#And Dark backpedals not wanting to offend her

[bonefall]

Super interested in how you plan to write Leopardfoot! I feel like both fanon and canon tend to make her into a sweet mom(tm) who’s super sad that Tigerstar is evil, very similar to how Goldenflower is usually treated. What’s her thoughts on Pinestar and him leaving? How did she influence Tigerstar? What are her political beliefs?

Society has progressed past the need for sad moms who stare tearily at their evil sons and boohoo about all the murder. It's MOTHER AGENCY TIME

BB!Leopardfoot was FEROCIOUS. Her father was the indominable Adderfang, and he taught her about the importance of honor and glory. When Tigerpaw was given to Thistleclaw as an apprentice, she was proud of it. It felt perfect to her-- that her father's apprentice was now her son's mentor.

For his brief rule, she supported Sunstar completely. It helped that he came after the disastrous and embarassing exit of Pinestar, which ruined the legacy that she wanted him to give her son. Pinestar was a damn coward and a codebreaker... and she assured Tigerkit that he was more HER son than his.

She even gives him a life, for Legacy, in defiance of StarClan

She was friends with Bluemoon for a time, but after ascending to StarClan, she learned about the Forget-me-nots.

This changed her opinion of her. Leopardfoot supports Thistle Law, STRONGLY so.

She supported THISTLECLAW when he tried to forcefully void the Queen’s Rights. If Bluemoon hadn't broken the code, then what did she have to hide?

She backed off when Thrushpelt leapt to her defense though, "She didn't reveal it because she doesn't love me are you happy now??"

Leopardfoot: *awkwardly turns away feeling like an asshole now, tea SPILLED, her friend's dirty laundry EXPOSED, thought she was crusading for the law but she just dug up drama*

Towards the end of Pinestar’s reign, he was getting exhausted. He wanted peace. Leopardfoot wanted kittens around that time, and figured that there was no better cat than the son of Oakstar, architect of the infamous Crusade Era.

If Pinestar had no children, a glorious bloodline would have died out. She wanted it for her kits. Pinestar agreed on the condition that he would be their Mi, which she happily accepted.

So when Pinestar left, she jumped into the nursery to take over and had to explain to her kits where their Mi went.

She drove it home to them that he abandoned everything, because his weakness took over. They would never be like him, she promised.

Mistkit died very young. Nightpaw made it to apprenticeship before she also succumbed. Tigerclaw remembers very well how hard it was to lose his sisters.

Leopardfoot herself was taken shortly before TPB, in Spottedleaf's Plague. Her death causes Tigerclaw to have a bit of a moment.

After the trial in Bluestar's Flowers, Leopardfoot leaves StarClan along with a bunch of other Thistle Law supporters, including Thistleclaw himself. She joins the BOTTE at the end of OotS, fighting to the end with her son.

She misses him a lot, and remains in the Dark Forest to the current arc. She chose her path; and has the dignity to walk it.

She does miss StarClan sometimes though, and will tell you stories about it if you ask.

In terms of demon friends, she's somewhere in the clique between the harsher and softer spirits.

She dislikes Morningstar, Cloudberry, and Ryewhisker on the softer end, and has come to resent Thistleclaw and Finchflight on the other, but likes Darkstripe, Leopardstar, and Silverhawk.

Gets along with a range of "mid" level demons.

In particular I imagine she hangs out with Darkstripe a lot. Taste test buddy, he asks her to try his experimental recipes because she's honest but not mean. One of the few Thistle Law supporting cats he hangs out with after the double-death of Tigerstar.

He calls her Lefty. Her official nickname is "Left" but he calls her Lefty.

(Clanmew: her name is Saorpwyyar. Others call her Saopr. He calls her Sapyy.)

Her mom and dad Swiftbreeze and Adderfang are here too, following Thistleclaw like she did, but she's been minimizing her contact with her dad. She feels like she is owed an apology somehow but also doesn't have the emotional intelligence to know that it's what she wants.

She just knows that she feels really bitter talking to him, and that's unpleasant.

She used to be VITRIOLIC with Pinestar, who is also here, even going after him physically when he chose to join in with the Dark Forest trainees. But now... honestly so much shit has happened, she just doesn't like seeing him. She wishes he wasn't here.

I write her being very dignified. She doesn't like to admit publically she was ever wrong and speaks with confidence, quietly backing off and not wanting to speak about her mistakes. She loves her children and her family, but explores the world in a very "self-centric" way, trusting her feelings and personal judgement over anything logical.

A reactionary sort of person, if that makes sense.

Her Land Mar has to develop over time because she is an ex-StarClan migrant (damned souls get theirs instantly after judgement), but it's called the Fence Cliff. It's a picket fence that blocks off a sheer drop, making a sharp turn down the cliff face and acting as a walkway. Follow the fence down the slope, and you can access the Dark Forest's town biome.

[emetoniche]

Sushi Gone Wrong

Okie dokie guys, got that food poisoning fic up for ya’ll. It’s a long one, but it was worth the extra time spent writing. It turned out pretty good. It’s the first one I have all four of them together, but I’m hoping to do some more like that in the future.

tw: emeto, some very light scat (not even for more than a couple paragraphs, I don’t usually do scat, but this seemed to fit with the theme. Also, torturing Justin is my favorite hobby. He’s my babyyyy)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Justin was excited about his date that night. Roan had been looking for a good sushi place for ages, and he was over the moon that he was the one who had finally found one. The restaurant, called Sushi Don, came highly recommended by Justin’s best friend Eddie, and his Eddie’s boyfriend Callum. Apparently, the two boys visited the place at least once a month, so they clearly knew what they were talking about. Eddie had reserved a table for four, at six o’clock that night: a double date. It was a Saturday, so classes were out and homework had been finished in the campus library earlier that morning. A relaxing evening was the perfect end to the week in Justin’s opinion.

Roan slid into the passenger seat of Justin’s silver Toyota, dressed in a stylish pair of black skinny jeans and a soft, white halter-top. Around her neck was a silver necklace with a tiny diamond charm on the end, and her dark hair was loose, but fell perfectly around her face in waves. Justin couldn’t help staring at her for a few moments. Even after the two years of being together, sometimes he still couldn’t get over how gorgeous his girlfriend was. Roan caught him staring and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you gonna stare at me all night, or are we actually going out?” Her tone was playfully sarcastic, and she was smirking slightly at him as she spoke. Justin laughed, putting the car in reverse to back out of the driveway.

“Yeah, yeah,” he retorted, “we’re going. But we could’ve left a lot sooner if you hadn’t had to stitch yourself into those pants.” Roan gasped, pretending to be mortally offended.

“Excuse me,” she huffed, “but, I thought you said you liked these pants. If you don’t, I guess I’ll just throw them out. Maybe my ass looks better in sweatpants anyways.”

Justin’s eyes went wide. “No no no!” He was backpedaling furiously now. “No, you’re right! Those pants are hot. It’s worth the wait!”

“That’s what I thought,” Roan said. “So hush up and drive, I want sushi!”

When the couple arrived at Sushi Don, a small Japanese-style building just off the main highway, Eddie and Callum were already waiting for them inside. Justin held the door open for his girlfriend, shooting Eddie a sheepish grin. “Sorry we’re late guys,” he apologized. “There was some trouble with… her choice of jeans…”

Roan glared up at him, but Callum just laughed. “Trust me Justin,” he reassured, “if I could get this guy here to wear pants that tight, I would wait all night to see it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, poking Callum sharply in the ribs. “Yeah, not happenin big guy,” he said over Callum’s high-pitched squeal. “I am not trying to squeeze these legs into pants like that. Ever.”

Callum sighed dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “You never do anything I want,” he groaned. Roan laughed, patting him on the arm sympathetically.

The four spent the next hour devouring eight rolls of sushi, and when they were finally done, all of them were comfortably full. Roan slumped back into Justin’s arms with a contented sigh. Justin gave her a kiss on the head, then turned back to Eddie and Callum, who were poking each other in the stomach trying to compare who was more full.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” Justin told them, already sliding out of the booth. The meal had been paid for, and Justin was starting to get tired. Roan looked equally exhausted, but Justin knew she was too stubborn to say anything about it, at least not while the other two were around.

Eddie nodded, shoving Callum out of the booth. Callum grunted, smacking Eddie’s arm as he stood. “Why you gotta be so mean to me,” he whined, glaring at Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Cause you like it,” he retorted, hands going to Callum’s hips and pressing their bodies together. Callum tilted his head slightly up so he could look Eddie in the eyes. “And when we get home, I’m going to be even more mean. Tie you to the bed maybe,” Eddie added in a growly murmur.

Roan stood up with an exasperated look on her face. “Geez guys, wait till you’re in the car at least,” she groaned, shaking her head. “You two are gonna give me diabetes with all this sweet, mushy stuff.”

Justin wrapped an arm around her, reaching his hand down to squeeze her ass. She squealed, reaching back to slap his hand away. “Mushy stuff is your specialty though,” Justin teased. “You never stop at home.” Roan gave him a light elbow to the gut, to which he groaned dramatically. “Owwww…”

Justin and Roan parted from the other couple just outside the restaurant. The drive home was mostly uneventful, apart from nearly hitting a squirrel stupid enough to walk out onto a highway. About five minutes from the house, Justin glanced over to see Roan looking slightly uncomfortable. “Everything okay baby?”

She jumped slightly, as though brought out of deep concentration. “Huh? Oh, yeah, fine. Just a bit nauseous. Probably ate too much, it was all pretty good.”

Justin was unconvinced, but Roan looked more herself when they reached the house, chattering on about one of her fitness clients. As he brushed his teeth a half-hour later however, Justin noticed a faint twinge in his own stomach. He tried to convince himself that he had also eaten too much, but the coincidence of both him and Roan feeling off at the same time was eating away at him. He paused, bracing himself on the bathroom counter, staring upwards pleadingly. “Don’t let it be what I think it is,” he muttered. “Please, God, don’t.”

Justin collected himself, rinsed off his toothbrush, and wandered back out into the bedroom. Roan was already curled up in a ball under the covers, eyes closed, but when Justin flicked the lights off and climbed into bed beside her, she said, “Justin, how common is it to get food poisoning from sushi?”

Justin’s stomach lurched. Ohhhh no. She was voicing his concerns all too well, only increasing his dread for what he now was almost positive was coming. “Oh, uh, not sure. Probably not very,” he replied, forcing his tone to stay calm. “Why do you ask?”

Roan grunted. “Nothing important.”

The next two hours, Justin lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He was hoping that if he focused hard enough, his stomach would stay only mildly uncomfortable and not progress into true nausea. It was not working, to say the least. By midnight, he had his hand on his stomach, palm rubbing circles. He was just starting to feel a bit more confident in his stomach rubs, when the bed jolted violently beside him. He sat bolt upright as Roan threw the covers to the foot of the bed and scrambled into their bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

As concerned as he was, Justin was almost too terrified to follow her. He knew what he would see, and he did NOT want to see it. Eventually he worked up to courage to creep over to the door and knock lightly. “Roan? Baby, are you okay?”

“Fine, go away,” came the call from inside, followed by a stifled retch. Justin’s skin crawled, but now that the situation was firmly established, he made himself accept his fate. They had gotten food poisoning from that restaurant and he was most likely going to be in the same place Roan was. Unfortunately for him, he had an incredibly weak stomach, where as Roan was literally known for her steel stomach. She had practically no gag reflex, could watch people vomit with no issues, and had eaten things such as scorpions and mice without so much as a groan.

Against Roan’s wishes, Justin opened the bathroom door, stepping in and closing the door back behind him. Roan was in her knees in front of the toilet, hair hanging down in her face, sweat clinging her shirt to her back and chest. She glared up at him from the floor, forehead pillowed on her wrists resting on the toilet seat. “I said go away,” she rasped, voice already raw from retching.

“And when do I ever listen?” Justin had the reply ready the second she stopped speaking. He moved over and knelt by her side, gently pulling her hair back. For a brief moment, Roan tried to push him away, but she apparently decided she needed his help because she let him continue without much of a fight. Justin had just gathered all her hair in his hands when her back arched, shoulders hitching up to her ears in a retch.

Justin hurried to put his hand on her back, rubbing it while muttering soothingly to her. Her slender frame trembled with the force of another gag, this time bringing up a thin stream of stomach contents and leaving a strand of spit hanging from her bottom lip. “Holy fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Fu-uUURgHGH” A gush of vomit splashed into the toilet, leaving Roan breathing hard.

Justin’s stomach was struggling through all this. He already had been starting to feel sick, and the sight and smell of Roan vomiting were just making things worse. He turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into his arm. A grating retch sounded in the bathroom, followed by the splash of thick puke falling into the porcelain bowl.

It was a serious fight at this point to keep his stomach contents where they were supposed to be. He was trying his best to keep holding Roan’s hair back, but he had to stop rubbing her back so he could press his hand to his mouth to stifle his own empty gags. His eyes were still closed when the toilet flushed. “Damn… That hurt like fuck, but I feel so much better now,” Roan told him. “I think I’m done, my stomach feels a lot better, thank Go-” She broke off as she got a good look at him for the first time since she had started throwing up. “Holy shit babe, you look awful.”

“Gee, thanks,” Justin muttered, taking those slow deep breaths people take when they’re trying avoid puking. He didn’t open his eyes, trying to use the blackness to center himself. It wasn’t working. He felt Roan’s hands on his shoulders, guiding him towards the toilet. “No, go lie down, you’re sick.” His voice came out much weaker than he meant it to, but he managed to open his eyes through the towering waves of nausea crashing down on him. He saw Roan shake her head in exasperation, giving him a small smile.

“I’m fine, you know how my body works. I already feel almost normal. Five more minutes and I’ll be back to one hundred percent. You on the other hand…” She trailed off, looking him over. “Yeah no, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”

Justin gave a small laugh, slowly closing his eyes back as his stomach roiled inside him. He could already feel Roan’s caretaker mode switching on. She always got so concerned and, in her words, mushy when he was sick. He leaned into her arms to hurry her switch along, moaning softly. Playing it up? Definitely. But it worked like a charm.

Roan’s voice was soft, practically a coo, as she said, “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry, you must feel so sick.” Justin nodded pitifully, giving her another little moan. It was less of him milking it this time though, because he stomach had finally decided it was done with messing around. He forced himself to sit up and open his eyes, moving his hands to brace himself on the toilet’s rim. His breath had gone shallow.

Roan got onto her knees next to him, just as Justin had to her only minutes before, one hand on his stomach and the other rubbing his back. “Shhh… just let it out baby, it’s okay.”

Justin’s stomach took this as an invitation to begin expelling everything inside it. He gagged harshly, a thick rope of saliva trailing in the toilet water. Another retch had heavy chunks sliding up his throat. He had to choke up the sludge it was so thick. It slid off his tongue into the toilet with a visceral splat. The sound made him retch again. The vomit that came out this time flowed much easier, sending a flood of relief over Justin even through his misery.

In the brief space between gags, Justin sucked in deep breaths. His head started to spin, the bathroom swirling circles around him. He could no longer see straight; everything was a blurry mess. The spinning in his head made his stomach revolt again, and a thin trickle of stomach acid fell from his lips.

As soon as his stomach began to feel like it was done with vomiting, his lower abdomen cramped horribly, causing him to wrap his arms around himself and groan. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” He was panting now, and while his head had mostly stopped spinning, he still had his eyes squeezed shut against this new pain. “Baby…” He paused, hopelessly embarrassed. “Baby, it’s…”

Roan stared at him for a second, then finally noticed his change in expression from nausea to pain. “Oh shit, it’s okay Justin, I understand,” she reassured him, helping him to his feet. “Just breathe, you’re gonna be fine.” Once she got him standing, she tugged his pants and boxers down. He was still too immobilized by the cramping in his intestines to do it himself. Roan guided Justin backward until he was sitting on the toilet.

Justin managed to get ahold of himself enough to realize that Roan was still standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. “You should go,” he moaned. “I don’t - ah ow - I don’t want you to see me like this.” His cheeks burned. He was completely humiliated. Roan had helped him when he was sick before, but never like this. Sure he had thrown up on her multiple times, woken her up in the middle of the night to help him puke, and been unable to help her clean any of it up, but this was something else entirely. This was horrendously disgusting; he didn’t want his girlfriend to have to deal with it.

Roan snorted, rolling her eyes. “Okay, seriously? I’m not even going to dignify that with a proper answer.” Her tone softened, voice dropping. “Justin, I’m not leaving you in here alone.”

Justin couldn’t decide if he was more grateful or more humiliated. He loved her so much, and how willing she was to stay by his side, but he still wasn’t super keen on the idea of shitting his guts out in front of her. As it turned out, he didn’t have much of a choice, because his guts clenched suddenly, sending a heavy stream of fire pouring out of him. His teeth clenched as the torrent continued, focusing intently on Roan’s hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the horrible smell that made him want to vomit again. Roan must have seen something in his face, because he heard the scraping of plastic on tile. When he opened his eyes briefly, there was a trash bin sitting under his head.

As much as he didn’t want to, he dry heaved over the bin, the sensation and smell getting to him far to easily. He finished with the toilet before he finished with the bin. It took a few more heaves that brought up nothing but stomach acid and tiny bits before he finally sat up, confident he was done. This was when he noticed that Roan was no longer in the bathroom.

A bolt of disappointment and anger struck him. She had said she wouldn’t leave, but she just snuck out without a word while he was immobilized? He couldn’t believe her. After cleaning himself and the bathroom up, Justin walked back into the bedroom. Roan was sitting crisscross on the bed with her back to him, her phone up by her ear. She clearly didn’t hear him come in because she kept her conversation going without even glancing back at him.

“I know, but still. And you’re sure it’s not that stomach bug Callum had a couple weeks ago? Alright then. Yeah, I know, sounds like a stupid question now that I think about it. All four of us at once? Too big of a coincidence. Yup, you guys too. Bye.”

Roan put her phone down on the bedside table, slipping off the bed and turning towards Justin. She froze and blinked a bit when she saw him standing there. “Oh, hey babe, feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Justin grunted. He didn’t really want to be mad at her for leaving him, given everything she had already done for him, but he was still so miserable that he felt a bit betrayed.

“Everything alright?”

Going over to his side of the bed, Justin grunted again. “Mhm, just fine.” A moment later, sitting on the edge of the bed, he felt Roan’s hands on his shoulders, sliding over his bare skin.

“Come on Justin, I know something’s wrong. Why are you mad at me?” Her words were murmured in his ear, her breath tickling his cheek. Somehow, even after vomiting, her breath still smelled minty. He wondered briefly if she had taken a breath mint or something.

“Nothing, I just- ” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I just wish you had said something before you just walked out of the bathroom. You just left me there.”

“But baby, you told me to leave. You didn’t even want me in there to begin with.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I don’t know, it’s stupid. You’ve already helped me a lot. Sorry.”

Roan slid over to sit beside him, their thighs pressed together, her head on his shoulder. “No, it’s not stupid. I said I would stay and I didn’t. I’m sorry sweetheart, I shouldn’t have left you.” Justin tilted his head to rest it on hers, breathing in the strawberry scent of her hair.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “Hey, who were you talking to by the way?”

“Hm? Oh, Eddie. He and Callum both are sick too. Eddie’s thrown up four times, but he ate the most of the sushi, so it’s not surprising.”

Justin nodded, lying back and pulling Roan with him so she was curled up against his side. His stomach still gave pitiful rumbles every now and again, but it didn’t feel like he was going to puke anymore. He just wanted to lie there with Roan and enjoy the feeling of her warm skin touching his.

[danco110]

“Jamie! We need all hands on deck to stop these dragons! That includes you!”

The woman in the green dress backpedaled away from the Benalish knights, and the Phyrexian dragons quickly approaching them from above. Jamie anxiously wrung her hands as she shook her head in response to the knight’s call.

“What?” balked the unarmed and unarmored civilian.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” growled the knight.

“A little...”

“Uncoil your wires and help us!”

“Wires…?” Jamie protested weakly.

The knight’s mouth curled into a scowl. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Jamie. We need your help! Do you really want to help out this new wave of Phyrexians?”

Jamie stared fearfully at the still-beckoning knight for a time. Her gaze flicked back and forth between them and the dragons, before her expression finally hardened. A dark liquid began to leak from her eyes as she balled her fists.

“Understood,” Jamie murmured, in a suddenly sinister tone.

“Here they come!”

A second knight called out, and hurled an enchanted javelin through the air at the nearest of the compleated dragons. The beast dodged the missile with a flap of its wings, metal joints whistling menacingly as it dove down towards the offending knight.

“Leave him alone!”

A sleek, blue steel cable whipped through the air, impacting against the dragon’s metallic skull with a deafening crack. The monster roared in pain and fury, and changed course on a dime, only to catch a second cable for its trouble - this one directly through its eye. The dragon was killed instantly, landing with a cacophonous rumble and skidding to a stop at Jamie’s feet, just as the older Phyrexian retracted her wire whips into her arms with a mechanical whir.

“I’ve got your back!” Jamie shouted to the knights. “Go!”

Their morale bolstered by Jamie’s violent display, the Benalish troops roared a furious battle cry, and charged to meet the remaining dragons.

[“I don’t care what you used to do, or what your-your…your name is. This is the land of second chances!”]

[bangtanbeforebitches]

The Fall was a Trip - Take 1

An Original work written, produced, storyboarded, edited, agonized over and owned by: bangtanbeforebitches

Starring: Min Yoongi and Actor YN/Reader (from a purposely POC perspective) with guest appearances by everyone else you know and love.

Genre: Bangtan is Bangtan-verse AU, Rom-Com, Interracial Relationship Navigation, Strangers to Lovers, Quick but Slow Burn, Star-Crossed Lovers, Story within a Story, POC POV, K-Drama Indulgent on all fronts

Themes/Warnings: Heavy issues, Honest discussions, Things people probably don’t want to hear, Ridiculous run-ons for the fuck of it, 4th wall breaking, Inner monologue rants, YN is EXTRA AF, Mentions of racism, Childhood trauma resurfacing, Mentions of anxiety, Dangerous situations, a Shit-ton of swearing, Drinking, Probably smut at some point down the line, Some hopefully not so confusing script breakdowns, Usage of basic film and stage production terminology, Excessive flirtation (but Jimin doesn’t count), Fluff on Fluff on Fluff, Smooth moves, Lots of awkward moments, YN is a klutz, Sweetness to rot your teeth, Mood Swings, Denial of emotions, and at some point after therapy- Acceptance.

Format: Multi-chapter, ongoing WIP

Word count: currently 17k

Rating: Explicit, Minors are advised to not pass GO. 18+

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have zero clue WTF I'm doing. I have never been to South Korea-- SO! All the places, references and pretty much everything in this hot mess of a daydream is to be taken as FANTASY. Non-reality based, peoples. Secondly, I would like to say that a lot of the material and conversations and opinions you'll find in these pages have been pulled from my last relationship (8 years with a Korean man- SK born but definitely American as all get out) and my ongoing friendships with his family members both living here and there. I just ask them random ass questions and try my best to not let on that i'm asking for BTS fan fic purposes... cause I would never hear the end of it. Big shout outs to my besties @vyduan and @inkbluelily for pumping me with constant encouragement and hyping me up to do the impossible... actually post. ]

---------- Flashback to the beginning, Two years ago --

Navigating the streets in Seoul had finally started to become second nature.

Thank goodness.

Working up the guts to approach a local and ask for help had always tended to be hit or miss. Either people feigned not being able to understand your Korean, pretended to not know any English (though you had heard them speaking it just seconds before) or they completely ignored your pleas for help and started asking you a dozen rapid fire questions about your hair.

So many hair questions.

It's a constant thing here.

You understand the curiosity. Your curls are on point and frankly, pretty damn fabulous. But people apparently have a negative grasp on the concept of personal space when it comes to foreigners, yet they heed to the utmost levels of hesitation and bodily respect when it comes to physical contact with one another.

But a black girl trying to find the shoe repair shop that’s supposed to be on the corner?

What do her boundaries matter?

One second it's "Oh! You're so dark!" and then that phrase is (9 times out of 10) immediately followed by a darting hand grasping for those shiny springs of kinky wonder and magic.

You’re used to it. No offense taken because… let's be real. You would be offended all the time if you let silly things like their inquisitiveness get to you like that.

And the people here always seem so shocked when they realize you’re able to speak a bit of their language. You assume it’s mostly because they realize that you can understand what they’ve been saying about you in front of your face. Some apologize. Some don’t. Some just politely backpedal and compliment you for attempting to learn Korean at all.

You’re not by any means fluent just yet. You’ve got the basic Seoul dialect pronunciation down but still have a terrible grasp of the grammar structure... but, hey.

At least you try.

----------

You crossed the last congested intersection, a smile stretching across your face while (not) blending in with the flock of despondent souls en route to start the work day. You all, like bees in a swarm, buzzed through the landscaped courtyard, past the lunch stands prepping their menus and tents for service in the afternoon. You, in your merry mood, took a moment to beam up at the massive (and massively intimidating) building that stretched skyward in front of you.

You were lucky enough to have been offered a position as a production assistant at KBSMedia around eleven months ago. It's afforded you opportunities that you could only have dreamed of back home stateside. At the price of your loneliness? Totally, but still very much worth it in the long run. You’ve met countless Korean celebrities, idols, been a part of the crew for two hit drama programs and now, (a drumroll seems fitting here--) finally.

This glorious, low dust and pollutant filled air-quality morning marks day one of a new chapter for both your career and your status within the company ranks.

It's almost unheard of.

Seriously. It’s maybe the second or third time in Korean broadcasting history. You still get a little choked up at the thought of it all.

Today is the day in which you will take a rightfully-earned, long-awaited and over-due, monumental first step on that path leading to a place in front of a camera lens and into the spotlight.

You.

A [COUGH] relatively young, black, American woman.

Here.

In one of the palest countries a person could possibly imagine.

Halfway--

No.

Literally on the other side of the planet.

When the network gave the “OK” for your director's "out of left field" idea to cast you (he personally delivered the news to you with many air quotes and hand gestures) in this thought provoking, meticulously scripted and groundbreaking role… to say that you were shocked would be the understatement of the century.

All the same, you were beyond grateful for the opportunity and more than ready.

Ready to play the best damn "comic-relief roommate of the female lead who basically only says 'Annyeonghaseyo' from the apartment couch, usually with an absurd amount of food in her mouth, providing visual gags with charm and conveying affection and friendly support for the main character" that the South Korean film industry has ever seen.

You even get to improv.

In your pocket are two degrees to backup your talent. You majored in Theatre (with a concentration in Acting) and then continued your graduate studies while pursuing your dreams in New York and rotating through multiple (expensive) performance and film classes.

Cliche.

You are aware.

How you’ve ended up doing so much dang production work, you’re not one hundred percent sure. You had come to realize after hearing "No, but thank you for your time today" so much that that must just be the nature of the business in the most competitive audition field in entertainment.

They say, “You get in where you fit in and you fake it till you make it”.

Even if that mantra takes you across the globe.

----------

"Annyeong, ____-ah! How was your weekend?"

"Lonesome but productive. Just studied at home and dreamt about all the chicken and beer nights I’m going to miss at your place from now on. I’m pretty much off book, though. So, there’s that,” you shrugged and smiled with a wiggle of your dark brows. “How's she coming along, ah jeo-ssi?"

This “older” man, your friend, was the single nicest soul at KBS.

Seung Woo was the daytime front desk security guard. He prefers the term security agent so the position sounds more stealthy and cool. He likes to give off a Bond vibe while working and wears a full suit most days. Steamed creases and all, courtesy of his wife.

It is not required for him to be this extra, that’s for sure.

But this guy, right here? He knows just about every employee in the building. Just like the classic, dashing spy would in a blockbuster movie. He sees all. Knows all. Only really likes a few of these ‘show-biz’ types that pass him by without so much as giving him eye contact (which is how you bonded) but for some reason he took to taking care of you like an uncle, more so than a big brother.

It’s sweet considering if you were back in America you would be considered practically the same age, but here at work? You love getting to use the formal honorifics. You can tell he appreciates the respect.

Though, when off the clock he will enforce the “oppa” card.

Which you enjoy far less.

Because cringe.

He only bests you by a few years. He recently turned 34, but it’s 35 when tracking his life span the Korean way.

You’re turning 31 this fall.

And that’s a good, old-fashioned (or possibly “good new-fashioned”, because honestly? What the hell do you know? You’re still just a kid in the grand scheme of things if you consider the current average life expectancy of an active, healthy, non-smoking, adult female like yourself...)

So, yeah. The point? Right.

You’re turning a plain ol’, solid, traditional for the western hemisphere, starting post-utero, only counting from your first breath, “don’t anyone dare think about adding an extra digit to your years if they value having all of their teeth and toes”-- 31.

You’re clinging to your youth with all you’ve got. Both hands. Maybe your thighs too. You weren’t blessed with this melanin-infused baby face for nothing.

And you were grateful for Seung Woo’s face, just the same. When you started, there was a good stretch when he was the only smile you’d come across until it was time to clock out and head home to FaceTime with your family. You’ve had a friendly banter going ever since your first day when you swiped your ID for clearance through the shiny turnstiles. You’ve been helping him and his partner learn more English in exchange for the daily lessons on how to survive in this building and in this country. You would've given up here long ago if not for his advice and their friendship.

"She's getting bigger by the second. Look," he said and deftly whipped his phone out of it's holster on his hip to show off his wonderfully pregnant spouse.

Yea, he really uses one of those belt clips. The last time you saw one was on your father.

Despite this fashion faux pas, Seung Woo was still handsome as all get-out and a total DILF in the making.

His wife, Chaeyeong, was a former idol who fell for his charismatic smile and bashful eyes whenever she had a schedule at the studios. She had been caught making eyes at him by a photog one too many times (aka, one time) and when her group's contract was up for renewal, she and her company “mutually decided to part ways so that she could pursue other endeavors outside of the pressures from the spotlight that comes with idoldom”.

Or at least that was the story DSP’s PR team came up with in the statement they dropped to the media. In reality, they didn’t want to bother dealing with the dating rumors and Chae didn’t think staying was worth an innocent man with a beautiful heart being dragged through the mud by netizens. So, she jumped ship and went for it. Now, she’s one of the co-hosts on a variety program where they dish out love advice to viewers and she’s been embraced by (most of) the public for following her heart.

While she may be widely considered the prize of the pair to the untrained eye, personally, you think she's a smart young lady for taking him off the market.

Because that man treats her like a queen.

"She's simply radiant, Seung Woo-ssi."

"Thanks, I know,” he said, clipping his phone back into place. “We couldn't handle it anymore and we found out the gender Saturday. I wanted to tell you in person."

"We couldn’t handle it?” you snickered.

“Fine. Me.”

“There you go,” you nodded and smacked his back affectionately. “You made it to 8 months. Honestly, I’m shocked."

This was how you guys worked.

He laughed, ignoring your snide tone, not the least bit put off by your jab about his lack of patience. It was an indisputable fact. You prompted him to continue with a light tap to his arm. "Well?"

His exuberance shined all the way up to his glistening eyes and it felt as though it would burst through the top of his head like the bat signal.

He truly beamed. It was almost blinding.

"Really? It’s a boy?!"

"I could cry!" Seung Woo was unable to contain himself, his body bobbing on the balls of his feet. Any more force and he would actually be jumping for joy, if you will. It was disgustingly cute. He had been praying their first child would be a boy.

Most men over here seem to want male heirs.

“Could cry?” you gave him a look of disbelief, grinning.

He met your eyes. There was no way he could hold out. His whole body sighed in defeat.

“I did cry.”

“That all?”

You placed your hands on each of his shoulders to pull him down closer for inspection. You leaned in towards his face with your dark eyes, sharp as a blade, cutting him deep for the real story.

Which you basically had the gist of already. There were many texts from Chae earlier this morning requesting that you keep an eye on her emotional hubby and asking you for confirmation that he was okay once you spoke to him. She was careful not to spoil the news of the appointment. Though Chaeyeong was your friend too, she knew this would be something that he would want to share with you first.

“Ok, fine. So, I cried. A lot. Aish, I couldn’t stop crying. I cried like a baby. Snotty gross crying. All weekend. At the drop of hat ever since we found out. I couldn’t even start the car leaving the doctor’s and Chae-Chae had to drive us home from the office. She made me take the bus today to be safe because she didn’t trust me to not break down in traffic if a stroller passed me at a stoplight. I only just pulled myself together a few hou-- minutes ago before you got here after sobbing at the bus stop, sobbing at the breakfast truck, sobbing at my locker and sobbing in the bathroom. I had to run out before the team pre-shift meeting because-- surprise, surprise!-- I was a mess when Hee-hyung brought up his son’s birthday party yesterday. I’ve had to go back to the bathroom twice since then just because a baby in overalls and a shark hat was carried by the desk. I’m doing my best with every breath that I take not to scream it out at the top of my lungs that my beautiful wife that I don’t deserve is giving me a son and I feel like the king of the world!! Happy?!”

Seung Woo inhaled deeply and you snorted and clapped your hands.

"CONGRATULATIONS!!"

He let out a sort of squeal-like sound at that and the two of you bounced together in a tiny circle, your celebration possibly a little bit too buoyant for the employees passing by you, drawing attention and some passersby grimacing in your direction. Remembering your place, you broke apart, him coughing into his fist to cover his proud simper and you took to readjusting his jacket and tie.

"I can't wait to come down later and chat but I can't be late today,” you said as you brushed his shoulder off and then pounded that fist that he was now stretching out to you.

“You’re going to kill it, ____-ah.”

“Thanks, Woo-ssi. Oh, and I definitely want a copy of that new ultrasound for my refrigerator!" you stage-whispered loudly to him as you took a blind step back and then started to skip backwards towards the parallel lines of elevators. The lobby around you was noticeably more clear than just a few moments ago. Seung Woo was deep in his own world, pulling out his wallet to stare at the black and white blob of a photo of his unborn.

You paused to watch him fondly before skipping backwards some more.

"We need to take a picture of all three of us, you know. Or I guess now it’s four!!--”

Man down.

Well… "Woman down".

Wait--

Nope. "Man down", too.

You had taken a hostage to the floor with you and he was trapped under your flailing limbs and coif of curls.

"OH! Oh my God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!" you stammered over and over as you attempted dismounting the lap of the man you had fallen on top of so gracefully.

Obviously, that is a lie.

There was nothing graceful about this moment.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going and I was just so excited for my friend and--"

A set of hands gripped your waist tightly to steady you and before you could register that they were connected to the person beneath you, Seung Woo's arms were under your own and helping to lift you onto your feet.

Once up on your shaking stems, you immediately hitched your body into a bow towards the gentleman on the marble tile.

This was embarrassing.

And awkward.

You were all of the “awkward”.

All of it.

Every little bit of what comes together to define that which is “awkward”?

That’s you.

Right now.

And your anxiety will probably never let you forget it.

You’ll be at your wedding about to say “I do”-- or maybe this will leave you shook when you’re cutting your cake and you drop a chunk of buttercream on the floor-- so you look down to make sure you missed your dress-- and that’s when you notice the fake marble dance floor sticker tiles and they look just like this floor that you’re staring at right now-- but your fiance had insisted on them because he’s a “classy guy but cheap” and the vendor gave you a discount because he was Korean and you could speak his language fairly well-- he was actually a really nice guy-- but you’ll see it and panic-- and so you close your eyes and have a PTSD-like flashback of these painful minutes-- but when you squeeze your eyes tighter to clear the images everything is suddenly moving in slo-mo-- and now you’re back to when you were 30 and thriving and living in a foreign country-- and your big, dumb ass just had to knock down an innocent stranger-- and you’ll remember rendering him paralyzed, mute and deaf in his left ear from the concussive impact of his head smacking that cold, hard floor-- which led you to losing your work visa, your chance at an acting career, and you were thrown in jail before being shipped back to the United States in a packing crate in the luggage hull of an airplane-- next to a gassy dog and what you think was an unmarked box of snakes… on a plane.

Or much later in life, you’re going to be old and gray-- but probably with no wrinkles because you never had a reason to smile after this-- and you’ll probably be in a cheap and poorly rated nursing home-- with no friends or family who care about you left in the world-- eating questionable cream of corn soup that is neither sweet nor salty-- just no flavor at all-- and it’s definitely not supposed to be green-- and your teeth will be in a cup on the nightstand next to both your hot pink and your purple SMTWTFS pill popper packs that are stuffed with enough meds to kill a giraffe-- and the nurse on meal service will have forgotten your lime jello and cup of ice AGAIN-- and you will STILL be able to feel the tightness in your chest from this amount of awkward embarrassment that you’re currently feeling in this moment-- and you will STILL be able to replay this memory on repeat in your mind like it happened hours and not years ago-- and it will be in full 186,405K resolution-- which is quadruple HD clarity… because that will be a thing by then.

And when your time comes and you think you can finally be rid of this memory, you’ll be born again-- and you’ll be plagued with flashes of this moment in your dreams in your next life-- and you won’t recognize the faces in the scene but you’ll for HELLA SURE know that that shit looked embarrassing as fuck-- and you’ll probably pay for lots of therapy trying to deal with the nightmares-- until you give up and try to recreate the dream-- and then the cycle of trauma will start again.

Ahem.

Very visibly trembling, you dropped to your knees and clasped your hands in front of you, bending your forehead down to meet them. You couldn't bring yourself to make eye contact with the face of your victim. It’s not like you would have been able to see him from your current angle even if you did look up, what-- with all of your hair blocking your view, but still you didn’t dare.

You heard what you assumed were his hands dusting himself off as his companions helped him up off of the floor. They were all chuckling while looking him over to make sure he was alright. You only had a sliver sized peek of multiple sneakers, some bulky ass boots and loafers with the owner’s heels hanging out, ruining the back of the expensive looking shoes.

That should be considered a crime, even if your feet do look that smooth.

"I can't believe-- I'm so sorry! I'm such an idiot. It'll never happen again. I'll watch where I'm going and be more careful, I swear! I'm so very, very sorry!” you apologized as a man stepped between you and the small crowd of people. You stared at the tile with fear-filled, wide eyes and could almost feel his shadow that cast over you. It matched your darkened spirits that were sending you into a spiral of panic.

You peeked up at the man and stuttered at the sheer width of him. He was wearing all black (or at least his pants, shoes and socks) and he was much larger than you. Very much larger than you. “Is- is he hurt? Oh god, I'll g-get a medic and I can pay for the b-bill. It's the least I should do, right?”

Receiving no response more than his unreadable face, you righted yourself up on to your knees and with a flip, tamed your curls out of your vision, smoothing them back into what you hoped was a presentable style. You contemplated what was going to come of you while fixing the neckline of your blouse and then rubbed your hands nervously over your thighs. You were still unable to see past the man in front of you, as his thighs were in your direct line of sight and thick as hell.

You looked up at him the way you had as a child while awaiting punishment in Catholic School, and he mirrored Sister Agnes’ scowl down upon you to a tee. There was no wooden ruler rapping against his palm. So, with scant confidence in your muscles to assist you, you instead rose from the floor aided by Seung Woo’s shaky hand.

He must’ve been thrown by the accident as well. For a guy trained and trusted to protect and defend people in a crisis, he’s got the nerves of a mouse.

Broad, RBF-man then turned, giving you his back and you read “SECURITY” across his jacket. You stilled in place from his profile as he glared at you over his shoulder and scoffed with a tilt up of his sharp chin.

Hold up. Was that “in disgust”? Seriously?

In your heels you were still a few inches shy of being able to see over this wall of a man as he spat a curse at you.

“Yah, this wasn’t assault or anything. Just an accident,” you looked up in distress, holding your one elbow while the hand of that cradled arm palmed the side of your face. You rolled your eyes and rubbed your temple. “Who is this guy, Woo-ssi?”

He didn’t answer. He was holding his radio earpiece, listening to a call. More than likely about the commotion you had caused. This was not what you needed before your big day. It felt like a bad omen.

“Did I break something, sir? I can drive you to the hospital!” you cupped your hands around your mouth to project past the linebacker blocking you and over the murmur of multiple voices.

“Oppa, I'll need to borrow your car or-- Ah, shit! Of all days for you to take the bus,” you groaned and rubbed both temples.

You whipped your head to Seung Woo as he gasped.

“What? I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” you said as he nodded along to his com. “That was rude of me.”

Having been facing you during the majority of this time, making sure that you were alright and then waving along the nominal foot traffic, Seung Woo redirected his attention to the crowd behind him. He let go of his ear-piece and started to shake his head back and forth rapidly, his face and neck paling. He clasped a palm tightly to his mouth.

“I was in the bathroom crying. I missed the briefing…” he mumbled through his fingers.

“Briefing?”

“I’m sorry, ____-ah. Don’t hit me later, please.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I swear, I’m sorry-- I’m sorry-- I’m sorry-- I’m sorry to everyone!!"

"Please stop apologizing."

That voice was new.

There were giggles.

Male giggles.

“And for the love of God-- HYUNG! I’m fine. Stop touching my pants. Cut it out already, guys.”

That voice.

You knew that voice.

You had heard it somewhere, at least a million times before, you were sure, but you couldn't pinpoint exactly from where. You hesitantly took a step towards the MIB in front of you just as his figure took a step to the side.

This cannot be your life.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Ooh! For the 1k event i have an idea

God!gojo x mortal!reader (you can choose the gender) Pure

Where reader prays to gojo who is the god of love and marriage for hope that her crush will accept her confession

But when gojo saw her for the first time he's like immediately inlove with her (like love at first sight)

Kinda like eros and psyche story (but psyche loves someone else)

You can choose pure angst or angst with a happy ending (bc I can't decide :'))

Love and Lies: God!Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

wc: 807

tw: NSFW, angst

1K Follower Event Masterlist

You like the multicolored candle and smear rose oil all over your chest, looking up at the sky and folding your hands together.

"I know we've spoken before, but I just want to pray one more time to you before..." You hesitate. "Before I leave this town. Gojo, god of love and marriage, I offer you a candle in hopes that Kazuya will accept my confession and love me, too." You inhale deeply, whispering words of old before leaving the window and crawling into bed.

Moments after you close your eyes, the candle winks out, and darkness descends on your sleeping face as the essence of the god of love twinkles into your room on a moonbeam.

As he stretches out from his previous form, he cracks his neck and groans.

"I need to get better transportation," Gojo whispers, looking around your room before his eyes land on a sleeping version of you. As soon as his eyes rest on your face, he's taken aback, transported into a tunnel that involves only you and him, circling each other in eternity. Gojo has a wish to grant, but as he extends his hand to give you the charm and wit you need to secure your crush, he pauses. How ironic: here he is, the god of love... unsure of whether he wanted to give his gift to the one who needed it most.

No.

Gojo pulls his hand back and turns to the window, preparing to depart. He no longer wishes to interfere. Things would end up as they should, but he would have no part in it.

_____________________________________________________________

And things did end up as they should. For you, it meant that Kazuya would reject you and relegate you to being only a friend, which broke your heart.

Gojo would watch you, day in and day out, becoming a shell of your former self and wasting away as you sank into a deep depression, forgetting to eat, to sleep, to be.

Finally, your despair becomes too much for him to handle. He wishes you would move on so he could become the object of your affections again, but the only solution apparent to him is this: a trick.

So he dons the face of the one you love and performs his own misdeed to correct the original mistake.

Gojo-turned-Kazuya knocks on your door, and when you open it, he fakes tears. "I have thought of you day and night," he breathes, grabbing your wrist carefully. "I cannot bear to be without you." And you let him in without a word, pressing your lips against his feverishly and holding him close.

"Kazuya, you came back," you murmur as Gojo-Kazuya tangles his fingers in your hair and kisses down your neck. Tears intermingle with these sweet betrayals, and before long, you're in the same bed as a liar and a lover.

"You feel so good," the offender mutters against your skin, pushing his hips into yours. You clasp your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent and arching your back as he brings you to a climax. But the god of love does not stop, pressing a firm hand on your back and sliding his palm up to your hips. "I could spend all night with you."

"Please," you beg. "Please stay with me." Gojo slides himself into you again, grasping your hips between his hands and thrusting into you with all he has. The both of you come unraveled, come undone, and muddle yourselves together in the passion and unbridled lust as the night wears on.

When the morning comes, Gojo opens his blue eyes and flutters his white lashes, looking upon your face with delight. Yes, he could have more of these nights with you - and days, too. You awaken with a soft mewl, yawning and stretching your limbs before opening your eyes and resting them on his face.

A scream of terror is ripped from your throat and you scramble out of the bed, taking the thin sheet with you.

"W-who... who are--"

"Wait," Gojo pleads, standing from the bed. "Please, listen to me--"

"Get out of my home!" you shout, backpedaling to the door, away from the white-haired invader. As you shake with fear, the tall man gets closer, holding his hands out to stop you.

"Y/n, I--" You open the door and back away from him some more, yelling for help as your feet scoot closer and closer to the balcony. "Y/n, don't," Gojo pleads, rushing toward you to stop your alarm, but this spurs you to jerk back, and you begin your descent down the floors of the building, hair flying in the wind.

It's only when you reach the bottom that Gojo can bring himself to look to see what his deception had brought and to feel the pain of his lies.

[narrators-journal]

Step two

Sorry for the vanishing! I was out with friends for a two days. Because of this, this particular part is a little less edited because I’m exhausted, but! I will post!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Good progress was made in a rather short time after that first night, Illumi felt, but he still had a pretty big issue when it came to more personal matters. Mainly, it was the fact that he struggled to adjust to the life of an impoverished man. He couldn't cook at all, he had no idea how to do laundry, and sleeping in his relatively cheap bed was awful for a conductive rest. That wasn't even touching the fact that being alone without a butler or maid truly revealed  how messy he was, his clothes scattered around or piled up to await washing he couldn't provide, snack wrappers here and there, the trash verging into overflowing territory before he bothered to take it out, which wouldn't have been so bad if his goal was not to consequentially get you into his bed, and according to his mother, women weren't keen on sleeping in a dirty bed no matter the charm of the man. However, that matter was for later, on a more cheerful note, he felt he was making relatively good progress with you. Such good progress, in fact, that he had landed a date to a restaurant with you already.

The restaurant was a bit cheap, small, with a very unrefined sort of aesthetic through out, but you had said you enjoyed it, and it was an opportunity to see you dressed up a bit for him. Maybe this is why Father takes Mother out on her demanded dates. he mused while he sat outside in the cool evening air of (f/r) waiting for you in the best 'poor' clothes he had in his closet. He continued to think about his situation until he heard you snort, making him whip his head towards you, eyes beginning to narrow,        "Illumi?" you said with a bit of amusement "um, you look very nice, but this isn't the type of place that deserves that type of outfit." you pointed out, gesturing to the dress pants and button up shirt with a tie. In contrast, you had on a rather nice dress, maybe with some leggings, appreciated by the assassin if so, that wasn't super flashy, making Illumi stand out among the other casually dressed customer.        "oh. This is the only sort of nice clothes I have." he explained, and he didn't know how to feel about your giggle in response just yet.        "Maybe after our...d-date," you turned an adorable shade of pink when you admitted what this outing was, "you can look into buying some less proper clothes." you suggested, and even he had to admit it came off a bit more suggestive or rude than you most likely meant. "S-sorry, that sounded weird." you muttered, your face staying a slightly darker pink this time as you turned your eyes to the sidewalk. Illumi simply smiled,        "It's fine, (y/n), let's just go eat." he suggested, and you were quick to agree, letting him lead you into the restaurant.   The date was going well in Illumi's mind, though he could about feel the tension rolling off of you in the silence. I guess on a date it's a bit weird to simply sit  there in silence. he mused, than remembered his intention with this date, so he began asking you questions about yourself. Admittedly, he was a bit stiff about it, but you seemed to relax little by little as the two of you spoke. It seemed that his slightly off and awkwardly blunt nature worked in his favor as well, since you were soon giggling and smiling at Illumi's 'obliviousness' when his words could come off as different and sometimes more inappropriate than he meant, and the ebony haired assassin decided he enjoyed your laugh, slipping in a few double entendre here and there on purpose to fluster you and make you giggle more. Your laugh was quite pleasing to hear, which was good because he needed a wife who wouldn't be super annoying, wouldn't be demanding of him, and wouldn't require going out of the Zoldyck estate a lot. From how you were so reclusive, he trusted that you'd not want to head into town a lot or down the mountain. She'll most likely hide herself away a lot too, making the biggest obstacle intercourse, but if push comes to shove I can tie her down. He thought while the two of you ate, but then he realized something, Wait, if she's so reclusive because of sexual trauma, tying her down and taking her by force could push her over the edge. I'll need to figure out if her habits are innocent , or trauma related. From there I can plan accordingly. He decided, looking at you with his dark eyes as you ate, attempting to read your body language for hints, but than you spoke out of the blue,          "Um, Illumi? Are...you alright?" Your voice was tinged with caution and...discomfort, maybe it was some sort of physical trauma that made you so shut off from the world? He'd have to think on that idea,          "Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. I was simply admiring your pretty face," he said, grinning at the wave of red that overtook your body in response. You were deliciously easy to fluster. Wooing her must be a simple task, he thought to himself while you cleared your throat,          "Um...could I ask you a question?" Your voice was meek, uncertain, making the assassin's heart squeeze with excitement while he nodded, "uh, sorry if this is rude, but why are your eyes like that?" The question was a bit out of the blue, and his silence seemed to convey that seeing how you instantly tried to backpedal,          "How are my eyes odd?" he asked, not letting you change the subject,                "I dunno, they just seem...kinda dead." you pointed out, and he nodded,            "Ah, I can see why that may seem weird, but I don't have a reason for why my eyes seem...dead, they've been like this my whole life," he explained, making sure to add a casual, not-offended lilt to his voice to hopefully quell your remorseful, anxious aura. You nodded,        "I-I still think they are very pretty eyes, uh, very hypnotic almost...kinda..." you fumbled before a short, tense silence seemed to fall between the two of you while Illumi slowly blinked and hummed, watching you with his dark, owlish eyes. Finally, you changed the subject awkwardly. Your social ineptitude was so alluring to him, and so fun to aggravate like some sort of wound. Once the food was gone, he picked back up on the conversation, continuing to learn about you and flirt until it was time to pay and take you home. As the two of you walked down the street though, he decided to ask,           "(y/n), would it be rude to ask why you don't seem to go outside a lot?" He did his best to phrase it gently, just in case it was a trauma response, listening to your explanation. If it was something to do with a dark part of your past, no matter for the assassin, he simply decided to end whoever hurt you or their loved ones, but if it was little more than you being an introverted, naturally skittish woman, he was ecstatic. If you were just not very social on your own, he had fewer things to avoid in terms of successfully wooing you, which was such a relief to him, plus, he could easily work on your social awkwardness, so that in itself wasn't even an issue. When the two of you reached your home, he kissed your cheek,           "I hope you enjoyed your night," he hummed, doing his best to ensure he had his charm lacing each word, which came off as slightly suggestive but he was fine with that.           "I did, so, um, maybe some other time...we could do this again?" you offered, attempting to match the flirtatious tone he had, making the assassin smile slightly despite the awkwardness of your attempt.           "I'd enjoy that. It gives me a reason not to try cooking for myself," he pointed out, making you laugh slightly,           "Glad I could be of help tonight than." With that, he took the chance and leaned down and kissed you pretty quickly, watching your (e/c) eyes widen for a moment before you became a flustered mess for the umpteenth time that night. You swiftly said good night and scurried into your home, leaving the tall man outside in the cool spring night. He stood there for a moment, debating whether or not he should sneak into your home again, but deciding not to. He instead headed back to his house and contemplated what to do for the next date.

[kookiebunnii]

lucky in love || min yoongi

→ summary: you didn’t expect to start your day with an arrow to the heart, quite literally, but neither did you expect to meet cupid himself. quickly realizing that you aren’t dramatically falling in love from the effects of cupid’s arrow, the two of you unexpectedly team up to solve this curious dilemma. however, at the end of it all, what if cupid is the one falling in love?

→ pairing: cupid!yoongi x reader

→ genre: roman/greek mythology au, fluff 

→ word count: 6.6k

→ warnings: mature language

→ a/n: this is sort of a half-gift to myself and @cinnaminsvga​, the author who actually inspired me to write again. i just hit 200 followers, and i guess i also wanted zee to know that her works definitely motivate and inspire others!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡     

Sitting in your armchair, embroidering little white carnations into the hem of the wedding dress in your hands, you truly thought that you couldn’t be any more content. This particular order had recently prompted the idea of “love” into your mind whenever you worked, as your customer had practically beamed with excitement when talking about her fiancée. Although your family and friends seemingly had your relationship status on the forefront of their minds, it wasn’t something you chose to fret about. You’d had your fair share of boyfriends, men you enjoyed spending time with and even one you thought about a “happily ever after” with. But of course, your career and independent personality typically got in the way.

It had led to heartaches and internal turmoil early on in your life, but now you were a freelancer, a fashion designer making clothes from your apartment. It wasn’t the most luxurious life imaginable, but it was the life you wanted. You were able to do what you loved while helping others. Romantic love just wasn’t on this week’s to-do list...orders were.

You set the piece down and slowly rotate your wrists to chase the stiffness away from your joints. Taking a sip of your chamomile tea, you watch as the horizon outside your window lights the buildings aglow with an orange and pink hue. The colors are beautiful, and you’re briefly inspired. Heading to your workbench in the room next to you, you grab your pocket notebook and scribble down the colors you see outside. You always wrote little notes in this particular journal, hoping to use it for your own creative works someday if not for a future customer’s order. Examining the words “pink, orange, yellow blending” in your casual scrawl, you flip to previous pages to reread your past bouts of inspiration.

You sigh, knowing that this wedding dress was your last big order for the month. Perhaps you now have enough time and funds saved up to work on something for yourself next week.

Your discarded cell phone on the couch begins beeping incessantly, so you set your notebook back down and skirt over to check what it’s for. You make a small sound of happiness, remembering that you had ordered Thai food for dinner tonight. Taking off your work apron and hanging it on a hook in your office, you find the warmest coat you own before rushing out the door.

Weather these days is like a finicky child who can’t make up his mind. In the daylight you’d have to pull on a t-shirt and a long skirt to fully appreciate the rare breezes that danced through the open windows. However, after sunset, temperatures could drop quite steeply. You’re reminded of this again when you’re forced to tuck your hands into your pockets and tell yourself to hurry.

The street is lit with soft lamplight and despite the cold and hunger resting in your belly, the artist in you can’t help but appreciate how beautiful this sight is as well. Round circles of yellow going from intense to faded against a midnight blue backdrop fill your thoughts. It’s so distracting that you almost walk past your destination without realizing.

Quickly backpedaling a few steps, you head into Thai Us Together—you must give the owners credit for their pun-tastic name—and greet the familiar worker at the front desk. She engages you in some polite conversation before handing you your usual order and bidding you goodbye.

It’s only when you are a few steps away from the entrance to your apartment complex that you are hit in the chest by an arrow.

You realize this not because you feel any sort of pain from the attack, but because a translucent arrow radiating a pinkish glow is now visibly protruding from your front. Firmly planted above your ribs, you’re momentarily at a loss. Perhaps any normal person would be screaming in terror, but you just stare, wide-eyed, wondering if you were dreaming. Things never got this crazy in your dreams though.

“Why isn’t it working?”

You blink and suddenly there’s a dark-haired, pale-faced man in front of you. He doesn’t look much older than you, as he stands in front of you with his arms crossed. Frowning in discontent, he stares in the direction of your chest unabashedly and you feel that you have the right to be more than a little offended.

“Um, hello? My eyes are up here.”

When his eyes finally find yours, they’re filled with shock with a little bit of fear mixed in. You almost wonder if you’d grown a second head or something, with the way he was staring at you.

“You can see me?” he asks, pointing at himself as you roll your eyes in response.

“Who else is staring at my chest around here? Yes, you.”

The boy starts laughing, his gums showing cutely in response to your curt reply. You can feel your cheeks warming as you wonder whether your statement deserved to be received with this much amusement.

“You’re a funny one,” he finally notes, before a worried expression takes over his features again, “But you’re human aren’t you? You shouldn’t be able to see me.”

You adjust your takeout in your hands before resting a hand on your hip, “Well, I see you very clearly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have pad thai to enjoy and an arrow to the heart to deal with.”

He grabs your arm, and the touch is so palpable that you know now that you’re definitely not dreaming. You turn to meet the stranger’s gaze again, and the curiosity filling his brown eyes is undeniable.

“You see the arrow too?” he whispers in awe, gesturing to the faint but very noticeable projectile still lodged in your front.

Sighing, you say, “Okay at least I’m not hallucinating this then. Look, I need to try and get this thing out and get to my dinner. If you don’t have any suggestions on how to remove arrows that don’t even feel like they’re actually there, then I suggest you head home.”

He follows you through the gate, matching your hurried steps with ease until you finally snap and turn on him. He almost bumps into you as a result of your sudden halt but quickly readjusts himself and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

After a short glaring contest, he gives you a small smile with a glint in his eye, “I know exactly how to get that out. In fact, I was the one who shot it.”

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡    

 Maybe all these years of living alone has finally dulled your warning senses to the point where you were fine letting dangerous strangers into your home. You’d always been too trusting of a person, but you felt too tired and confused to put up much of a fight tonight anyways. You just wanted to enjoy one of your favorite noodle dishes and get rid of whatever black magic was involved in this painless arrow buried inside you. If it meant inviting a random puzzling but handsome individual into your abode, then so be it.

As you dig into your meal, you watch as your guest sips on his glass of water. He had denied your offer of food, but you could at least say you were a polite host. With your stomach now appeased, you take your own gulp of water before launching into an interrogation.

“Who are you?” you ask.

He tilts his head, observing you for what feels like the seventh time that day. Finally, he leans back in his seat in thought. The silence permeates your residence for a good minute before he finally utters, “I’m Cupid, God of desire, attraction, and affection.”

You stop mid-chew to openly gawk at the black-haired male in front of you. This boy, dressed in a large hoodie and ripped jeans, is supposed to be the fat baby featured on Valentine’s Day cards? Maybe you brought a crackhead into your home.

“I know what you’re thinking. You mortals have ruined my image recently and as a result I am no longer receiving the respect I deserve,” he purses his lips before setting his water glass aside and openly observing you again, “But I am in fact Cupid.

“Okay let’s say you are Cupid or whatever and you shot me. Doesn’t this mean I’m supposed to fall in love now or something? I don’t feel anything other than a desire to finish the rest of this delicious pad thai.”

He doesn’t even smile at your attempt at lighthearted humor, instead wrinkling his brow further at your words.

“That is rather curious.”

Fiddling with a stray bean sprout on your plate, you add, “Well, could we start with removing this first?”

He finally gives you an amused grin when you gesture to the faint outline of an arrow above your ribs, which appears to be growing increasingly hard to see as time passes. Maybe you are finally going off the deep end.

“It’ll disappear soon,” and as soon as the words leave his lips, the arrow has faded entirely. He turns slightly, and a quiver suddenly appears on his back. You count 11 arrows before another slowly fills the remaining empty spot to complete the final dozen.

Your jaw is practically on the floor at this display.

“I need to figure out why this is happening,” he muses, resting his chin on his hand and training his unwavering gaze on you once again.

Jeez, you were starting to feel like an exhibit at the zoo.

“Look, as much as I appreciate meeting a god, I have work to do and a deadline to meet. I’m sure this is very fascinating, but frankly I’d rather not fall in love anyways so I’m quite glad this didn’t work,” you stand up to set your cleared dish in the sink before heading for the door to escort him out.

“Why not?” he asks, as if he couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever not want to be in love.

You turn after undoing the lock at your door to find that he still hasn’t budged from his chair. Clearly not on the same page as you are, you saunter over to him and do your best to give him a menacing look, “I’m happy the way I am. Now are you leaving?”

You definitely weren’t usually this rude, but the amalgamation of your anxiety to get back to work and the confusion of trying to understand what was happening to you made for a deadly combo. Today’s events were definitely giving you a short fuse. If this offends him, Cupid sure doesn’t show it, because he just gives you a small tilt of his lips before heading to your kitchen to wash his empty cup.

You watch, mystified, as he sets his cup on the drying rack before washing the plate you had left in the sink earlier. At this point you rush forward, embarrassed, but he simply shakes the excess water off the plate before leaving it next to his discarded cup. You thought Cupid was supposed to be mischievous, and maybe this guy was, but he was definitely going out of his way to be nice to you.

“Thanks” you mumble halfheartedly, suddenly feeling a bit regretful that you were trying your damnedest to shoo him out earlier.

He chuckles, drying his hands on your teacloth hanging nearby before asking, “Can I ask you some questions?”

Deciding that no ill-natured person would go through the trouble of washing your dishes before murdering you, you lead him to your living room where you were previously working on embroidery. The wedding dress is still resting on the arm of the chair you previously occupied, so you briefly excuse yourself to move the large piece back to your workspace.

When you come back, he seems to be running his tongue against the inside of his cheek in thought. It distracts you for a bit until he finally asks, “Are you getting married?”

Sputtering with a bright fuchsia across your cheekbones, you quickly reply, “No! No, it’s an order for a customer. I’m a designer.”

He sighs in relief, “Thank Zeus, I honestly thought I had lost all of my powers including my sense. Maybe it’s just my arrows that are faulty.”

When he notices how you’re looking at him quizzically, he kindly explains, “Usually, getting hit with my arrow means you fall in love with the person I’ve assigned. For some reason that clearly hasn’t happened for you. Besides, you’re definitely not supposed to see me or my arrows unless I will it to happen.”

You frown, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you think. If this dark-haired boy is to be trusted, was there actually something wrong with you? Additionally, who had he chosen for you? Maybe if it was meant to be and all that jazz, you could just have Cupid introduce the two of you and he can be on his way. That’d be much simpler than trying to wrap your head around the idea that Roman Gods existed.

“Who’s the person?”

He smirks, appearing to be amused at your shy remark, “Mortals are simple creatures. It matters more whether your significant other is as good-looking as you imagined than the possibility that something is very wrong with you.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. Besides, you could just wingman me with the guy you picked and then go back to shooting people for fun. You’re acting like the end of the world is coming.”

Lounging on your couch, he grabs one of the decorative pillows next to him and begins playing with the loose strands like an easily entertained cat. You sit down next to him, grabbing the other cushion to hold in your arms for security while he exhales in disappointment.

“It’s not that easy. This isn’t something that’s supposed to happen,” he admits, tossing the pillow aside and training his eyes on you.

“Well, you could always ask one of your fellow gods, right? Isn’t your mom Venus or something? I’m sure she has plenty of experience in the love department,” you suggest, wondering if you were being too gullible by accepting and participating in his fantastical stories.

He scoffs, “If she knew about you, she’d just tell me to kill you.”

“Okay so we won’t be asking her for help under any circumstances. Got it.”

He laughs again, and you can’t help but crack a smile of your own. Maybe in another world, if he just happened to be a random boy you bumped into one day, you’d actually want to be friends with him. But in your reality, he was supposed to be a god. If your lessons in Roman mythology meant anything, humans should probably fear those like him instead of inviting them into their one-bedroom apartments.

“You’re probably one of the more amusing mortals I’ve met recently,” he grins, “Do you still want to know who I chose for you?”

Heart racing, it was as if you could feel your pulse thrumming in anticipation. Wasn’t this what every person wanted? To know who they would end up with, to know who they were supposed to love until their last breath? Even if you were a self-declared non-romantic, the idea was still interesting. Its appeal was still undeniable, even if it wasn’t a priority for you.

But then you hesitated, wondering if it was beneficial for you to even know this. Did you like the idea of this cheeky boy just randomly selecting a guy for you? Maybe free will was just an illusion, but how would you even go about your life if you knew that you were supposed to be with someone—no alternatives? That kind of pressure just didn’t float your boat at all.

“Never mind actually. It’s probably better if you don’t tell me.”

This statement surprises him, because he actually leans forward to rest his palm against your forehead with a concerned expression on his features. Up close, you can see the pretty faint freckles across the bridge of his nose and the small speckles of gold in his irises. No, this boy is definitely not human.

“What happened to Y/N?” he jokes, laughing when you brush his hand away to look at him with a frown.

“Look, it doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Besides, now I can pick who I want to be with without your ministrations being a part of it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

Smirking, you can see the mischievousness lighting up his eyes at your words, “And how will you know that the man you’ve ‘picked’ isn’t just someone else I’ve chosen to hit you through the heart with?”

You don’t respond at his teasing question which causes your guest to lean back once again with satisfaction. If he really was the omnipotent entity he claimed to be, you guess you wouldn’t really know if you liked someone out of your own volition. At least you could now pin the blame of being with some of your past exes as a result of Cupid’s interference and not your lack of good judgment.

“I’m going to have to monitor you for a few days. I’ll head back to Olympus every once in a while, seeing if I can find any answers for this oddity. If anything strange happens, just call for me.”

You pull out your cell on instinct, and he laughs while taking the device and slipping it back into your pocket. Instead, he takes your hands in his and intertwines your fingers together as if you were praying.

“You want me to pray to you and you’ll just show up?” you ask incredulously, trying hard to ignore the way you could feel the blood rushing to your head at his warm touch against the backs of your hands.

He nods, “It’s how it used to be, back when you all believed in us. I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow.”

One second, he’s there and the next he’s not. Standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, fingers interlocked, you could genuinely convince yourself that you had just had an extremely hyper realistic dream. Unfortunately, the lingering heat of his hold on you remains undeniable.

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡    

 Enjoying the tart taste spreading across your tongue from your homemade lemon tea, you set your glass down before admiring the semi-finished piece in front of you. You had set the wedding dress onto a mannequin in your studio after completing the final details to better observe the overall look. You need to pull in the waist a bit more and fix the neckline, so you step forward to remove the dress and get to work again.

“It looks nice.”

The sudden words cause you to almost trip over your own feet and you have no choice but to grab your mannequin for balance. Cupid chuckles from behind you, and you glance at him wide-eyed long enough to catch what look like wings folding behind his back before they disappear.

“Hello,” you squeak, surprised at his random entrance after leaving you alone for two days.

“You’re quite talented for someone who designs and makes the pieces herself,” he muses, stepping closer to you to catch the fabric of the lace sleeve in his fingertips.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just a decent option for someone looking for something original and unique, I suppose.”

He tilts your chin up to look at him and the motion sends an entire series of shockwaves through your system. No one had been this close to you in a long time, so maybe you were just reacting because of the unfamiliarity. 

Yeah, that’s probably what it was.

Cupid hesitates, as if he had lost his train of thought, before quickly recovering, “Give yourself more credit, love.”

Pulling away from you, he leans back against your workbench with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Shaking the bangs away from his eyes, he says, “Do you feel any different?”

“No. I had half the mind that I just dreamt the whole thing,” you reply, finally letting go of the mannequin and stepping towards your desk to find some thread and a sewing needle.

He hums in thought, watching your movements as he says, “I haven’t had much luck either. I went to Vulcan, asked him if he could look at my arrows. He said they were in good working order but replaced a few of them anyways at my request.”

“Vulcan? Is that Hephaestus’s Roman name?”

“Yes, I wonder why Greek names are more familiar to you. Perhaps schooling is different nowadays,” he comments, watching as you take a seat across from him and begin making your adjustments.

“If it’s any consolation, they do look shinier than before,” you tease, pointing at the quiver appearing on his back.

He gives you an amused chuckle, pulling out one of the arrows to examine it from its point to the sleek feathers at its very end. When it finally disappears from his hands to return to its home on his back, he quips, “Are you sure you’re not a demigod?”

The question catches you off guard for sure, but you decide to play his game anyways, and think back to your parents. Did they ever do anything that seemed…otherworldly? Did they seem like the type of people to run off and have a tryst with some Olympian god or goddess?

Haha, definitely not.

You shake your head, giggling at the possibility since you knew your parents very well. He takes your answer with a nod and continues looking out towards the large window at the scene outside. The sky is a pale blue today with fluffy white clouds gliding by with ease. You were almost done with this order, and you planned to ship it to your customer this weekend. Maybe you’d enjoy a picnic outside to celebrate afterwards.

“Do you…have another name that you use? Calling you Cupid just seems weird. I still can’t get the name to disassociate from the image of a chubby winged baby in my head.”

He takes your question seriously, a trait you notice by the way he’s seemingly lost in thought. You wait patiently though, continuing to work on your methodical stiches as he ponders.

“Yoongi,” he finally says, appearing satisfied.

“Yoongi? That’s an interesting choice,” you reply, feeling the way this new name rolled off your tongue.

“It was the name of a mortal I knew. I quite like it.”

You accept his choice, finishing your alteration on the neckline and deciding to call it a day. You’ll spend the next few days attaching the sequins, which was bound to be an exhausting task. Just as you’re about to set the dress back on your trusty mannequin, the sound of glass breaking causes you to scream.

A creature seemingly out of your worst nightmares crawls through the windowpane, flames of fire spilling from its mouth. You can’t help but cling onto the back of Yoongi’s sweatshirt once he backs up against you in a defensive stance. The monster looks like a lion from the front, but you notice what appears to be a snake lazily dancing back and forth from where its tail ought to be. Oh, and was that the head of a goat sticking out from its back?

You never thought about how you would die, but this sure wasn’t at the top of your list.

“Fuck, why is this here?” Yoongi growls, and the deep sound that resonates from his chest makes you tighten your fingers on him.

“What is it?” you ask, but the way your voice is compressed in fear barely lets the words escape from your lips. It seems to ignore Cupid altogether, the blazing coals it calls eyes refusing to look away from your fearful expression.

He ignores your question, instead sweeping you off your feet and uttering, “Hold on tight” before skirting around the edge of the room with the creature hot on his heels. You don’t need to be told twice, immediately ducking your head into his shoulder, trying your best to ignore the way the beast sounded dangerously close. When you finally dare to open your eyes, Yoongi has ducked through the gaping hole where your window once was with his hand on the back of your head. He looks down at you briefly before jumping off the ledge.

Your scream sticks in your throat, as you feel the pit of your stomach fall alongside your body. A second later however, the two of you are gliding upwards as if flying. The buildings are a blur with how fast you are going, so you opt to just close your eyes and keep a locked grip on your savior. Even though you had no clue where you were being taken, you sure as hell weren’t about to return to your apartment even if it hadn’t turned into a pile of ashes by now.

When Yoongi finally stops, it feels like an eternity has passed, and your head is so dizzy that you’re forced to lean against a tree for support. As you try to keep the contents of your stomach from making an appearance, you make out the blurry form of your new friend pacing back and forth with his hair a mess. He is very clearly stressed, so you shift to grip the side of his pant leg when he paces closer to you.

“We’re fine now,” you mumble, tugging him closer. You hope he sits down so you could lean your head on his shoulder. It was starting to get chilly and you want to get ahold of whatever warmth was currently available.

Perhaps he can read your mind too because he kneels in the grass in front of you and fixes the locks of hair plastered to your clammy skin. He doesn’t seem the least bit grossed out, instead having what looks like worry in those odd eyes of his.

“I can’t believe you’re reassuring me when I’m pretty sure you would’ve died if I weren’t there.”

The words bring you back to reality as you shudder uncontrollably. You definitely would’ve died. That thing looked like it could rip you in two if it truly wanted to, and you weren’t exactly skilled in self-defense. Maybe you were too dumb to realize the danger of the current situation, but you were more concerned by the fact that Yoongi looked deathly afraid.

“Was that something from…your world?” you ask, grateful for the gentle grasp Yoongi had on your wrists. It comforted you knowing that you weren’t alone in this chaos.

“That was a chimera. Our worlds are essentially one and the same, but yes, creatures like that usually don’t just stop by for a house party,” he grunts, shifting so he can sit in front of you with his legs splayed to corner you against the tree.

You still have your legs pulled against your chest, so you lean your cheek against your knees as you regard him intently. He didn’t look anything like a god, and if you saw Yoongi walking on the street you probably wouldn’t have given him a second look. This whole ordeal balanced on the edge of surreal, but you were sure now that with whatever just happened, you were in danger. You wish the arrow worked on you earlier. You would’ve fell in love with some random person but at least you wouldn’t be fearing for your life. Maybe you wouldn’t have met the living embodiment of attraction, but you would’ve been back to normalcy. Isn’t that well worth it?

Struggling to understand why your heart hesitated at the possibility of never meeting Yoongi, you’re barely aware that he is pulling you to your feet until he has an arm wrapped around your waist to support your weak form.

“Can you stand?” he asks, and his fingers feel like they are burning against your side. Even through your sweater, you clearly feel each indent against your skin.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you give him your best attempt at a smile, following him as he walks you further into the forest. Thankfully, he eventually lets you go when he’s assured that you can walk without passing out. His proximity was doing crazy things to your senses, so you are grateful that he let you process your experiences without distraction.

He’s led you to an inconspicuous cave whose entrance is covered by a few hanging willow branches. He brushes these aside before letting you crawl in. The inside is surprisingly dry and you finally take a seat on a smooth, protruding boulder in the corner to stretch your legs out from the trek.

“It’s not a 5-star hotel, but it should do for now. You’ll be safe here until I find out what’s going in,” he says, and in the darkness you can barely make out his form in front of you.

Snapping his fingers, a fire appears in front of you. As you realize that this fire appears to be without a fuel source, you are once again forced to accept that your life is never going to be the same. Hesitantly reaching out to warm your shaking fingers against the heat, you watch as the light of the flickering flames dance across Yoongi’s face. He looks worried and concerned for you, so you can’t help but look away.

Your hands itch for your notebook, but you simply make a mental note to yourself instead: fire and shadows, a golden-eyed boy, warmth.

At this point, he takes off his hoodie and you can’t help the way your eyes immediately dart to the sliver of skin that shows at his waist when his t-shirt rises alongside his movements. When Yoongi finally emerges, a hand running through his locks, you hope that the heat you’re feeling is only from the fire.

He wraps the garment around your shoulders before tying the sleeves around your arms without a word. Taking one last look at you, he lets his touch linger for a second too long against your thigh before he stands to take his leave. This time, you keep your eyes trained on his as he begins to slowly dissipate. You tell yourself that you won’t blink because as long as you’re looking, he can’t leave. Your weary gaze finally betrays you, and when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

 ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡    

 Turns out you wouldn’t have to worry about food, because every couple of hours, you’d magically find some food appearing by the fire Yoongi had made for you. Your phone had long since died, so you weren’t even sure what day it was. Using the appearance of the regular meals to gage the passing of time, you hoped that Cupid would come back for you soon. Your customer’s order would be due soon anyways. At this, you couldn’t help but giggle when you realized how much your commitments meant to you-- even if you were on the verge of getting eaten by a lion hybrid.

It appears that Yoongi had been more observant that you gave him credit for. Every meal, he has only given you pad thai with the ingredients you ordered the night you met him. It was cute how he went with something he knew you liked, likely worried that he could choose something you were allergic to or disliked. He did alternate between cool lemon tea in the mornings and warm chamomile tea in the evenings, but you are sure you won’t be ordering thai food for a long time after you get out of here.

Just as you finish the last of your tea while pondering actually praying to him to get him to show up, Yoongi appears before you. Without a second thought, you scramble up to give him a hug. It seems that even for a god, he doesn’t expect this. Your tackle causes him to briefly lose his balance.

“Easy there,” he laughs, his deep voice mixing beautifully with his laughter as it echoes against his chest.

“Sorry,” you fumble, pulling away quickly and wondering if mortals were allowed to be hugging Roman Gods.

“Have you been alright?” he asks, ruffling your hair fondly with a smile.

You hum in agreement, relishing the way his fingers felt tugging against your locks, “Might need to take a break from pad thai for a while though.”

Chuckling, he extinguishes the fire with a wave of his hand before tugging you out of the cave. The sudden sunlight causes you cover your eyes, gripping his sleeve instead to guide you as you walk. Instead, he carries you in his arms once again before flying off to god-knows-where. At this point, you simply submit in his hold, as you trust him enough as the only person who knew better than you did at the moment.

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that he has brought you to your apartment, and even more pleased to find that your window has been returned to its original state. In fact, everything inside remains perfectly undisturbed.

“How’d we get in if the window is fixed?” you ask, pressing your fingertips against the glass to ensure that it was indeed repaired.

“I stopped by before the chimera appeared without having to bust your windows open, if you remember,” he teases, pulling the curtains aside to let in some light.

“Fair enough.”

You immediately head inside to ensure that the wedding dress was still in your office. You let a relieved sigh escape your lips when you notice it resting happily on your mannequin in the corner, looking as perfect as before.

“Y/N, we need to talk about something,” Yoongi says, pulling out a chair and straddling it as he watches you work with the bag of sequins you prepared earlier for this project.

“What’s up?” you ask, already getting back to work by sewing each individual sparkle into the layers of fabric.

“The chimera from earlier, it was sent by someone.”

His words cause your hand to falter, but you remind yourself that you have to make up for lost time, so you continue working furiously.

“Who have I angered?” you ask, trying to keep the concern out of your tone.

Cupid sighs, and when he finally replies, you’re forced to drop the dress entirely.

“Venus? So, she found out about me?” you bite your lip to stop it from trembling under this revelation.

He grips your hands in his own now that yours are no longer busy with working. The emotions swirling in his gaze allows the weird feelings to return to your heart once again. When he makes a request of you, you can’t help but take notice of the way he’s practically begging.

“Y/N, please let me protect you. I can take you somewhere she’ll never find you. We can be together, and you’ll be safe for the rest of your life. I promise.”

Of course, the offer is tempting. You aren’t sure if it’s the confusing feelings you’re beginning to develop for him or if he’s working some sort of love magic on you, but you actually consider his proposition for a good second or two. But eventually, the dazzle of the pearl white dress on your workbench breaks you out of your reverie. Did you want to spend the rest of your life in hiding? Would you still be able to do what you loved? Would you still be able to see your family and friends?

“I can’t,” you reply, giving him a sad smile and a small squeeze with your hands. You can’t accept the hurt on his face, so you go back to work so you can focus on the shiny beads on the waistline of the dress instead.

“I can’t let you die.”

His voice sounds so broken, so lost, so defeated that you almost didn’t recognize its owner. Brushing aside the wetness suddenly flowing across your cheeks as a result of his words and your own fear, you try your best not to let your tears fall onto your customer’s order.

“Y/N please. Look at me?” Yoongi begs, and when you risk a look at him, the tear clinging to edge of his waterline finally rolls down his cheek.

When you realize you’re kissing him, the first thought that manages to form is that his lips are so soft. It’s like you pressed your mouth against a carefree cloud, or some bright pink cotton candy based on the gentle sweetness that slowly begins spreading throughout your body. His cheeks are damp, and you can’t help but whisper “please, don’t cry” against his lips. His laugh mixes with a sob, as he tightens his grip on your waist.

You pull back, and for a second you forget that the man before you is an all-powerful god. As he sits in front of you, brushing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, he is simply a soft-hearted boy crying over imagining a tomorrow without you. You wonder momentarily if it were possible for him to fall in love, because you were already beginning to feel the rush of falling.

“Am I crazy for liking you?” he chuckles, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer were written there, “I make others fall in love for the shits and giggles, and now I’m the butt of the joke.”

“How did I attract a god?” you muse, pinching his cheeks for your own personal enjoyment.

Yoongi falls back into his thoughts again, and you once again wait patiently for him to form his words. You were willing to wait, because you knew that when he finally spoke, it meant that he had truly considered each and every word he uttered.

“You’re witty. You love to crack jokes, especially when the situation turns awkward. It’s endearing, so much so that I just want to kiss the satisfied grin off your mouth. You’re hardworking and talented, placing the needs of others before your own. You commit yourself to your job, creating art as if it’s second nature. Even after your life gets hit with a whole shitstorm, you work on a wedding dress someone else ordered and tell me not to cry.”

A laugh escapes you as a desperate attempt to cover the fact that you’re certain you are as red as a cherry tomato and that you have the sudden urge to kiss Yoongi again.

The two of you decide to enjoy the simple happiness you feel with your newfound feelings for as long as you can without discussing Venus again. Once again, you find yourself working on the silky fabric of a bride-to-be’s wedding dress in your armchair in the living room. Except this time, Cupid has his arms wrapped around you as you sit in his lap. The two of you watch the sunset together after you decide to take a break, and he massages your wrists for you.

“I don’t want to hide, Yoongi.”

He makes a small noise acknowledging your words, seemingly more invested in nuzzling the exposed skin at the crook of your neck. You pinch his thigh to get his attention before continuing, “I can’t live like that. I’d rather die doing what I loved and enjoying every moment than being locked away somewhere—even if I were with you. Does that make sense?”

“Of course, my stubborn Y/N. I’ll do my best to keep you safe from her nevertheless.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shift in your seat so you can finally look at your brown-haired boy with surprise. You almost regret this decision, because the amount of adoration pouring from the personification of affection himself is almost too much for your mortal self to handle.

“I’m your Y/N now?”

He chuckles, smoothing out your furrowed brow with the tips of his fingers, each stroke leaving a lingering trail of warmth against your skin.

“Are you forgetting the vow I just gave you? A god just promised to protect you, mortal. Have some decorum.”

You frown, feeling too foolishly emboldened to be stopped now.

“Yeah well the witty, hardworking, and talented mortal just asked you a question,” you say smartly, playing with the strands of hair at the edge of his ear.

The golden stars in Yoongi’s eyes seem to shine brighter than before as he says, “For as long as you’ll have me. I’ll love you.”

♡ 

[carewyncromwell]

“Everybody's been there, everybody's been stared down By the enemy, Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing -- Bow down to the mighty... But don't run...stop holding your tongue! Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live; Maybe one of these days you can let the light in... Show me how big your brave is! Say what you wanna say and let the words fall out! Honestly...I wanna see you be brave With what you want to say and let the words fall out Honestly...I wanna see you be brave!”

~“Brave,” by Sara Bareilles

x~x~x~x

For my next installment in my Valentine’s Day series where I focus on each of my MC’s with someone that they care about, I’m going to do something different again for my MC Anastasia “Ana” Read and focus on her relationship with her beloved stepfather, Bradley Pinkstone!

After Ana’s mother Bonnie divorced her father John Read, Bonnie -- being the sort of person who’s unable to be on her own -- dated several other men in rapid succession. Unfortunately none of those men were much in the mood to “share” their new girlfriend with her daughter from a previous marriage. Not only was Ana a constant reminder of Bonnie’s relationship with “the ex,” but she also was a socially awkward, chubby little girl who would cause weird “accidents” whenever her mother’s boyfriends were over. Ana would claim she never meant to do anything wrong (and honestly, how could she have done those things anyway, one might think -- no one can make a glass shatter from the other side of the room), but she nonetheless took the blame onto her shoulders and, in response to those boyfriends’ active dislike for or avoidance of her, soon learned to hide away in her room whenever they came over. After all, none of them came to see her, and none of them wanted to -- so it was probably best that she just stay out of the way. And she thought things would be the exact same way when her mother met and fell in love with Bradley Pinkstone.

Ana had heard plenty about her mother’s new fiance before meeting him, but it was only after she received her Hogwarts letter that Bonnie -- looking oddly nervous -- told her that Bradley would be coming over to have dinner with them. Ana dreaded the prospect: she just knew something was going to go wrong. All of the weird things that had happened to her mother’s old boyfriends had to have been her fault, after all -- what if she messed everything up for her mum again, just like she always did? And sure enough, not long after the bright-eyed, curly-haired man in the obnoxious yellow-diamond-patterned pants named Bradley Pinkstone had entered their flat and walked over to Ana as if to offer her a handshake, part of the floor disappeared out from under him, making him trip right into a side table and send several knick-knacks crashing to the floor. Distraught and ashamed, Ana bolted out of the room and up the stairs, even as Bonnie tried to call her back. Ana slammed the door of her room, locking it behind her, and then huddled up in a miserable ball on her bed, dead-set on never coming out again.

You can imagine Ana’s surprise, therefore, when her bedroom door swung open, unlocked, to reveal Bradley Pinkstone standing there, a small smile on his face.

“Hey,” he greeted gently.

Ana flinched, but didn’t answer. What could she even say? Should she apologize? How could she, without explaining that what had happened was her fault? Witches and wizards weren’t supposed to talk about their magic, right?

Noting the girl’s nerves, Bradley entered the room, quietly closing the door behind him, and slowly migrated over toward her bed in the same manner one might approach a scared animal.

“That...wasn’t my smoothest introduction, was it?” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve fallen flat on my face plenty of times figuratively, but never literally.”

Ana hugged her knees close to her chest. She hated him standing over her -- it made her feel even smaller and more pathetic than she already did.

Bradley tilted his head to the side and considered Ana for a moment, his expression becoming more serious.

“...I know it wasn’t your fault, Anastasia.”

Ana looked up at him, startled.

“Those sorts of things happen, when you’re feeling an intense emotion,” said Bradley sympathetically, “and what you did was easily undone. The floor’s been put right, everything on the side table’s fixed...even my pride will recover eventually.”

He gave a bright white grin.

Ana stared at him, very confused, as she absently let go of her knees. The way he was talking was so matter-of-fact, so nonplussed. It was...well, bizarre.

Bradley raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Would you like to know a secret?” he asked.

Ana’s throat was too tight to speak, but she gave a small nod.

Bradley reached into the back pocket of his yellow-diamond-patterned pants and slid out a long stick made of ebony wood with an intricately carved, gold-encrusted hilt for her to see.

It was a wand.

Ana’s gray eyes grew very, very wide.

“You...?”

Bradley tucked his wand back into his pocket with a white smile. “Yep -- I’m one too.”

Ana was stunned. Her mother’s fiance...was a wizard? So he...he knew everything? About the Wizarding World, about Hogwarts, about...how to do magic? ...Was that what he meant, by everything being fixed? He’d been able to undo what she did with magic?!

Her posture was still slightly guarded as Bradley lowered himself down onto the bed next to her.

“This is why your mother and I decided it was time we meet, before the school year begins,” he explained. “I hadn’t known you had magic when I met your mother...I couldn’t tell her about me being a wizard, thanks to the Statute of Secrecy, so I had to act as if I was non-magical myself. Admittedly I don’t like to use magic as much as many wizards do. There are many non-magical methods that work just as well if not better than magical ones. And there are many advancements people who don’t use magic have made that witches and wizards are still woefully ignorant of.”

He gave Ana a small wry smile.

“But...well, Bonnie would talk about you sometimes on our dates, and some of the things she said...well, it reminded me of Jasper and Preston, when they first started showing signs of magic. My sons,” he added, upon seeing Ana’s confused expression. “They’re both quite a bit older than you...but they went to Hogwarts too. Preston just graduated, actually. I’m sure Jasper and he will be really happy to tell you all about Hogwarts. And after you and Bonnie move in, I can always help you with some spells over the summer. Normally you shouldn’t do magic outside of school, of course, but the Ministry won’t punish you if you’re in a house that’s already filled with magical signatures...”

Ana could hardly believe what she was hearing. Of all the people in the world her mother could’ve decided to date, she’d somehow managed to meet a wizard? Not only that...but he actually wanted to help her with her magic?

“...Why...”

Bradley raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“...Why do you care?”

Bradley blinked in surprise. Ana knew her question had come out more harshly than she meant, so she tried to backpedal slightly.

“I mean...thank you -- for putting right what I did, but...I’m not your kid. You don’t even know me. I mean...”

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands in her lap.Everything she said kept coming out sounding rude, despite her best efforts.

Bradley, however, didn’t look the least bit offended or hurt. Instead his eyes looked a bit sad.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I don’t know you. But, for what it’s worth...I think I’d like to.”

Ana looked up at Bradley, whose face had grown a bit more gentle.

“Let me tell you something, Anastasia -- I’ve lost a lot of people in my life...many people I loved dearly. I even lost my mother when I was about your age. It hasn’t been easy to bounce back from any of that...but one thing I have learned is the value of loving the people in your life, as best you can. We Pinkstones...aren’t the most popular in the Wizarding World, for our stance on magical and non-magical integration...so family is very important to us. And if your mother and I are going to be married, then you will be my family. And that means I’ll do everything I can to love and protect you -- because that’s what family should be.”

He tapped his heart with his fist lightly.

“I know I’m not your father, nor do I ever want to replace him -- but I’d love to learn more about you from you, rather than just from your mother. As nice as it is to hear about how bright and imaginative you are...I’d love to see that for myself.”

Ana stared at Bradley for a long, long moment. Her gray eyes were still guarded and faintly nervous, rather like a stray cat hesitating before letting someone pet them for the first time. Then, after a very long silence, she nodded mutely. Bradley smiled.

“To start with...what are these books here you’ve got lined up on the bottom shelf?” he asked curiously. “They’re perfectly organized by number...I assume they’re volumes of something?”

Ana nodded.

“They’re manga,” she mumbled. “Japanese comic books.”

Bradley’s eyes lit up. “Really? May I?”

Ana nodded again, and he bent down to slide one of them from the shelf and look at the cover, which depicted a blond, blue-eyed girl with a blue-skirted white jumpsuit, a red-ribbon choker, and round red barrettes in her hair buns.

“‘Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon,’“ he read off the front cover.

He glanced from Ana to the book and back and his smile grew brighter and larger still.

“...Ahh, so that’s why you’re wearing a red ribbon around your neck -- you’re dressed as this character today!”

Ana looked down at her lap, her cheeks flushing as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her blue skirt self-consciously. “Mm-hmm.”

“That’s brilliant,” said Bradley brightly. “Oh, Jasper is going to be thrilled -- he’s quite a fashion icon himself. He’s into the ‘Gothic Victorian subculture’ -- from what I understand, it’s a fashion movement that celebrates both period clothing from the late 1800′s and early 1900′s, as well as the darker Gothic aesthetic. Jasper has quite a collection of top hats and waist coats.”

Ana perked up slightly. “...So your son likes to dress up too?”

“Yes,“ said Bradley. “He comes by it honestly, really -- I don’t know if your mother told you, but my sons and I work in a theater, in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Jasper’s the most ‘stage-oriented’ out of the three of us: he works as an actor and stage-combat choreographer. Meanwhile my younger son, Preston, works in our tech department -- he’s a master of special effects. Though that’s partially because he likes to cheat and make some of the stage magic a bit more literal than it probably should be.”

Despite a mild attempt at disapproval, he was smiling mischievously. Ana felt her shoulders loosening a bit.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“I’m a stage manager,” said Bradley, “so I do a little bit of everything. Casting. Marketing. Settling disputes. Putting right what goes wrong.”

Ana shifted over slightly to better face him. “I guess with magic...doing that’s a bit easier, huh?”

“Sometimes,” said Bradley. “But magic isn’t always like how people who don’t use magic depict it, in stories. There are limits to what magic can do -- just as there are limits to what people who don’t use magic can do. Magic is just like any other talent you might have, in the end...like fencing, or mechanics...”

“Or writing?” asked Ana.

Bradley grinned. “Absolutely. It’s something you have to practice at and constantly refine, in order to be good at it...but once you have mastered it, you can be capable of amazing things. Once that happens, though, you then have a responsibility to use those talents for the benefit of others.”

Ana’s gray eyes were very bright as she nodded in agreement.

“‘You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed,’” she said softly. “‘You’re responsible for your rose.’”

Bradley quirked an eyebrow in interest. “Which book is that from?”

“The Little Prince.”

“I’ve yet to read that one. Would you recommend it?”

Ana bit her lip in amusement. “Well, it’s a children’s book...but the man who wrote it ended up writing it after escaping France, when the Nazis took over. I have a biography about him.”

She got down on her hands and knees to reach into the corner of one of her other bookcases, take a white-covered paperback off the shelf, and hand it to Bradley. He took it and turned it over to read the summary on the back.

“‘From a master biographer, the life story of the daring French aviator who became one of the twentieth century's most beloved authors,’” he read aloud.

Bradley’s grin grew a bit broader. “I must say, you have quite an extensive library. Might we exchange book recommendations, once I’ve finished with this one?”

Ana’s face at long last burst into a smile too and she nodded eagerly.

“Yeah.”

[tora-the-cat]

Surprise surprise I have Thoughts about Peacemaker     ^-^ (and how he neatly ties up the themes of freewill in WoF arcs 1 & 2)

//spoilers for like. all of the first 10 WoF books but esp the very end of Darkness of Dragons

god my feelings about the end of the second arc are Numerous and Complicated and basically revolve around the three obvious Things; Peacemaker, Qibli-Winter-Moon love triangle, & Anemone saying lesbian rights. Lets start off with that first thing tho:

-full disclosure I actually like Peacemaker ngl. Like its smart Kinkajou got her moment to shine (fucking FINALLY) etc etc.  But I also don't think it was, like, a morally good or fine thing to do? But! I also think that was kind of the point!! kinda?

-(also even more important disclosure, I honestly don't like Darkstalker much at all, though if it wins me any favors I do think he's interesting and complex and all!)

-Ok listen so the series is like,, basically about freewill, right? It's kinda the central thesis of the series (or at least the first two arcs lmao that's all I've read lmao); is destiny something made for your or something you choose. Ya know, is Tsunami destined to be queen because she's the lost heir, are Animus's destined to loose their souls, if Peril is 'choosing' who she's devoted to is that freewill and/or how do you develop independence when you've never made a choice before, can Turtle avoid all the bullshit of the world by trying to keep his head down (no <3) was Moon destined to release Darkstalker all along, if you've been under mind warping mind control shenanigans' is your mind really your own and are you capable of making choices, etc etc I can do this with like most characters its REALLY prevalent in the series lmao.

-Anyway! the question posed by the series is 'can you choose your destiny or is it made for you?'. in the first five books there's one obvious massive driving force for this; the prophecy. Sunny is the only one really invested in the prophecy itself, Tsunami thinks it's all bull and is basically offended by the notion, Clay thinks they should just do their best, Starflight believes the prophecy will happen regardless so he's chill, and Glory is disillusioned and apathetic about it.

-Then they reveal that the prophecy is hogwash, and Sunny still believes in it anyway because it's what her whole life was based around and without it her life is meaningless. So her whole arc is finding another meaning in life with Thorn and the Outclaws and then choosing to do her best to fulfill the prophecy anyway, because someone has to and no one else will. So she chooses to do the prophecy, but it's a fake prophecy so it is her choice not something predestined for her, so there. Free will exists and is good and prophecies don't because no one can tell the future end arc

-then you start the next book with a protagonist that can tell prophecies For Real, and you get a little scared they're gonna backpedal or retread the same ground, but don't worry because the definitely-not-evil voice in her head and conveniently knows all about her powers so he can assure everyone that prophecies are not set in stone, just some most likely futures. Free will still exists Tsunami stans, dw

-And they can do that because the prophecy is not the question of the second series- Darkstalker is.

-The thing about the Darkstalker conflict is that it's about Utilitarianism, ya know? Like, he comes out and he says 'I can see all the futures, and I can tell for sure exactly which outcomes make the most dragons happy, and I have the power to not only see them but manifest them'. He doesn't care for other dragon's freewill- as long as they're happy or content or powerful, why would it matter if they got helped along there a little bit?

-OKAY so took us a hot second to get here! But! Peacemaker!

-It's valid and interesting I think because it kinda pushes the whole conflict into a paradox; they can't let Darkstalker carry on like he is, because he thinks he knows best for all of dragonkind and will do anything to get his version of a happy ending. But the only way to stop him from being a god emperor who's fundamental flaw is his lack of care about other dragon's free will and agency. And the only way to stop him and get an ending that's good for everyone is to take away his free will.

-It's the Batman no killing rule. it's that one DLC from Fallout 3 that's actually kind of good. If they're all in 100% on the 'free will matters above all else' angle, they can't stop Darkstalker because he doesn't want to be stopped. It'd be a utilitarian move, putting the needs of the many over the needs of the few, which goes against the Whole Entire Thing

-But! Darkstalker is also delusional and a narcist and an aspiring all powerful god emperor bent on wiping out or driving other tribes into hiding forever who just sucks, like, so much. So of course they turn him into a literal child without power lmao it wasn't really a question, it's just the ideological battle happening in the background. And it's what makes peacemaker so interesting!

-first of all, it's Kinkajou, the one who was most recently under a mind altering spell that she loathed. She hated anemone for even thinking about it and is still a little bitter, but when push came to shove, she's the one that did that to Darkstalker. It wasn't even just a 'make him the same dragon fundamentally but without the trauma and magic'- she changed his body (by turning him half Nightwing) and planted interests in his head (strawberries) and (is at least implied?) to have made him literally incapable of much evil. Like Moon confirms that in his head he isn't the same dragon at all.

-And like I get it! She is, very understandably, erring as far on the side of caution as physically possible! I'd do the same! It's not a diss or anything, and I’m certainly not saying that Kinkajou is just as bad as Darkstalker or will/can go on to be so! Not even a little lmao

-it's just. Interesting. Like, if you think about it, they did the same thing Darkstalker was doing to Fierceteeth for Clearsight, after everyone was loudly and visibly repulsed by it. It's the same thing that happened with Pyrite and Hailstorm, except entirely irreversible. Like that isn’t Darkstalker there anyway you slice it, for all intents and purposes he’s dead. but it's ok because he was a 'bad dragon' with no friends or family that would miss him in that form.

-Basically the first arc said 'free will is always the way to go and there's no justification for taking it away ever' and the second arc spent all of it's time building up to 'sometimes sacrifices have to be made'. So like everyone complains about it being tonally dissonant and out of character and a crop out and everything and I get that and I'm not saying that's objectively wrong or a bad take or anything! And, like most things in DoD, it was admittedly rushed and at least mildly underdeveloped lmao. But that's my first hot take, and hopefully my longest lmao

[centipedall]

Mister Lincoln, I presume?

Charlie Smith walked to the edge of the small cliff and looked at the old stone bridge. The thing was older than most of the city’s buildings, and the tales surrounding it were the subject of today’s investigation. It was a seven-foot drop from the cliff down onto the beach peppered with broken bottles, shards of metal, and probably tetanus. She looked downwards and sighed. What she had to do for a good picture. Charlie sat down at the edge before scooting herself off into the spiky pit of disease.

The cliff bent inwards from the top, forming a rather spacious pit that formed one of the city’s biggest populations of homeless. Of course, the sharp bits were more prominent inside than out- partly from the wind blowing in, and partly from the denizens themselves. Also scattered along the floor was Fourth of July apparel. The people, like the ground, were weirdly patriotic. A man was dressed in a tattered tank-top, with flag-patterned socks and a star-and-striped top hat. A woman had a large white winter coat over her bare chest emblazoned with the words “Uncle Sam Wants You!” and a grimacing eagle on the back. Another (almost completely naked) person had a flag wrapped around their head like a turban, and a lot of pennies and flag patches in a circle on the floor around them.

Charlie figured that these people were the best to talk with about the bridge. After all, some of them had spent half a century here. They should have some great stories. Unfortunately, no one looked like they wanted to illuminate her. Well, a couple twenties (provided by the website, of course) should fix that.

“Hey! Any of y’all want some easy money? You just gotta answer me a few questions ‘bout that bridge.” Charlie drawled.

Most of the people glared at her. A few went so far as to give her the middle finger. One old man whispered some unfortunate words under his breath. All in all, it was a tough crowd.

“I’ll help out, ma’am. There’s actually some pretty interesting stuff on the underside. Come on, walk with me.” The nude in the turban stood up and started walking. This was met with a chorus of displeasure.

“Jesus, Rick, don’t be an asshole.”

“Boo!”

“Don’t come crying to me when She gets mad.”

Charlie started to follow this Rick guy, but she felt someone grab her arm. A young man looked up at her. He opened and closed his mouth several times before actually speaking.

“Uh, miss, you sh-should, uh, take this. I-I’m s-sorry for bothering you. Please don’t be mad.” The kid held a penny out in front of her. Charlie wrested her arm from his grip and walked away.

“No! Wait, uh, oh g-god, I’m so sorry for y-y-yelling. Please, miss. P-please take it.” The kid seemed to be on the verge of crying.

“Alright, guy. Don’t get mad, okay? See? I’m taking the penny.” She slowly took it from him and put it in her pocket. She took a few steps back, then rushed to Rick, who was standing almost under the bridge.

“So, Rick, what’s so special? I don’t see anything money-worthy.”

“Oh, you can only see it directly underneath the bridge. Come on, follow me.” The man disappeared into the shadows under the bridge.

Charlie hesitated for a moment before following him.

The first thing Charlie noticed was the strange feeling. It was like cold metal was constantly running up and down between all of her muscles. The second thing she noticed was that everything around was dark, although she could still see things in a couple foot radius. Rick stood next to her, and he was hard to look at. In fact, anything that wasn’t obscured by darkness was uncomfortable to see. It was like every color was subtly altered in a way that hurt her eyes. She felt like she had spent the whole morning inside, only coming out at noon.

Squinting her eyes, Charlie said, “Rick? What’s happening? Are- are you seeing this?” She started to back away from him.

He laughed and said, “Pretty interesting, right?” The chuckling abruptly stopped, followed by an alert, “Wait, stay. She’s almost here.”

After the sentence ended, a scraping, metallic noise emanated from in front of them. It was a horrendous sound, like thousands of nails scraping along the marble floor. The noise got closer and closer, until Charlie wanted to collapse with her hands over her ears. Then, it encircled them, the noise buffeting Charlie from all angles. Finally, it ended in front of them. And the solemn copper face of Abraham Lincoln- top hat and all- emerged from the shadows.

As the rest of his upper body revealed itself, Charlie busted out laughing. Jesus. All that tension just for some guy in a Lincoln suit? She would’ve been angry about the waste of time, but this was just too good of a punchline.

“Ok friend. Thanks for the laugh, but you’re not getting the money. If you’ll excuse me, I gotta go find someone else who’ll gimme a better story. Unless you and your buddy got some good folklore?”

“Lincoln” continued to come out of the darkness. The head rose up to a good eight feet above the ground, and the massive copper chest showed. The arms seemed to be around six feet long. Against the relatively proportionate head and chest, they made quite the impact. The bottom of its chin dropped out, revealing a toothless mouth of wet gums and a long tongue. Drool dripped onto the floor.

“What… Is… How…” Charlie stammered, before coalescing her thoughts into “The fuck?”

“Here you go, madame.” Rick said, before tossing one of the flag patches to the thing.

“Excellent. And what is your payment, miss?” The copper behemoth’s voice was high and feminine, and seemed to emanate from its tongue.

“Payment? What do you mean? Wait, Rick, where are you going?”

“See ya, ma’am.” He chuckled to himself and walked out of the shadows.

Charlie started to follow him, but Lincoln swerved in front of her with surprising speed. One of the arms drifted towards her, causing Charlie to backpedal.

“Stay now. I need payment. An egg or a strip of clothing, perhaps.” The eyes of the statue stared a good couple of feet above her.

Oh god, an egg? Like, a breakfast egg or the other kind? Charlie shuddered and felt bile building in her throat. She quickly tore a piece off her shirt. “Here. Here you go. Can I go?”

“No, I don’t want your second skin! I want your clothing!”

“But… this is… what?” Charlie’s voice trailed off.

“Shall I have to keep you until you produce an egg? For shame, to be unprepared. And may I say, you are not showing much deference towards your first Lord.” The thing sounded a little offended in a patronizing way. “He did create your beautiful country. Um-Air-Ika, yes?”

“I’m… sorry? Are you talking about George Washington?”

“Bah! I won’t fall for your tricks! That man was merely a pretender to the first Lord’s throne! Alas, him and his barons had to usurp Abraham's palace with their spiteful treachery! Thankfully, his twin Carver threw him out- with the help of my Hypogaean siblings. Truthfully, the Court had their own plans for that day. I do thank them for implanting Kenny. He did good with reaching our brothers of the Æther. If only they could pull him down from the moon, his barony would start behaving, I tell you that!” The thing snapped out of her tirade and tittered. “How now brown cow, you won’t get me distracted so easily!”

“What are you talking about?” Charlie had lost all fear to the onset of confusion.

“Enfantés these days! Here, let me show you!” It retracted into the darkness for a moment, only to come back with a thick, tattered book between its hands.

“Peer, and become educated!” It shouted… pridefully?

Charlie walked up to the book. It was covered in dried mud, and had many pages torn out. The thing pointed to a page with pictures of the presidents, with their time in office printed under each picture.

“See? Now, this book caters to the Pretender, so it shows him first. However, we all know that Lord Lincoln was the first one. And here. Kenny on the moon, and his barons below him.” It pointed to JFK before gesturing at the presidents that came after him.

Then, it flipped through the pages, first showing her a picture of Benjamin Franklin, then one of an astronaut- probably Armstrong. “Look! I have exclusive pictures of the Pretender’s chief wizard- you know, the one who invented the Frenchman-Powered Juggernaut and bifocals. What a shame he killed Tesla. Now that man, he was an excellent ambassador and wizard. His death ray was just charming! Ooh! I also have a picture of Kenny taken during his exile on the moon! Oh, how sad it is.”

Suddenly, the thing dropped the book. “Wait, I forgot to show you my style! Oh, look upon it, how beautiful it is!”

The thing quickly moved, becoming much closer to Charlie’s body. Then, it curved around her. Charlie saw that, instead of legs, it had a long, thick, wet, ophidian tail that reminded her of intestines. Stuck to the tail were thousands of pennies, almost covering it. The tail went off into the darkness, with no signs of stopping.

“Yeah, that’s, uh, nice, I guess. I like how it’s… covered in pennies?”

“I prefer the term eggs. It’s scientifically accurate. Slang absolutely disgusts me.”

“I’m sorry? Did you say eggs? Wait a second, wait a second.” Charlie dug in her pockets for pennies. She only found one, and showed it to the creature.

“Is this good?”

“Oh, how delightful! Here, give it to me!” Lincoln stretched out a hand.

Charlie tentatively dropped it in its palm, and asked, “So, I can go now, right?”

“Oh yes, dearie, you can leave.”

Charlie started to walk away, then stopped and looked back at the creature. “Actually, one more thing. What would’ve happened if I didn’t give you my pen- uh, egg?”

“Well, dear, I would’ve just kept talking to you until you birthed one! Or I became impatient and retrieved one from within you. I don’t know where they are stored, so I might’ve had to root around in there for a while.”

Charlie paled, took a few steps, and was back out of the shadows. She shuddered as her body returned to normal, then quickly strode towards the encampment. Rick was gonna get a piece of her mind.

“Hey Rick, you asshole!” She yelled. The man walked away from his spot and looked at her.

“Why did you leave me in there? And what was that?”

“We aren’t sure, ma’am. And you said you wanted a story.” He gave her a big, goofy, genuine grin. Oh.

“I’m sorry for yelling, Rick. I thought you were being… well, whatever. But that thing was dangerous. I could’ve died.”

“Don’t worry ma’am. We were gonna go in with some iron if you weren’t out in a bit.”

“Iron? What does that do?” She asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard the stories?” He looked at her with incredulity.

“Uh, I guess not. Listen, I have to go. How can I get out of here?” She said.

“It’s on the other side of the bridge!” He smiled.

“Oh fuck me.”

When Charlie got home, she quickly wrote up the story. Rick wasn’t wrong. It was certainly interesting. Her boss loved it too. He was going to put it in the fiction section, but he was proud of her for expanding into fiction. In fact, he wanted her to write more!

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the story was pulled back and scrapped. Her boss told her they had no control over it, and gave her some money in condolence. Meanwhile, the bridge was quickly and quietly dismantled over the course of a night. When the next heavy rain came down, thousands of pennies were washed down the riverbed. As well as the copper head of Abraham Lincoln, pierced with iron.

[evanescent-art]

Thorin and Poppy :: "Don't sleep." :: Request By :: @drew-winchester

...........

Synopsis :: She couldn't sleep. Neither could he. Although he would have preferred to be lonely tonight, he found himself grateful to be lonely with someone just as broken as he was.

...........

I wanted to be alone. I just wanted time for myself to think. Somehow, I couldn't do that from where I slept. As odd as it sounded coming from me - Thorin - a warrior that's seen more death than an average person should in their lifetime, I preferred to think while watching nature be peaceful with one another. There was something about the way the outdoors seem to harmonize with one another that intrigued me. Imagine if people were able to coexist like this, I couldn't help but think.

Yet, Poppy had other ideas.

I had thought nothing of her at first when I arrived. Too innocent for my taste, I had thought. Yet, it seemed as though there was a peaceful stature to her that I had been craving in my chaotic life. Yet, the night had made me think otherwise. I was in such bliss that I find it difficult to recount events. But I will try.

"Oh, look at you invading my private time," she had said to me when she heard the back door open. Her words raised my eyebrow at first. Seeing this, she backpedaled with a flush, "Not that I mean it that way. It's just my only private time of the day."

"I see," I replied to her. I stood where I was, though this seemed to make her a little uneasy. I could sense it. Though she said nothing. Instead, she decided to ignore my discontent. Something troubled her, I could see. "Is something the matter?"

She pressed her lips together for a moment, as if she didn't want to tell me. Right. Such matters could be none of my business but I couldn't help my curiosity. My vulnerability got the best of me. I watched as her eyes traveled from my face and down my body. She made a face as she looked back to my eyes.

"How can I tell you anything when you're afraid to come close to me?" Poppy asked me. She had a point. Still, I had intentions to stay where I was. That was until she moved to the side and patted the empty place on the bench. Slowly, I pushed myself from the wall I had been leaning on and reluctantly made my way to sit next to her.

Though I had to admit, I wasn't scared of her. I was afraid to admit I would rather be alone. Not to mention I was in no position to send her away from where she was first.

"I am not scared," I tell her. And added; "I am a warrior. Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?" She hummed.

I stared at her until she looked away and out into the grass. She found amusement in two squirrels chasing one another up a tree while carrying bits of food that must have been discarded somewhere in the yard.

"Are you afraid of something?" I questioned curiously. Since she brought it up, I wondered. I sense this was a pattern of some sort. Maybe the reason why she was found looking aimlessly into the stars.

"I'm afraid of night," she told me. She did not look at me, but I looked at her. Surely, this was a joke. My mind immediately interpreted this as a grown woman afraid of the dark. Like a child. Perhaps this was putting it too harshly.

"The dark?" I hesitated at first.

"No, night time."

This didn't answer my question. But before I could debate on whether or not I should have pushed a little further, she continued.

"When the world is quiet, it leaves room for one's thoughts to be louder," she told me. "It's quite unbearable."

"Oh," I couldn't have said it better myself. Yet, for me some nights were better than others. I relish the nights where it is the only time of peace I have. I would rather the world be quiet some nights. And others, every time I closed my eyes I saw blood. I heard screams. I think of regrets. Perhaps, I am afraid of night as well. "You speak the truth. I'm sorry."

"No, not your fault." She shook her head. "You're here now. It's always better when someone is here with me. Everyone else likes to sleep. Even if you don't talk much."

I flush.

To defend myself, I may be unable to sleep but I was indeed tired. But I focus on the flattering part. I was wanted. I was great company. I brought some sort of comfort to this woman when nobody else would at this time.

"I don't talk much at night," I tell her. "I like it quiet. In the day time, one never has a moment of silence."

She didn't seem to like this much. We may not have that in common, but we have peace in common. That's what I tell myself.

She was stiff for a moment.

"If you want, I could leave."

It dawned on me that perhaps, I allowed my dismay to be shown a bit. I offended her. She got ready to stand up and without a second thought I found myself swallowing my pride. Quickly taking her hand, I prevent her from leaving.

"No, stay," I tell her, "I apologise. I-"

Her eyes bore into mine, waiting patiently for an explanation. I blushed when I could not give one. Instead, I said the first truth that came to my mind.

"I enjoy your company. As you do mine," I admit. "You do not have to be alone in the night, you know."

Her face colored, surprised at my words. Admittedly I was just as surprised as she was. Yet, for tonight, it wouldn't be bad to have someone by my side.

She smiled.

"I thought you would never ask."

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Persistence - 10

@badthingshappenbingo square “Attacked in their sleep”

(white dots are requested, red dots are filled. Request with an ask, specific story or character optional)

Find the masterlist for this series here! We’re finally back with the other crew this chapter. We haven’t seen them in, like, four chapters so you can read chapter five if you need a refresher on what they’ve been up to.

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whump-tr0pes, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doitforthewhump, @shameless-whumper, @endless-whump, @theycomeinthrees, @faewhump, @lonesome--hunter 

CW: consensual and nonsexual nudity, dealing with emotions in an unhealthy way, ambush, mild gore in descriptions of bleeding, death, misguided killing? sorta? it’s complicated.

“See you in the morning,” he spat, slamming Floyd’s head against the wall and adjusting something on his collar before leaving with the rest of the soup and muttering to himself on his way out.

“Enjoy your nap.”

(Meanwhile, back on The Thief’s Halyard)

Ray wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow, stepping into the cabins. It had been a long day after the sleepless night that preceded it, and the coming night would only feel longer. It didn’t seem like anyone else around him could feel it, but the atmosphere had changed drastically since Floyd… wasn’t there.

The blue skies were grayer, and the sun crossing the sky was a scalding reminder that time was still passing. The pep and joy so commonly passed around the ship dissipated into vague anxiety and what seemed like fear at Ray’s presence.  But that didn’t matter so much. Every moment they spent on this blind pursuit was another moment that anything could be happening, really, and it was taking time for that to settle in with everyone.

He hadn’t been hit that hard by the situation. He was still himself. Nobody had any reason to think otherwise. He’d been a little more domineering since Floyd’s disappearance nearly two days before, but it wasn’t a major change. He’d always been a strong captain before this.

He wasn’t so sure why, despite all that, Clara had flinched away from his hand on her shoulder earlier.

Or why the majority of his crew wouldn’t make eye contact when they spoke.

He went out of his way to be down to earth and friendly. Nothing had changed about that.

He shook his head and cleared his thoughts when he stepped in front of Mabel’s door. No time for that now. Ray raised a hand to knock three times and turned the handle to let himself in since she couldn’t, or at least shouldn’t, get up to open it on her own. 

Inside, Mabel was laying down on her bed with Clara sitting by her side, hunched over a stool, expression tight with what looked like anxiety. Both raised their eyes as he stepped in. He felt like a silence had fallen because of his presence.

“Mabel, Clara,” he inclined his head to each of them, offering a tight smile which neither returned. “...am I interrupting anything? I can leave just the way I came and be back later.” There was no response for a few seconds and he was just about to leave anyway when Clara spoke up.

“No, you’re alright! I was just going to change Mabel’s bandages,” she said quickly, waving him in. Ray obliged with a small nod, closing the door gently behind him before taking a seat next to where his quartermaster lay. She lifted a hand for him as Clara peeled back heavy blankets to reveal her bandages, and he clasped it in his own. 

“Oh, do you mind…?” she glanced between Mabel and Ray, just then processing that she had opted to stay bare under the covers. 

“Ray’s fine. It’s been a long time since he was in the business of touching women, hasn’t it?” Mabel tilted her head, voice lifting to a light, joking tone. He didn’t seem to hear her at first, eyes foggy and staring off into the distance.

“...what? Oh, no, not for almost thirty years since I survived off of my mother’s milk,” Ray chuckled, but it was flat and forced. 

“Right,” Clara nodded as she peeled off Mabel’s bandages and got to work cleaning excess blood and re-wrapping the wound.

“So,” she winced at a cloth pressing against her side, reigniting the pain there, “how have things been with the crew? Everyone hard at work out there?” 

“Oh, you know, smooth sailing and all that,” Ray smiled sadly, but it melted off of his face, “everything’s sort of dreary, but it’s alright.” 

He squeezed Mabel’s hand and felt her squeeze back, fingers tracing silently over his, and lingering in the space where his left pinkie was missing. A wound from battle years ago that she had helped take care of. She’d taken care of him then, but he needed to take care of her now. He was doing all he could to deal with every other situation, so the least he could do was be a comforting presence and shove everything else down in the back of his mind where it belonged.

“But, well, I did catch James doing something pretty odd earlier,” Ray smiled again, and it stuck genuinely as he thought back to just hours before.

“Did you now?” she grinned, thrilled to hear gossip about her fellow crew members. No matter how much all of them bonded and shared with each other, they’d always have secrets that Ray and Mabel were eager to find out. They never encroached too far on the crew’s privacy, but sometimes it was too captivating to ignore.

“Of course. So we know that him and Edith definitely have something going on, but as it turns out…” he rambled on and on about how James obviously had an eye for Edith, but he’d been writing a letter to a former love, apparent in the swirling hearts drawn carefully across the front of the envelope. Mabel was wrapped up in his tale, but Clara evidently tried to tune it out as she worked. When she was finished Ray dismissed her, to her clear relief.

They chatted for a while after that, but evening came and soon a dark night swallowed the gentle light from the window. Ray left her to sleep, went back to his own quarters, and worked at his desk for hours into the night, a single candle burning the midnight oil.

                              ��—————————————————

Ray woke later in the night with an aching soreness in his neck and his head pressed up against a hard surface that was decidedly not his pillow. His eyes fluttered open to see the wooden grain of his desk, illuminated only by the soft glow of a steadily burning candle. He’d fallen asleep while working.

It wasn’t surprising, given the minimal sleep he’d had for the past few days, but it was dangerous. Ray stood to meander over to his bed, forgetting about the candle as swiftly as he’d remembered it.

It struck him as strange when he felt a pressure on his legs and the chair rose along with him, but he didn’t realize exactly why until he felt the press of a blade through his clothing.

“Captain Raymond Bates of The Thief’s Halyard, sit your ass right the hell down!” someone shouted, and he balked at the vulgar command. He raised his hands in a silent surrender but didn’t sit. Looking down, he noticed that the chair was bound to his legs around his thighs, but not his ankles. A clear oversight considering he could still stand up, and his attacker seemed quite distressed that they’d forgotten this detail.

Assured by their mistake, he turned around and lowered his hands when he came face to face with two individuals. He couldn’t make out much in the dark, but the one on the other end of the sword, now pointed at his chest, was a tall woman with unkempt long hair. The other appeared male but had the same wild mane. Certainly not any major military force, then.

“Sit down! I won’t ask you again,” she growled, pressing the swordpoint harder into his chest. This lady definitely wanted something from him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t kill him with a careless, rage induced blow. Slowly, Ray sat back in the chair.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked, voice deliberately light and collected. 

“Nobody you know. We just want the reward out for bringing your crew to justice and spearing your ugly ass head on a pike,” her eyes gleamed as she said it, but Ray was more concerned by the alleged reward for his crew than he was by the implication that she planned to kill him.

“I didn’t know I’d offended anyone so recently. Care to elaborate?” he asked. She shook her head with a smile.

“We know people,” the woman shrugged, “and they said they’d pay a handsome fuckin’ sum if we took out the children tugging at their coattails. So, you and your assistant are going to help us gather everyone up. If you don’t, we kill all of them.”

It took him a few seconds to realize what she meant, and even longer to realize there was only one person he’d been remotely bothering recently. How Percival had managed to get people on his trail already was beyond him, but they were here now and they were out for blood. He clenched his jaw before he could express too much and looked back up at her.

“Alright, I’ll help you. I look strange tied to this chair, though.” She looked him over for a second in consideration, called the other man standing guard back over, and sheathed her sword. 

“Fine. Just don’t you fucking dare try anything, got it?”

“Yeah. No funny business. Got it.” He moved his hands out of the way as she came closer, grasping the back of the chair. She bent her knee and reached for where the rope was knotted.

Just as she did, Ray shot up and spun, whipping her across the face with the chair legs. She cried out and scrambled to defend herself, but he quickly backpedaled and pinned her to the wall with the chair pressing hard into her chest. The woman was stunned temporarily, but by now the man had realized what was going on and rounded on him with his sword drawn. 

Ray raised his fists but realized there was no way to get a hit in past a blade, especially while still pinning someone to the wall. He spun again instead, deflecting the sword and knocking the man off balance. He careened towards the wall as Ray stumbled, almost tripping over himself as he tried to fetch his own rapier.

The chair tied around his thighs became more of a hindrance at that moment, weighing down his weary legs and dragging him even further off balance. By the time he was able to pick up his sword and draw it, the man was already upon him with the woman not far behind. 

Ray heard crashing down the hallway as he fought, swinging desperately at his opponent as he was slowly cornered. He felt strikes hit his arms, but no flare of pain came even after the blood flowed and stained his shirt. 

He took a step backwards, but the chair only pressed harder into his back as he realized he’d been run up against the wall. His bed to the left and the other wall to the right created the perfect trap, and he cursed himself for falling right into it. 

He was hopelessly overwhelmed, but at that moment a figure appeared in the doorway and rushed in. At first he thought it was another attacker, but they quickly shoved the woman to the side, pounding her head against the ground with an ear splitting crack that made the other man whirl around in surprise. Ray took his chance, plunging the rapier through his chest and pulling it back out just seconds later. 

Blood sprayed from the wound and he grimaced, looking past the body as it fell to see Mabel staring back at him. The first thing he noticed was the blood staining her dark skin, shimmering in the dim light of the candle. The second thing he noticed was that she was still nude except for the sword belt wrapped hastily around her waist. The third thing he noticed was that he could only see this because he still hadn’t blown out his damn candle. 

The adrenaline quickly faded when neither of their attackers rose from the floor, and Ray was frozen until his legs nearly buckled under the continued weight of the chair. He sat down, reaching for his knife on the nightstand to cut the ropes still holding him down. 

“Are you… alright?” Mabel asked, her voice rasping and not quite awake. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… yeah, they attack you too?” he said, sawing quickly through what turned out to be fairly low quality rope. The fibers were rotted and stiff, loosely wound around each other. Ray made quick work of the makeshift bindings.

“Yep. Just one scrawny little thing; I knocked him out and ran to you,” she explained, helping him up once he freed himself. “Was the chair… what was the chair…?”

“They tied me to it,” Ray laughed, “told me they wanted to kill me, and I hit them with it. Probably should have let her untie it first.” 

“Maybe,” Mabel mused mockingly, only snapping out of the trance when they heard footsteps from somewhere outside. “Shit, okay, there’s probably more of them. Obviously. You: sword. Me: uh- clothes?”

“Yeah, just-” he cut himself off, gesturing loosely to the dresser where he kept the few spare outfits he’d accumulated over the years. Mabel slipped on a shirt and pants, a little too short on her but enough to do the job. The two slipped out of his room and scanned the hallway where there were no other attackers. They headed to the deck where they spotted the smaller schooner sailing alongside them and two sailors climbing from its deck to theirs. 

“Halt, both of you!” Ray shouted, sword drawn and pointed at the pair. They froze, apparently not expecting two armed enemies to be staring them down. The second figure clambered over onto the deck and drew their own sword, but didn’t move to engage yet.

“We already dealt with your friends, so just put the weapons down and we might let you go with your lives,” Mabel said, flashing a dark glare that glowed in the moonlight. They seemed to pause for a second, deliberating in silent glances before they conceded and lowered their blades to the ground. 

It almost seemed too easy, but they were amateurs after all. Confidence and determination without any skill or record to back it up like someone of real stature would. There was a reason a name like Percival could have men shivering in their boots even when the bastard was thousands of leagues away, after all… 

Ray focused back on the present and not the burning rage stewing in his gut, fixing a glare instead on the pair before them. The pair whose crew had almost murdered him, almost taken his friend, along with his crew, his family. Without a second thought, he stalked forward, drew back his rapier, and plunged it right into the neck of the attacker closest to him. He twisted the blade with a menace, watching, enraptured, as blood spurted and splattered over his face. 

After taking a final look at terror filled eyes in the darkness of the night, he kicked them in the chest and watched as they fell off of his blade to the ground, spasming and screaming silently in their last moments of life. Then he turned to the second one, a maniacal grin contorting his face.

They bent down and scrambled for their sword, but they couldn’t even grasp it before Ray’s plunged through their gut and pulled back out again with a flourish.

Then Ray stabbed him again. And again. And again.

Below him in the darkness, through his eyes, it was Percival bleeding out into a puddle and choking on the fluid that bubbled up his throat. He was dying and dying and he was dead, unmoving. He was gone, and Floyd was somewhere safe and sound like he was always supposed to be, like he always deserved to be, and everything was okay now.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, eyes wide with madness and fury as he spun to see another figure in the darkness.

“Ray? Ray, hey, it’s Mabel. Are you here? Are you with me?” Mabel spoke low, her voice shaking with something he couldn’t recognize. His breath shuddered and he peered up at her, then looked below him at the man he’d just mutilated. Unseeing, unmistakably blue eyes stared up at him underneath the wounds he’d just inflicted.

Blue eyes. Not orange. Not haunting, and intriguing, and mesmerizing. Not Percival.

“I…” Ray trailed off blankly. “I’m here. I think I’m alright I just- I don’t know what came over me…” His voice grew thick with clouded emotions, eyes tearing up in shock.

“No, listen, it’s alright. We’re gonna have to talk about this, but right now we need to keep everyone safe. That’s what you wanna do right? Keep these people from taking anyone else away from us?” 

Slowly, languidly, Ray nodded.

“Right… you’re right.”

Next part

[dewitty1]

Heart Of Silver/Heart Of Gold

lettersbyelise @lettersbyelise

Chapters: 25/25 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Andromeda Black Tonks, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Jeff the Niffler, Other Characters Additional Tags: Demon Draco Malfoy, Human Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, First Time, Angst, Enthusiastic Consent, Bathroom Sex, Mutual Masturbation, First Time Blow Jobs, Non-Penetrative Sex, Intercrural Sex, (kinda), Christmas Miracles, Happy Ending, Getting Together, Advent Calendar, Complete

Summary:

Draco Malfoy, a young demon specialising in school bullying, has lived hundreds of uneventful lives. Until his world is turned upside down by his newest assignment a few days before Christmas: to get rid of 8th year classmate Harry Potter, Defeater of Dark Lords and thorn in the side of all things evil. Trouble is, Draco’s world has been upside down for a while… ever since he started having very human feelings for a certain bespectacled Gryffindor.

Excerpt:

Harry’s cheeks were pink, the blinking fairy lights randomly highlighting his hair with pink, blue, yellow and green. His grin had turned slightly embarrassed, as it always did when he was the centre of attention for too long. Draco used to think it was false modesty. Right now, he wasn’t so sure. Now that he was starting to see Harry for who he really was... it felt like a Bludger to the face, every time, realising how utterly, how deeply good Harry was.

Draco wondered how a demon like him didn’t burst into flames just by being in Harry’s vicinity.

The first players made room for new ones, Granger, Weasley, Finnigan and Blaise this time. Draco felt someone sit next to him on a free cushion, a friendly shoulder brushing his.

“Fun game,” Harry said, very close to Draco’s ear. “You should play.”

“Not sure I’d be good at Muggle games,” Draco admitted. Harry’s face tightened. Draco, realising his mistake, backpedaled quickly. “I mean... not because they’re Muggle, obviously. I have nothing against... that.” Harry watched him silently, as if taunting him to say it, so he did. “I have nothing against it anymore. You know that... Don’t you?”

“I think I do,” Harry murmured, eyes pulled back to the loud players again. “Still think you should play, you know? You’re so... serious. So grave, all the time. You should loosen up a little.”

“I am serious because I want to be serious, Potter,” Draco muttered. He didn’t know why he was telling him this. With the surrounding noise, he was certain only Harry would hear him. “I’ve been a little shit for far too long. I’m making amends now. At least, i’m trying to.”

Harry nodded, still watching the game. “I believe you.” He canted his head to glance at Draco. There was a crooked little smile on his lips that Draco did not care for. “And if you don’t know how to relax, perhaps I should give you a hand.”

Draco froze, unable to look away from Harry, his little smile, the impish glint in his beautiful green eyes.

“I—” he said. He was humiliatingly interrupted by his own throat, contracting to swallow a gulp of air. Harry laughed.

“Hold that thought,” he said. He stood to his feet, fairy lights dangling from around his neck. He ran to his dormitory room.

Harry came back as a fourth round of Hungry Hungry Hippos was finishing, Longbottom as the winner this time. He shyly yet proudly punched the air in victory. Pansy clapped and whistled loudly.

“Oi, Harry, what ye got in there?” Finnigan greeted Harry. Harry opened his fist to show everyone its contents: a small, flat packet and a transparent plastic pouch containing what looked like dried, crushed Gillyweed. He grinned mischievously.

The Muggleborns and half-bloods in the group burst into laughter. Thomas clapped Harry on the back while Granger crossed her arms with a disapproving huff. “What? What is it?” Weasley kept asking, still sitting on the floor, pulling at the hem of her robe. “It’s Harry pretending to be cool but really being a stupid, predictable teenager,” Granger scoffed. Her admonition had the opposite of the desired effect on her boyfriend. Weasley stood to have a better look at the pouch.

“McGonagall let you in with this?” Thomas enthused. “There really is such thing as a ‘Boy Who Lived’ privilege!”

“Shove it, Thomas, or you won’t have any,” Harry laughed. “What McGonagall doesn’t know can’t get me in trouble.” He looked around. His eyes fell on Draco who was still seating where Harry had left him, too bewildered by the scene to move. “Wanna try?”

Someone moved the board games aside. Slowly, the students arranged themselves in a loose, lounging circle on the floor. Hannah Abbott brought something that looked like a large silver box riddled with buttons, opened a round compartment on top and placed a small silver disk in it before closing it with a click. Strange music started playing—definitely Muggle—and Draco tried to pay attention when he noticed Harry nodding approvingly at Abbott. The song was upbeat yet melancholy, hopeful yet happy. The singer was asking her lover to kiss her repeatedly beneath the twilight. Pretty lyrics, Draco thought. As he looked over to Harry, he thought they were quite fitting.

The lights dimmed. Harry, still wrapped in fairy lights, shone as enticingly as a Christmas present. Wouldn’t he look just perfect, surrounded by multi coloured lights, naked in Draco’s bed—

Oh, sweet Lucifer. That was new.

Draco had never allowed his mind to go there before.

And now that it had been, he couldn’t think of anything else.

Harry naked. In his bed.

He watched Harry bend over and lick a stripe along rolled-up cigarette paper, and his mouth watered.

Around the circle, a few students looked utterly at ease, as though what they were about to do was normal and not completely foreign. A few others, like Granger, appeared to be battling to keep the disapproval from their faces. The majority, though, just followed the proceedings curiously. Harry lit the tip of the cigarette with a muttered ‘Incendio’ and took the first puff, closing his eyes briefly before passing it to Thomas on his right.

He leaned on his left to murmur to Draco, “You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t even know what it is, Potter,” Draco whispered back.

Harry suppressed a giggle. “It’s a marijuana cigarette.”

Draco had never heard the term before, but he wasn’t stupid. He could read the context. As a demon, he had a knack for sensing illegal shenanigans when he saw them. He felt a little frisson of excitement mixed with circumspection at the thought.

“Drugs?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Kind of.”

“What’s kind of a drug? It either is, or it isn’t.”

“You’re right,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. Around the circle, their classmates were passing the joint around with lazy smiles. “I just meant it’s light and recreational. It helps with... relaxing, or sleeping. Among other things.”

Harry’s face was thoughtful. No innuendo of any kind here. Draco reflected on all the reasons why Harry would need help relaxing or sleeping. So he said, “I want to try.”

Harry glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Draco clasped his hands in his lap, looking at them instead of at Harry.

“You never tried it before?”

“No,” admitted Draco.

“Oh. Of course. Yeah.”

“Why would you say ‘of course’?”

“No reason!” Harry lifted his hands. “It’s just that—you’re so... upper-class and all. I assumed—” He glanced at Draco and saw something in his expression that made him stop in his tracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s okay if you’ve never done it before, or if you don’t want to do it now.”

Draco wanted to be offended—Harry seemed to think what he’d just said was insulting although Draco couldn’t fathom why—but he chose to move away from that particular attitude. After all, in the past, it had done him no good when it came to Harry.

“Will you show me?” He asked.

In the dim shine of the fairy lights, Harry’s face lit up.

“Of course.” He took the cigarette when it came back his way. He looked Draco in the eyes. Draco stood very still, his hands trembling, his whole body buzzing with the nearness of Harry. “I’m going to make it easier for you,” Harry explained. “I’m going to take a pull, and I’m going to exhale in your mouth.”

Draco felt his eyes go wide as saucers. “Beg your pardon?”

Harry looked as though he wanted to laugh, but not at Draco’s expense. “It’s... softer that way. You will still get a high, only slower. Nicer. For your first time,” he added, and Draco blushed.

Around them, a hush had fallen, as though their classmates had noticed the joint hanging from between Harry’s thumb and forefinger, his body fully angled towards Draco’s, Draco still as a bird caught in the line of vision of a snake.

Someone hooted, “Show the posh boy how to live, Harry!” and several people giggled. Harry paid them no mind. He just smiled at Draco.

He brought the cigarette to his lips.

He took a pull, his cheeks hollowing, his eyelids drooping slightly. His green eyes shone in the fairy lights, their gaze trained on Draco, insistent, unwavering.

Draco saw him lift his hand as if in slow motion, Harry’s strong, blunt fingers making contact with his jaw, the calloused tips sliding along his cheek, into his hair, fisting lightly, bringing his face closer. Harry’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and Draco angled his head, opened his mouth, and let Harry blow a cloud of grass-scented smoke into his mouth, the hint of his soft lips and his hot breath a thousand times more heady than the drug.

Around them, Draco was aware of people cheering and wolf-whistling.

With a smile just this side of smug, his eyes never leaving Draco’s, Harry pulled away, his fingers caressing Draco’s cheek as he retreated.

Draco swallowed.

With it came the smoke, and he burst into a coughing fit.

Everybody laughed. Draco was still coughing, but he didn’t care. Less than a foot away, Harry sat prettier than the Christmas tree, his gaze soft and facetious. He smiled at Draco before taking another puff of the cigarette for himself.

What a sweet irony, Draco thought, smiling at him, mind and body loose.

He was the demon, and Harry was the tempter.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Eight | On Your Own ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood, death, gun ]

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It’s two am.

And Obito is awake.

And not by choice.

Sitting at his desk with a cheek in a hand, he glowers at the wall in front of him. Not because it’s done him any offence, but because of what lies on the other side.

His neighboring apartment, for about two weeks now, has been playing host to a very fussy, very loud baby. Which has been keeping him up at all hours of the night, depending on when it feels like crying.

Needless to say, it’s been leaving him a little on edge.

Groaning, he drags his hand down his face. He has a very important appointment tomorrow, and he really doesn’t want to be losing any sleep right now. He was just finalizing his plans when the crying started, and now he feels his temper about to snap.

Can’t they shut that thing up?!

Growling as the decibels go up a notch, the pencil in his hand cracks and he stands with such abruptness that his chair nearly clatters over. Enough. He can’t take it anymore. He’s going to go over there and tell these people that they either shut that baby up, or he’ll do it himself.

Permanently.

Obito is, after all, no stranger to death. Having given up on schooling when a life-shattering accident left him too far behind to catch up, he turned to what began as petty crime to get by. And now? He’s barely into his twenties and already an infamous name in the city’s underground as a talented (and therefore expensive) hitman.

...in all reality, of course, he’s not going to hurt a baby. But by God he’s going to make them think he would if it will get him some Goddamn peace and quiet.

Wrenching open his door, he turns to face the proper direction, strutting up and pounding on the next door down. At least he always looks plenty intimidating. Hopefully it won’t take long to scare these idiots into -

He can hear the scrapes of the locks, and he puffs up as the knob turns, the door swinging open to reveal...a girl?

Good grief, is she even an adult?

Her face is pinched with exhaustion and worry, dark shadows under her pale eyes, and...wow, pale everything else. For a moment Obito’s almost convinced she’s a ghost haunting this apartment rather than living in it. But in her arms, still wailing like a banshee, is the baby.

“...uh…”

Suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. He wasn’t expecting...well, any of this.

But she clearly knows why he’s here.

“I...I’m so sorry,” she offers, voice a bit emphasized to be heard over the babe’s cries. “I’m trying to get her to calm down, I just...I think she’s colicky and she won’t settle. I’m so, so sorry…”

Obito just...blinks. Wait, is…? “...are you here alone?”

Immediately, the question - out of context - makes her stiffen.

He backpedals, hands lifting in defense. “I...I don’t mean like -? I mean...do you not have, uh...anyone else to...to help you?”

Oh no. He’s flipped a switch. As soon as he finishes his inquiry, her lip starts trembling, eyes brimming with tears.

He hates when girls cry…!

Lifting her spare arm, she tries to wipe them away, clinging to her composure by a thread. “N...no...I-I don’t.”

“Where’s the, uh...dad?”

She glances aside, looking ashamed. “...off to college. He didn’t….h-he didn’t want anything getting in the way of his...e-education. So he had his parents give me some money, and...here I am. But it’s already going so fast, and I...I don’t have anywhere else to go. This was the c-cheapest apartment I could find, but...I can’t find a job with her, there’s n-no one who can watch her, so I...I’ve just been sitting here trying to figure out w-what to do…”

Greys lift back to his face. “...I know she’s been d-driving everyone nuts. But she just keeps getting colicky and I don’t know why. I’m really sorry if she’s been keeping you awake. I’ll...I’ll try to get her to bed.”

Obito just...stares. So some jackass knocks her up...and then leaves her to her fate? Throws a little cash at her and calls it good?! What the fuck is wrong with this guy?! “...not to be, uh...creepy. But are you…? Have you graduated?”

“Yes...just last month. She came along two weeks later. I b-barely made it through my last year.”

“...and he’s off scot free, is he?”

“He -!” She hesitates. “...he’s...he already had a full ride. He’s really smart, and -!”

“I don’t give a fuck how smart he is,” Obito cuts in, making her jump. “He’s clearly trash if he did this to you. Fucking prick.”

Looking unsure at his volatile language, she doesn’t have a reply.

“...so you really don’t have anyone else you can ask for help?”

Her posture wilts. “...no. I was in, um...foster care. And my foster parents weren’t...the best. My dad was absent and my mom died when I was little. No other relatives that I know of, so...it’s just me.”

Sighing, Obito rubs at the back of his neck. He already knows what rent is here: it’s cheap, but still too much for anyone without a job. She’s been here two weeks...so rent’s due in another two.

In truth, the only reason Obito sticks around here is because it’s low profile. He has enough cash to upgrade, but staying low works well for him.

This whole situation isn’t sitting right with him...and something about her reminds him of...someone else.

“...first thing’s first. You need a babysitter. Or a...a nanny. Whatever it’s called.”

She blinks. “...but -?”

“Then you can start looking for a job. Odds are you won’t find anything that pays too well. You have a car?”

“N...no -?”

“Then either something within walking distance, or you commute by bus. Or there’s always the kind of job women get in a neighborhood like this, but,” he amends at her offended look, “that’s not...preferable.”

“...I don’t have any money for a -”

“I’ll cover it.”

Her face goes slack in shock, eyes wide.

“...consider it an investment,” he adds, glancing aside to avoid her gaze. “You get this kid on a schedule and get yourself on one too, maybe I won’t be losing so much sleep. My job pays well, and I don’t have much to spend it on, anyway. You need to get a foot in the door. And I know what it is to have no one to lean on.”

Clearly still unable to process his words, she just...stares at him, mouth slightly agape.

“...I’m Obito, by the way.”

“...Ryū…”

“And who’s this?”

She blinks several times before looking down to her baby. By now, she’s settled to a series of whines and half-sobs. “...Amaya.”

“Well Amaya, you’ve been a pain in my ass for two weeks,” Obito offers, hands on his hips and leaning toward the infant. Dark grey eyes - squinted shut as she cries - open as his talking distracts her, drawing her gaze. “So let’s do something about it, hm? Maybe then we can be friends.”

Seemingly entranced, Amaya stares up at him, suddenly quiet.

Both adults go still.

“...um…” Ryū seems at a bit of a loss. “...I think she likes you.”

Obito, staring back at the baby, looks equally confused. “...usually I frighten babies,” he admits, straightening his posture. “With the whole…” He gestures to his face.

“Well, it seems she doesn’t mind,” Ryū counters, managing a tired smile as Amaya sucks on a thumb. “Maybe I can finally put her down for bed…”

“And then I can do the same,” Obito agrees, loosely folding his arms. “I have work tomorrow, but...we’ll talk when I get back.”

“Do you…?”

“Hm?”

Ryū hesitates. “You...you don’t have to do this...I mean, we don’t -?”

“I told you, I have the money. And I need the sleep. Once you get a leg up, you’ll be fine. Not your fault you were dumped here without any help.”

Her expression wilts, and he prays she isn’t going to cry again. “I’ll...I’ll make it up to you! Do you need, um...anything? I could cook, o-or clean! I handled most of all that growing up, so I’m good at it!”

Obito blinks. He...hadn’t considered that. In truth he doesn’t need much cleaning, he’s pretty tidy (and not home much to make a mess anyway). Cooking, on the other hand…

Maybe that can be where they start.

“...all right. We’ll begin there. You can be my, er…” What’s the term?

“Housekeeper…?” Ryū supplies.

“Yes! That way there’s no commute, no fuss...and you can bring her with you, hm?” He gestures to Amaya.

Ryū brightens, looking at him like he just pulled her out of a burning building. “I...o-okay! Um…” She looks around, seeming a bit overwhelmed at the sudden plans. “...should I...wait until you get back tomorrow?”

“Yes. I need to, er...plan how this will work.” And by that he means making sure she doesn’t stumble upon anything...compromising in his apartment, like his selection of weapons and files on his targets.

That would be...unfortunate.

A wide smile blooms across her face. “All right then! I’ll just...wait to hear from you. And…” Her demeanor softens again. “...thank you. You have...no idea what this means to me. To us.”

A bit awkward at the praise, Obito looks aside and clears his throat. “Er...you’re welcome. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The door closes, and Obito mulls over the entire conversation. Not...what he had in mind, but maybe this will work.

...he knows what it is to be left without anywhere to turn, anyone to lean on. But even then, he didn’t have a baby to worry about on top of it all. Poor girl.

...he shouldn’t call her girl. She’s an adult, only three years younger than himself. But...well, he’s aged a lot mentally in his lifestyle. And clearly she’s just getting started. A level one adult, while he feels like he’s at least level fifty after all he’s had to go through.

Sighing, he relishes in the silence as he heads back to his apartment, needing hardly any time to collapse into bed and find sleep.

Come morning...it’s time to get to work.

Going over his target’s file and the plan he’s made to get the job done, Obito packs his sniper rifle and heads out. Dressed in a suit and putting on an air of confidence, he walks right into a private office building and makes his way to a top floor. It’s currently empty, as well as several floors below it, in preparation of new clients.

The perfect opportunity, as his target works just across the street on the same level. He’ll have a shot, and some room to work (and hopefully go unnoticed enough to get out without being caught). Setting up the tripod, he cuts the glass of a window to give the bullet less to travel through, assembling the weapon and awaiting the proper moment.

Settled at the scope, he watches as the executive he’s been paid to off heads into his office, taking a phone call.

All alone.

Adjusting the crosshair to account for the wind, Obito takes a steadying breath, holds it...and fires.

A splatter of red blooms along the wall behind his target, body immediately limp.

Perfect.

Practiced hands then quickly disassemble the gun, getting it back into its case and making his way to the elevator.

By the time anyone heads up to investigate the noise, he’s already heading back out the door. A call to his burner phone confirms the kill, and the wiring of the funds to his account.

All in all, he’s only gone an hour.

Back in his apartment, he finds it’s still quiet. Seems Ryū and Amaya are having a good morning. Changing his clothes and stashing his gun, he then goes about readying his apartment for his guest.

Well...guests, he supposes.

He does have a gun safe, and all of his supplies fit within it. And a locked file cabinet holds all of his research and client information. He highly doubts Ryū’s the type to even begin sneaking around, let alone be able to get past the locks he has in place.

He’s ready.

Heading back to her door, he knocks and awaits an answer. Though still looking exhausted, Ryū appears a bit more perky today than she did yesterday. Maybe she also got some sleep.

“Good morning!”

“Morning. Should we, er...give this a try?”

Nodding, Ryū packs Amaya into a carrier, heading the few steps down the hall and into Obito’s apartment. A few glances show it’s...rather Spartan, with hardly any personal effects, or...even mess.

...does he really need her to -?

“So, uh…” Obito itches at the rear of his neck, trying to think. “I know there’s not much to be cleaned, but...it’s lacking in other ways. I don't go grocery shopping much. I tend to order food rather than cook myself. It’s expensive.”

Ryū blinks. He did say he had the money, though…

“It’s also not healthy. And my money goes to a better place this way anyway,” he adds, seemingly reading her thoughts. “So it’s a win several times over. Now we just need to, er...figure out how this will work.”

“Do you...work regular hours?” she asks, setting Amaya down.

“Not really. I’m a contract worker,” Obito replies, having perfected that lie long ago. “I get a call, I go in. Otherwise I tend to jump about doing other things. I’m at the gym a good bit.” Mostly to keep in shape for his work, but also to help keep his mangled body as limber as he can manage. That and the physical effort keeps him from thinking too much. “So usually I’m not home much anyway.”

Ryū curls a thoughtful hand against her mouth. “...well, I guess I could start with a time in the morning to get breakfast out of the way for you, and then...if you’re gone all day, fix lunches to take with you…? And I can work on other tasks while you’re gone, and have supper ready by a set time, or...you can call if you’re going to be late.”

Obito blinks. That...seems pretty simple. “Sure. I’ll get a new card to leave with you so you can pick up whatever you need. Pretty sure you know what you’re doing.”

“B-but -?”

“Hm?”

She hesitates. “...that’s...putting a lot of trust in me, isn’t it?”

“True. But if you mess up, I’ll just fire you,” he replies blithely. “I think you know better than to try anything.”

“I...I guess so. I guess I’m just not used to anyone, um...trusting me that much,” she admits.

“Well, you’re trusting me, in turn. I could be a total creep tricking you into all of this for other gains,” Obito counters as he folds his arms, seeing her jolt slightly. “...but I’m not. So we’re even in that regard, hm?”

“...seems that way.”

Glancing to a clock, Obito sighs. “...well, how should we start? Now? Tomorrow? Or -?”

“I can start today!” Ryū chirps in reply. “...that is, if you want me to.”

“Sure. Though I’ll need time to get the card, and another key…” He hums to himself, rubbing at his chin. “...I’ll do that today. Then you can really get started tomorrow. For now,” he adds, reaching into his pocket to fetch his wallet and handing her a wad of cash that makes her eyes go wide. “Go get whatever you want for the week.”

“O...okay. Um…” She looks back up to him. “Any...allergies, or dislikes…? Things I should avoid?”

He waves a hand. “Not really. So long as there’s no szechuan, I’ll be fine.”

To his surprise, she snorts. “Well, all right then.”

“We’ll go get the spare made first, then you can get going, and I’ll head to the bank. You’ll probably be back first.”

“Okay. What time should I plan for dinner to be ready?”

“I’m usually back by six.” A pause, and then, “Do you have a phone?”

“I do!”

He exchanges their numbers. “I’ll call if something comes up.”

From there, they both head out, a keymaker a few blocks away. Ryū totes along Amaya, who stays relatively quiet for the trip. Once she has her spare key, she scoots off to find groceries.

And Obito heads to the bank.

The card is simple enough, and will make anything else she has to get down the road a lot simpler. That way Ryū can just attend to any business without having to ask him about it every time.

From there, he decides to take some time at the gym until the end of the day. It’ll help him think, and blow off some steam. Especially since he actually has energy from a full night’s rest for the first time in...well, since Ryū moved in, really. As he pushes his body to its limits, he mulls over the situation as a whole. He’s sure this is going to work. Just...get her going. Make sure she has a kind of...foundation to go off of.

More than he was granted, since he’s able to pay his fortune forward.

Once the time for dinner starts rolling around, he walks back, the cool evening air wicking the sweat along his skin. He always prefers to shower at home...you never know what’s lurking in the public ones.

He’s seen some things.

One elevator ride later, he comes up to his door, finding it locked and slipping in his key.

As soon as he does, he pauses.

The kitchen is directly across from the entryway, and it’s...occupied for once. Hair tied up in a messy bun, Ryū scurries back and forth, juggling a few pans and something in the oven. A menagerie of smells actually makes Obito’s stomach whine petulantly in hunger. It’s clear she’s done some actual cleaning, too - while he doesn’t leave things lying around, he can’t remember the last time he dusted. A window is open, letting in fresh air and leaving the apartment smelling far better than its usual musty scent.

While the appearance isn’t that different, the feeling is...like another world. And not just the apartment...it’s clear Ryū is feeling a lot better, too.

It’s all so oddly...domestic.

After he stares for a solid thirty seconds, she notices him, perking up. “Oh!” Turning to the oven’s clock, she sees that it reads a quarter to six. “I’m almost done!”

“...that’s fine,” Obito manages to reply, finding his head. “I...need a shower, anyway.”

“Okay!”

Moving to the bathroom, Obito does just that, emerging and dressing in his typical evening lounge wear of sweatpants and a tank top. Peering back out, he finds the kitchen empty, food left to keep warm.

Instead, Ryū is on the couch.

She’s...asleep?

Head slightly tilted, her mouth is a bit agape, breathing softly. And atop her chest, also asleep (and clearly having just been fed), is Amaya.

In spite of himself, Obito’s face goes a bit warm at the sight, averting. He...can’t see anything from here (the baby is covering anything...lewd), but her shirt is still very clearly tugged to one side.

...seems she tuckered herself out. But the dark circles are starting to fade. Apparently she’s already making up her rest deficit. And while she’s clearly tired, it’s more of an...accomplished tired than ‘up with the baby all night’ tired.

In spite of himself, Obito feels his lips twitch. She really is cute, what with her demure demeanor. But...she’s also pretty plucky, trying to make this all work on her own. Part of him can’t help but admire that. She’s pretty tough despite her fragile appearance.

...okay, he’s...thinking about this too much. And they both need to eat something.

Not wanting to be rude, he sheepishly approaches, carefully jostling Ryū’s shoulder to wake her.

“...huh…?”

“You, uh...fell asleep. Hungry?”

Blinking a bit blearily, Ryū stares at him for a moment before stiffening, realizing her position. “Oh -!” She (very carefully) scrambles to adjust her outfit, not wanting to wake the infant. “I...I’m sorry -”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not the only one that needs to eat around here,” he tries to joke, lips flickering into a sheepish smile.

Still, her face is quite warm, carefully tucking Amaya back into her carrier to nap. “I, um...I hope dinner’s okay?”

“If it’s half as good as it smells, it’ll be more than fine.” Heading to the kitchen, he pauses, noticing she’s not following. “...coming?”

Her brow furrows. “...but -?”

“You made it, you get to eat it. Just...get over here.”

Blinking, Ryū does as asked, skittering across the apartment and taking a nervous seat opposite Obito at his little table.

An awkward silence blooms, each of them taking a bite.

Obito, however, quickly perks up. “...this is really good!” he offers after swallowing. “You take lessons?”

“Um, no...just...consulted the internet a lot growing up,” she admits, looking shy at the praise. “And...a lot of practice.”

“Consider yourself a permanent hire,” Obito adds, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

A bit pink, Ryū nonetheless brightens at his words, giggling a little and taking another bite herself.

Maybe this is going to work, after all.

     Ohhhhhhh my gods this is late, but I’m been SWAMPED irl and just...really burnt out, so I kinda...took a week break BUT I’ve been working on things! I had another prompt for today but it kinda got...out of hand SO I did this in the meantime!      I think it’s super cute ;w; Single parent AUs are just! really cute. I almost went with Obito being the parent (maybe I’ll do that another time lmao) but this just felt easier to do for a quicker one xD      THREE MORE TO GO and one has a prompt already, I might tweak the other two. I need shorter ideas so I can get them done I’m so behind, I’m a bad u_u But at least there’s this for today, we’ll see how tomorrow goes! Thanks for reading~

[mawritesbnha]

Thank you so much!! :D And I'm really sorry about that anon... I hope it won't happen again! Sooo most to least likely to: ask you to marry them! I don't know if you have a character limit? You can put as many as you want or just your faves! Anything's fine for me really!

Sorry I know I said I wanted to try most to least likely… but I kept changing the order and was overall unhappy with it… So this became a Likely vs Unlikely or a Would vs Would not kinda thing… Also I tried to put as many characters as I could, but please my darlings it’s better when you tell me who you’d like, otherwise I’m lost. I didn’t go into too much details but if you’d like to know more as to why a character is in a certain category feel free to send in a specific hc ask!

That was still a lot of fun, I really like this concept so if you’ve got more like this my pretties send them in!

Smoochies from Ma!

Would they ask you to marry them?

Yes

- Izuku: he’s so focused on hero work it’s gonna take him a while to realise he wants to do it, but he will eventually, a lot of rambling will be involved

- Shoto: again that poor boy didn’t have a great example growing up… but after years of being in a relationship with you, he finally trusts himself enough, he’s confident that you can build something even more beautiful together, gives you a little speech before asking, and if you say yes he’d love for you to come with him to tell his mother the news

- Hanta: you’ve talked about it before, but he wants to keep it a surprise so he’ll ask when you’ve forgotten about it, really sweet and romantic

- Denki: you can see it coming from a mile away, might have actually seen the ring already cause he’s terrible at hiding things from you and in general, adorable but a nervous wreck

- Eijiro: it’s the manly thing to do! actually he might have gotten the idea from someone else cause sharky bb is a bit of an airhead at times, but he’s really excited about it

- Mashirao: you had a feeling he wanted to ask you something important, but not that important, goes about it in a very traditional and romantic way, probably over diner

- Tenya: even more traditional, asks your parents for their blessing first, I’m not sure if he’d ask in public, I think he’d keep it private, his proposal sounds like a business deal offer… but if you say yes all that robot front is gonna melt away and this dork might laugh out of sheer happinness and spin you around

- Fumikage: reaallyy self-conscious… many times he backpedals at the last moment… until Dark Shadow lends an unexpected hand

- Ochaco: look it took her a while to admit she had a crush on you but ever since you’ve gotten together she’s been really forward, that girl ain’t wasting anymore time, she knows what she wants

- Yuga: prepare for a very pompous, public proposal with the shiniest diamond ever… or none at all cause nothing shines brighter than your future groom and his love for you

- Momo: she mulls it over for a while and when she asks she doesn’t really, it’s more like she brings up the idea of marriage to see your reaction and then timidly wonder if you’d want her as your wife

- Tsuyu: she wants a family with you, that’s the next step in her book, a bit shy about it though but straight to the point as always

- Mina: she was actually waiting for you to do it but grew too impatient and ended up blurting out her proposal at the oddest of time and sounding vaguely annoyed/offended she had to do it herself before getting really flustered

- Rikido: hides the ring in the cake he baked for you, has a hard time explaining why he looks so horrified when you finish it all up without noticing anything

- Koji: you might despair and ask yourself first cause it’s gonna take him the longest time to feel confident enough to ask you, but he’d come up with something so precious involving your favourite animals you’d do well to wait

- Itsuka: she doesn’t need it, but she likes the idea so if she feels like you both might be on the same page she’d bring it up but more like in a conversation rather than just popping the question

- Neito: is he serious? haha who knows! come on yes he is and he’s waiting for an answer, he loves you so much he wants to make it official and be able to brag about it, wants to do a public proposal and tries to act confident but he’s terrified you’ll reject him

- Mirio: if someone pointed out that you already look and act like a married couple he’d get really excited and probably turn to you all smile “let’s get married Y/N!”, but depending on your reaction then he might apologise later on and propose in a more serious way

- Neijire: doesn’t realise it’s that big of a deal and doesn’t exactly asks too, you were probably just watching some wedding show and she mused “we should do it too” or when walking in front of a wedding dress shop “oohh that’s the one I want”… like if you ask her if she seriously wants to get married she’ll go “eehh? we’re not???”

- Tamaki: oh boy… swears he’s gonna ask you and look you in the eyes while doing so even if it kills him but that might actually happen… he’s gotten really comfortable around you over the years but some things are still… too much

- Yo: if you’ve gotten to the point where he wants to marry you… you’ve gotten through a lot, and this boy must have been a huge pain… actually you might have been fed up with him one day and threaten to end things, expecting him to close himself off as usual and wish you farewell then… but no, he proposes. yeah, not a great timing

- Natsuo: such a good boy, so sweet, promises to always provide and care for you, and vows to himself to not be like his dad (as if you could ever be sweetie)

- Himiko: asks soon after you’ve gotten together, thinks about becoming your knife wife almost as much as drinking your blood

- Hizashi: he won’t yell his proposal… but he sure as hell is gonna scream his happiness if you say yes (everyone’s ears are not thanking you)

- Nemuri: thought she’d never settle down? wrong! if you can see past her sexual appeal while still appreciating it she ain’t letting you off the hook

- Jin: surprised? I don’t think he’d consider it if you weren’t part of the league or if the boss was against it for whatever reason though, but it’d make him very happy to marry you

No

- Hitoshi: he doesn’t really care for marriage, but depending on how you present the idea to him he’d agree to it and might even look forward to it

- Katsuki: doesn’t see the point, you’re already partners for life, what’s the big fuss about? he’d be hard to convince, but the more territorial side of him might be swayed, he wouldn’t want any “mushy stuff” though

- Dabi: too bad his very good friend Toya would’ve asked! marriage doesn’t sound good to him for many reasons, you can’t sway him

- Tomura: finds the idea a bit… odd? that kind of “like most people” stuff isn’t for him honestly… but you’re his player 2, that’s better, right?

- Hawks: I don’t think that’s what he’s looking for

- Kyoka: she wants to, but can’t work up the courage

- Mezo: he never gave marriage much thought so you’d have to bring it up, he wants to make you happy and if that’s what you want he’ll ask, but yeah not spontaneously

- Toru: she’s waiting for you to ask her

- Ibara: same I don’t see her being too forward in a relationship, but might prefer it if you actually just talk about it together instead of a big proposal

- Tetsutetsu: he… didn’t… think about it… and if someone else brings it up he’s gonna be mad at himself for not coming up with that one on his own and won’t ask cause he’s too busy pouting

- Fuyumi: sadly I hc her to think that’s not really her choice to make

- Shota: he’s a bit whatever about it, as long as you too are together he doesn’t care about formalities, he’d enjoy a sober wedding if you want one, and please don’t let Hizashi make a speech he’s begging you

- Toshinori: that poor man is dying to marry you, but it’d be like putting a target on your back and his biggest fear is losing you or seeing you hurt… keeping it a secret might be an option but I’m not sure he’d take that risk

[lucadina]

Enigma Girl (2)

Rating: T

Pairing: Eren x Annie

You can read the first part here!

Supper is a predictable occurrence. And kind of gross, sometimes. 

The food isn't normally good, nor is it bad. Tonight, however, the main dish may resemble a rendition of the usual potato stew, but might as well be pig slop. That's what happens when the instructors think it's a good idea to assign Connie and Sasha to the same kitchen duty schedule. Eren raises his spoon to his nose, takes a whiff of the greyish-red pudding thing he's scooped up, and tries not to retch. He sets the spoon back down.

'This is disgusting,' Mikasa says bluntly.

Too chicken to agree, Armin opts instead to placate the situation, 'Haha... Well, we've got to eat, since it's another rough day tomorrow.'

Eren remains silent. He's thinking about Annie. Specifically, he's mulling over their encounter earlier in the day, at the forest during hand-to-hand combat training.

Why did he follow her? Was it really an attempt at friendship? No, he's not that pure. Truthfully, he doesn't really know why he’s relentlessly chasing after her. It’s his choice and yet, without so much as an utterance of a word from her, he feels spellbound, like she had beckoned him to year for her - like a fish swimming towards a lure. Not that he regrets it. When she was on top of him, her lips upon his wrist, teeth merely a breath away from his skin; he thinks that moment is a fond memory, one he replays over and over in his head. Weird, considering how Annie is singularly the most terrifying woman he's ever met.

And he's seen some odd ladies crawling the streets at night, none of which have ever struck him as sexy.

Wait. Stop. Not that Annie's—

Going red in the face, Eren chokes on a cry. Mikasa is quick to pat his back and ask what's wrong, but he only brushes her off and hangs his head in shame.

Reiner, who's decided to invite himself and Bertholdt to join Eren's group for dinner and is seated across the table from said suicidal blockhead, has a burning question at the back of his mind. He just doesn't know how to bring it up. Really, a more appropriate setting to do so would be in a few hours at the boys' barracks. But Reiner is a nosy little weasel in bear's clothing who revels in drama (particularly when it relates to a that blonde bitch) and he can't take the suspense any longer.

'Eren, is something going on between you and Annie?'

Every single pair of eyes in the room fly to Reiner.

Even Annie's, if only momentarily.

'What?!' Eren doesn't mean to come across so incredulously, as though the possibility of him harbouring romantic feelings for said girl is preposterous, because he actually might like her but wow— he's never been into girls except the imaginary one with a killer bod that lives in his head and hold on; this is a bold question, even for the outspoken Reiner.

'R-Reiner, please...' Bertholdt clears his throat, throwing a quick glance at the woman they're presently chatting about. Annie’ who's seated three tables over, is unfazed. She simply stares disinterestedly at her untouched meal, 'I don't think Eren wants to talk about that. Let's just enjoy our dinner...'

'Oh, come on. It's just a question.'

'You are the only person she pairs with during combat training.' Armin wonders aloud before backpedaling because Mikasa's glare is that terrifying, 'But of course, it's not practical to get involved romantically with someone, considering we're here to become soldiers.'

Eren frowns, 'Soldiers can have wives. I'd like one eventually.'

'You'd like to wife up Annie?' Reiner wiggles his eyebrows.

'Well, I think Eren's uncomfortable, so we should really move on!' Bertholdt clucks, slapping a palm on Reiner's back with enough force to squash a small animal. Against Reiner's build, it barely registers as a friendly handshake, 'Right?!'

'I'm not uncomfortable,' he bluffs, 'Besides,' a pause to swallow a spoonful of his shit-stew even though it makes him want to gag (he's trying to make a point that he's committed to what he's about to say), 'You guys are seriously making a big deal out of nothing. Annie and I just spar sometimes.'

'Oh, come on,' Reiner snorts, 'I wouldn't blame ya, Eren. I know she's a soulless prune, but she has a nice-'

Mikasa interjects, 'Eren still hasn't eaten. 'You're distracting him.'

It's too late. Eren's offended, for a few reasons. Interestingly enough, that last, unfinished remark regarding Annie's derriere sours him. Annie probably heard that. Did she expect him to defend her modesty? No— she'd probably kick him between his legs and mutter something like I don't need a man to defend me, especially not a boy like you, Yeager! It'll just piss them both off if he says anything.

So much for convincing her that he's interested in who she is as a person, as a human, and not just as a mentor. He can't keep on pretending like he isn't hurt by her, especially after what she pulled in the woods today.

'I don't want to talk about this anymore,' Eren's eyes darken as he gets to his feet, then walks out of the hall.

Mikasa follows him out. So does Armin.

Bertholdt scolds Reiner for his insensitivity.

Everyone else resumes their supper.

Minus Annie, who seethes in silence.

Soulless prune?

Soulless prune?!

Reiner's never been her favourite person, but he's officially on her list. That list. A list that has her preoccupied with thoughts of making Reiner disappear for the next hour of dinner. Before she thinks herself up into actually applying her imagination to reality, Mina interrupts: 'Hey...' she tries to whisper, but she's too loud anyway, 'What's up with you and Yeager?'

Annie shrugs. She bites into her bread, hoping that no one else will start a conversation with her if she's got food in her mouth.

Her plan doesn't work.

Stupid teenage girls; they're unrelenting, and it isn't just Mina anymore either. Now Hannah and Moira and Laura (Annie's guessing their names, they've never spoken to her prior to now) have started shooting questions her way despite not getting a single answer. Perhaps they assume that she'll cave in to their persistence at some point.

'Do you two hang out outside of training?'

'Who made the first move?'

'Do you like him?'

'I'm eating,' Annie snaps— that last question had cut her somewhere deep.

The girls go quiet. Still, they've won: Bingo! Mina shoots Hannah a playful smirk. There's a silent understanding; can't wait to giggle about this later!

The rest of the mess hall reverts back to its usual mild chatter. Jean's bitching about Eren somewhere to the far right, by the door. Marco's trying to calm him down. On the table over, Reiner's giving a speech about how romance is fun, but should be approached with caution since the life they all lead is that of a soldier's.

'Dangerous and unpredictable,' Reiner beams loudly, 'So we should make smart choices. You know— ones we won't regret later.'

Annie scoffs to herself. She knows that he's stupidly aimed that comment at her, which only serves to amplify the murderous intent she already feels towards him. But she'll play it cool, for now. No point in blowing a gasket. She tries to finish the rest of her bread, but only gets to half of it before she drops it onto her cold stew.

The bells chime, signalling the end of the hour.

Annie doesn't immediately get up. She's tired.

Reiner and Bertholdt pass her. The latter's always concerned about her, and this time is no exception, 'You didn't eat much,' he observes meekly. He looks like he wants to say something else, but is intercepted by his fellow warrior.

'It's useless,' Reiner shoots Annie a dark look, 'She never did learn not to play with her food.'

.......................................................................................

Eren doesn't spar with Annie for a month.

Four weeks.

Thirty-one days.

Whatever; she's anxious about it by the time the cold weather rolls in. It's snowing outside, and will probably continue to for the rest of the season. Apparently, in this side of the world, hotter summers bleed into biting winters. Consequently, hand-to-hand combat training is suspended until further notice. The instructors don't want any of the cadets dying on them, after all. Not when the militia is in desperate need of bodies.

Of course, this all means that Annie has absolutely no excuse to interact with Eren.

It's not like he approaches her anymore, not after that fiasco in the forest.

She expected him to put distance. Pushing people away is instinctual for her. But it was even easier to commit to dismissing Eren because his passion frightens her. He's special; so human, but in a way that is foreign to her. Unlike herself, who bends weakly to the will of unknown forces, Eren charges straight into the fray without a second thought. He's defiant, beautifully so, like a single, bright flame flickering a brilliant orange amidst the ice.

Maybe Annie's a little jealous of him.

Maybe she misses him.

Maybe.

'Hey,' she greets him curtly once as they pass each other before roll call.

Eren offers a small, hollow smile. Beyond that, he doesn't say anything and speeds past her.

Annie's surprised by how much his indifference hurts her.

.......................................................................................

There's something that hurts a little more, and Annie deems herself selfish for allowing herself to be stung in the first place.

Eren's a happy person. Despite his history, he's happy.

She observes this in the sparks that go off in his eyes before the instructors introduce a new training course or when he succeeds in what he's previously failed at. He's equally energetic when he's smashing his fist onto Jean's ribs, only to get beaten up right back and whisked away by Mikasa a minute later. That older sister figure of his, together with Armin, scold and console Eren in that order after each of his episodes. Then, the very next day, Eren's got another goofy grin on his face and is ready to fight another day.

He's seen the Titans. Yet, he braves this danger. He dedicates his life, even if it's insignificant relative to the rest of the militia.

He has an unwavering sense of purpose, and because of this, he can be happy.

He knows who he is.

She does not.

'Stare at him any longer and you might as well be eating him instead of your dinner, Leonhart.' Ymir mutters under her breath.

Annie blinks, snapping out of her stupor. She didn't even realise that her gaze has been glued to Eren until now. Aware that a blush blooms across her cheeks, she directs her attention to her untouched bean soup. Is it bean? It's green, with yellow blotches at the sides where the oil separates. Disgusting. She can't do this. But she has to, or she'll be forced to endure another grilling from the girls.

'If you're so into him, why not just go for it?' Ymir continues, nudging her seat-mate with an elbow. Annie's at least thankful that the taller woman is trying to keep her inquiries discreet. The others haven't caught onto their topic. Not even Krista, who's chatting away to the rest of the table about whatever because it doesn't really matter and they all just want an excuse to admire her. 'Leonhart,' Ymir presses while the others are distracted, 'What's stopping you?'

Annie swirls her soup with a spoon, 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'I think he likes you.'

'Well, he shouldn't.'

.......................................................................................

This afternoon, Annie's assigned to do meal prep.

She actually likes to do the cooking because she's a) usually paired with someone too scared to bother her with conversation, and b) it's quiet in the kitchen, away from the hooligans letting loose after a rough day of training. Actually, she seems to have an extra stroke of luck today considering that she's been working for half an hour and yet, no one's joined her. Perhaps she's been tasked to do this all alone, which isn't so bad. She can get it done.

Winter is dogged. Annie doesn't recall experiencing anything quite like it. It's as if the earth itself is rebelling, screaming something like wake up, you fools! There are traitors amongst you!

Annie considers herself.

She's not a good person, but she'd like to believe that she's still a person.

'Hey.'

Annie's heart skips a beat. She recognises that voice, and the familiarity sets off a thrill in her gut that's uncharacteristic of her. Too flustered to even think to put the potato she's been working on down onto the table, she turns on her heel. Potato in her hand and all.

To Eren, it's a strange sight. This strong girl who's given him a hundred bruises and two broken ribs looks harmless in an apron. Domesticated, even. It's not just the fact that she's cooking or that she's dressed for the part; her crystalline-blue eyes are wide, frightened and sparkling with anticipation, like she's seen a friendly ghost. Except they're not friends, so she has no business wearing that expression on her face.

'Sorry I'm late,' he grumbles and reaches for another apron hanging on the hook of the door. He's clearly avoiding her. His back faces her, and his eyes focus on the furthest thing from her body: the empty pot where the stew of the night is supposed to boil in. He busies himself with it. Takes it to the sink, starts scrubbing at the metal. Anything to keep from having to walk over to her.

Disappointed, Annie resumes her potato peeling. Well, more like hacking. She's lopping off the skin in jagged, reckless strokes of a knife. She's bothered by the wordless grudge of a stupid teenage boy who can't lower his fists. What’s worse is she can't even control this feeling she has; of guilt and desire, of a need so tempting that she feels it in her chest now despite having her interest rebuffed by Eren Yeager of all people.

Fifteen minutes pass. Annie knows because she's counting the seconds in her head. She has to, or she won't be able to keep herself calm enough to stop herself from kicking her companion to the ground.

She supposes it won't matter because it'll all be recut into chunks for the stew soon anyway.

Wrong.

Keith Shadis enters, whipping the door open with so much force that the knob hits a wall. His attention immediately flies to Eren, who's started filling the pot with water. As much as Shadis is looking forward to this particular subordinate's next ass-kicking, he can't very well punish without crime, can he? This shred of dignity in the instructor's heart saves Eren, who gulps a hard lump at his throat because he absolutely cannot afford to screw up in front of this guy.

Annie is another story.

'Leonhart, you brainless roach!' Shadis bellows, eyeballs threatening to bulge out of his sockets as he stares pointedly at the naked potato in her hands, 'What the hell is that?!'

She stiffens.

Shit.

She doesn't know what to do, so does nothing.

'Leonhart! You're supposed to skin the potatoes, not maul them! What the hell is this-' Shadis unceremoniously reaches into the wastebin next to her. He grasps the skins she's discarded, brings it up to her face, 'You've taken off the actual meat of it too!'

It's true. She didn't do it properly because she was pissed at Eren and needed to take it out on something.

Annie inhales sharply - she fucked up, can't get out of this one.

'Do you think we can afford to waste food around here, cadet? Do you?!'

'No, Sir.'

'Then do it right! Or I'll have you skip out on kitchen duty altogether and have you scrubbing toilets instead!'

Miraculously, he does not headbutt her. He doesn't so much as touch her, really. Just marches back out as quickly as he'd come, a dozen deep lines expressing his vexation. Although that has less to do with Annie, and more to do with the frustration he feels that he can't psychologically castrate Eren today.

The door slams shut. Annie stares at it, as though she doesn't know how to proceed after what just transpired. It's clear to Eren, who's spent over a decade familiarising himself with Mikasa's cryptic social processing, that Annie is affected by the verbal beating she's received. He can't imagine that she'd take too kindly to being called brainless, let alone a roach, no matter how cooly she tries to play it off.

Sighing, he drops his pot and makes his way over to her. She doesn't react until he takes the knife away from her, to which she flinches.

'Look,' he whispers as he slowly reaches over her side for another potato, careful not to impose on her space with his voice or body, 'You're supposed to do it like this,' he angles the potato diagonally with one hand, presses the thumb of his other onto the straight edge of the knife so that it picks up just a the tiniest bit of the brown skin, which then easily lifts. Thereafter, he secures it with the tip of the knife and gracefully starts to peel.

Annie tilts her head. 'Ah... You're surprisingly good at that.'

'I've had a lot of practice. My mom used to make me help her out in the kitchen sometimes.'

'I see.'

This was meant to only be a demo, but she doesn't make an effort to mirror him. Eren's nostrils flare. Does she expect him to do her work for her? 'Hey,' he presses, miffed, 'Grab a potato and get to it.'

'But you're so much better suited for this task than I am.'

'Oh, no.'

His temperature is rising fast - a natural occurrence around the infuriating Annie. He takes her by the wrist, pulls her to him, back-to-chest, and forcibly takes her hands in his. It's uncharacteristic how tame she is when he manipulates her arms so that they're intertwined with his, his palms nestling on the top of her hands to guide her to a knife and the potato he was working on.

'Alright, Annie— do it like I showed you.'

Do it precisely how I've taught you! That's my daughter!

Annie goes pale (not that Eren can see), and she's once more frozen in place. Green flashes dangerously until he feels her form tremble slightly. She feels fragile, soft, like something human but not quite as durable. It catches him off guard, and he nearly lets her go. He wonders if he frightens her; probably not, although the very thought that he's pushed her into dark corner breaks the chains he's manufactured around his curious attachment to her. Suddenly, he forgets why he's been so upset with her.

He chooses to believe that she's just shaken up from Shadis.

He doesn't fully buy into his own half-assed hypothesis.

Most likely, she won't tell him what's going on.

That's alright. He'll kick it with her anyway.

'Fine, forget the potato,' he whispers into her ear in as soothing a voice as he can muster. His heart is hammering against his chest; she's unpredictable and that's scary, 'Just... I'm here, OK?'

He releases her hands, so the objects she's loosely held onto fall on the table. She makes no move to pick them up, but neither does she swat his arms away. The close proximity of their bodies births a heat that burns him, and he realises the implication of the lack of distance between them. 

Awkwardly, he moves to the side so he can pretend to busy himself with a potato and knife. He steals a glance at her; she’s unreadable as always.

'I'm angry with you,' she admits, breaking the silence. She tucks a long bang behind her ear. He observes her fingers; they're trembling. His attention flies back to the potato; it’s less intimidating than the uncharacteristic fragility she displays right now.

Eren swallows, 'Why's that?'

'You've been ignoring me.'

'Thought that's what you wanted, Annie.'

'No,' she smiles at him, knowing fully well that he cannot see.