and now it showed one of those glowing bracelets.
WHILE YOU’RE INSIDE THE CLUB, WE WILL ALSO EXCLUSIVELY PROVIDE YOU WITH OUR CLUB’S HOTTEST PRODUCT TO MAKE YOUR NIGHT BETTER AND MORE ENJOYABLE.
I frowned, asking warily, “Product?”
I’M PROHIBITED TO EXPLAIN ANY FURTHER DETAILS OF THE PRODUCT. HOWEVER, YOU CAN FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF THROUGH ONE OF OUR ISLANDS, THE PIT, OR IN THE PARTY ROOM.
Something cold settled in my stomach, “The party room...it’s the room opposite this one , right?”
CORRECT. NOW, THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR CLUB’S COMMODITIES, WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?
I shook my head, about to refuse the offer when a question crossed my mind, “...How much is one island?”
The cyborg turned off the projection and turned its gaze downwards, scanning my bracelet through its lens.
NO PAYMENT NEEDED FOR VIP CUSTOMERS.
“VIP...?” My throat dried up as I covered the bracelet on my wrist with a hand, “I...won’t be taking an island, thank you.” The cyborg merely bowed and then went back to its corner, waiting for someone new to serve.
“Shit, I have a bad feeling about this.” I said to myself, returning to the intersection from before and making my way towards the party room.
The moment the doors slid open, the music hit me and my eardrums in full blast. I winced at the intensity of it and more so at the large crowd dancing and grooving to the loud beat. It was difficult to even hear my own voice. I internally groaned, how am I supposed to find him at this rate?
Keeping my eyes sharp despite it being extremely dark and the occasional blinding strobe lights, I moved through the mob of people pressed against one another, awkwardly bumping into some people dancing and then sometimes getting pushed back. I bit my lip, refraining from picking a fight as I held on to my rapidly waning patience.
All of a sudden, someone slapped a hand to my ass and the leash briefly snapped—I quickly rounded on that person, a fist almost flying out when I saw that the hand belonged to a man a couple of inches shorter than me with a greasy sneer on his face.
“Do that again...” I fisted his shirt and followed with a violent promise, “And you’ll go home left-handed.” I threatened, my voice brimming with spite.
Once I saw the frightened understanding in his eyes, I released him and turned away. “Arman, you better show yourself right now.” I growled.
Finally, I spotted a familiar burgundy jacket behind a pillar and I set my sights on it, carelessly pushing my way through, ignoring the curses and rude remarks of the people I shoved because I have had enough of this.
I shouldn’t have to search for him.
As I got closer to the pillar, I only noticed then that he was making out with someone. Oh you’re dead. My fingers shot out to grab the shoulder of the man I’ve been searching for, ready to cuss at him till his ears fall off.
“Oi! What the fuck happened to five minutes?!”
I halted as I met face to face with a stranger, and not at all my partner, “A-ah, I’m sorry I thought you were—“ My eyes flicked towards the person standing beside them.
“Arman!” I shouted, obviously relieved to see him alright but then remembered I was still pissed off, “What the hell? I was looking all over for you!”
His eyebrows creased for a moment before a loopy smile graced his lips, “Sonya! I’m sorry, I got a bit distracted…” Arman’s gaze trailed off to the side but at the same time, he gripped the waist of the man he kissed earlier closer to his body.
I gawked at him. Honestly speechless. But then I lashed out a hand to circle around his wrist, the one with that damned bracelet, and discovered that the yellow glow was at half now.
This was their exclusive product.
I fumed as I took out a spare light from the pocket of my blazer and yanked his head down to my level, “Let me see your fucking eyes.”
I shined the light on them and noticed how bloodshot they were, his pupils were unusually blown wide. I cursed again, letting out my frustrations, “Arman, you’re blazed!”
“What?! No, no, no. I-I haven’t taken any.” He stumbled over his words, making me doubt him even more.
“Excuse me.” A new voice piped in.
I flipped my attention to Arman’s...date? Lover? Who the hell cares, I completely forgot he was even there, “Aren’t you being a bit rude? Who are you anyways?” The man asked snobbishly while squinting at me.
I glared back, a dangerous smile framing my painted lips, “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?”
“Sonya!” Arman yelled in disbelief.
The man mouth hung open and then tried explaining himself, “I-I’m—“
I held up a finger, “You know what, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Locking an arm around Arman’s, I pulled him away from the man and roughly dragged him across the dance floor and towards the exit.
Once we got back to the main hallway, I let him go and stared him down with my arms placed on my hips, “What was that, Arman?” I gritted out, trying to be as calm as I can without blowing a fuse.
“Give me a minute.” He panted, “It’s so damn hot, ugh.”
“What are you saying, you’ve only been in there for less than twenty minutes.” I looked at him confused but then clearly saw the heavy perspiration forming on his skin, “Hey...you’re sweating really bad.”
“I’m sorry, Sonya.” He apologised, breathing large gulps of air while leaning on the wall, “I’m sorry you had to cover for me back there.”
My gaze softened as I stood beside him, “It’s nothing…”
“I know I really screwed up for not being careful, but I swear—Sonya, I swear I didn’t take any drugs.” Arman gripped my arms, looking me wildly in the eyes.
“Don’t worry..I believe you.” I assured him, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “It might’ve been that stuck-up date of yours, did you notice him touch your bracelet while you were together?”
He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, a deeply disturbed expression slowly contorted his features, “Yeah...Yeah, he did.”
I let out a rough exhale, controlling the rage that sweeped me off, now twice as strong, “If I ever see that fucker—“
A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention back as I faced Arman, letting him see the murderous expression on my features.
“The appointment.” He reminded me softly.
“...Right…right. Are you sure you’re okay now?”
He pushed off the wall and gave me a tiny smile that broke my heart.
“...You know, you’re giving Tilly a run for her money—I mean, showing up to a sponsor’s meeting high? Not even she has the balls to do that.”
Arman chuckled, a dark look passing his expression as he bitterly said, “I bet that they’re expecting us to attend already intoxicated.”
I hummed in agreement, “So, our first sponsor’s a drug enthusiast, huh?”
“Ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
TBC
(A/N: I WAS SUPPOSED TO INCLUDE MEETING THE BOSS BUT ITS TOO LONG wowowow, these prompts are now integrated into my story, I swear I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this—but ANYWAYS. I’m kinda living for this unhinged oc of mine, and this duo?? I had so much fun writing about theit dynamic. However sad to say, this will be the last of them for now... as it goes, i must move on to other ignored ocs PEACEEE)
(A/N: since halloween is just right around the corner, I thought it’d be nice to have some spooky stories! Also, this piece will hopefully be featured in an art collaboration on Twitter and if you’re interested in seeing it, the collab is called #TakutanArtPH )
(A small glimpse into my creative process!^^)
Psst! Are you awake?
A creak in the floorboards. A weight pressing down on the mattress. A light poke through the blanket.
Did you forget our regular ghost story time?
A muffled grumble sounded under the blanket, “Can’t you come earlier, like maybe when about to sleep? It’s the middle of the night!”
Nope! Three AM sharp, you know this already.
There was a long sigh that filled the silent room before the blanket was uncovered to reveal a little girl, with a rather displeased expression. “What if I don’t want to hear your ghost stories?” She asked with another irritated sigh.
When there was no response, the girl grudgingly dragged her gaze towards the source of the voice—a boy, no older than her, was sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at her creepily.
Then I would disappear on you.
She winced at the frost in his tone, “You wouldn’t!”
The boy stood from the bed, shot her a somber look and then promptly vanished.
“Hey!” The girl yelled, her voice a tiny bit too loud so she slapped a hand over her mouth before trying again, “Hey…!”
Her eyes roamed around her room but still found no signs of the boy.
“Fine!” She huffed and tiptoed over the window where a seat was built into the ledge, “Let’s hear the story.” The girl sat on the soft cushion, crossed her legs and pulled a pillow into her lap and waited.
The blanket from the bed suddenly lifted and floated over to where the girl was, draping it across her exposed legs and providing her warmth.
“Thanks…” She mumbled, a light blush on her cheeks.
The boy appeared in front of her, hovering above the cushion also with crossed legs as a triumphant smirk twisted his lips, “Ready?”
She squeezed the pillow tight, nodded and then leaned forward.
. . .
This one’s a bit sad.
How come?
Just listen.
. . .
There were only rumours of its existence at the start but those fearful warnings grew and grew until it eventually became a local legend. The townsfolk say that there, in the woods surrounding their small village, resides an ominous being that feeds on the lives of people that happen upon them.
A fairy.
Although don’t get your hopes up, this one is not the kind you’d expect to find in a fantasy book.
On the contrary, it was a rather sorrowful being.
People who claimed to have encountered it recount that the fairy would cry endlessly. For days and many, many nights, in which they came to the conclusion that the wailing never actually stops. Even when a poor soul stumbles upon them and gets lured in by the distressing sounds it makes, the fairy would continue to cry.
It was a creature of ill fate. A creature of regret.
There were also numerous descriptions of the fairy: such as having red tears leaking from their eyes, some even speculate that it was the blood of its previous victims; dark purplish skin that made them almost invisible in the night; And finally, wings resembling that of a tattered butterfly’s.
In the end, most had come to fear the story of the creature, yet somehow a small number of people pitied it, for they believed that the fairy would cry for their prey, mourning their impending death and then cry anew for themselves and their harrowing and cursed purpose in this world.
. . .
Poor thing, it has to be sad for it to live!
So, from now on, be careful when you hear weird crying.
A small giggle. Stop that.
Alright, it’s time for you to sleep.
I can’t sleep now! I’m too wide awake because of you.
Well…
How about another one then?
(A/N: This was supposed to be a looooot shorter but oh well, have an impromptu little girl oc and her ghost friend who likes sharing scary stories 👻 This has been piling up dust in my drafts for days now)
(A/N: Fun fact! This oc is based on a dream of mine AND they exist on the same universe as Yelena/Yasemin, my villain oc. Now, buckle up cause it’s time for some Cyberpunk goodness.)
Supposedly, there’s an unspoken rule that whatever background you came from, rich or piss poor or somewhere in between, as long as you end up in the streets, you’ll always be at the bottom of the system. Unless you fight your way up---that is to say, if you survive the climb.
“Hey!” A voice called out from behind.
I stopped walking and peeked over my shoulder, expecting trouble that’s usually present around these parts to have finally found me and lo and behold, a bunch of ‘thugs’ were waiting at the entrance of the alley. Four people differentiating in sizes, three men and one woman, their dark silhouettes painted by the bright neon lights behind them were nothing short of intimidating.
My eyes darted to the walls of the two surrounding buildings, measuring the distance between each window, the extending pipes and the height of both structures. Scalable. There was also that fire exit just ahead, I reminded myself as I mulled over what will happen within the next 10 minutes.
A fight, no doubt.
I glanced at the floating holographic numbers on my wrist, taking into account the time and---the meeting that was about to start soon.
Escaping might be the more reasonable choice but...
I hate taggers.
Blowing out a rough sigh, I turned my attention back to the group who was now leisurely cruising towards me, wearing devilish grins and haughty gazes. Some of them were even cracking their knuckles while exchanging unashamed jabs about having first dibs grated on my ears---and my nerves.
Oh boy. Things are about to get interesting.
My lips curled into a snarl as I repressed the overwhelming urge to be the one to draw first blood. Instead, I focused on scrutinising them individually from top to bottom: their gadgets, clothes, bags, shoes. Anything of importance at all that I can lift and hopefully sell.
It only took a moment to finish the assessment, if you know how to estimate things from face value.
After gathering enough information, I spun to fully face them, smirking provokingly as I loosened the straps of my bag, letting it hang on my fingers and then swinging it.
“Alright, assholes!” I whistled cheerfully before letting the venom bleed into my tone, “Whoever’s got first dibs, you’re up.”
Each of them looked taken aback for a second but then their expressions darkened, my words finally registering as insults, as they should, and then immediately charged forward.
I halted the swinging of my bag.
It was the slightly skinny man that approached me first, I figured he was the leader or something along those lines because he was the one barking the most---however… I narrowed my eyes and observed as the man tossed his shoulder back and aimed a fist at my face. I ducked to avoid it, then I tightened my grip on the straps of my bag and swung it to his side, hitting him square in the ribs----accompanied by a distinct crack and a metal clanking noise.
The man howled in pain as his body smashed into the wall to the left.
One down. Ignoring the groans, I stepped over the crumpled man’s legs and stared down the group with a raised chin.
I huffed and then pointedly tilted my head at the others, “Next?”
The second one didn’t hesitate to attack, taking on the challenge. There was an enraged expression on his face as he reached forward with knees bent and back lowered while his arms went wide to try and trap me in a grapple. Seeing through him, I grabbed my bag with both hands, feeling the solid weight of the robotics inside, and rushed forward to match the man’s attack.
Right before his arms would’ve caught me, I clutched the bag close and whacked it in his face, successfully causing him to lose balance.
Taking advantage of this, I lifted a boot and launched a strike to his thigh, swiftly bringing him to his knees. Without a second to waste, I twisted on my heels to deliver the final kick to the side of his head, waiting for the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground---
There was a blur of shadow to my right and before I knew it, excruciating pain bloomed in my stomach.
The third came quicker than I anticipated, it was the woman, who didn’t wait for the fight to finish as she sneaked up on me and ruthlessly swung the bat directly to my gut. I hit the ground a second later after the previous guy did, landing on my ass hard. Fucking ouch.
I shot a glare at the woman and within her grasp was the source of my injury, which was a goddamn light-up metal baseball bat.
“Bitch, don’t get ahead of yourself.” The woman hissed.
My blood’s boiling even more now. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in the groan that was about to escape me as I willed myself to get up, slightly making it look like I’m struggling more than I actually was and then ripped off the mask covering half my face.
Hook, line and sinker.
Puffing proudly, she took a step forward closer and was about to pitch another hit when I hastily seized my arms around her hips and forcefully pushed, knocking the woman off her feet as she fell backwards on the asphalt. I wasted no time to straddle her, trying to wrestle off the bat from the woman’s tight grip, but what the hell, she wasn’t letting go at all.
Letting out a frustrated growl, I took a hold of her collar, pulled it towards me, and then spat the blood that I’ve been purposely pooling in my cheeks in her face.
As expected, she shrieked in shock and disgust, momentarily forgetting about the bat and easing her hold on it---
Now!
Jumping into action, I snatched the bat, wrapping it around my fingers and drove its hilt straight to her forehead, knocking the woman unconscious as she slumped to the ground without any further hassle.
“Fuck...Goodnight to you.” I grumbled out, panting and breathing heavily before I steeled myself to glance at the last person left.
“Okay, one more.” One more and then I’m fucking going home.
It was another man, his frame was slightly wider and larger than the others I’d beaten so far. He stood only a few meters away and I swear he hasn’t moved an inch since the beginning. Enjoying the show? I almost wanted to say but kept it in as I studied him a bit more.
So he’s the boss.
I slowly got to my feet, not taking my eyes off the man as I flaunted the newly acquired weapon to my side, the bat’s cool metal surface feeling quite nicely in my palm.
“Ready when you are,” I said with a raised brow and a cocked hip.
He regarded me for a few seconds, his face hidden in the shadows, before bringing up a hand to his right arm and surprising me by tearing away at the sleeve, the cloth ripping into ribbons to reveal---a bionic limb.
My gaze brightened. Bingo.
While he probably saw me dead, I saw him...as a means of profit.
A smile took over my features, “That might sell a pretty penny,” I coughed out.
The man let out a savage cry as he shot forward, his robotic arm poised to strike and or grab. I counted his heavy footsteps as I prepared the bat and gripped it with both hands, waiting for him to get closer.
Once he got near, I noticed traces of a smile dancing on his lips---Fuck, too late---and then his forearm suddenly popped off its socket. Those metal fingers soared and latched themselves around my bicep, squeezing painfully. I grit my teeth, thinking it would bruise later if he didn’t let up soon.
But the man wasn’t done yet. His eyes glinted dangerously and pulled on the wire connecting the detachable limb to the rest of his bionic arm.
I panicked as I got yanked roughly by my bicep, “Shit…!” Cursing my luck, I tried hitting him with the bat but it lacked enough momentum to actually do damage. So he merely stopped the attack with his other arm and smacked the weapon out of my grasp.
I was being slammed into a wall the next second, a pained gasp slipping out of me whilst black spots swam in my vision, just barely registering the man’s words.
“Where’s that bravado now, huh?” The man sneered, bringing his face real close to mine.
I cringed at the distance, wishing I hadn’t taken off my mask earlier, and clutched him by the nape---then crashed my forehead against his. I knew it would take much more than a headbutt to release me but I only intended to disorientate him.
That small moment of distraction was all I needed to snake my free arm around my back as I grabbed something from the hem of my pants and pulled it out by its handle.
“Right here, fucker.”
I brandished the weapon in front of me and clicked on the switch, the buzz of electricity split the air as the stun baton hummed with power, producing small yet lethal blue sparks.
The man paled. I grinned.
Before he could protect himself, I arched the baton and jammed it into a narrow gap in his bionic arm. The reaction was instantaneous as those metal fingers involuntarily opened and dropped uselessly, the electronics inside malfunctioning. The man himself was in shock, never getting the chance to see the punch heading straight for his nose.
I bitterly smiled whilst hearing a satisfying crack the moment my fist landed.
I shoved against his chest, pushing him back a couple of steps as he held his bleeding nose, “Y-you...you bitch...!”
I stared at him, my expression impassive, and shook my head.
“This’ll fuckin’ hurt,” I say to him before zipping forward, baton ready to strike once more.
. . .
It was the memories that motivated me, helped me get up in bed every single day, the reason for me to keep going and going---because they were the only permanent things I have left in my life.
I tucked away the stolen bionic arm inside my bag along with the rest of what I managed to collect today. My eyes shuttered as I remembered a rather specific memory: my younger self and my father having multiple discussions about our extremely flawed society, still is, and the people who run the streets, making an adamant point about never stooping to their level.
If only I knew back then how people, including us, will react when faced with complete desperation and defeat..
It was a lesson I had to learn quite painfully.
A merciless beating and almost bleeding half to death behind some old abandoned factory.
“Fuck your pride.” They spat and then just left, taking off with my shit. Everything I owned.
That was 3 years ago.
“Fuck my pride, huh...” I bit back darkly, “Might as well fuck everyone else’s too.”
I did one final sweep at the bodies littering in the alley before running towards the fire exit stairs, hauling myself up and up, the wound on my stomach burning by the time I made it to the building’s rooftop and just leaned against a wall to rest a bit.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Without looking, I swiped a finger across my wrist.
It needed a few seconds for the transmission to go through and then a familiar scolding voice boomed in my ears,
“Where the hell are you? The meeting’s about to begin.”
That damned meeting.
“...Can’t I just skip it?” I rasped, my voice sounding foreign even to me.
There was a pause and I held my breath.
“Get your ass over here,” the voice growled out and I resisted the urge to groan in defeat, “You’re not missing the meeting twice in a row.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m on my way.”
.
.
.
“...Is it okay if I’m a bit late?”
“Get moving.”
(A/N: AHHHH, I’M HAVING FLASHBACKS TO MY UNRELEASED TOKYO GHOUL FIC. Anyways, I kinda lowkey love writing action. I swear it’s because of the Cyberpunk theme in this. I hope ya’ll enjoyed this, I might want to expand more on this character’s lore, there’s tons to unpack, so be ready for that! ALSO IM LATE LIKE REALLY LATE SO YEAH PEACE)
(A/N: this is two snippets, retelling the tale of two more characters in my dark academia story. try to figure out what those hands mean ;> )
BENETTE
One day, you’ll understand. They’d said.
Ridiculous. He answered, cockily.
And then he’d hear the stories from people in love. Those who praise the myth and eagerly urged him to start searching for his right away. Obviously, he didn’t listen. However, the doubt in his resolve grew weaker and weaker until he found himself oblivious to the fact that—
There’s longing in his heart.
He started talking to more people. Be intimate with them. Because—what if it’s identifiable by contact? An experimenting brush of fingers here, an attentive touch there, a small peck on the lips that transformed into sweet as sin kisses all over, or atleast wherever they’d allow him to. But there was still nothing.
Until something happened, it happened, during the break of the day. A chance encounter, fateful as others would say.
“Do you feel that?” It was then he knew. The moment those fingers lightly caressed his face—he knew that he’d been waiting on this his whole life.
Mate.
“It’s you. I can’t believe it.”
Silence.
The silence from her was defeaning.
“...What do you mean? I believe we haven’t met before.”
Falling and falling, he descended as fear rose and filled up his chest for he’s afraid that there’s no one waiting at the bottom to catch him.
“You don’t...feel it? But weren’t you also waiting?”
For this?
For me?
She smiled, it was angelic and he could have it ingrained in his memory forever. But he would also remember that this was also the loudest he ever heard his heart break.
NOX
It was a game of some kind. One that only existed between the two of them. Where she pushes, and he pulls then the next, he pushes and she pulls. On and on. The cycle refuses to break when the players themselves refuse to stop. The game slowly turned addicting, but perhaps it’s because his partner was simply bewitching.
Back and forth, their game of poisonous tongues.
Back and forth, he feels a little bit more alive.
Back and forth, although she drives him insane.
“Do try to keep up, I won’t be holding your hand through this, beast.”
“Touch me and your hand will be no more, witch.”
Back and forth, yet he returns all the same.
(A/N: I’m slowly but surely catching up! Also, did y’all enjoy this? I wanted to make them longer but suprise surprise, time isn’t my friend this time around. There’s three more to introduce, believe it or not— these ones so far aren’t exactly the MC’s. So look out for them in the future!
Ps: I’m gonna have to put my other dark academia ocs on hold because i have plans for another *wink* but I’ll pick this up at the right prompt! PEACE TILL NEXT TIME!)
(A/N: This is a Dark Academia story after all. So prepare for the spooks!)
Wake up. Wake up.
You’re here again. Wake up!
Is there really no other way? I don’t want to wake up.
The feel of soft sheets caressed her cheeks, the smell of burning incense filled her nostrils, and a quietness that’s not normal in any way, devoid of the blowing wind, birds, people. She’d woken up and those eyelashes drifted open as they normally do, routinely, constant and never changing.
Here again. You’re here again.
Despite the creeping sensation of fear and the unexplainable erratic beating of her heart, a peaceful calm washed over her, like she shouldn’t feel afraid because nothing’s happened. Nothing’s happened yet.
Later. Later. The thought vanished as soon as it came.
The girl pushed aside the sheets, smaller hands gripping the blanket tightly as she placed a foot on the floor, trying to test its temperature. The coldness of it was still the same, she’d remember becoming numb after feeling it over and over again, a painful cycle that would repeat each and every day.
Cycle? And once again the thought was forgotten.
She slowly stood up and fixed the bedding, neat and tidy—the girl halted as something throbbed on the back of her mind, delaying her movements for a few seconds.
No. You never lingered there for too long.
Her body suddenly moved forward as if pulled by invisible strings and that calm from earlier returned without warning, and her mind just went blank. Feeling languid, the girl opened the door to the dresser and picked out the dress in the middle, the only dress, then went towards the mirror beside it.
The girl stared at her reflection, holding it against her body—it was a long white dress with a v-neck, the ends of it were piled on the ground, the sleeves were also long, stretching further beyond her hands—it was enchanting and the girl found herself staring dreamily at it.
The girl’s attention flitted to her face for a split second—
Blood was smeared across it.
The dress slipped and fell to the floor as the girl backed away from the mirror, tearing her gaze away from it as fast as possible because…!
She frowned and then eyed the dirtied dress sitting on the ground. Because what? Why was the dress on the floor?
“You’re out of it, Dahlia.” The girl said to herself as she pulled the dress close and dusted it off, “Today’s the day, there’s no time for nervousness.”
Dahlia quickly stripped away her previous clothes, because she was running late after all, and stepped into that white dress with ease. She smoothed a hand down and finally turned towards the mirror again.
Beautiful. It fit perfectly.
The girl twirled, watching the dress trail from side to side as giggles soon filled the silent room and she was twirling and twirling. When she caught sight of her horrified expression on the reflection, she froze and rushed to grasp the border of the mirror. Dahlia didn’t remove her eyes from it, etching every single detail into her mind.
“Who are you?”
The girl in the mirror opened those blood streaked lips and mouthed something.
“What?” Dahlia asked, not understanding the word that she said.
It kept talking, and talking, and talking. Repeating the same word.
Dahlia read those lips for a moment before mimicking its shape, “Wake…Up?”
“But I’m already—“ Something wet touched her feet.
Dahlia looked down and paled at the blood pouring out of the mirror, her eyes snapped back the reflection to find the girl on her knees, shoulders hunched over and trembling.
“W-what?” She said fearfully and started crying out, “Wake up. Wake up!”
Because she now understands, none of this was supposed to happen, the girl in the mirror and the blood. Nightmare. This was another nightmare. Dahlia fled back to the bed, jumping on it carelessly even if the blood-soaked dress stained it. Her hands pulled the sheets over her head, breaths coming in short and quick puffs as she forced her lids shut and waited.
And waited. And waited.
Wake up. Please.
The blanket was suddenly pulled from her and Dahlia screamed her lungs out—
“No! No!”
Strong hands gripped her arms and shook them, “Hey! Hey, it’s me! Valerie, it’s Valerie!”
Dahlia didn’t hear the familiar voice of her friend and continued to thrash from the hold, believing she’s still trapped in a nightmare. “Wake up! Wake up!”
“Dammit.” The grip eased and disappeared, but she still refused to see. If what awaits her were those faces, she’d rather go blind.
Unexpectedly, a soft, fur-like sensation tickled her hand. Dahlia registered the strange yet comforting feeling, and unconsciously opened her eyes.
Honey orbs greeted her. And when the girl looked at the source of the sensation, a tail was there.
“...Dahlia.” The shifter in front of her said firmly.
“Valerie...?”
“Yes, it’s me. It’s me, doll.”
Dahlia collapsed forward and Valerie easily caught the girl in an embrace, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.” The shifter hushed, “It was only a nightmare.”
“It’s only a nightmare.” Dahlia repeated the phrase, as she did like the nights before.
It’s not real.
Deny all you want. An ugly whisper wormed its way into her thoughts and Dahlia instinctively covered her ears.
You’re locked here forever. With us. With us.
No. No, that’s not true.
We’re still here.
And here, we are with you. Because we’re bound to you. And soon you’ll see.
WE’LL DRAG YOU DOWN.
Dahlia whimpered at the violent and manic voices shrieking, “...Valerie, my wand please.”
The shifter looked concerned and uncertain but reached over for the witch’s wand anyway and placed it into her waiting palm.
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” Dahlia said to Valerie who was about to make a comment, “The spell will help with the nightmares, I just won’t be dreaming again tonight.”
“You are pretty nifty with that thing, speaking from personal experience and all that.” The shifter weakly sighed and caved in, “Okay. Take care of yourself, I won’t be back for a while.”
“Leaving for classes?” Dahlia asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Goodluck tonight.” Valerie raised an eyebrow to which Dahlia simply offered her a tired smile in return, “And complain to me about how you get rejected once again by that Night Stalker of yours.”
Valerie’s lips curled upwards dangerously, “One day, you're going to eat your words, witch.”
With that said, the shifter shuffled towards the door, shooting Dahlia one final look before exiting and shutting the door with a soft click.
Dahlia dropped back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes. Relishing in the silence for she knows that the voices will shortly return, they never went away for too long and neither did they ever allowed her to have peace.
For as long as you live!
The witch ignored the resurfacing memory, and pointed the wand beside her head. And then finally, when ready, said the words of a spell.
. . .
They weren’t always that close.
In fact, their first impressions of each other were...dreadful. At best.
Who’d known that a shifter and a witch would have that much bad blood between them.
. . .
Valerie had been that one little kid that's always getting in trouble for being too curious for their own good, too nosy, too reckless—you’d think she’d leave that trait behind while growing up.
It didn’t.
Not even for a second. It stuck to her like a permanent scar. Still as fearless and daring as ever, never one to deny an adventure even those that had high risks. A small percentage of those were rewarding, but Valerie had to admit, most of them she would end up on someone’s shit list.
This was not an exception.
After all, it was her first time to see a wand up close, Valerie had barely contained her excitement. The other witches don’t use them anymore, it was old practice they’d said and then sent her off on her way.
When she heard that her new roommate was coming, she was beyond ecstatic. Valerie had half expected one of her own species, but it turns out, it was a witch. A human with magic powers!
Too curious for your own good, Val. The shifter thought as she sneakily picked up the wand on the witch’s desk. It was...an ordinary tree branch from which tree, she had no idea. It looks a bit worn. Well...To be very honest, Valerie was disappointed.
Wasn’t it supposed to be fancier?
She pouted and brought it much closer to her face, she didn’t know what prompted her to sniff it but—
The faintest scent of blood. Valerie eyed the wand critically before sniffing it again—the door opening was what made her freeze on the spot like a deer in headlights. The shifter cautiously turned around, forgetting that the wand was still in her hand.
The witch immediately spotted it and shouted, “PUT THAT DOWN!”
Valerie placed it down as quick as she can and started to explain, “Um, Dahlia, Dahlia right? I-uh listen, I was only…”
Dahlia was fuming, her left hand was clenched and bleeding from those sharp black nails of hers piercing the skin. Shoulders were shaking with rage and the shifter could see the storm building in her dark eyes, waiting to be released.
Valerie gulped, she really pushed her luck with this one.
All of a sudden, Dahlia stretched out a hand, barked a word and then the wand flew from her desk towards her open palm. Those fingers curled around the branch automatically.
Valerie’s jaw dropped at the marvellous display of magic and then instantly closed it, reminding herself that this was not the time and she should be—
“I’m sorry!”
Those dark eyes of her roommate hardened and hissed, “Don’t ever. Touch it.”
“Yes, I won’t.”
Surprisingly, the witch broke eye-contact first and shook her head, seemingly quite done with the shifter and turned to leave the room. Valerie let herself sigh in relief when—
Twisting back an arm, Dahlia launched a spell on the spot just a few centimetres away from where Valerie was standing. The shifter screamed as she jumped high in the air and ended up on the witch’s desk. Valerie’s eyes bulged out at the sight below her—the floor was cracked and something sizzled in the air—before sending the glare right back at Dahlia.
Her foot could have been that poor floor panel.
The shifter snarled, feeling fangs protrude out, “What the fuck?”
“Just a warning.” The witch said dryly.
“I said I won’t touch it!”
“People lie.”
“I fucking promise I won’t touch it, okay?”
Dahlia regarded her for a second, and then nodded.
“You’ll end up like that—“ she jutted a chin at the floor and Valerie shot her an unamused look, “—if you break your promise.”
The shifter held back a growl that was about to slip out of her lips and tried to get her breathing in control. This was her fault to begin with. Valerie sulked. She had to suck it up now she had a pissed off witch on her back.
Dahlia said nothing as her gaze slid down to her right hand that was holding the wand, unaware that Valerie was observing.
Valerie continued to watch as the witch’s orbs glossed over with an unreadable emotion, then replaced by fierce possession as if she wanted to hide it from the rest of the world and then the next was—hate. The shifter was surprised the wand didn’t combust into flames with how hard Dahlia had been glowering at it.
Although, Valerie could see that she valued the wand to a certain extent.
Like some twisted kind of treasure that needs no explaining. Just one look and it’s obvious---the witch was fond of it as much as she hates it.
Cursed.
One word stood out to her amongst all the others. The wand was cursed, Valerie would bet her entire fortune on it.
. . .
Like most things, she would come to underestimate it and how truly cursed it was.
. . .
Valerie found her roommate on the floor again—like the previous nights—kneeling and rocking back and forth. Sobs racking her entire body and shaking like a leaf in a storm. Her wand was nowhere to be found, she might’ve flung it somewhere in the room earlier.
Valerie briefly recounted the various incidents that have happened so far:
At first, it was the muttering---that incessant muttering of hers that would sometimes disrupt Valerie’s sleep since she had sensitive ears, given that she was a shifter. And then remembering a time being so pissed that she threw a pillow at her roommate. The act earned her a few hexes that lasted for days on end, she had to crash at someone else’s for a while.
Then came the sleep walking, which terrified Valerie on multiple accounts and would much rather have preferred the mutterings instead of being shaken awake by an unconscious Dahlia.
And now, nightmares had come to visit the witch and those were the worst of them all.
Valerie nearly, nearly had a heart-attack when she woke up to a blood-curdling scream in the middle of the night. At some point, it became intolerable that Valerie even had to switch classes just so she could avoid hearing Dahlia scream, because it was the kind of terrible sound that unsettles. A deep-seated disturbance that buries itself inside of you and doesn’t leave without its marks on your soul.
But if that was just from the cries, she’d shudder at the mere thought of what were the actual nightmares that plagued the witch.
However, these phenomenons become somewhat of a bridge for Valerie to befriend the troubled human.
Here we are again. Valerie thought as she left the warmth of her bed and towards Dahlia. She put a gentle hand on her friend’s back and stayed silent.
“I’m trying, Val.” Dahlia whispered and then curled herself further into a ball.
When the shifter opted to only listen, the witch continued to breathe life into her thoughts, “I’m trying to get better. I know what I-I should do, better than anyone else. I know where to start, where to go. I know my destination. How far—gods, Valerie, I know. But I’m just...not there.” Her voice cracked and Valerie’s heart shattered at the heaviness of it.
“I see the end, I really do. I can see...me being happy.” She laughed and nothing about it was humorous, “It’s like...I’m in the between. Stuck. Running in the same spot over and over again. And I don’t know why. Why? Why am I still here?”
“Dahlia...Look at me.” Those dark brown orbs flicked up to her and there she found the thing that gave Valerie the strength to fight the overwhelming hurt she felt for her dear friend, “I can see it in your eyes, you know? That you want to change, the drive to break free of whatever the hell that’s been clinging so desperately to your ankles, that’s why you try.”
“Why aren’t you there, you ask me...But doll,” Valerie gave her the brightest smile despite the tears in her eyes, ”I think you aren’t there yet. Yet. It’s the little things that count, the small yet stubborn belief to change a mindset. You aren’t there yet, but you will be. Keep chasing, no matter how tiring and exhausting, and if you truly see yourself happy in the end, just hold on to that hope, doll.”
“They haven’t taken you, Dahlia. You’ve got to remember that. You’re here. Here.” The shifter gestured her hands around their room, “With your shitty shifter friend,” Valerie pointed to herself. “It’s only us, you and me, no one else. The best those nightmares can do is knock you down—convince you that they still have control, but in reality they don’t because they’re not here.”
Dahlia burst into tears anew as Valerie looped an arm around her back and pulled the witch towards her. After a while of only sniffling and quietness, Dahlia soffly said, “...You’re not a shitty friend, Val.”
Valerie hid a smile, “I think so too, but hey, I’m glad you said it.”
The strange pair both laughed.
. . .
If those silly fairy tales that humans had written held at least some ounce of truth in it, she sincerely hopes that the part where there’s always a way to break the curse was true.
So that you can live happily ever after.
(A/N: very very late but I decided to make mash all three prompts into one! Finally we get a witch! October wouldn’t be complete without a witch. So Adding one more to the oc roster, Dahlia thw witch room mate of our precious shifter Valerie. They have a wholesome frienship even if they got off on a bad start, hope yall give them some love!! Peace!)
“Gabrielle!” Someone shouted her name in the middle of a busy corridor. A few heads turn towards the source but eventually minded their own business.
Gabrielle twisted to the side and looked behind her, seeing a familiar face waving an arm in the air, one of the limited pile of shifters whose company she’d actually tolerated and enjoyed.
“Benette.” Gabrielle casually greeted him when he finally reached her.
“Hey, fangs.” He shot back, waggling his brows while wearing a toothy grin. Gabrielle rolled her eyes at the lousy job of a nickname, cocking a hip and crossing her arms.
“What is it you want?”
“Straight to the point, huh? Normally, I’d waste some of your time but since class is about to start soon, I’ll make this quick. Someone wanted me to give this to you.” He pulled out a piece of paper from one of his pockets and handed it to her.
Raising an inquisitive brow, she carefully took the small paper and then glared accusingly at him, “I swear if this is another one of your god awful tricks—”
“No! No, nothing like that.” He quickly interjected, “Just doing someone a service.”
“And who would that be?”
Benette chuckled and winked, “Go and find out yourself. Oh and also—“ He passed by her, shoving Gabrielle’s shoulder playfully before he whispered,
“Congratulations!”
The girl stared at his back for a moment, and then redirected her attention to the note between her fingers. Brushing a thumb over the surface of the paper, she faintly had an idea on who it belonged, and then opened it,
Thinkin’ about you.
~ V, your girlfriend
ps: I was really excited so, I hope you don’t get mad
pps: I told every person I met, sorry
The note ended with a kiss mark right at the bottom.
Gabrielle’s face flamed, from her neck up to the tips of her pointed ears, and then quickly pocketed the note, looking left and right to see if anyone’s seen it’s contents. Thankfully the crowd earlier had dispersed and there were only a couple of students lingering here and there.
Taking a deep breath, Gabrielle regained her composure and held back the urge to go search for that bold shifter of hers to—
That girl was going to be the death of her someday, she groaned and groaned again when a stupid smile grudgingly split her lips.
Extra: Her Side
“HEY!” Valerie screamed at the first person she saw out of her dorm room and ran up to them.
It was a human, a witch to be precise and one that she had never seen before. A freshman perhaps? Well, It doesn’t matter either way as Valerie instantly asked her a question, stepping into her space.
“Do you know Gabrielle O’Sullivan, a third year Night Stalker?”
“I...uh, I’m afraid not.” They squeaked out, eyes going wide.
“Well, she’s now OFF LIMITS.” Valerie pointed a finger at her, squinting her eyes a bit to look intimidating.
It seemed to work as the witch paled, “Um, I really don’t know her—“
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“O-oh? Congratulations?”
Valerie smiled and nodded as if she’s satisfied, “Thank you! And have a nice day!” The shifter chirped and then simply walked away like nothing happened. The witch made a mental note to change routes so that she won’t have to pass by here again.
EXTRA extra: here’s what Gabrielle looks like conceptually
(A/N: I feel a bit under the weather, sorry if this feels rushed. I really wanted to make this longer but lets settle with this for now. This explores the first stages of their relationship, as you can see Valerie is very affectionate. Also, another character was introduced, I may have about 6 more characters to show in this story. Look out for them! See yall next time! PEACE)
The shifter girl kept finding her, probably already had her scent down and was purposely showing up at the spots she frequented—for what reasons? She didn’t know. Was it troublesome? Most definitely. Even scaring her didn’t work, the girl would always bounce back and even more so determined. Her persistence was giving Gabrielle all kinds of headaches one can experience.
So, she figured to stalk the shifter one day.
Gabrielle blew off a stray hair as she crouched on a tree branch whilst hiding behind it’s thick foliage, providing a pretty nice hiding spot way above ground. She peeped through the small spaces between the leaves and silently observed the girl below.
The shifter was on one knee, inspecting something on the ground and then jerked her head up, seemingly sniffing the air around her.
Interesting.
Gabrielle had never seen a shifter do their version of a hunting, rather she more or less didn’t care at all what they did. Beyond curious, she leaned forward unconsciously and...
Creak.
The girl whipped her head around at record-breaking speed, eyes narrowing and glaring towards where Gabrielle was at. Her arm startlingly disappeared and luckily enough, Gabrielle managed to dodge the sailing projectile that appeared out of nowhere—did she throw a damn rock?—leaving a scratch on the tree’s surface.
Alarmed, Gabrielle shifted to another position—
and made the mistake of landing on a light branch.
SNAP!
Body lurching backwards, Gabrielle tried to stop the descent by grabbing anything she could reach but failed as her vision was momentarily blinded by the leaves. A shocked cry broke free from her throat.
And then—
What the…? I didn’t hit the ground, did I?
Gabrielle slowly fluttered her lids open, as if in a daze, and found herself staring at those glowing honey orbs that haunted her as of late and noted that they seemed much brighter tonight. Seconds after, she only now came to the realisation that both of their faces were only a couple inches apart.
Regardless of the fact, it still didn’t stop Gabrielle from dropping her gaze down to their lips. She didn’t know why they were so transfixing at that moment and at the same time a strange feeling surged in her veins, mimicking the strong impulse she gets before a feeding.
But she fed already so what’s this...hunger?
Those lips parted and a gentle purr followed, “Are you just going to stare or are you going to do something?”
Gabrielle blinked and then a mortified expression overwhelmed her features.
“You seem comforta—“
Gabrielle hauled ass out of those awfully sturdy arms and tumbled on the cold ground with the grace of a three year old.
“Crap!” Exclaiming in pain as she landed wrong on her arm, thinking she must’ve sprained it, all while trying to stifle her small and short grunts.
Please don’t notice. Please don’t say anything.
“HOLY!”
Great.
“Are you okay?” The shifter asked, going down on one knee again as her hands automatically reached forward to help but suddenly stopped and was just awkwardly waiting in the air, hesitant to touch her without permission.
Gabrielle brushed the gesture off and sat up, wincing a little as she cradled her hurt arm close to her chest. Meanwhile, avoiding the girl’s piercing gaze, that might as well leave a sizable hole if she didn’t stop, and felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment. She shut her eyes and fervently wished—someone please take her out of her misery—and kept quiet.
“Um…”
“Just leave me alone, Copper.” Gabrielle finally snapped, tired and humiliated, influencing her words that were much harsher than she had intended it to.
It seemed like forever when she thankfully heard the rustling of clothes.
“Open your hand.” Copper suddenly said and from her tone, she could tell the shifter was a bit miffed.
“Didn’t I tell you—“
Something hit her on the shoulder.
Confused, Gabrielle peeked at what it was and was left stunned to discover a white bandage roll, partially unraveled. Her eyes jerked upwards, a refusal for help ready on her tongue—because dammit she really didn’t want any of it—only for the shifter to...disappear?
What an enigma.
Gabrielle thought as she stared hard at the abandoned bandage on the grass and gradually picked it up, uncertain if she should use it or just leave it there.
She did tell her to get lost, at the very least—
Gabrielle decided she didn’t want to deny it anymore. It would be far too ungrateful, and besides, she really did need it.
Just this once.
. . .
Once became a few times and then a few more times, then a few times too many.
“Don’t you get tired of this?”
“Of what?”
“...Me.”
Copper only laughed and shook her head as if she found the question silly.
“I couldn’t stop even if I tried.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
After that, she started looking at her in a new light—a better one.
. . .
She’d surprised her yet again when Gabrielle found her at the top of a tall tree that looked over the gloomy lake just a distance from the academy. It was foggier than usual so the view wasn’t that great, but it makes you focus more on the moon though.
“I’m offended you didn’t tell me.” Copper pouted, swinging her legs to and fro, eyes never straying from the view.
“...You never asked.” Gabrielle pulled herself up the last branch and settled for standing, instead of sitting, beside the girl.
“From now on then.” Her voice was light yet showed signs of weariness, “I’d like you to keep a place for me.”
Bold. If there was one word to describe Copper, it would be safe to say that she’s very, very bold.
In fact, she’d mentioned it to her in the past on multiple occasions and the girl merely thanked her as if it was a compliment every single time. Perhaps now, Gabrielle can see that while it’s a particularly hard trait to deal with, it was also endearing.
At first, Gabrielle was unsure about letting her find out about the secret spots she liked to keep to herself and sometimes share with her twin—yet in the end, she agreed to it.
A tiny part inside couldn’t help but pick on Copper a bit though, “You’d invite yourself anyway, no matter what I answer.”
Her laugh rang pleasantly in the air, “Looks like I’ve done you in already.”
Perhaps she had, and Gabrielle had no idea.
. . .
“You’re late.”
She rolled her eyes, a cheeky smile shaping her lips. “I’m guessing you like keeping me on my toes, Gabrielle. This spot was pretty hard to find.”
“Losing your touch, Copper?”
“Shut up.” She grumbled, making the other one chuckle in amusement.
The shifter faced away, muttering under her breath about how the Night Stalker kind was dreadful company and went on and on and on. It brought a genuine smile to Gabrielle’s lips after hearing her familiar chatter. Although several seconds later, those chatterings stopped and the air was oddly silent.
“...Um, hey.” Copper’s voice was kind of subdued, speaking in a hushed tone all of a sudden.
The mood instantly sobered.
Raising her guard up, Gabrielle asked with pinched brows, “What is it?”
Copper didn’t reply right away. The other would have tried to read her expression but since her back was to her, she couldn’t see what face the shifter’s wearing now.
Then, softly she asked her a question.
“When will you call me by my first name?”
Gabrielle turned mute.
“You know what?” Copper suddenly blurted out loud, her sentence coming out shakily. “You talking to me is enough and I...I—forget I ever said anything.” The shifter was racking her brain for anything, any subject that she can steer the conversation towards even if it was abrupt—
“Would you like me to?”
Copper’s knees threatened to give out but forcefully pushed on as she turned around at a steady pace and finally met Gabrielle’s gaze, looking sheepish and hopeful and nervous and somehow all at once.
“Okay.” Gabrielle nodded calmly.
Still feeling like she’d forced it on her, Copper added and insisted at the last moment, “...You don’t have to. Copper’s fine as it is.”
Let’s just move on and...
“Valerie.”
Copper’s eyes bulged out, her jaw went slack and then promptly closed it, a rush going straight to her head and a pleasant feeling spread throughout her whole body down to her toes.
“Again, please.” She sounded small yet the request was bold.
Gabrielle decided to humor her as she leaned back against the tree trunk, “Valerie. Valerie. Valerie.” She repeated the name as many times as she wanted and then when her eyes swiveled back—
Those honey orbs shone. Brilliantly. Blazingly. They were simply mesmerizing and if she wasn’t careful, Gabrielle could mistaken them as jewels. As stars.
“You’re way too happy about this...” She broke off the eye contact, secretly trying to get her heartbeat under control.
Valerie laughed again and this time it lingered in the air, “You have no idea.”
. . .
You said to keep a place for you. And I did, I searched and I kept and then searched again and again until I ran out of places to give you.
So, tell me. Where else? Because surely you know that my heart’s already taken, so I cannot keep a place for you there if you have it wherever you are and wherever you go.
Then...how about you keep a place for me instead?
“I couldn’t stop even if I tried.”
Ah, so you have since the beginning?
. . .
EXTRA:
here’s some general info about what supernatural beings they are—
Night Stalkers aren’t strong but they’re incredibly agile and have swift reflexes, allowing them to surprise their prey. Although if they lose their element of surprise, they have to be very careful with their attacks because if they fail, their next movements should be ones that offer escape.
Essentially vampires, their eyes turn red in the night to adjust to the darkness but in the daylight, they’re normal eye colors. Other details to be specified later.
On the other hand, Shifters have two types: Full Shifters and Half-Shifters, the former can transform into their animal bodies while the latter can only adapt animal-like features and their movements, some are granted brute strength and are a fearsome kind to cross. But there exists peaceful shifters as well. Other details to be specified.
💖HAPPY BELATED INTERNATIONAL LESBIAN DAY💖
(A/N: oh wow, i had so much fun writing this, so much fun and I think the words just flowed in this one and my fingers were moving across the keys—okay um so! Yesterday’s prompt was about these two, and today’s prompt is all about how their feelings slowly evolved. It’s getting there, I would have loved to add in more scenes in this but it’ll be too long again so maybe next time! No art but maybe tomorrow? :> hope yall enjoyed this as much as I have, PEACEEE)
spoiler: they get together and are very much in love.
(A/N: if you’re thinking supernatural lesbian couple—then yes, you’re thinking right. also they’re my ocs from a dark academia story I’ve been working on, they were originally created like almost a year ago but I never got to work on the characters yet. So this next few days will be fuuuun! Keep your eyes open for updates! PEACCEEE)
PS: There will be frequent name changes in this, it’s because I determined which name should be used to fit the current situation. Besides that, ENJOY!
One of these parties again.
Yasemin shifted uncomfortably in her dress, it was a light champagne colour and it was pretty, too pretty for her liking though. A tap on her back made Yasemin pull back her shoulders, a smile already ready to greet new faces tonight. Her mother’s hand smoothly glided up from the middle of her back and came to settle on her shoulder, turning Yasemin to and fro, introducing their daughter to their beloved guests.
It was about two hours in when her mother gave Yasemin the signal to scram and she gladly withdrew herself from the tedious conversations.
She weaved through the crowd easily while keeping her head down and avoiding any stares. Yasemin can feel them looking, curious but not enough to stop her and make a conversation. The moment she slipped through a small crack in the door leading to one of the balconies, a loud sigh of relief escaped her lips and disappeared into the night. The girl ripped off the shawl on her shoulders none too gently and tossed it on the rail, wishing she could also tear off this damn dress.
Why is it so heavy? Yasemin grimaced and even more so when she squinted distastefully at the huge white pearls draped across her neck. If she could only…The girl shook her head profusely at the dangerous thought, though it would bring her satisfaction and also land her in trouble.
Not this time.
The girl leaned forward on the railing with her forearms and peered down the gardens. She moved to the side and bumped into one of the chairs laid out for their visitors, Yasemin slid to sit on it and closed her eyes. She jumped at the sound of a creak and a loud slam, Yasemin spotted a boy standing there with his back against the door. She concealed her surprise to see a kid around the same age as her. His blonde hair was lighter than hers, almost appearing translucent under the moonlight but his eyes were what fascinated her the most: deep bark brown and glacier blue. She didn’t want to exaggerate but for a second she thought an angel had come to visit her.
“...Hello?” She asked cautiously and when he didn’t reply, she was beginning to actually believe that he was an angel---until he opened his mouth.
“You’re fake.”
Yasemin had never been so horrendously offended as her cheeks flushed at the accusation, “Excuse me?!”
“What? It’s true isn’t it?” He stated casually, “Everyone thinks the same but they’re too afraid to say it.”
Yasemin paled and a turbulent of emotions threatened to burst out of her.
Oh no.
“So…?” The boy took a step closer to her, “Tell me, who are you?”
“M-my name’s Yasemin—”
“Save it.” He cut her off with a bored, “Why don’t you give up the act?”
“There is no act.” Yasemin honestly wanted to pull her hair out.
He was fishing for information and both her parents had warned her about this. They’ll try to corner her and coax out their family’s secrets. She knows what will happen if she opens her mouth. Red. Red. Red.
Her heart thumped loudly against her chest, “Stop embarrassing yourself and go report back to your family that they were wrong or else I’ll...”
“My family?” He let out an amused huff, “As if. They don’t trust a word out of me.”
“Is it because you lie a lot?” Yasemin snarled, sarcasm dripping.
He grinned at her like a cat that ate the canary, “It’s not my fault they’re so easily deceived.”
Yasmin ground her teeth, “Then...what do you want from me?”
He gave her an insulting look.
Her fists shook in both anger and frustration, “It’s Yasemin. I’m Yasemin.” She said through gritted teeth and the second those words were out her mouth, she knew it lacked enough conviction to persuade the boy and it seems like he knew it as well. Yasemin braced herself for another grilling but this time, she was prepared to not answer anymore of his questions. Surprisingly, the boy only frowned at her, not expecting the pity---why pity, why---written all over his face, before he shoved his hands inside his coat’s pockets.
Yasemin tore her eyes off him and instead gazed down on her slightly trembling fingers. Pathetic. She must look so pathetic.
“Don’t do that.”
Her head snapped up to find him standing directly in front of her, his chin raised and looking down his nose at her with a curl in his lips.
“What?”
“Don’t lower your head like some obedient dog.” His cruel words were like a harsh slap to her pride, knocking more and more pegs.
Yasemin seethed, immediately launching herself off the chair and was now staring down at the boy, towering over him by an inch or more. Up close, she could determine that he was a year or two younger than her and if so, she refused to be treated any differently.
“Try calling me that one more time.” She threatened.
Yasemin didn’t expect the response she would receive: a twinkle of laughter in those mismatched orbs and a grin that might as well tell the devil to go and take a hike. Her brows furrowed in confusion and then disbelief when he suddenly snorted.
The urge to chuck him over the railing seemed more and more appealing.
“That’s it!” The boy exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “That expression! You should make that face more often.”
“Are you making fun of me right now?”
“Yes, and no.” He quickly added the last part when he saw her glower, “Look, I’m trying to teach you how to survive!”
“Survive? Do you know whose daughter you’re speaking to?”
He paused as his expression shifted into something frightening enough to raise the hairs on her arms. That’s a face you shouldn’t be able to make unless—Yasmine sucked in a breath.
“And do you know whose son you’re speaking to?”
The girl froze, failing to give an answer as she searched his face for clues. On the other hand the boy seemed to be delighted about her lack of knowledge on his identity.
“No? That’s good then.” His next words made her stumble in her heels, “You should be my friend.”
She was too stunned to even come up with something to say as she continued to openly gape at the boy. Frankly, she didn’t know who the hell the kid was and what family he came from but she’d made a mental note to ask one of the maids later.
“...I didn’t think you were the type to make friends.” She eyed him warily.
He tilted his head to the side, “What makes you say that?”
Yasemin parted her lips but then clamped them shut, the boy’s eyebrows shot up in question. She idly scratched her cheek and avoided his gaze. “You’re—you’re a bit…” She raised a finger and twirled a circle beside one of her temples.
He barked out a laugh, “Well, maybe that’s why they never last long.”
“...What makes you think I will?”
“Because...” He stood on his tiptoes and gave her another patronising smile, “You’re not really one of us, are you?”
With that said, the boy whirled around and headed towards the door as if deciding that was enough for today.
“Wait.” She didn’t know why this was a good idea but, this was the first time someone had asked her who she was.
Hope bloomed in her chest.
“You...you won’t rat me out to your family?”
“They’ll never listen to me anyway.”
She analyzed his face, looking for anything that might contradict his words.
Nothing. The girl swallowed and took in this information with a grain of salt, she didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
Eventually, she conceded, “Yelena…” It was but a whisper, almost inaudible and she wasn’t sure if he’d heard it.
He gazed at her for a moment—he might’ve not heard her then—before shocking her one last time as he shot her a loose grin.
“Viktor.”
The boy slipped between the doorway and probably rejoined the party. Yelena carefully sat down again and mulled over what just happened. She clutched her head in her palms and cursed, why did she think it was a good idea to trust the boy?
Yelena groaned in defeat, wondering if she should give her final prayers now before the masses caught wind of what she’d said to him.
Viktor was his name.
How ironic.
After leaving her seat, Yelena absentmindedly collected the discarded shawl off to the side, shrugging it on and then straightened her dress. Her expression remained thoughtful as she swayed towards the door leading back to the crowd.
She noticed later on that her dress felt significantly lighter.
I wouldn’t see him again anyway.
. . .
Their next few encounters were more frequent than usual and no matter how well she’s hidden herself, he’d always found her. It was supposed to be annoying, unsettling at the least but somehow the more Yelena saw him, the more she got used to his presence. She’s starting to get worried because it didn’t irk her as much anymore. They’d agree on one thing yet disagree on pretty much what’s left. It was entertaining and Viktor was equally challenging.
Perhaps, it was the seventh time they’d met when their strange friendship began budding.
“You are aware that we’re practically joined at the hip at this point, right?” To which she only replied with a flat stare but otherwise didn’t deny. Those few seconds without her arguing was the only thing he needed to relentlessly tease her for the whole night.
Though, they weren’t quite there yet.
If Yelena were to befriend someone like him as her first friend in this hell hole, they’d all think she was wired differently. Plus, she’d heard all about his reputation, how unpredictable and dangerous he was and yet—
Maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad?
. . .
One particular evening she was the one who sought Viktor out, coming up to him while he was talking to one of his brothers and faintly tugged on his sleeve. Surprise and joy flickered through his eyes in seeing her approach first,although it all but lasted for a second after seeing how low her head was bent; a habit that he thought he’d succeeded in berating out of her over a year ago.
What happened? Who did this?
Silent rage bubbled inside of him but he kept it in a tight lid. Not here. Viktor quickly excused himself from the conversation and pulled Yasemin away from prying eyes and whispers.
Once they were alone, the girl at his side still didn’t say anything. Only a quiet thank you and then settled for remaining in silence.
With her head down.
“Yelena.” He said in a clipped tone, anger humming restlessly beneath his skin, itching to find a target and let loose. Her dark eyes swiveled to him in shock—as he’d expected since it was the first time he used her real name after all—and then slapped a hand on his mouth, her expression frantic.
“Are you crazy? Someone might hear you!”
He ignored her words, “What happened?”
“I...I don’t want to talk about it.” She recoiled her hand back and once again, glued those eyes to the floor.
Viktor ran a hand through his hair, wanting to scream as frustration filled him to the brim with nowhere to go, “I don’t know what you want me to do here exactly.”
“...Just do what you do best.” His friend meekly advised.
Viktor’s lips pursed and observed her with hardened eyes. Right away, he understood what she meant and what she’s asking him to do---How could he not? If this is the only way then, who is he to deny her?
And so, he unbuttoned his coat and draped it carefully on her shoulders, making sure it doesn’t fall off before settling beside her. He took a deep breath first, followed by an awfully long sigh and began.
“You saw my brother earlier right?” No response, that’s okay, he was used to it. Viktor continued, “Well, did you know—“
Even if she won’t bicker and banter with him. He’ll still do what he does best. He lied and lied and lied. Although after a while, he’d catch a glimpse of one of her precious smiles and found himself smiling as well.
Lying had never felt better.
His ridiculous stories were cut short when she placed a hand over his fingers and a whisper that made his blood ran cold, “Viktor…”
Yelena spoke so delicately yet her taut grip said otherwise.
“I’m getting married.”
. . .
Her mother came bursting into Yasemin’s room, an evident grimace etched into her expression as she rushed straight for their daughter, snatching a thin arm between her fingers and yanked her upright.
“What have you done?”
Yasemin’s eyes widened, bewildered and frightened at her severe temper, “Mother, what is---”
A sharp stinging pain pierced the side of her arms as her mother’s nails dug into her flesh, Yasemin whimpered, unable to do anything but suffer under her wrath.
“The engagement is cancelled, we just received news that your fiancé withdrew from the deal.”
“Yasemin, what have you done?”
Nothing. I didn’t do anything. She said over and over until her mother gave up, storming out the room whilst calling her spiteful names and then slammed the door shut. A numbness spread through Yelena, the odd feeling keeping her company for the rest of the evening even when she fell asleep.
Was it you?
She dreamed of an angel with mismatched eyes that night.
. . .
“Thanks, Viktor.”
“For what?”
Both of them knew what she really meant and he was waiting for her to bring it up. The boy waited patiently.
“...For being my friend.” One of his brows lifted, clearly wasn’t expecting her to say it.
“Ditto.” Yelena smiled at him and he smirked back.
But not once did he teased Yelena about it like he did before.
. . .
“As a token of our friendship—“
“Wait, I thought were already friends—“
“I’ll teach you how to use a knife!”
“Viktor, what in the hell—“
. . .
“We’re going to be gone for a while.”
“I hope I never see you again.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“...Come back safe.”
. . .
Yelena never considered the end of their encounters as partings per se, Viktor somehow just keeps popping out of nowhere and thus, she’d grown used to see him here and there, never fully gone for too long. Knowing full well that he’ll appear every single time.
Until—
. . .
“Your eyes look hollow and empty,” A sultry voice murmured, “So your soul must be the same.”
“Can you feel it? The desire to dance?” The question invoked a strong desire in her that she’d never felt before, “Remember, my theatre is open to all.”
. . .
Yelena stood in front of the bathroom mirror, glaring at the girl in the reflection whose tears were streaked across her cheeks and dirty blonde strands tangled disastrously. She was breathing hard, short puffs of air kept escaping her even after the worst of her sobs quieted down.
Who are you?
Slowly, she collected herself and started taking the black garments off her body one by one. Yelena left them on the floor, beyond exhausted to even bother cleaning up, and strode into her room. She went straight towards the bed and just collapsed in the sheets, wishing that this day had never come.
Her chest constricted painfully, letting herself wallow in regret, shamefully grieving when a few years ago, she would have wept in joy.
It’s different this time. They’re gone.
Just before sleep takes her, a past memory of calloused hands and a tempting voice echoed in the back of her mind.
“My offer still stands.”
. . .
Perhaps it was his fault for not noticing.
He’d become too blinded with excitement now that the hit was successful. But maybe he underestimated how much it had the opposite and negative effect on her: How her eyes had become so distant, her figure becoming so thin and frail, her words lacking the usual fire when bickering with him, and those times how eerily silent she becomes—it reached to the point where he had to check to see if she’s really there or not.
Finally, he’d failed to see that this encounter---
“What’s with that gaze?”
She smiled and it was beautiful. Yelena constantly took his breath away and he had half the heart to tell her to stop, but he was too much of a coward to actually do anything about it. Yet somehow that particular smile looked painful.
“I’ve decided.” She’d said, explaining no further as usual.
Viktor neglected the tiny ball of unease growing inside of him and laughed, “Yeah? Well, tell me all about it next time. My family’s having this important meeting out of the country tomorrow, we’re all required to be there.”
“Uh-huh…” She hummed.
“So don’t get too lonely now.” He teased, his jolly expression instantly falling when Yelena slid her arms around him and buried her head onto his chest. Her small frame fitting snugly against his. It took years for him to get tall, although now he was almost a head taller than her.
“...I hope I see you again.” Yelena repeated, her voice shaky with emotion.
His eyes turned soft, “I’ll come back safely.”
Those arms didn’t budge.
“Yelena.” Viktor savoured the name, truthfully he loved it. Treasuring every piece of memory he had when she allowed him to call her by that. “Yelena, look at me.”
And she did.
“You’re Yelena now right?” Viktor said, smiling brightly.
“So you don’t have to hide anymore.”
“...Yes.”
. . .
But didn’t you realise? I’ve always been Yelena when I’m with you.
. . .
It’d felt like someone poured icy water all over his body when he came back to visit her as soon as their trip ended. It’d felt like he walked into a nightmare, a living one he couldn’t wake up from.
“Maybe that’s why they never last long.”
“...What makes you think I will?”
No. No. No. NO.
Their conversation played over and over again like a broken record, torturing him with their fond encounters. It can’t be.
The moment he realised that her room was deserted, his mind went blank and then he simply panicked. Viktor frantically searched every corner of her room, his heart slamming against his chest painfully and so fast, it’s getting harder and harder to breathe by the second. And then his eyes snagged on a small white paper left on the windowsill.
With shaky fingers, Viktor opened the note—
TBC
(A/N: *evil laughter in the distance* THIS SPIRALED OUT OF MY CONTROL BUT IF YOU’RE READING THIS CONGRATS YOU REACHED THE END
also this was me during this whole writing process---
me: how about we write fluff---
brain: no
me: but---
brain: okay just a little but they suffer at the end
me: ...you got yourself a deal
ANYWAYS, I’m late yes and yes although it’s better than nothing right?Well, here marks the end of our villain oc, we get to see who she was right before the shift happened. You all might pity Viktor but he’s really resilient, maybe later in the month I’ll show the painted portrait I did of him. ALSO thanks for being with me on this journey, I’m slowly but surely picking up writing again by this long ass “still condensed” blurb of a chapter. Till next time or in a few hours I guess. PEAACEE
“They want war?” Their mistress hissed under her breath.
“If so, I’ll personally deliver it to their doorstep.”
The young dancer watched as their normally aloof and cool-headed mistress walk towards her as if she was vengeance itself. Fatal. Unstoppable. It was a side she intentionally hid from them since it was usually reserved for underground business.
A stroke of fear caressed her skin and she let out a shaky breath.
The frightening woman now stood in front of her and placed a hand on the dancer’s shoulder, “No one leaves tonight until I come back.”
The dancer’s lip quivered, “T-then what about Sofia?”
Her mistress’ expression shuttered and then tightened her grip on her shoulder, “She’s family. She’s the reason for what’s happening tonight.”
“...But what if she’s dead?” The dancer couldn’t hold back a cry, a broken sound escaping her throat as fear wrapped it’s icy fingers around her heart.
Their mistress didn’t answer yet a second later, arms suddenly embraced the dancer, she squeaked in surprise but eventually leaned forward and accepted it.
“If we return without Sofia—“ The mistress slightly pulled back and gazed into her eyes.
“Then you all must carry on with the dance. We all must.” Her voice softened at the end, “For the memory of her.”
The dancer quietly nodded, understanding the risks that came with the job. Such as missing dancers, dead dancers—Everyone knows what happens behind the curtains, they were informed first before a deal was made.
Everyone knows what it sits upon.
Unconsciously, the dancer took a step back and pulled herself out of the embrace, her knees feeling weak thinking about what tonight will bring. Their mistress was silent again before she gave her a curt nod and turned away.
One thing’s for sure though, she thought somberly, it was without a doubt that whoever poor soul evoked her anger tonight—will die.
Another bitter thought crossed her mind as she looked at their mistress pull out something from one of the drawers. A glint of gold caught her eye. The mistress slid her gaze to the side and observed the dancer under her eyelashes, a sly smirk decorating her painted lips as she brought up a lone finger to them.
Shhh.
The dancer closed her eyes.
Don’t you hear it already? The heads rolling on the ground?
(A/N: only had time for drawing but no for writing ;-; anyways this is a very rough concept art for Yasemin, though i’m having fun sketching out all the details! ALSO i do have a short chapter for this but i’m still writing it regrettably, maybe i’ll post it tomorrow when i’m not busy again *sighs* see yalls PEACEE)
In the past, the word would perhaps be used to describe her along with ordinary and simple. Mundane. However, someone upstairs must’ve heard those desperate prayers she would whisper in bed every night. They were always the same: Please this, Please that. Please. Please. Please. And maybe just for a little while, she could believe that her gray world would gain a colour or two, it didn’t really matter how many it’ll be.
Just enough to change. She hoped.
And change it did. She cried.
If I had known what awaited me, I would have been a bit more specific in my prayers because now—it was one colour after the other. No breaks nor warnings. Too much. It was just too much. The colours were already so muddled and muddied and unpleasant to look at—like the people around her.
There’s nothing to be proud about if she can say that her life isn’t boring. In fact, it was the exact opposite; eventful, full of twists but somewhere along the way, it had turned into a tragedy. A fairytale gone wrong and it still hasn’t reached it’s ending.
Yet lately, she’d been praying again like before. The habit stopped after she was forced into this lavish yet cruel lifestyle that some praised and killed to have. If she remembered correctly, it started with the familiar lines of Please this, please that. Except it was different this time.
It wasn’t Please, give me, it’s become Please, help me.
It wasn’t Please, let me, it’s now Please, save me.
She prayed for someone to take her away. Not to see the world like she wanted to as a child, but to escape from it because she’d seen how it truly is without it’s pretentious guise. And she wanted no part in it whatsoever lest the permanent colour of her world will forever stay red.
Please.
Whisk her away from this world she’d slowly grow to hate more and more, enough to make her feel sick everytime she pretends to live for another person. Fly out of bounds, somewhere distant that not one of these people can easily reach and pull her back. A place further than the universe, a place so far it doesn’t even have a name nor discovered, and then–then she can finally learn how to dream again.
Please.
“Yasemin? Are you still awake?” A soft voice called out, sounding a bit muffled under the thick blanket.
“Yes, Mother?” She replied as usual.
“It’s time.”
Please.
(A/N: Oh my god, i was really considering skipping today’s prompt cause I’m incredibly tired from classes but here it is I guess. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to draw NOR write today so it’s a bit shorter than usual. Anyways, this is one of the lady’s backstories from yesterday prompt, there’s a lot of parallels and idk im ready to fall asleep rn so im dreading tomorrow when i actually read it.
Also name reveal? But what does she mean by her life before?? Who knows lol, tune in next time for more. PEACCCEEEE)
The reporter thought as they sat on a deep plum chaise lounge, ignoring the cold sweat running down their back--it was mere nervousness, that’s all--as they shoot a grateful half-smile at their interviewee: a young woman in her early twenties who apparently was the owner of one of the most famous, if not the finest, theatres in the city. She only acknowledged their smile with a small nod and then went back to sipping her drink. The reporter fidgeted on their seat, trying to shake off the feeling that something was wrong when the lady has been nothing but hospitable. Their eyes darted from the sparse furniture to the beautiful paintings and…
What in the hell is that wallpaper? Suppressing a shudder as they quickly glanced at the black squares dotted randomly across the four red walls of the room, feeling eyes on their back...
Clink. Clink.
“Do you have any more questions?” A low, smooth voice called out.
Storing that information for later, the reporter cleared their throat before clicking the button on the pen twice, releasing two click clacks--just to ease their anxiety--and skimmed the last few things on the list; internally groaning when they read the next question.
They decided to hell with it.
“What are you...most afraid of?” Their tone was surprisingly stable.
But once the question left their lips, the air stilled and it seemed like time stopped with how the woman abruptly seized her movements. Wait, what happened? The ice cubes in her drink quietly clinked at the sides of her glass and that tiny noise seemed to put everything back into motion. A shift of clothes, and then...she finally moved. Now, she was casually leaning back in her own chair with one leg crossed over the other.
“...Take a guess.” The lady gestured the glass towards them, the amber liquid sloshing as she twirled it absently.
“I—“ They paused, confused and---What was that? Did the question set her off?--- avoided her pointed gaze. The woman must’ve mistaken their silence as hesitation and took the initiative this time.
“Come on, I won’t bite.” She smiled, “If you don’t want me to.” They paled when she showed them her teeth. The lady only laughed at their reaction and took one more sip of her drink.
“Look, I don’t know how high of a pedestal you’ve put me on but I’m actually afraid of many things.” She started inspecting her polished nails, “They’re much more mediocre than you think.”
When the reporter didn’t respond, she continued to speak, more than happy to feed their curiosity, “First of all, Heights, I can’t stand them at all. Spiders? Deathly afraid...Or maybe it’s insects in general but anyway---.” She started ticking off her fears one by one until the reporter managed to muster up the courage to ask another one of their questions.
“...Death?” They inquired, hopeful and also dreading for the answer.
Please say yes. Please say yes.
It only got a crease in her brows.
They just want to know if the rumours were true. That the theatre was simply a front while businesses nothing short of illegal was happening in the back. Crap, and if it is…They’re deep in the lion’s den now. They held back a curse. If it weren’t for the huge payroll, they wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.
“How morbid...” The woman huffed, pulling the reporter from their thoughts and snapping them back to reality.
Her eyes slid over to them in a lazy yet sharp manner and then made a face. It was as if she put on a mask and a barrier dropped behind her eyes, blocking anyone from seeing what they’re expressing. The reporter froze in their seat, wishing they could take the damned question back and make a run for it.
The barrier disappeared instantly and she was once again an open book, her expression was easy to identify—too easy—while she hummed low in her throat.
“Death, huh?” She shook her head after a few seconds of contemplating and then placed the glass on the table with another resounding clink, uncrossed her legs and stood up.
“Unfortunately,” the lady sighed wistfully and straightened her coat.
Oh no.
She winked at them before declaring, “I don’t fear it at all.”
With just the snap of a finger, the double doors behind her burst open and two people dressed in matching suits marched inside. The reporter jumped to their feet, their stomach already churning nauseatingly at the alarming turn of events.
“What’s--?!”
“Here’s one more thing you should write down.” Their eyes hastily zoned in on the woman and watched as one corner of her mouth twisted into a mocking smirk, framing her red lips beautifully.
“I’m afraid... that you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Your time’s up.
Meaning they’re going to die.
“WAIT! Wait, no, no, no please! Please, I don’t understand!”
Their cries echoed in the room and the familiar sense of being watched pricked at the back of their head. The reporter felt the need to look around. They had to. Turning ever so slightly, they saw multiple silhouettes peeking out of the black squares, every single one was wearing two-piece suits like the two guards that entered earlier and...they’re armed.
Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The trembling got worse.
“I almost forgot to answer your question.” The lady ignored the reporter’s pitiful pleas as she entertained a thought in her head, saying it like she would talk about the weather.
“Q-question..?”
“The thing I’m most afraid of is—“ Something akin to cruelty but much much darker, flashed across her eyes. “My enemies, naturally.”
“Although, I make sure they’re already dead before they ever find out.”
BANG!
It was the Pawns that came first and be purposely sacrificed and then the Queen will shortly follow.
“Sooo, what does a great woman like you fear?” Perhaps it was an innocent question the girl, barely in her twenties, in front of her wanted to know, or—entirely something else.
The woman tilted her head and observed her for an instant: her big lousy grin, her too-bright eyes, the abundance smell of expensive perfume and her left heel tapping in a fast tempo.
Her lips curved into a smile.
Time to knock down the Queen.
(A/n: ALAS! She’s finally here!! So, this oc of mine was created roughly two months ago and I even have a few sketches of her already but nothing too concrete so I’m really excited to finish a piece of her. Also, she DOES have a name and it will be revealed in later prompts but for a bit of context, she’s a not so nice guy, like a villain oc of sorts. She does illegal stuff under the guise of her ‘theatre’. Essentially, she’s an underground boss and she’s here to fuck everybody’s day up. Except her lovely theatre personnel.
I hope yall don’t mind the pronouns I used here, I think it’s an important representation to some people who use them. ;) )
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