“As Risen Star galloped to the wire in isolated splendor, pulling away from his five opponents with remarkable ease, there was no way to hide from the image of the muscular chestnut star who captured the heart of a nation.”
#13 with Jhope or Jungkook please?❤Angst or smut maybeeee
Just for the Night (Hoseok x Reader)
Prompt request: “Are you hurt?”
Summary: Hoseok is a famous actor, and you happen to be working as a stylist on set. You and Hoseok have undeniable chemistry, but will anything come out of it?
Word count: 1.4k words
You watched as Hoseok recited his final line. Throughout the past few months of filming, you had been completely awed by Hoseok’s presence and charisma. He was always energetic and cheerful, and his acting was stellar. You understood why the young star had risen to fame so quickly.
Plus, you were also stunned by Hoseok’s good looks. You had seen him on screen before, but in real life, it was a whole different story.
Unfortunately, with filming already wrapping up, you realized you never got the chance to talk to Hoseok. You figured a star like him would have no interest in you–a college student interning as a makeup artist. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, anyway.
The crew members and cast erupted into cheers as the final scene concluded. Filming was over. It was a bittersweet moment for you; the experience was amazing and you were sad to be saying goodbye.
With a quiet sigh, you retreated to the dressing rooms with a few other makeup artists. You only handled the secondary or background characters, so you never came into contact with the big stars.
One of the supporting characters was played by a young actress named Mina, who was around your age. She treated you like an equal, which wasn’t very common in your experiences.
“Hey, Y/N!” Mina called, running up to you and draping her arm across your shoulders. “Can you believe it? Filming’s done! Isn’t it crazy?”
“I know,” you replied sadly. “I’m kinda sad. I had so much fun working here.”
“So, once you graduate, just come work here again!” Mina chirped. “It’ll be so cool seeing all of our hard work on the big screen, you know?”
“That’s true,” you laughed. The two of you disappeared into a changing room, where you made quick work of removing Mina’s makeup and hair extensions. You chatted idly as you did so, Mina carrying most of the conversation. After a few minutes, you were finally finished. Mina changed into her regular clothes and you two exited the room.
“So, are you going to the dinner?” Mina asked as you walked through the production building’s long hallway. “The place is really nice! I mean, I’ve never been there, but I heard it’s awesome.”
“I don’t think I’m going to go,” you said reluctantly. “I dunno, it’s not really my thing. Plus, I’m an intern. The actual crew might not be too happy to have me there.”
“Don’t say that!” Mina exclaimed, slapping your arm lightly. “You do a ton of work, and you’re not even paid! You deserve a free, fancy dinner.”
“Amen,” you muttered. You turned a corner, entering the building’s large lobby. Crew and cast members were already congregating there, talking excitedly. “But still. It’ll be uncomfortable. I’m just going to go home after this.”
“You’re not coming to the dinner?” a voice suddenly asked from behind you. Both you and Mina spun around, stunned into silence upon seeing Hoseok standing just a few feet away from you.
“I-I’m not, no,” you replied quickly, tripping over your words. Barefaced and in casual clothing, Hoseok was still radiant. He smiled at you, and you had to physically resist the urge to swoon.
“Why not? It’ll be fun. Plus, free food,” Hoseok grinned. “For real, you should come, Y/N.”
“I, uh, I’ll t-think about it,” you stammered, reeling from the fact Hoseok knew your name.
“Hope I’ll see you there,” Hoseok said, shooting you a thumbs up. “You too, Mina.” With that, he walked away, presumably to talk to someone more important.
You turned to Mina, your mouth hanging open. Mina had a similar expression on her face.
“He knows my name,” you whispered to her. “Holy fuck. Why does he know my name?”
“I have no idea,” Mina replied, her voice bursting with excitement. “But you better find out!”
Two hours later, you arrived at a luxurious restaurant stuffed into one of Mina’s designer dresses. Uncomfortable in heels, you waddled up to the front of the restaurant where a few other people you recognized were standing. Mina patted your arm encouragingly, knowing how out of place you felt.
After some small talk, you were whisked into the restaurant. It was dimly lit, the interior design modern and sleek. The entire place just radiated wealth. You were itching to leave, but you wanted to talk to Hoseok once before the night ended. A girl could dream, after all.
The company had booked a whole section of the restaurant, so you and Mina just took a small table and waited to be served. Mina chattered away, and you listened attentively to whatever drama was happening in the world of celebrities. You didn’t care, really, but you had to admit it was interesting.
Eventually, dinner was served. Earlier, you had ordered lobster because you knew it was expensive. You hadn’t been paid for your labour, so you sure as hell were going to milk this free dinner for all it was worth. You had also been drinking champagne nonstop, so when you started to feel a little dizzy, you had to take a breather.
“I’m gonna go to the washroom,” you announced, pushing away from the table. Mina nodded, her mouth full of food, and waved you away. Teetering on your high heels, you searched the dark restaurant for a washroom in vain. Wandering aimlessly, you eventually found a hallway leading somewhere.
You continued walking down the hall, hoping it didn’t lead out of the building. Just as you were turning a corner, you collided with something solid. Stumbling back, you flailed as you tried to catch your balance.
Hands grabbed onto yours, keeping you steady.
“Are you hurt?” Hoseok asked, concern ringing his voice. “Oh, Y/N! You came!”
“I-I’m fine,” you blushed, letting your hands fall from Hoseok’s warm grip. “And yeah, I did. The food was good, so I’m not complaining.”
“You should’ve come talk to me sooner,” Hoseok pouted. His expression quickly turned serious, and his eyes turned dangerously dark as he looked down at you. “But you look really good tonight, Y/N.”
“Thank you,” you said quietly, biting your lip. You peered up into Hoseok’s eyes shyly. “You look nice, too.”
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” Hoseok mumbled as he leaned down, his face hovering inches away from yours. You could feel his breath ghosting across your lips. When you made no attempt to move, Hoseok closed the distance, and his lips met yours.
Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was just Hoseok, but you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. It was messy and too quick, but it sent shivers down your spine. Hoseok’s mouth was so warm, and his wandering hands drew you in.
“Fuck,” Hoseok groaned, pulling away to catch his breath. You panted in unison. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.”
“You should have told me sooner,” you laughed, threading your fingers through Hoseok’s soft hair. You tugged the strands gently. “But better late than never.”
“True,” Hoseok smirked. He stepped back and grabbed your hands. “Here, follow me.”
He led you further down the hallway where there were–like you were looking for–washrooms. Hoseok pulled you into the empty washroom, clicking the lock behind you. When he turned back to look at you, the expression on his face almost predatory. You smiled at him. A challenge, which he readily accepted.
And if Hoseok liked you in Mina’s dress, he certainly liked you even more without it.
After that night with Hoseok, you parted ways without a word. Well, there were words. Hoseok was as excitable as ever. But there were no promises of keeping in touch or relationships. Both of you knew that was impossible.
So, your internship ended and you returned to school. You were actually studying special effects makeup–niche, you knew. After your final year in college, you returned to the industry with a bang. After working on a few small projects, you landed a position on a huge film project.
When you walked in on the first day, the last person you were expecting to see was Hoseok.
He spotted you almost immediately, a smile tipping the corners of his lips upward. His eyes darkened–just like they did that one night–as he looked you up and down.
“Y/N,” Hoseok said, your name sounding like honey. “Nice to see you again.”
- Girl in Luv
Thnx guys! Hope you enjoyed. I was a little low on inspo since I wrote another imagine with the same prompt. But I tried to make them as different as possible! Was also aiming for smut…but I’m too weak. You guys can guess what went down in the washroom. Also prom was fun, after prom was lit. I’m sick again tho, so was it worth??? Thanks for reading 💛
There were few things Marco Diaz appreciated less than texts from Janna. For starters, he wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten his number, or how her contact information had mysteriously appeared in his phone. And for every text he received, half were bizarre or unnerving, and the other half were bizarre and unnerving. It was for that reason why, when he’d received a text from her shortly before Karate practice, he’d elected to ignore it for the time being. After all, whatever it was, it could wait until he’d kicked Jeremy Birnbaum’s butt.
Unfortunately for Marco, instead of the normal close-up of a spider or a skeleton, the text had ended up being a mere seven words: “COME TO THE MALL, STAR’S IN TROUBLE”
Huffing and wheezing as he pushed his bike up the last hill, Marco kicked himself again for not checking his phone earlier. Granted, it wasn’t unusual for Star to find herself in some sort of trouble-just the previous week, Marco had been forced to step in after a dire misunderstanding at a hot-dog eating contest. But something about Janna’s text had unnerved him more than usual-that, and the distant sound of sirens and helicopters in the distance.
Finally, Marco reached the top of the hill. Pausing to catch his breath, Marco looked down and saw something strange on the ground. Leaning over, he picked it up and stared.
It was, if he wasn’t mistaken, a tiny purple heart.
Looking back up, Marco was floored at the sight of the Echo Creek Mall in the distance. The shopping center was nearly completely covered in bulbous purple growths, and the entire building was surrounded by emergency vehicles. Above the mall, a half-dozen helicopters circled relentlessly, illuminating the structure with their spotlights.
“STAR!” His fatigue forgotten, Marco hopped back onto his bike and raced down the hill as quickly as he dared. Passing by dozens of stopped vehicles and staring pedestrians, he quickly made his way to the bottom of the valley and made his way to the police cordon at full speed. As he approached, however, a pair of police officers ran towards him, hands in the air.
“Hey! What the heck are you doing, kid?” the first officer shouted, running to block Marco’s path.
Marco quickly slid to a stop, and stood before the two clearly panicked officers. “I have to get in there! There’s something wrong with Star, and I-“
“Oh no, you’re not getting another foot closer.” The second officer said. “This entire area is locked down. And kid, even if you did try to get in there… you wouldn’t come out again, if you know what I’m saying.”
Frustrated, Marco gripped the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, I have to get in there! Star’s in trouble, and there’s a good chance I’m the only one who can fix this mess.”
Before either of the officers could respond, the conversation was broken up by the roar of a helicopter passing above. Staring up at the sky, Marco saw the black Police helicopter pass by only a hundred feet above.
Seeing the officers staring upwards as well, Marco knew he had his chance. Throwing his bike aside, he quickly ran past the two shocked officers and slipped past the makeshift barricade in front of him. Running as fast as he could, he slipped over and dodged around a half-dozen parked cars, doing everything in his power to dodge his pursuers.
Then, glancing behind him, he saw the cops hadn’t moved an inch towards him. Instead, they remained behind the barricade, shouting desperately for him to come back.
Looking back towards the mall, Marco was suddenly filled with an intense feeling of foreboding. Slowing down, he gradually began to approach the mall. He was close enough now to see that nearly the entire exterior of the building had been covered in layers of small purple hearts, all clumped together to form warped, pulsating growths.
Marco gulped as memories of Star’s “Mewberty” flashed through his mind. That had been bad enough-but this was completely otherworldly.
Stepping through the first door he could find, Marco found himself on the ground level of a now-abandoned JD Quarter. Discarded bags and clothes covered the floor, and dozens of racks of clothes had been knocked over. Long tendrils of hearts covered the walls and ceiling, and tiny purple flecks gently floated through the air, creating a strange purple haze.
Marco gulped, carefully stepping to avoid the discarded merchandise. For all the chaos, not a single person remained to be seen.
Marco wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
Walking out of the clothing store, he gasped as he entered the mall foyer. Dozens of thick purple tendrils reached across the air, and the haze of floating hearts was even thicker here.
“St… Star?” Marco called out hesitantly.
Suddenly, a harsh whisper came from behind him. “Buddy, what the heck are you doing?”
Marco spun around, his heart racing. Out of nowhere, he spotted a man hiding behind a trash can, desperately trying to stay out of sight. “You keep shouting like that, you’re gonna draw them to us! Get out of here, you nut!”
Throwing up his hands defensively, Marco slowly backed away and began walking deeper into the mall. Constantly glancing back and forth, Marco kept looking and listening for any possible sign of Star-but all he could hear was the echoes of his own feet against the stone floor.
Then, rounding a corner, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
“Wait! Wait! Don’t leave me!”
Marco, who’d been a half-second from sprinting away, risked a look back. The gun had already lowered, and its owner, a battered and bruised SWAT officer leaning against a concrete pillar, gestured rapidly to Marco to come over.
“What the heck happened to you?” Marco asked nervously.
“We dropped in an hour ago… we were gonna rescue the hostages.” The man whispered rapidly. “But then we got ambushed… they came out of the walls…. We didn’t have a chance, man!”
“Wait, did you see a girl?” Marco asked. “Six arms, wings, probably flying around?”
The officer nodded. “Yeah, she hit us as we came in. Got Eddie, think she dragged him over to the food court. We were in pursuit when those… things showed up!”
“Wait…” Marco said, his heart beginning to race, “What do you mean by those things?”
Without warning, a purple web struck the officer in the chest, and immediately snapped back. Before Marco or the officer could respond, the man was pulled around the corner screaming.
Marco turned around as quickly as he could. “StarraaaaaaHHHH!”
Instead of Star, what stood before him was an insectoid amalgamation of thousands of purple hearts. Perched on six spindly legs, the creature rustled as another gust of air flowed through it.
Leaping instinctively, Marco barely dodged a sudden blast of webbing from the creature’s ‘mouth’. Running for dear life, Marco saw another two creatures burst out from adjacent stores, each one hissing their unearthly cry. Rolling to avoid a shot from the one on his left, Marco leapt up and delivered a solid kick to his closest assailant. The blow sailed right through the creature’s abdomen, exploding it in a shower of fluttering hearts. But, to Marco’s increasing horror, the hearts rapidly began reforming, each one fluttering as the creature emanated its horrific, rustling howl.
“OKAY, THAT’S IT.”
Dodging another web attack, Marco ran for the nearest door he could. Swinging past the ruined storefront of a Pointy Picture, Marco spied a fire door and ran through it at full speed. Slamming it shut behind him, his heart leaped in his chest as he felt dual thumps from impacting webs from the other side. But, despite some worrying creaks and groans, the door held.
Creeping down the hallway, Marco tried to reorient himself. He knew he was getting closer to the food court-both from personal experience, and from the fact that the purple haze of hearts was growing thicker by the minute.
Slipping through the back entrance of a SnapEar’s Cow and Cod, Marco gasped as he saw the scene before him. Hundreds of people-men and women-had been tied up and cocooned within the food court, hanging from the walls and ceiling. Nearly every surface was covered in a thick layer of purple hearts, giving the entire space an eerie, organic feeling. It was a scene, Marco reflected, right out of a science-fiction movie.
And, perched on a table in the middle of the room, was Star, in her Mewberty form-all six arms and two gossamer wings of it.
Instinctively, Marco began to stand up to call to her, but then he noticed something was wrong. When Star had gone into Mewberty previously, she’d been two things-utterly silent, and constantly moving. Now, though, she was perched stock still, and, in a shock to Marco, the sound of crying echoed through the room.
And with that, Marco instinctively knew that this time, surviving Mewberty wouldn’t be so easy as waiting it out.
Edging closer as quickly as he dared, Marco slowly made his way into the food court, hiding behind overturned tables and other debris. His mind racing, he looked constantly around the room, trying to find something, anything that could give him an edge.
Then, he spotted it-Star’s cell phone, lying on the floor not ten feet away.
Crawling forward into the open, Marco made his way to the phone as quickly and quietly as he could. Every inch was agonizing-but fortunately, Star didn’t look his way even once. Grabbing the cell phone, Marco immediately rolled back behind a table, allowing himself to finally resume breathing. Flipping the phone over in his hand, he opened it up and stared at the screen.
It was a picture of him.
On a date with Jackie.
“Oh, no.” he breathed.
The crying suddenly stopped. So, for an instant, did Marco’s heartbeat.
Gulping, he stood up and turned around. Without a sound, Star had risen into the air, and her strange, heart-shaped eyes were fixated on Marco. In addition, dozens of heart-creatures had stormed out of vents and from behind debris, each one pointed directly in Marco’s direction.
Dozens of voices rustled at once. “Boooooy-“
Then, Star raised one of her hands, and the chorus ceased instantly.
“Hi… Star.” Marco said, his heart beating loudly in his chest. “It’s, uh, good to see you.”
Star said nothing.
“I, uh, see you’re in Mewberty again! That’s… cool.” Marco faltered.
Star said nothing. Several of the heart-creatures began to inch closer.
Marco closed his eyes, and breathed in deep.
He knew what he had to do.
“Star… I know what this is about.” He said. “I know how you feel, now. And… I’m sorry.”
Star turned her head quizzically.
Marco stepped forward. “You know Star, I spent years and years going after Jackie, a girl I barely knew. A girl that I saw more as an ideal than a person.”
He took another step. “And you were right there beside me, Star. You never stopped pushing me to go out there, to step forward and tell her how I felt. But that whole time… I never stopped to think about how you felt.”
He continued walking forward, until he was a mere foot away from Star. “You’re the coolest person I know, Star. You’re the best friend a guy could have. And…”
Star slowly floated down to the ground, her eyes utterly transfixed on the man in front of her.
Marco took her hand, and smiled. “I love you, Star Butterfly.”
And, without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her.
The entire room exploded in a flurry of wind and purple hearts. As the wind howled around the two, Marco broke the kiss, and held Star in a tight embrace.
And, a second later, he felt two arms around him as well.
Looking up, he saw a stream of purple hearts flicking off Star, revealing her normal self behind them. All around them, the heart-creatures dissolved into nothing, and from the remains of the cocoons a crowd of people slowly emerged, dazed and confused but none the worse for wear.
Star looked up at Marco, her eyes full of tears. “I wanted to tell you for so long, but I tried to bottle it up inside, and… I just couldn’t handle it.”
“It’s not your fault, Star.” Marco replied. “I should’ve known. And I would’ve known, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in everything else.”
“You can say that again.” Janna said, emerging from the nearest cocoon. “At least you got here before the army showed up.”
Marco glanced nervously in the direction of a staggering SWAT officer. “Uh, yeah! By the way, we should definitely get out of here, right now.”
Together, the three quickly made their way out of the food court, heading straight out of the mall. As they entered the parking lot, dozens of people were running across the parking lot, embracing loved ones and breaking down in tears.
Janna whistled as she watched a news helicopter fly past. “Man, you really did a number on this place, Star.”
Star blushed. “Yeah, well, at least it’s not as bad as when my mom went through Mewberty. Dad said he was trapped in the castle for a week!”
Finally, the trio reached the edge of the parking lot. Janna sighed, and stretched. “Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve gotta get home. Seeya tomorrow, Star.”
Together, Marco and Star watched Janna walk away. A second later, Marco realized that the two were still holding hands.
He blushed. “So, uh, how do you want to get home?”
Star grinned. “Oh, I have an idea.”
Letting go of Marco’s hand, she stepped back, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Her cheeks glowed a brilliant white, and before Marco’s eyes a pair of fully-formed Mewberty wings emerged from Star’s back.
Opening her eyes, Star looked back and squeeled happily at the sight. Jumping up and down, she turned to Marco. “Ooooooh I did it! I did it!” Before Marco could react, she grabbed his hand and pulled him tight. “Now, let’s fly!”
And, leaping into the air, the two soared off into the sky, disappearing into the setting sun.
Light and Ice flight are the most aristocratic of all flights. As
the flights most concerned with history, record-keeping, and
preservation, they’re the most likely to revere their old and
influential clan lineages, some of which go back to the very first
dragons created by their deity. (Technically they all do, but if you
didn’t write it down, it doesn’t count. Getting rich afterward
also helps.) Light flight in particular keeps detailed genealogies
and records of their peerage, and marriages arranged between these
two flights to increase family status is common. Ice flight nobility
is known for being cold, dignified, and reserved, and pale/cool
colors are considered a mark of good breeding since it’s said to
represent pure blood from the very first ice colored dragons the
Icewarden created. They rule vast, lonely stretches of territory, and
according to old customs, travelers passing through will detour to
their lair to pay homage and receive hospitality. Light flight
nobility consider pale/gold colors a similar mark of good breeding,
but are much more social. They often host lavish balls, galas,
manuscript viewings, and parties, where the guest lists (and who
actually deigns to attend) can be incredibly cut-throat status
jockeying. Not being invited to the season’s signature event can
ruin a dragon’s reputation, but a deliberate snub from one who was
invited and failed to attend can reflect just as badly on a host.
Earth flight should technically be included in this, as they too
keep family histories going back centuries, but most of them are just
too humble for the snobs of Ice and Light flight to see as worth
associating with. They also prefer to relate their ancestry back not
to their oldest, richest, and most influential ancestor, but to
someone who performed a deed they admire. It’s not unusual to see
Earth flight dragons adopt the name of the one who founded the museum
they work in, or a mentor, or historical figure, in addition to their
own, particularly if they hope to follow in their footsteps.
Archaeologists uncovering tombs or ancient civilizations will
occasionally choose to show their respect for the former inhabitants
by taking their name, especially if this was the dig that made their
career. However, it’s rarely done, because if they take their name
not out of respect but as a brag, that’s a fast way to get cursed
Shadow flight is full of royalty. They love tricks and intrigue,
and they love to win, and what are power and titles but yet another
marker on the gameboard? Any clan leader can declare themselves
royalty without challenge, and set up their court, be they never so
base. The challenge is not in the claiming, but in the keeping.
Shadow courts are full of backstabbing, gossip, spying, plotting, and
power grabs, some for the sake of fun, some in deadly earnest. They
are rackscrabble, ostentatious things, all smoke and mirrors, black
velvet drapes and raven wings turning a chair into a throne, laughing
behind their paws at the knowledge of what a joke it all is to
pretend themselves lords and ladies. Most of them have the time of
their lives playing at being royalty and nobles like a massive game
of chess, knowing it means both everything and nothing. It pisses
Light the hell off to have all these jokers making a mockery of
their very serious lineages, which is probably part of why they keep
Plague flight cares little for nobility or royalty. The strong
will persist, the weak will fail. A warrior might add the name of a
particularly strong or respected foe they slay to their own, to take
on their strength and courage. And yet, there are whispers, of
warrior kings and necromancer empresses, who rule vast kingdoms of
both the living and dead, from atop ziggurats built of bone, made
ever more powerful by living sacrifices. There are tales of the times
when their armies swept across Sornieth, slaying and devouring all in
their path, seeking to build an empire of blood. There is a reason
the Gladekeeper wars so fervently with her sister, more so than old
rivalries. Nothing slain in Nature’s domain can rise again; it rots
and is devoured, and its bones lie unmoving. It would be best, if
Plague’s denizens continued to care little for royalty.
Wind flight sees the occasional emperor, dignified in silk and
jade, whose lineage is as ancient and pure as any Light dragon might
claim, in whose veins runs aether and breeze. They are not widely
known of outside the flight, keeping exclusively to their palaces.
Their lives are bound around by strict tradition and ritual, by rules
as old as their land. They are not public figures to be petitioned
and admired by the masses, but dragons of great import, whom a
subject might see once in their lifetime, from a lofty distance, and
count themselves blessed. It is death for a dragon who has not been
given dispensation to touch them, and the family lineages of their
servants are often almost as old as they are, generations born with
blood sanctified not to defile their palace or person. They are the
stability, the anchors, the writ and rule, the hand that holds a
free-flying kite’s strings while it soars and flutters. As Wind’s
emperors tend to live in unchanging isolation, letting the years
outside pass them by unchanging, many view them as only an old myth
Lightning does not give two shits about whether a dragon is
nobility or not. The true rulers there are barons and bosses,
self-made titans of industry who run Lightning’s electricity farms,
factories, railways, or assembly lines, commanding a veritable army
of workers. The older nobility wishes they could snub them, but the
wealth and influence they’ve made for themselves, the fast-paced
parties and the glittering luxuries and conveniences they produce,
are impossible to ignore, despite their sniffs about “young money”
and “not our sort.”
Nature flight has had their kings. They are feasted and pampered,
garbed in crowns of leaves and oaken scepters, kept in luxury.
Beautiful consorts, the finest of food, the richest of furs to line
their bower, all is theirs for the asking. Until the winter comes
long with no promise of spring, until the harvest fails, until the
blood moon shines and the omens line up. Then comes the stone altar
and the knife, and royal blood shed to serve their subjects in the
most great and final of sacrifices. When Nature gives, she is
bountiful and generous, but what she takes is gone for good. And the
spring comes again, the harvest flourishes, and soon, a new king is
Water flight reveres its seers above all else, and it is their
lineage that marks a dragon as such. Water dragons take as their
family name that of the greatest seer they are related to, and as
such they may change when a new one rises to prominence. This makes
name and rank an intricate and changeable dance beneath the Sea of a
Thousand Currents. Some dragons of the same family, particular older
ones, would rather continue to call themselves by the name of an
older, or long dead, seer whom they believe is greater than one with
a newly risen star. This can lead to bitter disputes, and entire
branches of families going by separate names, refusing to speak to or
acknowledge each other. (Water flight has many great plays that hinge
upon such separation among families. Water flight’s literary
aesthetic is basically a mix of southern Gothic and Shakespearean
tragedy.) However, above the surface, Water dragons who have left
those halls behind likewise throw over the tradition. Where pirate
kings rule, water dragons identify themselves by the name of their
captain, introducing themselves by name and “of so-and-so’s crew.”
Usually right before they start a tavern brawl.
Arcane flight is a mageocracy, and that goes about exactly as well
as you’d expect in a region where pretty much everyone uses magic.
Most of them are too busy trying to take the world apart to see what
happens to listen to anyone trying to give them orders. However,
unfortunately often, one of them starts gibbering in tongues and
telling everyone about their magnificent plans to create a vast
magical rift in the fabric of reality, which shall usher forth
wonders and abominations into this plane such as you lowly wretches
have never dreamt of, and everyone goes “yeah that sounds cool,
let’s do it.” This also goes about as well as you’d expect.
Fire flight measures the worth of their clans in wealth. The
oldest and most influential clans tend to be the ones whose
territories contain large and rich mines. Whether they yield ore or
gems, they will bring the family great wealth and prestige, provided
they are cleverly managed. The mines are named after the families who
own them, and to speak about one is to speak about the other, as
their fortunes go in tandem. When a mine fails, the family who owns
it often will too, unless they’ve managed their fortunes and lands
wisely. Fire flight nobility are the envy of others, because they
tend to be overwhelmingly more wealthy than any other flight, and
able to show it off with dozens of elaborate pieces of jewelry,
wrought from ores and gems from the mines on their territory. They
often boast fine silks, adoring courtesans, and elaborately decorated
lairs, that some would jealously dismiss as ostentatious.
Finally reaching the safety
of her bedroom, Marinette allowed her transformation to drop and promptly fell
face-first onto her bed, a pitiful groan resounding in the back of her throat.
She was exhausted.
The fact that the akumatized
villain had deemed her normal form worthy enough to fling over their shoulder
and climb the Eiffel Tower with in tow, reenacting an already poor movie scene
in an even poorer manner had been bad enough for her system, but racking her
brain to find a way to make the humongous primate lover release her without
sending her into a free fall and escaping
an overly concerned and protective Chat after successfully doing so had truly
drained all her reserves. Thankfully, she had managed to transform the instant
she got separated from her silly kitty by an avalanche of collapsing steel and
her following cocky claim that she had saved Marinette and taken her to safety
had been enough to convince Chat and finally make him pay attention to the
battle instead of worrying about her.
Now, however, the day’s
events were hitting her with full force in the form of a pounding headache and,
even if all her muscles didn’t feel overly strained, she would have disregarded
the Physics homework she still had to do and snuggled into her comfortable bed
with no thoughts of eating, taking a shower or any other activity that required
an ounce of physical effort.
Marinette could vaguely feel
an equally tired Tikki plop down on her pillow softly, possibly munching on a
biscuit, as her consciousness slowly began to drift and she was caught in the
familiar embrace of sweet, sweet slumber.
That was when someone
knocked on her window.
In her state, it took her
exactly one second to go through all the possibilities and deduce who could
possibly climb to her balcony and mistake her window for a door and the desire
to slam it open and blow in the stupid cat’s face was seriously considered.
Her body protested
vehemently, however, and Marinette would have settled for completely ignoring
her partner, if only he hadn’t begun tapping the damned window in the most
irritating pattern, with indistinct noises following to make the musical piece
For the first time, she
consulted all her memories of Chloé to put her best bitch face on, mechanically
lifted herself off the bed while the most colourful phrases passed through her
mind and moved one foot in front of the other to climb to her balcony and grace
Chat with the aforementioned expression that, based on the inspiration she’d used
to create it, would have made Hawk Moth’s butterflies turn back into
He finds her in the War Room, long after the stars have risen, long after the lights of the City have sparked alight to mirror them. He is not surprised to see her; this is not the first time they have shared the same midnight vigil.
They speak, quietly, of vows and promises, kept and broken. They speak of things they cannot speak of except to each other, except here, long after the day has fled, when the darkness feels a comfort and not a hanging axe.
“I met her when I was young and full of Light,” she tells him, “When we thought that the skies were ours. The Fallen had not conquered us, and when we looked up to the stars we saw promise and not despair.”
Cayde-6 waggles a hand, beneath the table, where she cannot see. He imagines a deck of cards; draws one, sighs -
And stays quiet.
“She was our guiding light, and we followed her to ruin.”
He risks a glance, but her face is as impassive as it ever is; drawn, perhaps, to the shadows that skitter across the windows facing the peaks.
“She burned brighter than the sun,” she whispers, and he hears the crackle of embers in her voice, old now, dulled by time but not yet dead; still lit by grief and something deeper that he cannot name.
I am Light, he doesn’t say. I will burn for you. His voice sticks. He is silent. To take this moment from her -
We are tired, all of us, he thinks.
“Life has put the lie to her words: if she runs beside me still, I cannot see her.”
He pauses - then forces a smile, forces a pithy comment. He can see in her face that she has expected it, can see that the role he plays is both a comfort and a disappointment. How many years lie between them, he wonders? How many deaths and how much grief?
She told him once that she had spent more time with the Hive than with the Guardians, and he wonders if either of them will live long enough to see the opposite come to pass.
Cayde-6 stands. He reaches out a hand - stops, spins on a heel, and before the silence is broken he forces his feet down the corridor; leaves this moment frozen in his wake, leaves her standing with her back to him, her long shadow filling the room.
Hey cherry I always have this idea that jhope would be real romantic when it comes to love making like ashdjkalan then I saw this tumblr post : 'marry a guy who can make you laugh as hard as he can make you cum' then like jhope popped out and I hope you can make a jhope smut scenario that's romantic :))
Sayyiduna Ḍirār ibn Ḍamra describing Sayyiduna ‘Alī ibn Abi Ṭālib (may Allah be pleased with them both):
“He was, may God be pleased with him, farsighted and of mighty strength. His words were decisive, and his judgment just. He liked coarse food and short clothes, felt estranged from the world and its beauty, and was intimate with night and its darkness. I bear witness that I saw him once when night had fallen, and the stars had risen, wakeful in his prayer-niche, like a man that had been stung, restless as though wounded, weeping sorrowfully, holding his beard, and saying, 'O world! Deceive other than myself! Is it for me that you beautify yourself? Is it to me that you manifest yourself? I have divorced you thrice; there can be no return, for your span is short, your worth insignificant, and your danger great! Ah! The scarcity of provision, the length of the way, and the estrangement of traveling!’”
From “Knowledge and Wisdom” by Imām 'Abdullāh Al-Ḥaddād
Good morning America
Hello my name is Naejiin
So much goin on that I take the purple train
To escape to a short vacation
This that Matalino hanging out the window
Tupac middle fingers to the Carl Winslows
I’m on some other shit like Jaden and Willow
And people really think their opinions matter when they mouth them, it’s astounding
But really I’m listening to King Fu Kenny and don’t give a fuck about them
And now that I’m bored, I’m ready to soar towards a new challenge
With my Jedi Sword and agent 47 talents
I’m laughing at you whores like you’re Bryan Callen
Eyes closed, not caring where the shell went
When I’m shooting at the competition
I am the Rogue One Like Donnie Yen
As these storm troopers stay missin’
A new Death star has risen
And my reign as dear as Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen
Im coming like a comet, shooting like I’m Cupid
These prima donna’s are the ones I’m NFL Blitzin’
And you ain’t ready for the action
I stay ready to hit these motherfuckers like Louie Lastic
My proof is massive that you’ll lose with an end so tragic, they be like whoa! Damn kid!
How the fuck do these losers manage
And they say they miss Jody jo, this new Naejiin, he be spazzin’
But once Ali turn up and be Ali
Then you can’t never take that ninja back to Cassius…