#HE TRIED TO PULL OUT. HE GAVE UP HIS REVENGE QUEST BECAUSE HE REALIZED ALL HE WANTED WAS A FAMILY AND HE HAD FOUND ONE

[blueskittlesart]

there's something so tragic about aki admitting to makima that he just wants to protect denji and power and for them to be happy and then immediately being turned into a weapon to hurt them in the worst way possible

glad we are all in agreement this mademe start crying again btw

[seiya-starsniper]

and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - Chapter 2

Ao3 Link [Here]

Chapter Summary - The Corinthian and Hob have established a fairly comfortable relationship. But then it all comes crashing down.

Life in the Waking World is pretty interesting for The Corinthian these days.

His tongue still fumbles awkwardly around the differences in slang over the pond, he hates that the weather in London makes his hair fall flat on his face no matter what he does to it, and he misses Taco Bell like an old drug habit. 

And all of this inconvenience, he thinks, is for the immortal who’s currently asleep next to him, snoring something fierce right up against The Corinthian’s ear.

The Corinthian has never met anyone quite like Hob Gadling before. From their initial meeting, Hob has defied all of his expectations and then some. His immortality, first and foremost, should not have caught The Corinthian completely off guard, but it did. Hob doesn’t smell like other immortals, he tries his best to blend in with humans, to be average, unremarkable . To this day, The Corinthian cannot understand how the man pulls it off so well.

Especially because underneath that false unremarkable exterior lies a wild beast that may just be as ferocious and unrestrained as The Corinthian himself. He's clever and ambitious in all the ways a regular mortal is, but the centuries have allowed Hob to fully master the act of humanity. Hob has managed to bend the world to his will without showing his cards. It's performance art at its highest peak. It's a tenaciousness The Corinthian hungers for, something he realized he looked for in all his victims. The vivacity, that addiction to life and the willingness to, as they say, grab it by the horns and never let go.

It's why The Corinthian kept coming back time and time again, to test the bounds of that tenaciousness, instead of fucking off to do something else after his first few attempts had ended with him disembodied and transported back to The Dreaming. Having his corporeal form completely destroyed and then reformed hurt like a bitch, and he hated how long the rebuilding process took, but every subsequent trip back had left him wanting .

Lucienne had been less than impressed on his fourth trip back, he remembers.

"Ah, welcome back. I take it you've once again failed to eliminate your target,” she'd greeted, amusement barely concealed behind her glasses.

"Shut the fuck up Lucienne," The Corinthian had growled, already working on creating a portal to get him back to the Waking. It didn't take long. He'd gotten good at this with all the practice Hob gave him.

"You know Corinthian, maybe the Waking is trying to tell you something!" she yelled at his retreating back.

"Good thing I've never been good at listening." The Corinthian then gave her the bird on his way out to London.

Shortly after that, the cult happened. And then Hob had glimpsed his full face for the first time and The Corinthian was left gobsmacked by the desire radiating off of him. He's only ever been appreciated for his full appearance by one other being, and even so, it had never felt like this. It's delicious, it's dark and all consuming. It's everything The Corinthian didn't know he wanted, couldn't ever have imagined having, before that moment.

What started out as a simple revenge quest to stave off some boredom had suddenly turned to one of the best fucks off his life.

Afterwards, The Corinthian had tried not to make it a regular thing, but well, he's never been known for being a man who's able to reign in his vices. And Hob Gadling is such a strong vice he feels like the Original Sin itself. He doesn't flinch when the Corinthian bites hard enough to draw blood, leans into the blond's grip when choked, and the immortal will sometimes spend hours licking into his eye mouths while keeping three, sometimes four fingers buried knuckle deep inside The Corinthian.

When Hob wants The Corinthian to submit, and it's become a more regular thing, he takes and takes with brutal force, slamming his head into walls and twisting his arms just hard enough to leave a threat of dislocation. It's an echo of their old sparring fights, but Hob now knows The Corinthian favors his right side for an outright attack, his left for a feint. Hob also knows how much he loves those iron cuffs (forged by Hob, and made just for him), and loves testing the limits of their strength. It's the height of pleasure and pain that he knows neither of them have experienced with other human lovers.

And now here they are, playing domestic, where The Corinthian agrees to not murder anyone Hob doesn't explicitly approve of ahead of time, and in turn Hob spoils The Corinthian with anything he comes up with on a whim. 

Well, almost anything. 

"We are not getting a murder yacht,” Hob had said to him just the night before.

“Oh come on! It’d be so easy to get rid of the bodies with one!” The Corinthian argued back. “And the Channel will do all the cleanup for us!”

“Do you want to be on the radar of the British Royal Navy? Because that is exactly how you get on the radar of the British Royal Navy. Not to mention, I don’t know how to drive a boat, and I’m certain you don’t know either!”

The Corinthian does not pout on principle, but it’s an almost thing. Hob Gadling was a terrible influence.

“ He would get me a murder yacht,” The Corinthian declared, pointing to the television. Hob glanced at the screen and sighed loudly. 

“Hannibal Lecter is a fictional character , Cory,” Hob said, exasperated. It’s not the first time The Corinthian had brought up the comparison, and really, if Hob didn’t want to be compared to a fellow doctorate holding intellectual with a DILF vibe and a hobby of murdering criminals for sport, then he really shouldn’t have let The Corinthian run free with his Netflix account while he's off tending to lectures.

Speaking of criminal murders, though. The Corinthian glances at the calendar on the wall above Hob's nightstand and grins when he realizes tonight's the night for their next job.

—

“ Another sex trafficking ring, Hob?” The Corinthian groans. It’s the third one in a row. “I know you're a bleeding heart for the helpless, but I’m starting to think you feel personally responsible here.” He probably does, in all honesty. Hob had mentioned to him how guilty he felt over participating in the slave trade in the late 1700s.

“I thought you liked the sex traffickers!” Hob exclaims, surprised.  “Because there's always so many of them! You gorged yourself on eyeballs for days after the last one.”

“Yeah, sure they're great, but not so much when it’s what we go after every time . Where’s my corrupt CEOs, the drug lords, hell where’s another serial killer hiding, tell me, Hob!” Variety is the spice of life and while The Corinthian may be satisfied for now filling his palette with unrepentant humans, he still wants some flavor distinction amongst them from time to time. 

"All right, all right, I promise you get to pick the next target after tonight," Hob assures him.

"Can it be-"

“No- we are not going to kill a Member of Parliament. There’s murder of the irredeemable every day man, and then there’s assassination , and we are clearly staying in the first camp, love.”

The Corinthian really doesn’t see the difference. Dead people are dead people, but Hob’s the mortal in this relationship, so The Corinthian just shrugs and decides to think on who he’d like for them to go after next. He thinks he’ll consult his little black book on the matter.

Hob thinks it's ridiculous that blond keeps a hit list, but then if he didn’t want him to, then he shouldn’t have bought The Corinthian such a nice leather bound journal in the first place.

—

Much as The Corinthian hates to admit it (and he'll never do it aloud), Hob is right about the gluttony of hunting down sex enslavers. 

There had been at least six men guarding the shipping container that had come in to dock the night before. Two more are in charge of negotiating the handoff, and still another three show up as drivers to transport their "cargo".

In short, it had been a blood bath. None of the men had ever stood a chance.

The Corinthian doesn't quite have a stomach, so he doesn't get full, per say, but there does come a point where there's diminishing returns on the enjoyment he feels the more he eats in a single sitting. 

For occasions where he hits that point, like tonight, Hob has acquired an extra refrigerator. It's an antique red monstrosity that the immortal had flown in from a shop in Oklahoma just because The Corinthian had complained one time that English kitchens were too drab for his tastes. The blond had made fun of Hob's peasant roots at the start of their relationship, but Hob is no peasant now. It’s another one of the ways the immortal is sin-incarnate, his willingness to indulge The Corinthian’s hedonism at the drop of a hat is both endearing and addicting. The Corinthian has more than enough mortal money of his own, but there’s just something extra enticing about spending another man’s wealth on unnecessary luxuries like this.

Sometimes, The Corinthian will wake to the smell of cooking flesh, and he'll find Hob has fried a pair of eyes for him in his homemade garlic butter. He'd then spend the morning hand feeding them to each of The Corinthian's eye mouths, before handing him a cup of black coffee. It’s domestic. It’s overindulgent. The Corinthian thinks he'll ask for them to be mixed with scrambled eggs tomorrow instead.

–

"I’ve got a surprise for you," Hob says once they've wrapped everything up at the docks. He stamps out the last bit of his cigarette before continuing. "Call it a bonus for a job well done."

"Dessert? You spoil me, baby," The Corinthian grins, unable to hide his excitement. Hob is good at surprises. So far, The Corinthian has yet to be disappointed.

The brunette drives them over a few bridges to a different shipping port on the other side of town. He makes sure that there’s no one on guard before he leads them over to a particular container, which he unlocks and leads The Corinthian inside. There's a few lights strung up on the inside, enough for The Corinthian to easily look at his prize.

Near the center of the container is a single man tied to a chair with a bag over his head. He sounds like he’s gagged underneath the bag as well. The Corinthian cannot help the little gasp of pleasure he lets out when Hob pulls the bag off.

The man is dressed in a three piece suit that was probably freshly pressed a day or two ago, but now sits wrinkled as a result of futile struggling. He’s got multiple layers of duct tape over his mouth, as expected. The Corinthian also clocks a newer Rolex model on the man’s left wrist barely hidden by a sleeve pinned together with solid gold cuffs. He looks like he would be incredibly well groomed if he weren’t currently rotting in a shipping container, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes that are now comically wide as he takes in his two captors. The man cannot be more than 28 years old at most, which just screams Daddy’s Boy to the Corinthian. It’s his favorite type of meal.

“All for me, baby? You shouldn’t have.” The Corinthian purrs, and he can feel his eyes drooling at the sight, the smell, the exquisite taste, of the man’s fear. 

“Only the best for you, love,” Hob murmurs in his ear, hands resting possessively at his hip, voice dripping with pleasure. The Corinthian shudders when Hob delicately removes his shades and places a tender kiss to each of his eye mouths, dragging his tongue along their teeth. They come to life under his attention, all soft sighs and heavy breaths. The man in the chair is now thrashing wildly in horror, his screams muted by the tape.

“His name’s Thomas Mason, Hob supplies. "Father’s done pretty well for himself in the United States, but he insisted on his kids being raised in the home country. Tom here is a little bit of a brat you see. Awful student too, he's been kicked out of at least three universities in London." The Corinthian snorts at the blatant offense Hob seems to take at this fact. 

"Knocked up some poor girl when she was far too drunk to fully consent at a networking event," he continues. "And then he killed her when she told him she wasn’t going to abort. I have it on good authority that he’s buried her out in his mother’s country house. Naturally, Scotland Yard isn’t really looking into it since she was here on a student visa and his parents have more than enough money to make it look like she just got up and disappeared out of the country on her own. Her family’s absolutely distraught."

"Distraught, you say?" The Corinthian asks in mock concern. "Well, we can't have that now." He takes out his knives from their holsters in his jacket, and now the man in the chair is moving even more wildly in his chair, trying to tip it over, maybe hoping to break it and free himself. It won't matter, there's nowhere to go in the tiny container. The Corinthian cuts a line through Tom's throat to get him to stop thrashing and then begins to start the task of carving out those gorgeous blue orbs. 

The start of the task is always the hardest. Humans are so sensitive when it comes to their faces, but they all give up soon enough, and Tom is no exception. It’s all in the thumbs, really. Once they’re sufficiently popped out, all The Corinthian has to do afterwards is sever the optic nerve, and bam, instant snack. Hob had winced the first few times he watched The Corinthian had done this while the victim was still alive (their memories are freshest when he does this, even if he stores them in the fridge for later), but now he watches with rapt attention, unable to tear his gaze away from The Corinthian's skilled yet brutal movements.

When he’s done, The Corinthian savors the taste of Thomas Mason’s eyes, drinks in the memory of hands choking the life out of a pretty little thing too young to be taken from the world, then revels in the feel of the cool dirt underneath his fingernails during the memory of her crude burial. 

“She’s buried right by the rose bushes, near the west wing," The Corinthian says, and Hob’s proud, dark grin tells him he will, in fact, be getting breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.

–

They don’t argue often, but when they do, it always comes back to the same topic. The Corinthian doesn’t even know how or why they started talking about Dream, but he hates the way Hob prods about their relationship, asks about why everything fell apart and led The Corinthian to permanently leave The Dreaming.

“It's better the less you know about him,” The Corinthian says with a finality he hopes Hob will understand.

He doesn’t. "Why?” he presses. “Because you don't like talking about him?"

"Because he's dangerous!" The Corinthian snaps. "He tried to unmake me almost a hundred years ago, and if he ever gets out of his cage and finds out about you…"

"You're worried about me, pet?" Hob’s tone is light, but The Corinthian knows he’s trying to distract him from the threat of Dream’s return.

"Well you're not exactly the pinnacle of human safety if we’re being honest, baby." The Corinthian grumbles.

"I’m immortal, can’t die, remember?" Hob quips in response.

"Right, right, immortality from your eldritch Stranger that broke your heart," The Corinthian sneers back at him.

"Oof, low blow, Cory," Hob winces.

The use of the nickname cools his anger slightly, but only just.

"Is it?" he challenges. The Corinthian is not an open creature by nature, but Hob is also sensitive about his centennial Stranger. He claims he's told The Corinthian all that he knows about him, but The Corinthian finds it hard to believe that Hob had been meeting the same being for 600 years and somehow, inexplicably, does not even know his name. Then again, The Corinthian has not told Hob the name of his creator either. He doesn't know why, but the knowledge of Dream's name is something he wants to keep to himself.

Hob also won't talk about why he and his Stranger had a falling out either. He just knows the creature missed their 1989 meeting, and now Hob has no choice but to wait for 2089 to see if their relationship can be salvaged. The Corinthian, petty creature that he is, still refuses to set foot inside The New Inn, a place dedicated to someone else. He does, however, relish in the fact that shortly after he moved in with Hob, the immortal had begun to spend less and less time in the pub, possibly hoping for an earlier than 100 year sighting of his Stranger.

"All right, all right I get it," Hob placates, and finally throws up his hands in surrender. "No more creator talks, and no more stranger talks tonight, all right?"

"Or we could forget about them all together," The Corinthian tries, wishing to never speak about Dream ever again. Dream's gone, he's trapped, has been trapped for 100 years, and yet The Corinthian feels him at his back each night when he turns off the light and watches Hob sleep.

"Hmmm, I don’t think so," Hob says, thoughtful. "I can’t forget my old friend, yes he’s my friend damnit,” the immortal insists. “And even with your creator locked up who knows where, because you won't tell me, I know you can’t forget him either. And that’s okay. We don’t need to talk about them now, but a relationship is about moving on from past baggage so we’ll need to get there eventually, but it doesn’t have to be now, love.”

"I’ve tried for at least two millennia to move on already," The Corinthian admits, surprised at his own openness.

Hob smiles fondly, because he knows even getting that much out of The Corinthian is better than nothing, and then cups the blond's face gently between his hands. 

"Well, you’ve never had me before, darling.” Hob says, tone back to reassuring and gentle. “I can’t promise to heal all your wounds and scars, but I’m going to do my best to love you as you are, murderous tendencies and all. And if your creator ever does get out of his cage, we'll deal with him together."

The Corinthian, even after spending years in Hob’s bed, is still not used to hearing the immortal declare his love for him. Hob offers his love far too easily, and he hasn’t even asked why The Corinthian has yet to say it back. He almost does, just now. It's on the tip of his tongue.

"You’re insane, you know that?" The Corinthian says instead. He’s not ready to inspect his feelings, not yet, not while he’s still taut as a piano wire. 

Hob nods, like he knows what’s going on inside The Corinthian’s head, and maybe he does. "Well, you don’t live past the normal mortal expiration date without losing a few screws along the way," he says, and starts tugging The Corinthian towards the bathroom. “Come on love, let’s have a bath. I’ve got a new vintage I’ve been wanting to try out."

Later, when the Corinthian is drunk and spilling wine all over Hob’s overly large and posh bathtub, he thinks that maybe, maybe, this is probably what love is supposed to feel like. They're kissing like Hob doesn't have to get up in the morning for a lecture, and the slowness of it stirs something familiar inside the nightmare.

He thought he'd loved Dream once, until he realized that his creator's affection for him had been conditional on The Corinthian fulfilling his singular assigned function. No room for growth, no room for ambition, for reaching past the limits of the Dreaming. All of the reverence and blind worship had evaporated then. Dream only cared for himself and his stupid rules, his creations were simply there to serve him without question.

Hob is different though. Hob has rules for him, sure, but he indulges The Corinthian when he's done well, negotiates when the situation calls for it, and he doesn't make The Corinthian's thoughts and opinions feel less than, like secondary, unimportant things. He also doesn’t hold The Corinthian’s past crimes against him.  

Yes, The Corinthian thinks when Hob finally pushes his cock inside him, slowly, gently, lovingly. What he's got with Hob is probably love. Or at least as close to it as he'll ever get with his nightmarish heart.

He'll tell Hob. Eventually. When the time is right.

–

Their next operation goes tits up.

Statistically, even the best laid plans can go awry when murder is involved, but The Corinthian supposes they really should’ve anticipated a mob boss having more than a dozen men for backup, even if he was just vacationing out in the countryside. 

Good thing neither Hob nor the Corinthian can die. Hob’s healing is not nearly as quick as his, but it’s quick enough.

The Corinthian imagines Hob must look like something of an eldritch horror to the mob men when he gets up off the ground, an entire chunk of face missing, and then stabs his shooter in the neck. The resulting blood spray is lovely, and The Corinthian takes a moment to bask in Hob's handiwork before he continues to gun down the rest of their assailants.

God, he's missed having access to guns. The Corinthian has a small collection of antique rifles in his penthouse back in the States, and though he's never used them for more than target practice, he likes the heavy weight of such a small and unassuming thing that holds so much potential for death, resting in his hands. 

Using other people’s guns against them though? That’s an entirely different feeling, one that The Corinthian is all too happy to indulge. 

All total, there’s around 25 men dead in the villa after Hob and The Corinthian are through. More than double the amount they expected to be here. The Corinthian makes a note to pay a visit to his source later to personally thank him for the terrible intelligence. 

“Hey Cory, look what I found!” Hob’s voice sounds throughout the otherwise quiet room.

When he locates the immortal on the other side of the bloodied living room, he sees that he’s thrumming with excitement about something. When he gets closer, Hob holds up a mostly mangled piece of flesh that the Corinthian quickly realizes is the part of Hob’s face that was blown off with a rifle. Surprisingly, the eye socket is fully intact.

It’s the most beautiful thing The Corinthian has ever laid eyes on, and he wants.

Hob then offers the lump, eye socket and all, to The Corinthian with a pained grimace that he looks like he’s trying very hard to pass off as a smile. The Corinthian is too shocked to take it right away. It can’t possibly be that easy. 

Can it?

Hob notices his hesitation and sighs. 

“Might as well have it, it’s a goddamn miracle it’s even intact the way it is,” the immortal grunts. “I can already feel a new one growing in, and let me tell you, it fucking hurts. Waste not, want not and all."

The Corinthian knows that he shouldn’t think too deeply about the gift, it’s borne out of circumstance rather than intent after all, but the irony of being freely offered something he’d spent years trying to carve out of the man’s face himself is not lost on him.

The Corinthian gently takes the eye from Hob and cuts around the tender flesh, then pops the ball into his mouth.

The memories hit him like a monsoon. 

The Corinthian has consumed hundreds, perhaps thousands of eyes at this point in time, but consuming Hob is an entirely different experience.

Hob's eyes have, by default, seen far more than a regular mortal, and so there’s just more, more, more to be seen and more to be experienced. It feels neverending.

He feels Hob’s determination to never die, even in the days before he was granted immortality. His surprise when he realizes that he's stopped aging. His fear at thinking he'd made a deal with the Devil himself.

He sees the immortal's warmest memories, feels the touch of his first silk shirt, hears the sound of his son's first cry, tastes the flavors of his first meal after being dubbed a knight.

He also witnesses Hob's worst memories, the horrors of war over the centuries, the stabbing pain of hunger that would have killed another man, the smell of decay from the bodies lost to The Black Plague, the pain of each and every time his body breaks but doesn't die.  

But above all, he feels love. Pure, unfiltered, unconditional love. Love for humanity, for his long life, love for The Corinthian himself.

Love for his mysterious Stranger.

The Corinthian chokes when he realizes who this stranger finally is.

It’s Dream.

Of course it's fucking Dream.

"Cory? Are you all right?"

No he's not fucking all right. Nothing is ever going to be all right again. The Corinthian has never needed to breathe but in this moment he feels like he is suffocating.

Hob is Dream's pet immortal. The one that Death had spared on a bet with Dream back in 1389.

The Corinthian thinks he's a fool. That's why Hob doesn't smell like other immortals, because he smells just like Endless, like The Corinthian, like Dream .

He also knows now that Hob was telling the truth about not knowing Dream's name or what he was all this time. Dream's always had a stick up his ass about personal information, the only reason The Corinthian even knew his creator had a pet immortal in the first place was because The Corinthian had tried to follow his master out into The Waking once, back when their relationship was still good, when Dream still indulged him, when The Corinthian hadn't yet begun to hunger for more.

Dream had shut him down so fiercely, Lucienne had had to step in on his behalf. She was the one who filled The Corinthian in on the date and its significance to their creator. And, most importantly, that Dream went to these outings alone.

It had been the first time The Corinthian had experienced jealousy, and it had ignited a fire in him he did not know how to tame. Why did Dream get to go into The Waking for nothing more than his own pleasure? To experience humanity when his own subjects could not? Who was this human who had impressed him so much, had captured his attention enough that he stole his creator away from the Dreaming, time and time again? None of Dream's other human companions had ever been able to sway him so.

It makes sense to The Corinthian now that the human was Hob. The Corinthian devours the memories of their meetings, quick snatches in time, insignificant in length yet so significant in substance. He doesn't know if he wants to tear Hob's throat out for daring to call his Dream his friend , knowing now that it means something more, or if he wants to cut Dream's eyes out for the way he looks at his Hob.

Fuck. When had he gotten so possessive? When had he gotten so soft ? He'd been thinking just a few days ago that maybe he loved Hob, had been picturing the rest of their life together, had been thinking of their future .

If he'd known this would be the consequences for consuming Hob's eyes…

No, he still thinks he would've done it anyways. Even in his panic, the taste of Hob is so unique, so unlike anything he's ever experienced, The Corinthian thinks he could probably go on forever without having to consume another set of eyes. That thought terrifies him more than the idea of Dream hunting him down to unmake him for all his crimes.

He has to leave.

"I have to go," The Corinthian says, perhaps a little too forcefully. Hob nods quickly with no argument. It means he’s already realized something is wrong. 

"All right we can go, I just gotta make sure the cameras-” 

"No," The Corinthian interrupts and he says it with such venom that Hob whips his head towards him in alarm. The Corinthian steels his nerves for what he’s going to say next. 

“I need to go, Hob. This…this was a mistake. All of this.” He gestures between them. 

"Wait what?! What are you talking about?" Hob's beginning to panic now and The Corinthian can feel his resolve weaken. But he has to go. He’s been a fool, no, he's been willfully blind this whole time. He thought he’d finally found something, someone that was uniquely his , but all roads lead back to Dream, and The Corinthian feels pathetic for thinking he could ever escape the reach of his all knowing and all encompassing master.

Hob may love The Corinthian now, but he was Dream's human first, and Dream will not take kindly to the Corinthian touching what doesn't belong to him. The Corinthian thought he'd been afraid of his unmaking before, but it feels secondary to this new fear. The fear that Dream will go to Hob, that Dream will spill all The Corinthian’s crimes at Hob’s feet, will turn Hob against him, and then finally, steal him away for his own. 

He'd rather burn down the only good thing he's ever known than let Dream take it away from him.

“Goodbye Hob. It's been fun but now our time's up.” The Corinthian does not stutter.

Shit, he can feel the tears. His shades hide them for now but if he doesn't leave now, then Hob will see.

“Cory, wait! Talk to me, please , what's going on…?"

But The Corinthian is already gone.

[esperanta-dragon]

I feel like there is a need to write down why so many people hate Sylvanas so much, me included. Maybe you can’t stand her too OR you love her and you don’t understand why the hell people can hate such an amazing character. Here is why. And I will try to write this down logically as possible. No “hur dur I hate her because she is a bitch!”. No, I will put down all things so you can understand. And one sad disclaimer... it’s not the character’s fault.

WHY WE STARTED TO LOVE HER

Sylvanas showed up in Warcraft III as a Ranger General of Quel’thalas. She was protecting her country for quite some time when Arthas attacked Eversong Woods in order to get to Sunwell and resurrect Kel’Thuzad as a lich. Sylvanas paid with her life and her soul to protect her people and her country. She was made banshee and was forced to do things against her will and serve the Scourge she hated. But she was still plotting her revenge, didn’t give up until the moment came and she took the chance. She reclaimed her body back and almost killed Arthas, and took over Lordaeron City. Then she took over the undead slowly freeing from the Lich King’s grasp and gave them a place where to stay, becoming their Queen. And since then, she was planning to kill the Lich King for good.

That’s why we loved her (I never did, I will explain that later why). She really kicked his ass. She slapped the Scourge in the face. She never gave up and was doing everything to achieve her goals, her revenge. There are not so many such strong female characters, so resolute. She was not good but also not evil, she was shady, she was not the boring good guy. So why the hell people hate her? She is perfect! Let’s go to what happened during and after WotLK... Because here it starts.

WRATH OF THE LICH KING

As I said, many people adore Sylvanas since Warcraft III. But they don’t understand the character is not the same. She was never good, she was an anti-hero, that’s the fact (the Ebon Blade are also anti-heroes and they are not bad, they just do necessary things to keep the Scourge in check). She was doing everything to take revenge on Arthas. And everything means that she had no problems walking over corpses of her allies. Causalities because of my fault? Pfft! No matter as long as the piece of trash sitting on the Frozen Throne will get what he deserves!

This was pretty much visible after Wrathgate when Varimathras and Putress tried to take over Undercity and Alliance and the Horde saw what she is doing inside the city. Still fine, it was in character, she was doing EVERYTHING to take revenge on Arthas. Everything. That’s why she existed, why she kept going. Even back then, I didn’t hate her. She was still a very well-written character. This is what a character in her position would do. 

But once everything was done, the Lich King was taken care of, she realized there is no point in her existence. She saw the Lich King was not destroyed. They only replaced him. So she threw herself from the Icecrown Citadel and fell on saronite spikes, the only thing that could definitely kill her.

And she ended up in a dark place. And the pain she felt was not like anything she felt before. It was the most horrible, the most inconsolable place. But val’kyras came down to her and sacrificed for her to get her back. Now we know what happened as we progress in the Shadowlands but... let’s say this was the beginning of the end for a good character Sylvanas once was. This was a start of cliché, inconsistency, and a great example that good characters should be allowed to go and leave so they can be remembered as a good characters.

WHAT CHANGED

Look, I came to WoW really late. I was playing on WotLK free servers as I could not afford to pay for official servers. But I knew the story in WotLK and I was still pretty ok with Sylvanas. I don’t remember hating her this much. She was well written.

It was Cataclysm Firelands patch when I finally could come to official servers. And Sylvanas was already doing pretty shady and disgusting stuff. I played Forsaken starting quest line so I know. Raising undead like the Lich King did? No problem for her. She even said she is like Arthas but she is working for the Horde (she never cared for them anyway, it was just more beneficial for her). What happened in Gilneas was not alright. Who gases the whole zone and making it inhabitable? Alright, let’s say Horde was expanding and Gilneas was next to Lordaeron. Alright. But back then, I finally dove deep into lore and I’ve noticed many people are really devoted to Sylvanas. It seemed almost like a cult. And every time I asked people, why they love this psyhopathic banshee, they were like: “She is my Queen! I love her, I would die for her! She is cool, she is taking care of us, she has a good heart!”

Something was amiss here... I couldn’t understand this. I couldn’t see what they saw. I saw a shady, ruthless and careless psychopath who is using her loyal subjects to save herself from something. And many people believed it even in BfA. Me and my friend had to show them excerpts from short stories where she say that “once they were arrows in her quiver, now they are bulwark against the darkness”. They couldn’t believe they loved Queen would not love them back!

But hey, still, I wanted to understand why people love her. I would understand if it would be still Warcraft III or WotLK, that’s fine. But Cata? Legion? BfA? Shadowlands? 

So I started reading all books, short stories where she was. Articles about her. I tried to catch the glimpse of why people loved her: the majority told me she is still good and has a good heart and she is an amazing person. But I didn’t see it. Maybe I am stupid and I don’t understand, I am missing something... So I kept studying, trying to see anything good in her, I was failing. I saw a character falling more down into a pit full of anger and hate. Her loyalists said she was an amazing creature, loving, caring.

And the more I was told by people that she is caring and she has a good heart, the more I was getting disgusted and angry because the more I was reading about her and the more her loyalists told me, the more I saw what Sylvanas is: inconsistent character.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH SYLVANAS

In one book she was written like this. In another book, she was written like that. In one quest it was like this, then it was like that. In one expansion she behaved this way, in the next expansion, it was that way. She was doing more and more twisted things and her loyalists kept telling me she has a good heart. My frustration was growing to the point I could not stand her. It felt like I’ve met the person I knew was torturing her friends but when I met them, they told me with bruises on their faces and definitely mentally abused that she is amazing and it’s not her fault, she is just misunderstood and I should love her too.

When she killed Liam Greymane, loyalists were like: “I have no clue why Genn hates her so much! That stupid dog should die!” Yeah right, somebody kills your son and destroys your home, you have no reason to be angry, it’s ok.

She burns down Teldrassil and they said: “Why Tyrande wants to kill her? I hope Sylvanas kills her first!” Sure, somebody burns down a city with thousands of innocent people, it’s fine, let them go, no hard feelings. And sometimes these people are able to justify her actions with: “But this is fantasy! There is different morale than in real world!” Please, guys, never ever write a story. Never touch it. You will end up like Steve Danuser making characters to behave like idiots and without emotions. Stay away. Please. Do world the favor.

I was trying really hard. Trying to figure out what kind of character she is. Find a pattern. Because you can write a chaotic character and still find a pattern and it can be still a consistent character. But Sylvanas? I felt more and more that not even Blizzard knows what to do with her, how to write her... she felt more and more inconsistent and out of place with every expansion. And you know what? That happens to characters which are kept in the story longer than they should. If character losts a meaning of their existence, there are only two options: you either let them go or you have to find them a new meaning. And in case of Sylvanas, the second option led to a narrative disaster.

We were told by Blizzard: “Don’t worry! Everything falls in place! It makes sense what she does!” But after the Sanctum of Domination finale? It was a big fat lie...

Before I come to the cinematic, let me tell you what made me hate her beyond every possible measure: her fandom.

HITLER HAD A GOOD HEART!

In Legion, she was doing shady stuff. But in BfA? She became a Hitler. She burned down Teldrassil because... IDK she snapped and wanted to show one elven archer that you can kill hope? And what kind of catapults she had has reach 20 km? What kind of catapults can burn down incredibly big tree SOAKED in water with thick bark. Was that azerite or... no, I am not gonna get angry. And I won’t even start with the b*shit Blizzard pulled: “Look, just because Sylvanas is right in front of Teldrassil doesn’t mean it was her who burned it down!” They had to lie to us to look that they can create a better story than what it actually is.

She destroyed Undercity so Forsaken lost their home. Is this how you take care of your subjects if you are loving and caring? I think not.

And with her actions, millions of souls from the whole cosmos are going right into the Maw for eternal suffering. And why? Because she was scared. Because instead of thinking about herself and trying to change, she rather schemed with the god of death... who was responsible for her misery. And even teamed with Kel’Thuzad, who was reason of her fate in the first place! And yet, after all this, after mass genocide, destroying souls, millions, maybe billions of souls are suffering because of her... and you can still tell me there is still good in her and she deserves redemption arch... And with love say: “She got us into this, she will get us out of this <3 ^_^” So somebody is making everybody suffer and some people are like “Ooooh it’s fine, I support her! I bet she will realize what she is doing and she will save us!” Would you say the same about Hitler? That he was misunderstood, he was trying to fix something that’s why he murdered millions of people? I am just asking what kind of people her loyalists are in real life.

I have a question... would you still love her if she was a man? Or decomposing undead? Or if she wouldn’t be sexy elf at all? If she would be ugly? I think we all know the answer (disclaimer, beautiful people are not always kind and nice, what a surprise). I bet she would be already killed or hated by majority of the community at least two expansions back. Why Garrosh had to stand trial for war crimes and Sylvanas doesn’t? To be honest, I never liked Garrosh, I hated him, but I never hated him as much I hate Sylvanas. He was at least consistent to his very last moment. But I am fed up by the fact that everybody keeps excusing what she does just because she is a sexy elf. This is not character I can respect. How can you say about such character that she is cool when you know she is commiting genocide? Let’s replace her with ugly elf and let’s see how many of you will still love her.

If you love her because she is a crazy homicidal maniac and you want her to do evil stuff, go ahead, nothing wrong with you, it’s fine. You love her because you think that she has a good heart and she is sending millions of souls into hell because she wants to help us? Take your pills and think twice before going on date with a manipulative person who will use you, beat you but will tell you they love you so much while cheating on you. Thanks.

If you are lying to yourself that she is good and has a good heart because you are afraid you wouldn’t like her anymore as a bad guy, then you love illusion you made around her, not the character itself. And you should seriously think if you really love the character if you need to change it that much in your mind to keep loving her.

GRAND FINALE

“If they are gonna give her redemption arch, I am gonna puke.” Many people told me, they would not. They are not gonna do it. She is beyond redemption, she is antagonist, period. Guess what, they did. The cheapest way possible.

Blizzard kept telling us everything will make sense in the end, why she did all these things. But it did not. And it only confirmed my greatest fear: Sylvanas is an inconsistent character since Cataclysm.

Sylvanas was afraid to go to the Maw. So she got an amazing idea. Let’s free the god of death, the malevolent creature trapped there because for sure he is suffering just like me, and injustice was done to him. He is the reason of my suffering because he made Helm of Domination and Frostmourne, that’s why I was killed and I am like this? I am sure he is a good guy, in the end, let’s remake reality so there is no life and death! That guy must be pretty ok. Oh wait his job is to torture souls? No, I don’t believe he is bad.

So when Jailer gets all he wanted, ofc he say that he will remake all reality and everybody will serve. And Sylvanas realizes: “Oh my, he is just like the Lich King! I didn’t want this! I will never serve!” Even she served him for the past few expansions. And suddenly she sees he is a bad guy. Suddenly.

And then, Jailer gives her half of her soul back... So... this is the explanation? She was doing all this because she was not whole? Is this an excuse for genocide? Now we will all feel sorry for her? Tell her it’s ok, you were not yourself?

I am saying this all the years and I will say it again: the Ebon Blade are order full of those with a fate like Sylvanas. The whole order. Multiple characters suffered under the Lich King like her, lost themselves, were made to kill their friends, their families. And they, too, took revenge on him. But instead of going crazy and trying to hurt everybody because they were hurt, they tried to help and protect people. Maybe they are missing part of their souls too. But are they running around, burning innocents, committing genocide? No. So please, the is no excuse, she was aware of what she was doing. I am not buying this and for sure this won’t make me feel sorry for her. It was her choice. You can be depressed and hurt into the very core and still decide not to be homicidal maniac.

Another annoying thing is, Blizzard kept telling us she is a master strategist and she is highly inteligent. Would a highly inteligent person try to help somebody responsible for her suffering? Being ok with them? There was not shown how come she is ok with the Jailer! Look I thought she is smart but after the cinematic, she does not look like that.

What was her plan anyway? Did she believe such creature won’t betray her, he won’t dump her? I was hoping he will dump her and kill her. That would be the only ending fitting for the character. I didn’t want another Kerrigan, I didn’t want redemption arch for her... I was hoping I will finally like her as a villain. Now I can’t... there is no way I will like her ever again because Blizzard probably can’t do just evil characters. There always must be something behind, some explanation why they are like this. “I was good this whole time!” And I am tired of this... Suddenly I like Garrosh because he was an asshole but he was consistent. He had a good ending. He “died” like a boss.

THEY SHOULD HAVE LET HER DIE

And I mean it. If they would let her go after WotLK, it would be a good ending for her. Tragic end for the tragic character. She fulfilled her purpose and she would be remembered as a good consistent character. But she is making a lot of money, many people love her (not anymore, even people who liked her hate her now and her fanbase is getting smaller) so Blizzard decided they have to milk her as much as possible.

I think everything good should come to an end. “You would either die as a hero or live long enough to become a villain.” In this case “You would either die as a good character or live long enough to become inconsistent and annoying character.” And it happened.

Remember how people were angry how Thrall is getting a lot of attention in Cata? Haha, good old times. How about Sylvanas in 3 expansion cinematics (and some side cinematics like Reckoning, etc) and 2 expansions fully focusing on her (and some other expansions where she is a lot too). How about the 15th figure in a row. And 4th Blizzcon art. And I can keep going.

Metzen had favorite characters... but they were never overused as much as Sylvanas. Vol’jin was warchief for 1 expansion where he did nothing and then he died so she could take lead in story. So many characters are forgotten, pushed down so she can be on the spotlight. And I am sick of it. This is not single player, this is MMORPG. The world feels ridiculously small thanks to this, we have more characters than Sylvanas + 5 characters they keep using and recycling all the time.

And keep using Sylvanas and putting her into the spotlight all the time did not help. You can start hating character you liked before just because you have enough of them and you want to see other characters. This world has a big potential. So many characters are unused because of Sylvanas. Because the lead narrative designer loves her so much that he had to make her the main character of WoW and doesn’t care there is a whole world to take care of. And he does the worst job possible. Because he tried to make her complicated and complex and in the end he was just trying to make it look like that but it didn’t work out. It was just inconsistent. It didn’t fall in place.

Her plot armor is so laughable and it’s the most annoying thing about Sylvanas. How characters around her are so stupid and dumb so they can let her do such stuff (hello Horde in BfA). The whole universe and Blizzard especially is protecting Sylvanas of any harm. How can you like such character when it behaves like Mary Sue? I didn’t want to see cinematic how she comes and beat up really powerful guy without any issues. You know how interesting would be if Four Horsemen managed to arrive earlier and they wouldn’t know if to fight the Lich King or Sylvanas? No, Blizzard wanted to show lady Sylvanas Plotarmor.

And the worst thing is, I feel like Shadowlands are my last expansion in WoW. This is where the story ends for me. And I know that many characters won’t get resolution, many story arcs will never close because they’ve put too much effort to work on Sylvanas and ignore other characters. So many characters could have met. Lore in Shadowlands could have been expanded about The Scourge, death knights, rune magic, etc... it did not. 

So no, Sylvanas is not one of the best characters created. If this is the best WoW can muster then there is nothing to be proud of. We would have good or better characters if Blizzard tried to work with more characters and give them space and a chance to develop. But we will never have them because Sylvanas took the spotlight.

Sylvanas for me is the character who will be put on guidelines on how to not use a character. This character will be perfect for DO NOT character development guidelines. And the whole story of WoW at least in BfA and Shadowlands is a great example of how to destroy the world with an amazing setting and characters. 

I hope I’ve made this clear why many people hate her. Because it’s much more complex problem. This character was misused, written horribly, overused, was given a poor and cheap story arch, made look stupid and it no longer makes sense. And on top of that, many characters will never get a resolution, many storylines won’t be finished because all story was focused on her and not on the world. World which was supposed to be “everybody’s story” was made story about Sylvanas. Just because she sells.

Good job Danuser, I hope you are happy.

Tl;Dr: Sylvanas is inconsistent since Cataclysm because Blizzard tried to make her complex character artificially and failed horribly. She should have died after WotLK and never made Warchief. They should have let her go so we can remember her as a good consistent character

P.S.: I am not native speaker, sorry for grammar errors.

[inviberu]

til death do us part

Shino thought it was easier to say it in his own words instead of the ones that were put into his mouth forcefully by some other wizards.

There wasn’t a day in his life where Shino felt himself become this troubled—save for that one time he had a realization dawn to him which was heavily related to his worry about not being able to stay by Heath’s side if he wasn’t powerful enough—and frankly put it, he hadn’t pushed away the idea of asking his fellow wizards just yet even after many failures. First, he tried asking Heath for help. Though it ended quickly with Heath clutching his stomach, trying to suppress his laughter and Shino walking away out of annoyance.

Second attempt was with Nero and Faust who were enjoying an afternoon together out in the courtyard much to Shino’s surprise. When Shino asked them for help, Faust was surprised beyond belief before letting out a tired sigh and Nero merely looked as if he’s a mom that’s given up with her child’s ridiculous antics—that didn’t mean he didn’t find whatever he was asking for a tiny bit hilarious though. Shino, upset, walked away from the scene as well when he found out that the two old men did nothing to assist him with his quest.

Third attempt was when he bumped into the ancient Northern twins in the hallway when they were on their way to their room from the lobby. He asked them a seemingly simple question and yet they went off on a tangent for an answer, which Shino found extremely boring and unhelpful so he just walked away in the end without hearing the end of it. Snow and White got a bit upset with him for walking away just like that, especially after they switched to their adult form just to answer his unusual question.

Fourth attempt was his most successful one by far, which was with Shylock. Shino looked for him inside his bar and asked him for help, to which Shylock happily indulged him and gave him an answer that sort of satisfied Shino. Although he was still a bit hesitant, he decided to go with Shylock’s answer for the final thing he’s working on—not noticing the underlying tone of deviousness in his smile. Shino ought to remember, Western wizards loved a good show, and Shylock was the epitome of a Western wizard.

Shino felt his nervousness wash away and instead got replaced by an enormous amount of confidence that seemed unfitting for someone of his stature—short and small. His hair was slicked back and he was dressed in formal attire from head to toe in contrast to his everyday look where he was definitely more casual. Shino, himself, did not know what exactly he was doing but he decided to go through with it anyway since it was Shylock’s advice. And he knew that Shylock was way better than him when it came to matters such as this.

A proposal to you—is what he was planning.

He panicked a little bit after realizing he had no expertise in that area and that he just really wanted to marry you, terribly so. When he asked Heath for help, he almost sent the young lord rolling across the stairs out of laughter. Heath found it ridiculous—hilarious, even. Shino took it as a sign to leave Heath alone as he was of no help at all. Nero and Faust just sighed at him when he asked them how to propose to someone, telling him he should just be himself. Which Shino paid little attention to, thinking that it was fruitless advice from a bunch of old geezers. The twins were more than happy to help but they started sputtering out gibberish not long after. Shino concluded that those womanizers would be of no help.

Shylock, though, gave him a bit of solid advice. Which he followed and leads us to where Shino is today. Dolled up and with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, it was out of character for him. Anyone could tell that much but when you caught sight of him waiting for you outside, you decided to give him the benefit of doubt. Though when you approached him, there was a little bit of a problem. He was speaking weirdly, very unlike the Shino you came to know and love. Though it wasn’t necessarily a bad kind of weird, it was leaning more so on the funnier side. He cleared his throat.

“O beloved of mine, won’t you grant me a few minutes of your time? You see… I’ve been thinking—” Before he could finish, you couldn’t let out a chuckle. One that Shino couldn’t let go off easily. A simple chuckle was enough for him to feel the embarrassment rush to his face and wondered if in your eyes, he was just a fool not worthy to be taken seriously.

“Shino, why are you talking that way-?”

“Forget it,” he reverted back to his old self. His usual rudeness surfaced when his mind suddenly started taking a turn for the worse. “It’s nothing important anyways.”

Before you could let out another word, he summoned his broom and quickly fled from your sight, where you may never see the look on his face as he suddenly felt regretful. You couldn’t tell what exactly just happened but you knew this much—you felt as if you’ve done something to make him feel bad.

A figure in the air, riding on a broom, let out a puff of smoke after taking a drag from his pipe. An amused expression settling on his face mixed with a little bit of a troubled one, as if he just saw his favourite show getting cancelled right in front of him.

“Oh dear, will we be seeing the finale tonight? Or will the show simply stop here? Maybe a little push is due to apologize to dear Shino.”

You wondered if you did something to severely upset Shino, it wasn’t as if you’d never gotten into any arguments with him but this time you’ve done little to nothing at all! You considered if he got upset after your chuckle—which you thought was harmless—but the more you think about it, the more plausible it seemed. But why would he get hurt over something like that? It looked as if he was playing a silly prank on you. Unless… That wasn’t a prank at all and he had something serious to say to you.

The longer you realized, the more terrible you felt during the dead hours of the night. You paced back and forth in your room, wondering if Shino is awake or in his room right now because there was nothing more you wanted than to immediately rush to him and apologize. He must’ve felt horrible, and you only realized it now.

Making up your mind, you grabbed your coat and made your way to your door to go to his room until you heard a loud thud near your room window. There was only one person that would knock on your window during this time of the night—Shino! You quickly turned around and expected the Eastern wizard to greet you, and you were right this time. His hair went back to its usual messy look and his formal clothes were replaced with the ones he usually wears everyday.

And there were still a handful of hand picked flowers in his hand—your favourite this time, roses. You immediately rushed towards the window and slid it open, your hands outstretched towards the scenery and the cold yet gentle breeze that caressed your face. Before you knew it, Shino let go of his broom and threw himself into your arms, the strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks and his arms wrapped tightly around your torso with his head placed atop your shoulder to hide his embarrassingly red face. The flowers he was holding almost falling to the floor with how loose his grip suddenly grew.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him and opened your mouth to apologize before he could say anything: “I’m sorry!”

But as if he couldn’t hear a word you said, he pulled away and looked at you straight in the eyes. For a moment, you wondered if he was mad at you but the long hug and the blush on his cheeks was enough to tell you otherwise. You felt yourself growing more embarrassed as well when he suddenly shoved the flowers towards you. Before you could open your mouth to ask, he suddenly blurted out:

“I want to eat the pie you make for the rest of my life.” Your eyes widened, and you felt yourself wanting to laugh again. You looked away, shoulders trembling.

“... You’re laughing again,” he pouted. You shook your head, tears almost falling from the corner of your eyes.

“No, no. It’s just that I thought saying something like that felt super fitting for someone like you.” You paused to calm down, clutching the flowers he gave you close to your chest. “Will you still want to eat the pie I make even if it’s burnt?”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t burn it,” Shino shot you a gentle smile. Under the moonlight, you wondered if your eyes were just playing tricks on you and this was all just a sweet spell someone cast over you. Though, there was no use in denying the fact that Shino’s sweet and genuine smile illuminated by the moonlight was something you want to etch into your memories for centuries to come.

“As much as I want to say yes, isn’t it a bit too early for us?”

“I don’t think so, no? I’m not going to wait for your answer for more years when I already know you’re going to say yes to me in the end. So why not just agree now?”

“Wow, you already think that my answer will stay the same for the years to come.”

“I don’t just think so. I know it, I know you the best. You can’t resist my charm now, and you still won’t be able to in the future.” He took hold of your chin and leaned dangerously close, to the point where you could feel his breathing close to you. You closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you but was met with laughter instead.

“Pfft-! Did you really think I was going to kiss you?” He let out a chuckle, “consider this as revenge for laughing at me earlier.”

“H-Hey! I was not expecting anything at all, and I didn’t laugh at you. I just chuckled, that's all!” You quickly got defensive, not wanting to admit you were expecting him to kiss you.

“Are you sure?” His tone was smug and teasing, something you loved about him no matter how infuriating it is. “You still haven’t answered me, by the way. Will you pledge to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“An eternity seems long… and to think I’m considering spending it with you, of all people.”

“I know you love me.”

“Yes, yes. You already know my answer don’t you, Shino? It’s an eternity I don’t mind spending with you. Though I don’t know if Faust will allow us-!” You could barely finish your sentence when Shino crashed his lips against yours into a passionate kiss. His raw emotions coursing through him and you felt yourself getting lost in it as well, the words you held back from each other suddenly spilling like a waterfall that’s been blocked for decades through kisses. Your fingers tangled in his hair and Shino found it hard to pull back—had it not been for your need of oxygen, he would’ve never let you go.

“Let me finish my sentence first!” You exclaimed, lightly hitting his arm, breathless.

“Sorry, I got a bit excited.” He admitted like a defeated puppy but the smug look on his face made you want to smack his pretty face instead. “I just couldn’t help it when I realized that we’ll be together… til death do us part.”

Shylock took a drag from his pipe, the scent of alcohol still lingering in the air as a gentle expression took over his face, as if he accomplished something great—and he wasn’t the whole reason why a huge mess occurred in the first place.

“All’s well that ends well… Huh? I do hope dear Shino doesn’t bear a grudge against me. Eastern wizards aren’t exactly known for forgetting grudges easily.” He smiled, knowing that Shino would thank him later on. They both got what they wanted, after all. Shino and his quest for true love and Shylock with his desire for something interesting.

[shirtlesssammy]

1x20: Dead Man's Blood

Guys! We really wanted to save this VERY SPECIAL episode until the end, but it’s just SO special we couldn’t wait. It’s the episode that all mythology of the show balances on --John being a deadbeat on his own hunts, JENNY!!, and vampires (aka, the one thing Dean can’t kill and also something this family has never run into before so, you know, John could HAVE never described masked ones in his journal)

Fun fact: Jenny isn’t actually named in this episode (because woman don’t matter enough to name, silly!) Giving this character a name is the slowest burn storyline this entire show had!

Then:

John Winchester: Father of the Decade

Now:

Manning, Colorado

Mr. Elkins sits at a bar, pouring over his hunter journal. Some rowdy newcomers appear. 

Mr. Elkins takes off for home --a run down cabin in the woods. One of the bar newcomers is waiting for him. Her eyes flash and he throws a knife into her torso. She pulls it out without issue and chases him. He runs to his safe and pulls out the Colt (do we know about the Colt yet? Whatever, spoiler!) but it’s too late, he’s attacked by a couple of other dudes that fly in from the ceiling. Dinner time for the monsters!

At a diner, Dean suggests they head east to find Sarah Blake again. 

Sam dismisses such foolishness (because the idea of Sam ending up happy with a woman that we know and like is pure nonsense!!) and mentions the death of Daniel Elkins. Dean remembers that name from John’s journal. ‘

The brothers head to Colorado and check out Elkins’ home. Dean finds Elkins’ journal. 

They also find the place torn apart --and weird scratches on the floor. Dean takes a rubbing and realizes that it’s a message for a post box. They head there next and find a note for ‘JW’ in the box. 

Before they can open the letter, good ol’ John Winchester appears. He tells them that he saw them at Daniel’s place. Sam asks why he didn’t come in. “You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed.” LISTEN, asshole, these two brothers are doing JUST FINE without you. 

John tells the boys that he knew Daniel, but they had a falling out (Jesus, who didn’t you fight with back in the day, John?) John reads Daniel’s letter to him.

John asks if they saw a gun at Elkins’ place. Nope. John rushes out insistent on catching the things that killed Elkins. Sam and Dean ask what they are. 

Vampires!

Sam and Dean are shocked that they’re real. John goes over the lore for this show. 

We watch the vamps hunt for dinner. A couple is stopped by a body in the road, and while the dude goes to check it out, the woman calls 911. The dude doesn’t last long (and the lady probably doesn’t either.) 

John hears the news on the police scanner. Without explanation, he tells his sons to follow him to find the vamps. John confirms that they’re on the right trail for the vampires but Sam wants proof. 

He found a fang. They head out --but not before John gets a dig into Dean about how he takes care of his car. 

While driving, Sam and Dean break down their mutual feelings about having John back. Dean’s the little soldier and Sam is not. (And Sam is driving, like Dean can’t even be in control and drive the car he loves so much because he can’t truly handle his father’s overbearing abuse?)

At an abandoned barn, the vamps party it up while the couple stay tied up and freaking out about their fate. Then the Keifer Sutherland of the group arrives, giving them permission to feed on the dude. 

Kate tells Luther about Daniel Elkins, and he gets upset. More people will track them now. He then sees the Colt. “This is no ordinary gun.” 

On the road, Dean tells Sam to pull over because John said so. Sam gets pissy and has a little drag race with pops. And that’s the last time Sam ever drove the Impala. Sam gets in John’s grill about the gun and what they’re doing. 

Dean tries to play peacemaker, but it is REALLY TOUGH with these two. John accuses Sam of leaving. Sam accuses John of shutting him out. Dean just wants a HAPPY FAMILY. 

Kate and Luther attack the lone surviving victim, Jenny, feeding her Kate’s blood. Somebody wrote on Tumblr recently about this scene and I had blocked it out. Pretty sure I’ve only seen this episode a few times and BELIEVE IT OR NOT Jenny’s fate just did not stick with me. I’d forgotten how highly sexualized they’d made this vampire scene, and then gone further and draped it in assault. Jenny “dies” terrified, victim of one of the few same-sex kisses (on screen) in this entire damn show. Excuse me while I stomp around for a while rending my hair and hurling curses!

Later outside the vampires’ lair, the Winchesters surveil the place. Vamps CAN walk in the sunshine and they do NOT sparkle. John reveals his intricate plan: just...walk into the barn while they’re asleep.

For Still Beautiful, Still Dean Winchester Science:

John fills them in FINALLY on the Colt. Samuel Colt made a gun on the same night as the Battle of the Alamo. Sorry. Just. This is such a random story detail that has literally nothing to do with the Colt? Anyway, Colt made the gun for a hunter and gave him thirteen bullets. The hunter disappeared with only half the bullets used up because the FIRST RULE of the elder wand - I mean, the Colt - is never to brag about the Colt, probably. 

The kicker is that the Colt can purportedly kill anything! Like bigfoot! Or God! Or the legendary, rumored-to-be-extinct vampire! (Or, sure, the demon that killed Mary Winchester.) John is hinging their demon-killing success on getting the Colt. The potential vampire killing is just blood-red icing on the cake. 

In the barn, John creeps up slowly on the sleeping Kate and Luther, eyes set on the Colt dangling on their bedpost. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean stop their search for the Colt when they realize that there are people trapped for food in the barn. (Good beans!) They work to set them free when Jenny wakes up. She immediately lets out an inhuman roar as soon as she sees Sam.

Luther wakes up and chucks John across the room. He shouts for them to split, and the Winchesters flee. “Once a vampire gets your scent, it’s for life,” John explains. [insert Benny/Dean joke here] 

While Dean’s raiding a funeral home, John “bonds” with Sam in the motel. He reveals that he put $100 in a college fund for Sam and Dean when they were born. He did that up until Mary died, and then he shifted his focus to raising his boys to be soldiers. (So literally just $100 for Sam’s account, then.) “Somewhere along the line I stopped being your father.” NO SHIT, JOHN. 

Sam tells John that he used to think they were different, but after Jess died he’s wholly in the fight. They bond over their twin quests for revenge and when John reveals that he spent his boys’ college funds on ammunition, Sam laughs. What a Hallmark moment! Dean returns with dead man’s blood, and they get to work.

That night, Dean gets dangled out as bait: the dude-in-distress bending over a “broken-down” Impala. I just. Can’t even. With this show. 

Kate finds him and they trade witty banter. She also kisses him which…. Excuse me, I’m going to stare into the middle distance for a while, grinding my teeth. 

Arrows thwack into the vampires’ chests just in time, I guess? The dead-man’s-blood soaked arrows start to leach into their system, slowing them down. The Winchesters capture Kate, and kill the second vampire. 

Sam confronts John about his plan to get the Colt and then scuttle away from his sons again. “You can’t treat us like this. Like children.” 

“That’s crap,” Dean calls out John. “You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can’t be that worried about keeping us safe.” John’s got to do the hunt ALONE! It’s the only way! 

Back with the vamp family, Luther learns about the hunters who’ve captured Kate (and severed their first head). 

Luther zeroes in on John’s truck, tearing down the highway. He can tell that Kate’s inside it. And sure enough, Kate starts to wake up next to John. The vamp squad pursues the truck. 

At the barn, Sam and Dean break in to confront the lone, possibly drunk vampire. It’s time to go antiquing! ALSO Dean Winchester breaks out the blood prisoners. “I told you I’d come back!” Readers, I love him.

With the vamps, John demands a trade: the Colt for Kate. He almost gets the Colt, but Kate overpowers him, knocking him out. It looks like the end for John Winchester EXCEPT an arrow thwacks into a vampire out of nowhere. Cue triumphant music, for it’s Sam and Dean Winchester to the rescue! Sam gets captured in the fight, and John blows one of the Colt’s precious bullets right into Luther’s forehead. The vampire dies in slow motion dramatic glorious fashion.

Jenny takes off to - APPARENTLY - live on in infamy on the back end of the show. John tells his kids that they are, in fact, stronger as a family. It’s time to hunt the demon together! Aw, bonding time! 

Buffy the Vampquote Slayer:

Vampires? I thought there was no such thing

Revenge isn't worth much if you end up dead

We’re stronger as a family

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[tigerseye46]

Hi, love the prompt you wrote you truly capture the happy moments and sad moments! I was thinking of a sequel from I don't want to lose you for prompt #148, Thank you.

Prompt List

Thanks! Also that's a perfect name for it! Here you go!

148. “Is this really the time for jokes?” “You always do this.” “Wake me up when it’s over.” “You look happy.” “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “Why can’t I get you out of my head?” Sequel to the “I don’t want to lose you.”

  His boyfriend was free, Wukong was free, finally. From what he heard from some demons he had beat up, his boyfriend had been freed by some monk and forced to go on some quest, ew. Macaque needed to save his boyfriend, obviously he was being forced to do this whole thing, who knows what suffering Wukong might have gone through? It was hard work tracking his boyfriend down especially since he heard they were going west to retrieve some scriptures, again ew.

  Macaque searched for years then he finally found him. It was in a bustling market place full of disgusting humans. He was currently in disguise while looking at (stealing) the wares and then, he saw him. His boyfriend in all his glory, he was eagerly talking to someone, the monk Macaque guessed, a bright smile on his face. Wukong was wearing different clothes from the last time he saw him and a golden circlet was around his head, he was gorgeous.

  Macaque didn’t transform back right away. It would draw too much attention so he quietly stepped towards the other monkey, trying to maintain a neutral face even as the excitement built up in him. His boyfriend had stopped talking to the monk before Macaque tapped his shoulder.

  The other monkey turned toward him with an eyebrow raised and asked, “Hm?”

  “Wukong! Can’t believe you’re finally out! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Wukong tilted his head. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” The six eared monkey wanted to facepalm, his boyfriend had special eyes yet he couldn’t use them to spot his own boyfriend.

  “Peaches… it’s me…” he muttered.

  Wukong gasped and briefly activated his special eyes. The glow quickly disappeared as he whispered, “Ma-Macaque? It is you… I…”

  Macaque smiled. “Nice to see you, Peaches.”

  “Li-likewise, give me a second.” Wukong gave him a reassuring glance and then gazed at the monk beside him. He asked the monk, “Master, is it okay if I walk around for a bit?” Master? His boyfriend “Great Sage Equal to Heaven” calling someone master?

  The “master” didn’t look up at Wukong as he was too busy examining some vegetables. “Okay, Wukong but please do not draw attention to yourself or cause trouble.”

  “Ya sure ya should let him go? He is him after all.” Macaque found the source of the voice and it was a pig demon smirking at his boyfriend.

  Wukong scoffed. “Wow, very descriptive, Bajie.”

  “Hey! I’m just sayin’ ya might cause trouble.”

  “I would never!” Wukong winked.

  “I think oldest brother should be fine,” another demon said.

  The master spoke up, “I think Wukong will be fine. Please be careful.”

  “Of course, master!” He shouted, Wukong made sure the group wasn’t looking at him then he pulled Macaque away into a forest nearby. Macaque transformed back and analyzed his boyfriend.

  “Peaches… it’s great to... you know. I tried searching for you, couldn’t find you before.”

  Wukong hugged him. “I… I missed you, Mango.”

  Macaque hugged back as he took in the scent of the monkey king. They gave each other a soft and slow kiss on the lips. “Missed you too, Peaches. You look… happy.”

  Wukong gave his love a peck on the cheek and exclaimed, “Yes I am! I’ve been traveling all over the place, fighting demons and with the gang! It’s awesome!”

  “Glad you’ve been having fun,” he muttered. “So are we going now?”

  “Going?”

  “Yea, to carry out our plan against Heaven and what not. To rule, obviously…”

  His boyfriend frowned. “Well the plan has changed…”

  Macaque raised his eyebrow. “How so? I know you’ve been forced to help these guys. You don’t have to stay here any longer. I’m saving you from whatever it is.”

  “That’s just it…”

  “Hm? What is?”

  “I want to stay here. I need to stay here. I have to protect the others.”

  Macaque stared at his boyfriend wide eyed then brought a hand to his forehead and laughed. “Wow, for a second you really got me. Is this really the time for jokes?”

  Wukong glared at him. “I’m not joking. I’m staying with them.”

  “WHAT? Are you out of your mind? They forced you under a dang mountain then onto whatever this is! And now you want to stay?”

  The monkey king sighed. “Look, I was angry especially after they put this crown thing to make sure I listen.” He gestured to the circlet. “But it’s not so bad. I have a responsibility to protect them now. I’ve accepted that. You could come with us!”

  Was Wukong serious? They put that crown on his head to control him? How could he still want to stay after that? “What about our plan to take over Heaven? Don't you want revenge?”

  “I did…” he shook his head. “Not anymore. I’ve changed. Come with us, Macaque! I’m sure master wouldn’t mind!”

  Was his boyfriend being forced to say this? Macaque scowled, “That monk must have you under some spell, don’t worry, Peaches, I’ll get rid of that monk and the rest of them..”

  At those words, the king held up his staff and against his boyfriend’s chest. He yelled “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THEM!”

  Macaque laughed and placed a hand on his face. “Is this some sick dream? Gods, wake me up when it’s over.”

  “This is no dream, Mango.”

  “Don’t you want revenge?”

  “Revenge isn’t important to me anymore! I’ve grown. I don’t need you to rescue me! You mess with them, you mess with me.”

  His boyfriend glared at him. “So you want to waste time following some human around?”

  “Yes! Because I believe in our cause!”

  “Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

  “Stupid to you but not to me! If you’re going to threaten my friends then this is goodbye, Mango.” Wukong lowered his staff and started walking away from his boyfriend. Macaque’s face being a face of disbelief and anger.

  “DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME, WUKONG! You always do this! You always do something selfish and leave me to pick the mess up! Just like when you got trapped under that mountain!” Macaque yelled and stomped his feet.

  Wukong looked back at him. “Goodbye, Mango,” he repeated. “We’re through.” Then he left.

  Macaque wanted to grab his boyfriend, scream at him to come back. He had remembered what he said to Wukong before he left, he had lost him, he had lost his boyfriend and it stung. He sobbed as he fell to his knees. He whispered, “Why can’t I get you out of my head?” The only other thought going through his mind was “revenge.” If Wukong thought this journey was fun then how fun would it be if Macaque impersonated him and ruined him? He would take the credit for his ex boyfriend’s journey and ruin him. That was a guarantee.

[tumblezwei]

Why Kyoko Mogami is the GOAT

And why y’all are SLEEPING ON HER

Spoilers for Skip Beat, but honestly idk how much of the story I’m gonna get into for this since I’m flying by the seat of my pants. Still, read at your own risk.

Also this is LONG lmao

Kyoko Mogami is a 16 year old middle school drop-out that works two jobs day and night in order to pay rent for the Tokyo apartment that she lives in all by herself 6 days out of the week. Going into the first chapter, there are three things immediately clear about her. 

1. She’s cheerful, kind, and also kind of batshit insane. From the first moment we meet her, her personality is throwing itself at our faces and refusing to calm down. (apologies for the bad quality images, I work with what I have)

2. She loves Sho Fuwa, her childhood friend and rising rock-star that asked Kyoko to come with him to Tokyo after middle school graduation to support his career

3. Nothing matters to her as long as Sho is happy. Sure, she laments that her love for girly dresses, cosmetics, and fairy tale princesses will never amount to anything since all of her money is going toward paying the rent on her and Sho’s apartment, but that’s fine. As long as her precious Sho is happy, so is she. 

And, as you’d expect, things go to shit pretty quickly afterwards. During one her off days from her night job, Kyoko decides to visit Sho at his recording studio with dinner. After sneaking in past the hoards of squealing teenage girls waiting outside to catch a glimpse of him, she overhears him talking to his manager. 

“I’m the heir to a prominent Japanese inn, do you think I’ve ever cooked or cleaned all by myself?” She hears. 

“That’s awful,” the manager replies, “you make it sound as if you brought her just to be your maid.”

“She’s basically been my maid since I was a kid, or else I wouldn’t have brought her along with me. It’s not like I forced her, I asked her a question and gave her the choice. It’s only natural that she’d work her butt off to support me.” 

And he just keeps going. Once he’s made enough to live independently, he’ll send her back. How dare his parents try to set him up with a plain-looking girl like her. She doesn’t even wear make-up! 

As images of flash in Kyoko’s mind of standing in front of make-up stores with no money to buy anything, she takes Sho’s words just as well as one might expect. By unleashing the box of tucked away emotions she’s held in her chest and swearing to take revenge on Sho for using her and throwing her away like this.

. I failed to mention this at the start, but the beginning of the chapter introduces us to the most important piece of symbolism in Kyoko’s character development: Pandora’s box. 

For Kyoko’s entire life, she’s held this box inside herself. In myth, once this box was opened, all of the evil of the world is unleashed, never to be put back inside. So for Kyoko, the metaphor is quite apt. Hearing Sho’s words unlocks the box and unleashes a kind of anger that not even Kyoko knew she was capable of, a kind of determination and vengeance that has her dyeing her hair and staking outside of a talent manager’s house for days on end to whittle down his willpower and give her a chance to audition at Sho’s rival talent agency, LME. Every time she hears his name, or sees his picture, she’s filled with myopic sense of rage that no one can calm her down from. 

Her sole mission in life is to get revenge on Sho Fuwa, a sentiment that finds her at odds with LME’s top actor, Ren Tsuruga, who sees her one-sided quest for vengeance as an insult to people who truly love acting. But as if Kyoko cares, she needs to get revenge! 

I’m gonna drop the pseudo-narration for a bit because I actually need to skip over a fair bit of plot to get to what I think makes Kyoko incredibly compelling, outside of being the funniest female character in existence. We’re going to jump forward in time to Kyoko’s first acting gig. Well, not so much an gig as much as it is a competition. She’s been tasked to play the role of a dignified inn keeper that’s serving tea to the main male character. After having broken her ankle and been challenged by the real lead actress, this is her first shot to prove she has the talent to make it in the acting industry. So in order to immerse herself in the role, she utilizes her experience of being trained by Sho’s mother to take care of the inn that his family owned. It’s here that we finally understand that Kyoko giving up her life back home for Sho wasn’t just a spur of the moment decision brought about by infatuation. It was something she’d been doing for her entire life. Everything she knows how to do, every skill she’s obtained, has been because of Sho. And this is the moment that she realizes that fact too. (the first image is from after the scene is done, wherein Kyoko cannot snap herself out of her character due to the lessons she was taught as a child, despite her sitting position making her broken ankle unbearably painful). 

Even her righteous fury at being left in the dust is focused solely on Sho fucking Fuwa. Is there anything that she has than can be attributed to her own success? Does she have any skills that can’t be traced back to trying to make Sho happy? Who is Kyoko Mogami? Is she worth anything without Sho? 

And I want to make this clear right now, because I know the term “shoujo” makes people hesitate. THIS is what Skip Beat is about. Kyoko’s journey to find out who she is, and with every new role she takes on and with every experience she gains, she becomes just a little closer to finding out who she is and what she wants for herself. 

We watch as her love for acting slowly eclipses her thirst for revenge. A few arcs after this moment, she is contacted about a job to act in a music PV with none other than Sho himself. In the beginning, she accepts the job in order to prove to Sho that she’s climbing the ladder and catching up to him, but her performance suffers whenever she thinks about her revenge. And what saves her isn’t even putting aside her revenge, but prioritizing her own feelings above it. She wants to act! She wants to put on a good performance! So she needs to put aside those feelings of anger and draw from her past experiences to create a character that leaves Sho in the dust. 

I’m gonna bet y’all are wondering about the romance, though. Because this is a shoujo, and of course it has romance. But hey, guess what? That romance is equally compelling and is an integral part to Kyoko’s character too. In the first....5 or so arcs, Ren Tsuruga ‘s relationship with Kyoko crawls it’s way out of the it’s rocky beginnings, and he slowly becomes a mentor figure to Kyoko. He’s her superior in acting, and she looks to him often for support and guidance when she’s struggling to perform a role or having difficulty with her fellow actors. To Kyoko, Ren is the goal, his level of acting is what she aspires to be, so she can stand on equal footing with him. Before there’s even a whiff of romance between them, there develops a solid bond of trust and support. And once the romance starts. Hoo boy. 

To fully understand why it’s taken 12 years irl for a confession scene to finally take place, we need to bring back the metaphor of Pandora’s box. Because not everything escaped Pandora’s box when it was opened. Pandora was able to shut the box just in time for one thing to stay locked inside: hope. In the myth, this is a good thing, while negative and vile emotions run free, hope still exists within people to become better. But for Kyoko, the box isn’t a safe place, it’s a repressed place. She spent her entire life locking away the negative emotions she felt, placing a smile on her face and hoping for Sho’s happiness. And when those emotions are set lose, she locks the box back up, sealing something else inside. Her hope, her confidence in anything having to do with love. 

It’s not just that Kyoko isn’t in love anymore, she feels as if she can’t be in love anymore, that she’s entirely incapable of it. The idea of falling in love with someone else terrifies her. What if she goes back to the way she was before? An empty shell that exists for other people and not herself. The box has been sealed tightly again, and by God this time she’s not going to let anything open it. And like, I don’t want to spoil much in this, as contradictory as that sounds. Because the scene where she realizes she loves Ren? One of the best fucking scenes in any romance manga ever. 

And. God. I haven’t even touched on her mom. Kyoko’s desire for love, that became so warped under Sho and so desolate after his betrayal, can all stem back to Saena Mogami. A woman who, no matter what Kyoko did, rejected any affection that her child tried to give, and gave none in return. “Even a mother can hate her own child.” We get bits and pieces of what Kyoko’s mother was like, and the environment that a very young Kyoko was raised in before her mother left her in the care of Sho’s parents. And eventually we realize that Kyoko isn’t afraid of her love being rejected twice, but a third time. 

Like, y’all, I’m not good at these kind of essays. I keep wanting to go off on tangents, nothing is ever focused, I spend to much time just reading the manga instead of writing this fucking post. But please believe me when I tell you that Kyoko Mogamis character development is like none other. She’s truly at the top of her genre and it’s an actual crime that she’s so underrated. 

I HAVEN’T EVEN TALKED ABOUT KANAE, THE WEISS TO HER RUBY, THE TSUNDERE TO HER GENKI

Before Kyoko gets even a single arc with Ren, she gets two with Kanae. The first with Kanae as a central figure, and the second where Kanae is her support. She’s the one that gives Kyoko the eureka moment she needs to pull of her performance with Sho. They are one of the most developed and deep friendships in shoujo that I’ve ever seen AND Y’ALL NEED TO STOP SLEEPING ON IT. LOOK AT THESE TWO

And don’t take this poorly assembled post at face value, I’ve left out a lot of shit. Starting with how fucking funny this manga is. Kyoko’s special talent for her LME audition is peeling vegetables, there’s a running gag where Ren asks for her advice while she’s in a giant chicken costume, unaware that it’s her, the president of LME is an eccentric millionaire that likes to dress up in different themed costumes every day and loves throwing extravagant parties, Kyoko’s hobby is making voodoo dolls and talks to a miniature Ren doll whenever she needs encouragement or advice. 

And it’s all packaged alongside some of the most compelling character development I’ve ever seen (for both Kyoko and Ren), and some absolutely heartbreaking drama. You will never know true pain until “I don’t have a daughter.”

Read this, ya’ll. You won’t regret it. 

[flightfoot]

Analyzing Reyna’s romance (or rather, lack thereof) arc and her feelings towards it throughout the series

Recently, Rick published a tweet about Reyna’s orientation, stating “Personally, I see her as romantic asexual and have written her arc with that in mind. (hence the prophecy in HoO) It’s been a struggle for her to figure that out, as she explains in Tyrant’s Tomb. But as always, interpret the text as you wish.”

After reading Tyrant’s Tomb, I figured she was somewhere around ace or aro, so it was cool to see it confirmed that he wrote her with that in mind! Especially since I’m ace myself, and we don’t get a ton of representation. It was just really neat.

In light of that, I wanted to lay out and analyze her arc as it relates to her orientation, to who she’s attracted (or moreso, not attracted) to, starting from her first appearance and continuing through to Tyrant’s Tomb.

Starting all the way from “Son of Neptune”, there’s hints and conversations about Reyna’s love life woven in, with Percy noticing how Reyna reacts to Jason being mentioned.

Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy Jason might’ve been more to her than just a colleague. (SON 41)

 Percy doesn’t know much of anything about Jason or Reyna or the culture in Camp Jupiter, so he doesn’t have much of a bias towards thinking they’re a couple because of those factors. For Percy to still pick up on Reyna being especially close to Jason is a pretty good indicator that that wasn’t just other people reading into it, seeing what they expect to see from Reyna - something which DOES happen a lot, and that Reyna goes into in Tyrant’s Tomb.

Jason… Percy couldn’t go very far in this camp without hearing that name.

“The way you talk about him…” Percy said. “Were you two a couple?”

Reyna’s eyes bored into him – like the eyes of a hungry wolf. Percy had seen enough hungry wolves to know.

“We might have been,” Reyna said, “given time. Praetors work closely together. It’s common for them to become romantically involved. But Jason was only praetor for a few months before he disappeared. Ever since then, Octavian has been pestering me, agitating for new elections. I’ve resisted. I’ve resisted. I need a new partner in power – but I prefer someone like Jason. A warrior, not a schemer.”

She waited. Percy realized she was sending him a silent invitation.

His mouth went dry. “Oh… you mean… oh.”

“I believe the gods sent you to help me,” Reyna said. “I don’t understand where you come from, any more than I understood it four years ago. But I think your arrival is some form of repayment. You destroyed my home once. Now you’ve been sent to save my home. I don’t hold a grudge against you for the past, Percy. My sister hates you still, it’s true, but Fate brought me here to Camp Jupiter. I’ve done well. All I ask is that you work with me for the future. I intend to save this camp. (SON 181)

 Initially when she’s introduced, and in the early books especially, Reyna gives off this extremely dangerous vibe, with Percy especially being nervous about her. Her initial proposition here seems very opportunistic at first, with the emphasis being on the power that comes from being her partner first and foremost, and any more romantic (or otherwise) partnership being implied as an add-on. It isn’t really clear whether she has any actual feelings for him or not.

“The point is, Percy, you are the real power on this quest. You are a seasoned veteran. I’ve seen what you can do. A son of Neptune wouldn’t be my first choice, but if you return successfully from this mission, the legion might be saved. The praetorship will be yours for the taking. Together, you and I could expand the power of Rome. We could raise an army and find the Doors of Death, crush Gaea’s forces once and for all. You would find me a very helpful… friend.”

She said that word like it could have several meanings, and he could pick which one.

Percy’s feet started tapping on the floor, anxious to run. “Reyna… I’m honored, and all. Seriously. But I’ve got a girlfriend. And I don’t want power, or a praetorship.”

Percy was afraid he’d made her mad. Instead she just raised her eyebrows.

“A man who turns down power?” she said. “That’s not very Roman of you. Just think about it. In four days, I have to make a choice. If we are to fight off an invasion, we must have two strong praetors. I’d prefer you, but if you fail on your quest, or don’t come back, or refuse my offer… Well, I’ll work with Octavian. I mean to save this camp, Percy Jackson. Things are worse than you realize.” (SON 182-183)

 Reyna’s giving off a “together we can rule” kind of vibe, though for benevolent purposes. And the emphasis on him not being her first choice necessarily but preferring him to other options, along with the casual way she talks about him possibly failing his quest or not making it back compounds the perception that this isn’t really about Percy personally, and not about any attraction she may or may not have towards him, but just what he can offer as far as strengthening the camp goes.

He could tell the audience was over. Reyna was having trouble holding herself together, keeping up the image of the confident commander. She needed some time by herself.

But at the door of the principia, Percy couldn’t resist turning. “How did we destroy your home – that spa where you lived?”

The metal greyhounds growled. Reyna snapped her fingers to silence them.

“You destroyed the power of our mistress,” she said. “You freed some prisoners who took revenge on all of us who lived on the island. My sister and I… well, we survived. It was difficult. But in the long run, I think we are better off away from that place.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Percy said. “If I hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Reyna gazed at him for a long time, as if trying to translate his words. “An apology? Not very Roman at all, Percy Jackson. You’d make an interesting praetor. I hope you’ll think about my offer.” (SON 184-185)

 The bit about Reyna having trouble holding herself together and keeping up this image shows a crack in her earlier portrayal, that maybe she isn’t quite as... impassive I think? As she appears while making her ‘offer’ to Percy. It does make me wonder though, how much of this portrayal of her during this scene was a deliberately planned part of her character arc since the beginning, and how much was Rick writing this in the early stages and slowly figuring out her character along the way. In later scenes, especially in later books, it seemed like less of a purely pragmatic offer, and more of one with at least some twinges of actual desire behind it, albeit only twinges (not like she knows Percy that well anyway).

She glanced up at the warship. Her expression turned a little wistful. “You say Jason is aboard… I hope that’s true. I’ve missed him.” (SON 512)

 Even here, though, at the end of SON, the stalwart commander image she tries to project softens a little, and her closeness with Jason, her desire to see him again, is emphasized. Platonic or romantic, she definitely cares for him.

“Enough,” Reyna snapped. “Annabeth is what she says. She’s here in peace. Besides…” She gave Annabeth a look of grudging respect. “Percy has spoken highly of you.”

The undertones in Reyna’s voice took Annabeth a moment to decipher. Percy looked down, suddenly interested in his cheeseburger.

Annabeth’s face felt hot. Oh gods… Reyna had tried to make a move on Percy. That explained the tinge of bitterness, maybe even envy in her words. Percy had turned her down for Annabeth. (MOA 24)

 Here’s where there starts being some pretty strong implications that Reyna did actually care about Percy more personally, her romantic offer was for more than just convenience sake. Especially with the ‘maybe even envy’ part. The bitterness could just as easily be from just the rejection, but the envy implies she actively wants what Annabeth has.

“Uh, Reyna,” Jason said. “if you don’t mind, I’d like to show Piper around before the senate meeting. She’s never seen New Rome.”

Reyna’s expression hardened.

Annabeth wondered how Jason could be so dense. Was it possible he really didn’t understand how much Reyna liked him? It was obvious enough to Annabeth. Asking to show his new girlfriend around Reyna’s city was rubbing salt in a wound.

“Of course,” Reyna said coldly.

Percy took Annabeth’s hand. “Yeah, me too, I’d like to show Annabeth-“

“No,” Reyna snapped.

Percy knit his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“I’d like a few words with Annabeth,” Reyna said. “Alone. If you don’t mind, my fellow praetor.”

Her tone made it clear she wasn’t really asking permission.

The chill spread down Annabeth’s back. She wondered what Reyna was up to. Maybe the praetor didn’t like the idea of two guys who had rejected her giving their girlfriends tours of her city. Or maybe there was something she wanted to say in private. Either way, Annabeth was reluctant to be alone and unarmed with the Roman leader. (MOA 32)

 Reyna did have some things she wanted to go over with Annabeth privately, but with the emphasis on Annabeth being able to tell how much Reyna likes Jason, her reacting coldly to him asking to take Piper around the city, along with the way she snapped at Percy for asking to take Annabeth around instead of stating her refusal more calmly, her reactions strongly suggest that she IS hurting from seeing both Percy and Jason with their girlfriends, that she does have feelings for them somewhat, and is trying to suppress it.

“Long story,” Reyna said. “But I remember you well. You were brave. I’d never seen anyone refuse Circe’s hospitality, much less outwit her. It’s no wonder Percy cares for you.”

Her voice was wistful. Annabeth thought it might be safer not to respond. (MOA 37-38)

 I didn’t pull quotations emphasizing this specifically, but Reyna’s loneliness and the strain she’s under as a commander, especially having been the lone praetor for so long, is putting her under a lot of stress. I think at least part of the reason for her hints of envy towards Annabeth and coldness about Jason having a girlfriend, is derived from her not really having had the sort of support that Percy and Jason currently have, that intimacy, that ability to drop the walls and image she’s built up in order to lead and to protect herself.

“I wanted to hear it from you,” Reyna said.

Annabeth turned. “Hear what from me?”

“The truth,” Reyna said. “Convince me I’m not making a mistake by trusting you. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about Camp Half-Blood. Your friend Piper has sorcery in her words. I spent enough time with Circe to know charmspeak when I hear it. I can’t trust what she says. And Jason… well, he has changed. He seems distant, no longer quite Roman.”

The hurt in her voice was as sharp as broken glass. Annabeth wondered if she had sounded that way, all the months she’d been searching for Percy. At least she’d found her boyfriend. Reyna had no one. She was responsible for running an entire camp all by herself. Annabeth could sense that Reyna wanted Jason to love her. But he had disappeared, only to come back with a new girlfriend. Meanwhile, Percy had risen to praetor, but he had rebuffed Reyna too. Now Annabeth had come to take him away. Reyna would be left alone again, shouldering a job meant for two people.

When Annabeth had arrived at Camp Jupiter, she’d been prepared to negotiate with Reyna or even fight her if needed. She hadn’t been prepared to feel sorry for her.

She kept that feeling hidden. Reyna didn’t strike her as someone who would appreciate pity. (MOA 38-39)

 The loneliness is really apparent here, and very explicit. I don’t think it’s even really about ‘romantic love’, as far as the whole thing with Jason goes, exactly, but... being that high level of priority. Having someone there for you closely. I think she at least thinks that a romantic relationship with Jason, or even Percy, may provide that. And that’s something most people need, regardless of orientation. 

“You see?” Reyna said bitterly. “The spear is thrown. Our people are at war.”

“Not if I succeed,” Annabeth said.

Reyna’s expression looked the same as it had at Camp Jupiter when she realized Jason had found another girl. The praetor was too alone, too bitter and betrayed to believe anything could go right for her ever again. Annabeth waited for her to attack. (MOA 253)

 Between this sudden attack out of nowhere, Jason disappearing and returning with having bonded with these new people, especially Piper, and having ‘changed’ as she said, no longer having anyone around she’s close to... well. She’s just managing as best she can.

In the center of the line stood Reyna, her metal dogs Aurum and Argentum at her side. Upon seeing her, Jason felt an incredible pang of guilt. He’d let her believe they had a future together. He had never been in love with her, and he hadn’t led her on exactly… but he also hadn’t shut her down.

He’d disappeared, leaving her to run the camp on her own. (Okay, that hadn’t exactly been Jason’s idea, but still…) Then he had returned to Camp Jupiter with his new girlfriend Piper and a whole bunch of Greek friends in a warship. They’d fired on the Forum and run away, leaving Reyna with a war on her hands. (HOH 247)

 I couldn’t find much about Reyna’s relationships with others in HOH since she’s barely in the book. From the looks of things, he’d at least believed that Reyna wanted to be with him actively long-term, something which jives pretty well with previous passages concerning Reyna’s relationship with Jason. Makes me curious how exactly they interacted in the past, what went down between them.

Also more emphasis on Reyna being stressed and on her own. That seems to be pretty heavily associated with anything talking about her love life.

So far in the ancient lands, she’d only seen one place on her wish list: Diocletian’s Palace in Split, and even that visit had hardly gone the way she’d imagined. Reyna used to dream about going there with Jason to admire their favorite emperor’s home. She pictured romantic walks with him through the old city, sunset picnics on the parapets. (BOO 75)

 And then comes Blood of Olympus, where we actually get to see Reyna’s perspective, her thoughts, instead of having to infer them from other characters’ perceptions of her. The daydreaming about going on trips with him and explicitly ‘romantic’ walks and picnics seems like she genuinely desired that to some extent. Though I do notice those are pretty cliche desires, so that may also feed into the part of her arc with feeling pressured to perform a certain way, to ‘be’ a certain way, and believing that this is how to find happiness.

She found Thalia’s eyes distracting: electric blue, intense, and alert, so much like Jason’s. (BOO 221)

 Just wanted to note this bit, since she’s paying special attention to Thalia here, especially her eyes. Though I’m iffy about this representing attraction to Reyna, since Thalia’s eyes are often commented on (at least in their heads) and a major factor in paying attention to them seems to have to do with them being like Jason’s, which could account for the focus.

The giant’s eyes clicked and dilated. Red laser dots floated across Reyna’s breastplate. “Ah, the young praetor. I admit, I’ve been curious. Before I slay you, perhaps you’ll enlighten me. Why would a child of Rome go to such lengths to help the Greeks? You have forfeited your rank, abandoned your legion, made yourself an outlaw – and for what? Jason Grace scorned you. Percy Jackson refused you. Haven’t you been… what’s the word… dumped enough?”

Reyna’s ears buzzed. She recalled Aphrodite’s warning, two years ago in Charleston: You will not find love where you wish or where you hope. No demigod shall heal your heart.

She forced herself to meet the giant’s gaze. “I don’t define myself by the boys who may or may not like me.” (BOO 238)

 It just occurred to me that I really have no clue how Orion knows about Reyna’s love life. Like I know Python can provide some intel, but was that detail REALLY that important? 

Anyway, this statement by Reyna, “I don’t define myself by the boys who may or may not like me.”, is an important step in how she relates to romance in general, and in her portrayal in the series, particularly in the Tyrant’s Tomb. Before this a lot of emphasis was placed on her being rejected by Percy and Jason, and of at least somewhat wanting to be with them in some capacity, or at least believing that she did. After this she seems more at peace with herself and less focused on past or present pursuit of relationships for herself.

“Once in Charleston, Venus told me something. She said: You will not find love where you wish or where you hope. No demigod shall heal your heart. I- I have struggled with that for…” Her words broke. (BOO 492)

 Near the end of BOO, she finally talks to someone about this. A lot of people know, but... well, with the emphasis on how alone she is, how she has to keep up appearances, it doesn’t seem like she’s really gotten a chance to break down and talk to someone. I’m glad she got to do it with Piper. And this proclamation, this prophecy, the seeming hopelessness of it that appears to re-emphasize her being alone, along with implying that she’s broken in some way with the reference to her needing to be ‘healed’... I can only imagine how it would torment her.

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question… Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy… why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance? Thalia’s an excellent friend. Why would I risk messing that up?” (TTT 228)

 By TTT she’s had a lot more time to come to terms with her thoughts and feelings about relationships and romance, plus she’s not alone anymore, though the situation is still dire and stressful. While during HOO her being without support and having to manage everything by herself was interwoven with the narrative about her feelings towards Jason and Percy and her lack of romantic relationships, that’s not present here. In fact, it’s the opposite, with her having a strong friendship and having no desire to turn it into something romantic. It seems like those concepts became unbundled, with her having strong support and friendship unrelated to any romance.

Reyna broke a dry branch off a shrub and flicked it into the underbrush. “I went on that quest with Jason, what, two years ago? Venus took one look at me and decided… I don’t know. I was broken. I needed romantic healing. Whatever. I wasn’t back at camp a full day before the whispering started. Nobody would admit that they knew, but they knew. The looks I got: Oh, poor Reyna. The innocent suggestions I got about who I should date.”

She didn’t sound angry. It was more like weighed down and weary. I remembered Frank Zhang’s concern about how long Reyna had shouldered the burdens of leadership, how he wished he could do more to relieve her. Apparently, a lot of legionnaires wanted to help Reyna. Not all of that had been welcome or useful.

“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m not broken.”

“Of course not.” (TTT 233)

 This conception about “being broken” is something aces tend to end up feeling, at least without knowing more about asexuality. I didn’t get it as much since I wasn’t surrounded with as much emphasis on dating and sex as a lot of other people are, so I started figuring out maybe I was different from most other people only awhile after having run across the term; I just figured it was normal to have this attraction thing start up sometime later, like late teens or so, and that I didn’t exactly know what people were talking about anyway so maybe I just didn’t recognize it. By the time I figured out that I probably wasn’t going to develop this “sexual attraction” thing anytime soon I already knew about different sexualities and was able to research the topic to see what best description best fit my own experience. So I’m glad Rick touched on Reyna’s discomfort here. With some of the earlier passages I think she may have come to view herself the same way other people were viewing her, as needing a romantic partner to help her, but now she’s realized that was never really necessary for her; she doesn’t need that in her life.

After this, the whole scene with Lester awkwardly asking Reyna out occurs, and she figures out how ridiculous all this stress over who she should be with is, that it’s not something she needs to force herself to do, to dedicate all this time and energy too.

“My whole life, I’ve been living with other people’s expectations of what I’m supposed to be. Be this. Be that. You know?”

[…]

“But the whole time I’ve been a leader here,” she forged on, “I was looking for a partner. Praetors often partner up. In power. But also romantically, I mean. I thought Jason. Then for a hot minute, Percy Jackson. Gods help me, I even considered Octavian.” She shuddered. “Everybody was always trying to ship me with somebody. Thalia. Jason. Gwen. Even Frank. Oh, you’d be perfect together! That’s who you need! But I was never really sure if I wanted that, or if I just felt like I was supposed to want it. People, well-meaning, would be like, Oh, you poor thing. You deserve somebody in your life. Date him. Date her. Date whoever. Find your soulmate.”

She looked to me to see if I was following. Her words came out hot and fast, as if she’d been holding them in for a long time. “And that meeting with Venus. That really messed me up. No demigod will heal your heart. What was that supposed to mean? Then finally, you came along.”

“Do we have to review that part again? I am quite embarrassed enough.”

“But you showed me. When you proposed dating…”

She took a deep breath, her body shaking with silent giggles. “Oh, gods. I saw how ridiculous I’d been. How ridiculous the whole situation was. That’s what healed my heart – being able to laugh at myself again, at my stupid ideas about destiny. That allowed me to break free – just like Frank broke free of his firewood. I don’t need another person to heal my heart. I don’t need a partner… at least, not until and unless I’m ready on my own terms. I don’t need to be force-shipped with anyone or wear anyone else’s label. For the first time in a long time, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So thank you.” (TTT 405-406)

I understand her confusion here about whether she herself wanted to be with someone, or whether she felt like she should enough that she forced some facsimile of those feelings onto herself. I suspect that there were at least twinges of genuine romantic feelings concerning Jason at least -  a lot of the focus around romance is in regards to him, and some of her reactions regarding him appeared to be more instinctual to me, like her reaction to him suggesting showing Piper around the city. Now how strong those feelings really were and whether they’d sync up well with a romantic relationship, I’m not sure. Just because you can imagine a relationship being one way, actually experiencing it you may find it’s not for you, that conceptually it’s appealing but not when actually trying to have one.

She doesn’t seem entirely sure of her own feelings as far as dating someone goes either, but she’s letting go of the idea, of the feeling that she needs to figure it out now. She can just... be. 

When I was first trying to figure out what the heck my orientation was, I fretted about it for a bit, trying to analyze my own feelings and compulsions. I thought demisexual or asexual, and as for my romantic orientation... bi perhaps?

Eventually I just... stopped worrying over it. At least all that much. Pretty sure I’m ace, but romantic orientation I’m still unsure of, though I’m currently leaning aro. And even in my twenties, I’m not totally clear on it. And I don’t have to be. Neither does Reyna. If she ends up with feelings for someone, of whatever gender, that’s fine. If she doesn’t, that’s fine too. Maybe she’ll end up changing what she thinks of herself, what she believes her orientation is as she has more experiences. Or maybe she won’t. It’s good either way.

Joining the Hunters decoupled the themes of loneliness, of isolation from HOO with the idea of romantic relationships even more thoroughly. She has that sort of camaraderie with them. She doesn’t need to be strong for them, to be the high leader. She has that support, along with not needing to be responsible for so many people’s welfare and morale anymore, all without any romantic pressure. She can just chill. There’s a reason she regards it as a vacation. And seriously, good for her!

Side note: based on the focus Reyna has on male characters as possibly being viable partners while not seeming to consider any female characters in the same light, even listing Jason, Percy, and Octavian (though I kinda doubt that was romantic) as ones she considered, but listing Thalia, Jason, Gwen, and Frank as people she was shipped with, I suspect that she’s hetero-leaning. It’s hardly conclusive evidence though, headcanon what you like.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

#10: Mistake

(read it on Ao3 here!)

Things were still tense between Lewis and Arthur. Vivi could tell.

Of course they were. After Arthur thought he was missing and searched for him for years, while Lewis went on a misguided revenge quest against him, only for his identity to be revealed at the worst possible time in the worst possible way – they had every right to feel conflicted about each other. While Lewis unlearned the belief that Arthur killed him, and Arthur adjusted to the giant murder specter no longer being out for his blood, of course they were a little… awkward.

But this was getting ridiculous. It had been over a month, and the two of them still barely so much as looked at each other, keeping their eyes carefully steered away when they were forced into the same room. Had they even talked about anything yet? Or were they just pretending the other didn’t exist?

She didn’t want to push them if they really weren’t ready. Not least because it could end bad, if Lewis went into another rage or Arthur was harboring more resentment than she thought. But she didn’t see the harm in giving them little nudges. Encouraging them to spend time together, hoping to remind them of why they’d loved each other, back when Lewis was alive and nobody was afraid of murder coming out of nowhere.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.

Maybe they needed time alone, without her there. She could admit she’d been a little… hovery. She was just – she was worried, she still hadn’t gotten the new memories a hundred percent situated in her head and when she looked at Lewis her first thought was still shit, it’s the wraith, run. But… he’d been anything but the wraith, now that his own memories were complete. He’d been almost the opposite, meek and uncertain at the best of times. Maybe her presence was discouraging him from actually talking to Arthur, worried that she’d see it as a threat and snap at him. Which. Yes, she’d done that a couple times, in the first week or so, but she wasn’t doing it now. She’d been very careful (after Arthur gave her a warning about it) not to be rude to him! But… maybe it was worth a shot to orchestrate some alone time, anyway.

Well, “orchestrate some alone time” sounded more fancy than it was. She was going to swap shifts with Chloe.

It didn’t help.

She found several different excuses to go out, all with very well-defined time limits – work, running to the next town over for research material, stopping at home to help with chores. But if anything, the situation seemed to be getting worse. She came home every time to a clean but quiet house and two quieter friends, in separate rooms, giving her one-word answers when she tried to talk to them.

She really didn’t want to put them on the spot about this – was it even her place? – but unless she wanted to keep dealing with this, it seemed like she didn’t have a choice.

“Do you think Vivi knows?”

“Hmm?”

Arthur and Lewis were sitting together on the couch, legs tangled together. Lewis was reading, and Arthur was scrolling on his phone, though he’d set it down to look back at Lewis.

“About… y’know.” He waved at the room. “This.”

“Wh- oh. I mean, I don’t… see why… she would? It’s not like we’ve done anything, or said– I mean, I know I haven’t.”

“Yeah- yeah, I know, but it… it s-s-seems like she’s been orchestrating a lot- a lot of… time for us alone? I mean- this doesn’t feel like- like just, coincidence, yeah?”

Lewis sets the book down, staring at the ceiling. “…Maybe. Maybe she… overheard something, or just figured it out on her own, and… wanted to give us our space?”

“Feels too- too nice for Vi, but yeah, maybe.”

There was silence for a moment.

“We could just… y’know. Tell everyone.”

“I- I mean, it’s your call.”

“It’s yours too!” Lewis looked back down at him. “This affects you too.”

“Yeah, but it- it’s mostly you.” He tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. “I’m good with wha- whatever you wanna do, yeah?”

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I just… I want a little more time.” Time for everyone to get used to me, is the unfinished second half of the sentence.

“Then time you’ll have!”

“It’s just, I know- you probably don’t like keeping it a secret.”

“You don’t like keeping s-se- secrets. I do this for fun.” Arthur’s hand trailed down to his wrist and squeezed it. “It’s al-“

He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and Vivi’s voice shouting “Hey, I’m back, I just forgot something!”

Immediately the two of them scrambled to untangle themselves from the very conspicuous limb pile they were wrapped up in. There was a moment of confusion about which way was best for each of them to move, and then Arthur ended up pulling himself across Lewis’s lap and hopping the armrest while he got up.

They mistimed spectacularly, and Arthur tipped over before he had his feet on the floor, smacking his head directly into the end table with a definitive bang and an “Ow! Fuck!”

Lewis floated over the back of the couch, intending to help him– but then he heard Vivi’s footsteps coming down the hall and was frozen in indecision for a moment. Was helping him up too familiar? Should he sit back down? Should–

Vivi was there before he could make a decision. She glanced between the two of them, frowning, and then focused on Arthur, saying, “you okay?”

“You surprised me,” he whined, the very picture of innocent, boring clumsiness. Lewis almost had to admire it.

Her eyes flicked to Lewis for a second, and then she was moving to help him up, even though he was mostly standing up already.

Okay, this time wasn’t part of some grand scheme. Vivi legitimately had to run out. Or, not had to, but they were in dire need of snacks and the store was closing soon. She didn’t get very far before realizing she left her wallet at home.

Only a moment after she opened the door, there was a loud bang from down the hall, accompanied by Arthur swearing a lot. She frowned and stuck her head in the door, still in her shoes.

Arthur was there, kneeling on the floor, apparently having just smacked his head on the table. Lewis was hovering just behind him, staring at her and looking a little paralyzed.

A shock ran through her, turning her blood cold. He– he wouldn’t have. Right?

Not a good time to ask. She looked back over to Arthur. “You okay?”

“You surprised me,” he huffed, reaching up to put one hand on the table and pull himself up. He sounded honest, but she was having trouble imagining how her opening the door translated to him tripping over into a table. Although Arthur was impressively clumsy and easy to startle sometimes.

She glanced over to Lewis, but his expression didn’t hint at anything. With a laughed “hey, sorry!” she went over to check on Arthur and help him up.

Enough was enough. She was all for letting them talk things over on their own – they were adults, after all, they should have been capable of that – but that required them to actually talk. Or at least admit they weren’t comfortable sharing a living space for now, if that was too hard.

So over dinner one day, as everyone was more or less finishing up, she set her utensils down on the table with an, “okay, look. We need to talk.”

Weirdly enough, it was Lewis who went more tense at that. Had he always been that edgy?– She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t think so. He fiddled with his sleeve-cuff, regarding her with upturned brows, his shoulders high and tight.

Arthur looked nervous, for his own part, but not quite as much as Lewis did. His eyes flicked to Lewis for a moment, and then he slowly lowered his fork with a wide-eyed stare. “About… what?”

“About you two!” She spread her hands out to emphasize. “I mean, I get it, okay? But you either need to talk or step away. Not– the weird- uncomfortable ignoring thing you’re doing now.”

Some of the tension actually went out of Lewis at that. Like he was expecting her to say something even worse. Arthur tilted his head a little, frowning. “Uh, what?”

“Come on, you two can barely even look at each other! I’ve been trying to get you to work it out, but apparently you aren’t getting the message! So. Talk.”

The two of them stared at each other for a while, expressions unreadable.

“I, um, I think the game is up,” Lewis said hesitantly, and then Arthur burst out laughing.

“Uh, what?” she said, lowering her hands. He just slumped back into his chair, continuing into an almost silent snort-giggle. It was… nice to see him laugh so genuinely, but she still wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I- uh, shit.” He lowered the hand he had pressed to his face to look at Lewis. “Are y- are you s-sure?”

Lewis sighed, but the crinkle around his eyes indicated he was smiling. “Yes. Sure. Go ahead.”

“Okay. W-we-“ He took a deep breath and sat up straighter, reining in his laughter. “We’re not av- a-avoiding each other ‘cause we’re- we haven’t t-talked. We, we’re actually, uh.” He glances again at Lewis, who nods. “We’re dating.”

“Wait, what?”

He giggles again at her reaction. Lewis is still quietly looking at his hands, but for once, Arthur seems content to do most of the talking. “We, uh, we talked everything out right af- after th- a-after the… whole thing at th-the shop. Th-that night, actually. You were asleep. Kind of… cleared the air, yeah? Once we figured out the… th-th whole thing with my arm,” he swallows, shivering at the memory, “it was… a lot… better?”

“Obviously we didn’t start- then,” Lewis picks up, “but… it was only a few days after. After a few more conversations and… there was kind of this feeling of- at least for me- not knowing if we’d… have another chance to say it? So…”

“I- I mean, and that was- w-was part of the reason why we… didn’t tell anyone? We weren’t sure if i- if it’d work, there might’ve been… too much stuff, or we just weren’t… in- i-in the right space, but… it… s-s-seems to be working okay?”

Lewis nods. “And, I know you… a lot of people still don’t… trust me. Entirely. I didn’t want anyone to think…” he trails off, letting Vivi fill in the sentence on her own.

“Oh. Okay. But, um, then, what’s with all the… glaring in Arthur’s direction…?”

Arthur snorts again, and Lewis buries his head in his hands. “My face just does this,” he groans. “I think it’s my default with the skull.”

She bites back a giggle at that. “Sh- okay, then, uh. I’m… I’m really happy for you guys…?”

“Thanks,” they both mutter at the same time.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;)  Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well. 

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

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Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

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Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

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Part 5

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Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

[bigskydreaming]

The multiverse trip trope, with the canon Batfam ending up in a No Capes AU, where their counterparts, being equally hyper-competent but having no secret identities to hide or vigilantism as the primary focus for channeling their energies into....are equally ridiculous to all vigilante versions of the Batfam, but in vastly different ways.

With no need to hide his athletic abilities or to try and distance himself from immediate association with his past acrobatics, Dick focuses his time and efforts on gymnastics after Bruce takes him in. He’s an Olympic gold medalist before he’s twenty, hailed for practically reinventing the nature of high-bar routines thanks to his innovative ways of melding elements of his former acrobatics with his gymnastics regimens. 

Because of his many medals and natural charisma, he’s also a highly sought after brand face, asked to endorse or act as a spokesmodel for all kinds of things. He takes a particular savage joy in having his revenge on society as a whole, for the grief they gave him growing up, between the jokes about his circus background and ‘garish’ ensembles he patterns after his old costumes. Each year, he himself quietly seeks out talented designers who because of their backgrounds and the elitism of the high fashion world, are only able to advance so far in that industry. 

Acting as a silent investor for them with the funds from his endorsement deals, he charms his way through backroom deals and opens the necessary doors to get his designers into the high profile fashion shows that can make designers’ careers, allowing them the much needed opportunities to showcase their designs and get them out into the world and in front of potential buyers. 

But in addition to their own designs, Dick then commissions the designers he patrons, to design for him the most absurd things they can come up with. The kind of high fashion wtf’s that Ugly Betty’s wardrobe department could only dream of making, and then making into a punchline. Design for me an outfit you wouldn’t even inflict on your most hated enemy, Dick says to them.

And each year they do, and Dick models those looks personally. Then he sits back with his siblings and cackles with malevolent glee as the snobby ‘it crowds’ of his generation later turn out in droves to purchase his ‘signature looks.’ Strutting around town in imitation of the poise and charisma he pulls off effortlessly - but those, no amount of money can buy, and given they’re the only reason Dick Grayson alone can get away with wearing this stuff and still look as good as he does when doing so - well, the socialite circles inevitably end up looking utterly ridiculous. The harder they try and sell it with artificial confidence that Page Six and talk show hosts see right through, the more they get shredded to pieces with scathing jokes and headlines that put anything they ever managed to come up with to shame.

Meanwhile, the revenue from their frenzied purchases of these ‘must-have’ looks of the season? More than enough to launch the careers of Dick’s designers, right up to the A-List, where Dick leaves them to do what they want and make the most of it, with his eternal gratitude for humoring him and his rich kid eccentricities. (Not that his designers haven’t all since long figured out the joke and gotten vindication of their own out of it, as the designers and buyers who tried previously to shut them out because of their humble backgrounds, now all rush to try and rip off their more out there and high profile ‘Dick Grayson Looks’ with their own versions, over-saturating that particular market demographic just as people start catching on that these designs were always doomed to fizzle without Dick wearing them himself......leaving Dick’s designers with an open, uncluttered path right to the demographics they actually want to sell to, with the designs nobody’s attempted to imitate yet because they were too busy keeping eyes glued to Dick’s peacock ensembles).

Bruce has long since given up expecting he’ll ever understand his various children without them making an effort to translate first.....so the first time he walks in on Dick, Jason and Duke watching E! with a focus they’ve never displayed for sports, and with the coffee table covered in so many papers and flow charts and graphs, the den looks more like a War Room rather than just three of his boys watching Entertainment Tonight with frightening intensity. 

Bruce just waits in the doorway for them to notice him and arches one eyebrow when they do. Oh, there’s a point to all of this, he’s sure. But damned if he can figure out on his own just what the hell it might be.

His eldest just beams at him with his thousand watt smile.

“Love me or hate me, they all want to be me,” Dick sing-songs. Then he shrugs innocently, as though that explains it all.

It doesn’t, Bruce is fairly certain.

“Why?” He asks somewhat plaintively, after his struggle to select one of the many, many questions buzzing in his head glitches on that one syllable and refuses to budge until he at least voices that much.

“We’ve been over this, B. Its part of our Twenty Seven Step Plan to Destroy the Upper Class,” Jason says impatiently, still jotting notes in pen on one of the graphs, eyes still locked on the TV. “God, its like you never listen, I fucking swear.”

“That running joke you two had when you were in high school?” Bruce asks blankly, focusing on his two eldest. Duke is paying absolutely no attention to him any way, leaning over to cross something out on the same graph Jason’s working on, scrawling some kind of correction while Jason nods like that makes total sense in whatever bizarre arithmetic they’re all working off of.

Dick sighs in the fond manner of a parent whose child has just done something particularly endearing. “You gotta admit, its kinda cute he still thinks we’re joking when we talk about class warfare.”

“Eh,” Jason grunts noncommittally. “Benjamin Button he is not.”

“If you boys don’t mind, could you do me a favor and make sure to clarify when you’re making fun of me? I have trouble spotting the insults otherwise,” Bruce says dryly.

“But that’s what makes it fun!” Duke says, beaming with his own version of Dick’s thousand watt grin. Equal in intensity, but where Dick’s tends to burst into being all at once like a supernova, Duke’s tends to sneak up on you, slowly increasing the illumination until you realize you’re blinking spots out of your vision and it hits you that you haven’t been able to see anything but blinding luminescence for awhile now, and you don’t even know for sure how long.

“Well how about just this once, you boys take pity on me and cut your old man a break,” Bruce says, still in tones as parched as Saharan dunes. “Explain what I’m looking at here as though I’m five.”

“Christ, B, you’re not freaking geriatric,” Jason mutters. “You’re only in your forties, its way too soon for you to try and milk the senility angle.”

“We’re documenting record of public reactions to the latest fashion crimes of Gotham’s A-List,” Dick cuts off Jason, taking the aforementioned pity on his father as he provides an explanation that is in no way helpful.

Bruce squints at the screen. “But aren’t those the same outfits you wore during your Fashion Week thing last month?”

“Well yeah, but on me they look good,” Dick shrugs.

“Don’t gloat,” Jason says to his brother. “It’s tacky.”

“Facts are facts,” Dick says without a hint of apology. “Lying in the name of false modesty would be the true dishonesty.”

“Incredible. You even manage to put a pious-sounding spin on being an egotistical shit,” Jason marvels. “How do you do that?”

Dick shrugs again. “It’s a gift.”

Bruce clears his throat. “And what’s all this documentation for, anyway?”

“Dick’s book,” Duke says matter of factly. Bruce would be flattered by his children’s apparent belief he can intuitively leap from one esoteric comment straight to an epiphany like some kind of goddamn gazelle - if he weren’t still so lost.

“Dick has a book? Since when? I thought Jason was the writer in this family,” Bruce frowns. “And I’m quite certain there was a big to-do made when you were all much younger, where it was decided that each of you would focus yourself on distinct pursuits not overlapping with any other siblings’, so as not to kill each other in your inevitable quest to be number one.”

“Well first off, Dad, if you couldn’t handle a little competition between your children, you shouldn’t have adopted competitive children,” Dick lectures absently, still scribbling away at those damn pages.

“Its not like you all came labeled with future character traits,” Bruce says crankily. They ignore him.

“And secondly, upon discovering that the agreement we all signed was the end product of carefully dropped hints aimed at making us believe we all came to the table of our own volition, when in fact, they were merely the machinations of the mastermind known as our meddling father,” Jason intoned, finally looking up at Bruce to raise one eyebrow at him significantly, “the Treaty of Wayne Manor’s South Family Room circa 2012, was thus deemed by all signatories to be fruit of the poisonous tree, and subsequently rendered null and void.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “How did you figure that out? And why are you suddenly talking like a Bond villain?”

“Well it was mostly more of a theory until just now,” Dick beams at him. Dammit. You’d think he’d know better than to walk right into things like that by now. “But Tim had a hunch pretty much from the start, except then we all ended up branching out towards different interests anyway so it didn’t seem to matter that much, and we figured why not let you keep thinking you got a win there, you know?”

“I have the most thoughtful children.” 

“We do try,” Jason hums.

“We try,” Duke snorts. “You add snarky commentary.”

“That was implied.”

Duke rolls his eyes and rolls right past that. “And Jason’s talking like that because he’s got that book tour coming up in a couple weeks, and he’s test driving new Eccentric Author Aesthetics.”

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Jason shrugs. “My fanbase expects the precociously grumpy darling of the New York literary circuit to be baffling and unpredictable, I give them baffling and unpredictable.”

“And here I thought you’d said you hated your fanbase. And rather then giving them anything, last I heard you were claiming to be withholding your sophomore manuscript just to spite them,” Bruce says. His voice is still lost and wandering in the desert, not a hint of precipitation to be found. “In fact, I distinctly recall wanting to take you out to celebrate the rave reviews of your debut novel, the week of its release. Only you were busy having a diatribe about how ridiculous the reviews were and how nobody had any business calling the barely coherent linguistic finger paintings of an emotionally stunted twenty-one year old the ‘next great American novel’ and it called the entire slate of reviews’ credibility into question as any brains capable of producing thoughts that erroneous should be required to display a count of their individual brain cells before anyone even considers viewing any thought produced by them as potentially being credible.”

“And you thought he never listens,” Duke snickers at his older brother. “Sounds like a direct quote to me.”

Jason just shrugs again, not remotely moved. “Yeah but I hate everything, so its not like that really means anything. Also, I’m full of shit. I thought everyone knew that.”

“He’s not subtle,” Dick informs Bruce.

“Subtlety’s for losers,” Jason defends himself. “Like tact.”

Bruce clears his throat again. “Back to the matter of Dick’s book?”

“Oh, right!” Dick chirps. “I have a book. Well, will have. This is research for it.”

“So you are taking up writing after all?” 

“Hah!” Jason barks out loudly. “Dick can’t write for shit. He can’t even write a thank you card, forget about a whole fucking novel.”

“Umm, I can write, I merely choose not to,” Dick sniffs pointedly. Then he rolls his eyes in disgust. “And Jesus Christ, chill, Prince Passive Aggressive. I can’t believe you’re still making such a big deal about that. Let it go already.”

He and Jason both shoot quick looks over at Duke about two seconds after Dick’s last sentence. Duke looks up just in time to catch their glances darting away again.

“Hang on, why did you both look at me, like you thought I was about to start singing that stupid song from Frozen?” Duke frowns at them suspiciously. “You guys do know that I’m not Stephanie, right?”

“Yeah but you have been hanging around her an awful lot lately, and she’s contagious,” Jason points out. Duke’s frown deepens for a moment, but then it wings out of sight and he shrugs, perfectly at ease again.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Anyway, its Dick’s tell-all book on Gotham high society,” Jason continues on. “I’ll be the one actually writing it of course. He’s just the pretty face getting slapped on the cover, but I mean, that’s the only reason people are gonna wanna buy it, so I’ll probably just phone it in anyway.”

Bruce focuses on the only part of that reveal he can handle at the moment. “Jay, you’re not remotely capable of ever phoning something in.”

“How dare you accuse me of having a work ethic. Rude and disrespectful. My reputation isn’t built to withstand that kind of slander.”

“And feel free to mock all you want, but my pretty face on that cover is what’s going to earn me my first SCPF,” Dick announces loftily.

Duke looks up. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Closes it. Looks back down. Sighs. Looks back up again. 

“Not that I don’t know better than to ask, but what the hell is an SCPF?”

“My version of an EGOT that I just made up while Jay was being offended by a compliment to his work ethic. Spokesmodel, cover model, print model, fashion model. The four cornerstones of the modeling world, which I will then have conquered, leaving me free to move on to other endeavors.”

Jason studies his older brother gravely. Then he shakes his head.

“Even as a complete and utter joke, that combination of words disgusts me. You make me physically nauseous sometimes, you know.”

“Another gift of mine, I suppose. I have so many,” Dick muses, leaning back and examining something on the chart he was scribbling on, as if trying to take in another angle for some no doubt ridiculous reason. Why were his children like this. 

“Before this migraine finishes settling in and pitches its tent for the night, anyone care to tell me just what exactly this tell-all will be telling?” Bruce sighs. It was never too early to start damage control when this particular combination of his kids were conspiring together.

“Oh, everything,” Dick says breezily. “Who had affairs, who embezzled from their companies, who bribed or blackmailed or bought off this or that. All kinds of juicy sordid stuff, real page turner stuff, you know? You’d think important people would do a better job of keeping high stake secrets all hush hush instead of dropping them all willy nilly at various galas over the years, but c’est la vie.”

“Its almost like there are potential hazards to condescendingly assuming the uneducated circus brat someone adopted as an obvious PR stunt, like, just can’t understand a lick of what people say around him, what with his thick foreign accent obviously conveying he just don’t know English words so good nope, nope, nopers,” Dick concludes merrily, a familiar sparkle in his eye. One that usually heralded social cataclysms to come.

“And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to warn the public of those potential hazards. Good for you, son,” Bruce says sardonically. Despite his best efforts, the corners of his lips keep tugging stubbornly upwards.

“Just trying my best to give back to the community that’s given me so much,” Dick shrugs in the closest approximation to an ‘aw shucks’ vibe that Bruce has ever seen his son manage in as long as he’s known him. Jason reaches over and smacks the back of Dick’s head.

“Hey!” The elder brother snaps back, rubbing the back of his head with wounded dignity. He glares at his smirking brother.

“My bad. I thought you were against false modesty. Just trying to help keep you honest, bro.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Touche,” is all he says.

“Last question before I give up and admit defeat,” Bruce interjects before that escalates. As tends to happen in moments like the previous. With no limit to how long or how far that escalation might last. By his count, his two eldest boys were somehow still engaged in four entirely different extended, longterm feuds they seemed somehow able to treat as separate and distinct from each other, with one of those stretching all the way back a good ten years, and still no end in sight as far as anyone knew. 

How did they determine what fights would end in minutes and which warranted stretching out over a course of years? Bruce really couldn’t say. How did they manage to stop and start the same argument off and on for all that time, without letting the last-addressed state of the argument affect how they interacted when their fight was back on ‘pause’? No idea. How did they seem able to treat each different matter they fought about as its own distinct entity that had no bearing on anything outside that particular argument, with no overlap or cross-pollination as far as anyone else had ever been witness to, and why did they even bother doing so in the first place? God, Bruce dearly wishes he knew.

Unfortunately, for all that his entire horde of children often at times seem to exist on a wholly separate and private plane unreachable by the rest of humanity, Bruce’s first two children to fill the halls of Wayne Manor with laughs, screeches and occasional declarations of war and an intent to maim, dismember and murder - 

Well. They at times seemed to possess a language and extra senses unique just to them, and baffling to the entire rest of the world and their own siblings as well.

Oh well. At least Bruce could take some small comfort in Duke’s occasional glance of wary confusion, thrown towards one or both of his brothers when they weren’t looking.

“Yo, this is Planet Earth, hailing one eternally out of touch bachelor billionaire way up in the atmosphere,” Jason sharply cuts into Bruce’s distraction with a snap of his fingers. “Are you trying to milk the senility thing again? We’ve been over this. You need at least another decade of mileage before we’ll validate your senior citizen card.”

“Right.” Bruce rolls his eyes at his son, but shakes his head to clear it nevertheless. Ah, yes. “Yes. Indulge me, please. What exactly does what you’re watching have to do with Dick’s....tell-all, and how does whatever all of this is count as research?”

“Oh, we’re just keeping record of public shaming of every snobby rich jackass to buy one of the fashion monstrosities Dick wears at Fashion Week, only to then look utterly ridiculous and absurd when they try and wear it in public and everyone points and laughs,” Duke chimes in.

“I see,” Bruce says, his lips twitching again. “And this of course all ties back into class warfare and...what was it again...oh yes, the Twenty Seven Step Plan To Destroy The Upper Class?”

“That’s right,” Duke nods.

“I even know what the title is going to be already,” Dick smiles with bared teeth. “I’m going with: ‘Weapons of Choice.’“

“Of course, as I keep explaining to him, nobody gets final say on the title of their book, and there’s every chance the publisher will end up changing the title to something they pick,” Jason says with a pointed look at his brother. 

Dick’s willful obliviousness visibly deflects Jay’s arched gaze long before any point can hit and make an impact. “And as I keep explaining to him, if they try and change the title, I will simply explain to them that they are incorrect and it already has the perfect title and one can not improve upon perfection.”

Jason strangles a gutteral, incoherent growl before it can fully escape from his throat. “I want to throttle you.”

“I know,” Dick says sunnily.

“Well, as long as you’ve thought this through, which you clearly have, I have no doubt you’ll get the results you’re after,” Bruce says. Doubtfully. Though of what, he’s not entirely sure. His sanity, thinking that yes, half a dozen precocious, willful and utterly incomprehensible children, that’s the ticket, exactly what my life needs. Yes, that was probably the matter actually in doubt.

“Ugh, B, you’re not getting it,” Dick complains. He exchanges frustrated glances with his brothers. “He’s not getting it.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Jason says patiently. “Basic rule of street fighting....the most effective takedowns come from aiming at someone’s weakest point. Whenever possible, go for the throat. What’s the equivalent of the throat as far as Gotham’s upper class is considered? Public image.”

“Destroy their public image, destroy them,” Dick finishes cheerfully. “They crack, get egg on their face like the nursery rhyme says, and bam, Humpty Dumpty has a great fall and all the queen’s knights working as a team still can’t put them together again and while they’re distracted the pawns can slip past them and become queens!”

Jason stares at him. “I know what you’re doing and its not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deliberately mangling the fuck out of a bunch of different well known sayings that you know perfectly well how they really go, while doing that thing where you act like you’re the most airheaded ditz to ever live and have a brain that runs off of helium instead of oxygen like the rest of us. Because you know damn well how obnoxious that is to anyone who knows exactly how intelligent you really are and that you actually have a mind like a steel trap that remembers fucking everything, no matter how inane, which is fucking rude, because that’s wasted on you and also, stop it. I told you. Its not going to work.” 

“Oh Jay.” Dick tilts his head to the side and grins wider. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”

“That thing where I trick you into believing I’m doing the more obvious seeming thing and then annoy you with my fake airhead routine until you end up flattering me and paying me compliments when pointing out why my airhead routine could never work on you and is thus just annoying,” Dick says brightly.

Jason’s eyebrows inch incrementally together with the slow, ominous scrape of stone grinding across stone. Dick is entirely undeterred, and simply shrugs again with a painfully fake display of innocence.

“Its dinner time and my ego needed feeding. Thanks for that bee tee dubs, it was getting hungry. Nom nom.”

“Yeah,” Jason says casually, after a good ten second pause. He nods decisively. “Okay, I’m going to murder you now.”

He lunges for his brother, but Dick’s resting pose is the equivalent of anyone else impatiently waiting at the starting block of a race. He’s up and on his feet, gracefully dancing out of range of his younger but bigger brother’s wider reach, and has darted halfway towards the other exit to the room by the time Jason finishes scrambling to his feet. Not that any of that delays the younger man from taking off in a dead sprint in pursuit of his laughing sprite of a brother the second he does. 

Bruce stares after them for a moment and then shifts his gaze down to Duke, who’s still seated contentedly on the floor, blithely unaffected by Dick and Jason’s mad dash out the room as he continues scribbling down notes.

“I will pay you all the money I have, not to grow up to be like them,” Bruce says in the gravest possible tone he can manage. “You don’t even have to wait til I’m dead.”

Duke sighs and shakes his head. “B, c’mon, man. I’m clearly on Team Class Warfare. I’m insulted you think I can be bought.”

Bruce frowns. “You all are way, way too fond of this trolling thing you do.”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree.”

[dontcare77ghj]

Sandwiched

 Steve x reader x Peggy

Note: in this fic Peggy was given the same serum as Steve, the two were involved before they were both frozen in the same plane crash. Also, mentions of homophobia and racism (Fuck those people), just a few mentions of some assholes.

Masterlist     Sleep Series Masterlist     Halloween/Supernatural Masterlist

Dating two people from the 1940’s wasn’t something everyone in 2019 could say. Steve and Peggy were everything you could want in a relationship though. They had gorgeous souls, they loved humanity and they cared far too much. They were your match in every way.

When they woke up in this decade Fury had asked you to help them adjust into their new lives. It was almost inevitable when you fell for the two of them. The shock of the century was when they admitted they fell for you.

You easily fit into the relationship, Steve and Peggy often said it was because they were subconsciously waiting for you, and you couldn’t be happier. The three of you shared many traits but the one the everyone noticed was how you wanted to help. Now of course you couldn’t save everyone and there were people in this world who made it their goal to hurt those around them, but you all still tried. Though sometimes when all else failed the three of you comforted each other.

Out of the three of you Steve took things the most to heart. He liked saving people, he like defending the little guy and stopping the bully, you and Peggy knew he always gave his all but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. It doesn’t matter if you put your heart, soul and body into something, sometimes things just happen, and you can’t control it.

Steve had been out of the country for a few months now. After finding Bucky and finding out what they did to him all these years, Steve snapped. He wanted revenge for his friend, he wanted to make sure that HYDRA never hurt anyone else ever again.

In his quest to stop HYDRA, HYDRA began to retaliate. They began more experiments, attempted decimate towns and tried to ruin the lives of anyone they could. For the first time in months, Steve was coming home for a while.

A recent mission had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. Innocent lives had been lost and he had been fruitless in his attempts to save them. Fury seeing Steve’s rapidly deteriorating mental state, especially after the last mission, had sent him home.

The fact he reportedly put up no argument, really alerted you and Peggy as to what kind of condition your boyfriend was in.

Currently, you and Peggy were waiting, anxiously, in the hanger for Steve’s jet to land.

“Stop pacing.” Peggy said in her strong accent. “You’re making me feel anxious.” She complained, crossing her arms.

“I can’t help it.” You told her, turning sharply to face the brunette. “You heard him on the phone last night.”

“Yes, he sounded absolutely dreadful.” She pointed out, reaching her hand towards you to pull you into her. “But we are going to fix that.”

“We don’t even the extent of the state he’s in. What if we can’t help him?” You asked, biting your lower lip in worry. Peggy leaned down and gently pressed her lips to your making you stop biting your own to kiss the woman back.

“We will work it out. Together. Like we always do.” Peggy assured as you pulled away. Before either of you could say another word, the hanger creaked open and the loud sound of a quinjet arriving reached the pair of your ears.

The two of you watched as Steve’s team left the jet first, all of them appearing tired and a few maybe even injured, until Steve finally appeared. He was clearly exhausted, both mentally and physically, his face looked gaunt, his entire body was hunched over and he appeared ready to drop at any minute.

You and Peggy rushed over to the man and each wrapped an arm around his waist, attempting to support him. Though Peggy was probably doing more of the work with her super soldier strength, you still attempted to help the exhausted blonde.

Steve didn’t say anything as you helped him into the bedroom. The three of you sat on the bed with Steve in between you and Peggy. It was after a few minutes of silences, that Steve finally spoke.

“I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t help anyone.” He muttered, not looking away from the ceiling. He’d been staring blankly at it since you brought him up. “All I wanted to do was to help.”

“We know, Stevie.” Peggy murmured, placing a kiss onto his shoulder. “But there wasn’t anything you could do.”

“You can’t control these things, Stevie.” You told him, shifting to look up at him. “You went out there with honorable intentions, but these people aren’t honorable people.”

“They are pure evil.” Peggy added. Steve looked down between the two of you and nodded his head minorly.

“I just wanted to help.” He repeated, shifting so he was laying down rather than sitting. Steve did not release his grip on the two of you, so you were forced to follow his actions. He held you tightly to his chest as you both laid with him.

You and Peggy would switch off on saying soothing things to the brooding man and drawing soothing shapes on his chest, until he fell asleep with the two of you crushed to his chest.

“He’s still going to be blaming himself in the morning.” You whispered long after Steve had fallen asleep.

“I know.” Peggy said, reaching across his large chest to grab your hand. “But we will ensure he does not feel like this for long.” She added, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

“I love you, Peg.” You said, kissing her hand before settling down on Steve’s chest. She leaned over and kissed your forehead gently and then Steve’s chest.

“I love you too, Y/N.” The two of you fell asleep with Steve’s arms tightly wrapped around your waists and yours around his shoulders. A comforting position.

Peggy took a lot to heart. She was passionate, she made changes and she did things. She liked to change things, make people see where they could fix things and make their own life changes.

Back in the 40’s there were a lot of bigoted people. People who expected her to act like other ladies of the decade. Didn’t appreciate how she took charge. Didn’t think she could fight or should for that matter. The fact she was bisexual was not something to brag about in her day either.

When she woke up 70 years later with Steve by her side, she thought things would’ve changed. Women were involved in the military and S.H.E.I.L.D, they took charge and sexuality was often an open thing. She and Steve were told they’d won the war, but no-one told them they were still fighting a war.

Bigotry had not died with the turn of the century. There were still plenty of people who thought women were weak, the LGBT+ community was wrong, and that people of different ethnicities were bad people.

Peggy actively spoke out against those people and would give long opinionated lectures to them and the moronic masses surrounding them. Unfortunately for Peggy, these people were so locked in their one-track thoughts they couldn’t see how they were wrong, and they wouldn’t believe that they could be wrong for once in their miserable lives.

Peggy had volunteered to speak at an LGBT+ event. She had a whole speech planed about being who you are, that it shouldn’t matter to anyone what your sexual preference or gender was and that you should always feel safe in whatever type of relationship you were in.

One narrow minded, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach who had to interrupt her before she’d even really started. Of course, Peggy had told him where to go and where he was wrong, but she was still fuming at his attempt to belittle her and the people she was speaking to.

She had come home practically breathing fire, vile words about the heinous man falling out of her mouth as easily as she breathed.

“And then he had the nerve to say I was greedy and selfish for being bisexual and for being polyamorous.” She ranted, pacing the length of the room. You and Steve sat on the bed watching the woman pace furiously. “Who the bloody hell does he think he is?”

“He’s no-one.” You assured, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her. “He’s just another nameless, faceless, asshole who thinks things no-one cares about.”

“But that’s the thing, N/N, he’s not faceless. Not this time. I saw him, I had to look at him as he shouted these vile things to not just me but those kids there.” She sighed, placing her hands on yours.

“And they were all able to see what a coward that man was.” Steve said, moving over to stand behind her. The two of you wrapped your arms around Peggy who went limp at the comforting touch the two of you gave her.

“The man is scum, Peg.” You murmured into her ear as you played with the ends of her hair. “People will come to realize how wrong he is one day.”

“But you were so strong today.” Steve added, kissing the top of her head. “You showed him what was what and all those kids saw how strong you are.”

Peggy didn’t say anything. She just relaxed further into the tight grip you held her in. Steve maneuvered the two of you over to the bed and laid the three of you onto the soft sheets.

Peggy lay sandwiched in yours and Steve’s arms and let out a few shuddering breathes as she attempted to quell her anger. You and Steve ran your fingers through her hair, played with her fingers and just let her know you where there for the woman.

“I love you.” Peggy murmured after several minutes. “Thank you.” She whispered, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

“Love you too, Peg.” You said, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Stevie.” You added, taking his hand in yours.

“I love both my best girls.” Steve told you, squeezing your hand and throwing his arm across the two of your waists. Within seconds Peggy was fast asleep, held in Steve’s and your warm embrace.

Out of the three of you, you opened your heart the most. Steve and Peggy could see this as a positive thing at times, after all, you’d opened your heart to the two of them and easily accepted them into your life. Though, there was a downside to wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Your parents hadn’t said anything when you came out as bisexual. They did stir a little when you declared S.H.E.I.L.D. had hired you. Their reaction to you joining The Avengers initiative was mostly the same. They had caused a bit of a fuss when you’d announced you were in a polyamorous relationship, but when they found out you were in a poly relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter.

“They are dangerous, Y/N. We kept quiet when you said you were joining The Avengers, but this is ridiculous.” Your mother sighed, narrowing her eyes at you.

“I recall you saying I was going to get killed but sure, let’s say you kept your mouths shut.” You said, rolling your eyes at the two in front of you.

“Y/N L/N, this is not a joking matter.” Your father scolded. “You are getting yourself involved with some dangerous people. People who are older than us for God’s sake.”

“Physically they are my age. I know you can’t see past the numbers but they are the right people for me. Is it the age that makes you bulk or the fact involved with a man and a woman?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Maybe it’s both.” You mother said, standing from the table you were all sat at. “Y/N you are going down a dangerous path. You are constantly risking your life and your ‘love life’, if you can even call it that, is perverted.” 

“We would have been fine if you had just stuck to being bisexual, but this is too much. You are in a polyamorous relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, with your lifestyle you are going to die an early death and when you do, we believe you will be going to hell.” Your father added, standing next your mother and taking her hand.

“We can help you darling.” Your mother said, giving you a sickly sweet smile. “Leave that team and end your perverted relationship and we can help you.”

“No.” You exclaimed, jumping from the table. “Fuck that. I will not be given an ultimatum, and not by the two of you. I love my job, I save the world for Thor’ s sake, I love my friendships and most of all I love Steve and Peggy. I will not leave any of them.” You snapped, slamming your hands on the table and glaring at them.

“Then neither of us want to see or contact you again.” Your father said, pulling your mother into his side. “Get out of our house and never darken our doorstep again. You are not our daughter.”

“Good.” You snarled and stormed out of the house. You jumped into your car and drove furiously back to the base. Your anger prevented you from bursting into tears, but it hurt that they had treated you like that.

Once you got back to the compound you moved as quickly as you could back to your room without drawing attention to yourself. Making it to the floor you shared with Steve and Peggy, the dam finally broke.

You sat on the couch and began to sob. You couldn’t breath. You couldn’t think. All you could hear was the sob of your own sobs and your parents echoing words.

Arms wrapping around your shoulders made you jump in surprise and you snapped your eyes to see your brunette girlfriend looking at you worriedly.

“Shh darling, it’s alright. You’re okay.” She said, pulling you in closer. 

“They don’t want me.” You cried, burying your face in her shoulder. “They told me I was disgusting and they never want to see me again.”

“Your parents?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair. You nodded tried to stop the tears streaming down your face. “They don’t deserve you, darling.”

“No, they don’t.” Steve said, sitting behind you and pulling you and Peggy onto his lap. “It’s their loss, doll.”

Steve and Peggy held you tightly, reassuring you of their own love for you. After several minutes of sobbing, your tears dried up and your breathing began to become rhythmic. 

“I love you. I love the two of you.” You said, sleepily leaning up to kiss Steve’s jaw and Peggy’s cheek. Laying your head on Peggy’s shoulder you began to fall asleep. A loving position.

With the three of you, comfort involved soothing words, gentle touches and laying sandwiched between the other two. You showed your comfort in physical ways and it was what worked for the three of you.

Taglist;

@piper-koko-barnes-rogers     @skeletoresinthebasement      @hopingforbarnes  

Show your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/Message me comments, ideas, pairings or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Coming soon;

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Steve x reader x Bucky

Bucky x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Natasha

Natasha x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Sam x Bucky

Steve x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Bucky x Clint

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter Four

                              A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Four

Claire sat on a high-pile, soft rug with children circled around her. Jamie noticed they all leaned forward from their Indian-style positions, eyes wide and staring at Claire. They were all on their trusted ponies flying across the Arizona desert, running after the bad guys who robbed the train. Claire did her best to narrate the story with inflections of fear and desperation while the story became real to those around her.

Jamie made a trip to his office and was waiting for Claire when the wee ones ran to their mothers, laden with purchases from the store. The room emptied out in ten minutes and Jamie flopped down on an overstuffed chair. He handed a baggie full of orange slices to Claire.

He noticed that her hair was still down and today she wore a soft dress with a bright colored flower pattern. The skirt was almost to her ankles so sitting on the floor, being eye to eye with the kids was easy. He looked at her approvingly, happy she had embraced her new look.

Claire noticed Jamie hanging around during her Storytime and book club meetings and he always kept her after for conversation and shared food. She wasn’t sure she understood what he needed but if she could answer his questions and understand his conversation she just went with the flow.

“I’m leavin Claire. It’s time for a new manager to take over this store so I can get to Glasgow.”

“I’m sure you will be missed, Jamie.”

“I’ve been doin this for the past nine years. This is the last store I will build. Once it’s up and running I start a new job, new level, and maybe dinna move around so much. Even if I’m offered a corporate position it willna be here in Scotland. More likely Germany or London.”

Claire did not understand where the conversation was going so she just kept up for his sake. Jamie was always so confident about the book business, but she thought it sounded like a lonely existence and wondered if he felt the same. She had never known a man more beautiful than Jamie Fraser and thought it unlikely that he spent time alone if he didn’t want to. So why did he come to see her dance? Week after week leaving hundreds of pounds for her.

“Claire, I want ye to consider taking over for me, as manager of the store. Ye’ve owned a bookstore, this is just bigger. I trust ye lass and that is more important than any experience or degree. Please think about it and we can talk again in a few days.”

“How about tonight? There is so much I don’t know.” She watched him intently.

“Sorry lass. I have plans tonight and canna break em.”

Claire sped across town and found a grumpy Madu in her studio, pacing like an irritated bull. He could look quite intimidating Claire thought. He was over six foot with a muscular frame and a mop of black curls fell against his cheeks and forehead. A beautiful man, she thought, watching him in the seconds before he noticed her.

She could feel his interest in her, barely contained, ready to sweep her off her feet. They would make a good match she assumed. His family would embrace the orphan in her and Madu would show her the heights of passion she had only dreamed of. The union made perfect sense, but she had not fallen in love with him the way she always dreamed it would be.

Claire had only one reference for passion and love, the face of Jamie Fraser when she danced for him. She noticed the change in his look, his posture, his gaze that touched her in a place she had not known before. What started out as punishment for someone she hated had become a quest that she was ashamed of, but she continued, desperate to know what smoldered behind his eyes.

Claire jerked out of her reverie when Madu called to her. Her head flew up and she rattled off excuses for being late, running to dress for her dance. Madu gave her a knowing look and waited for the student to stand before him.

Claire considered Jamie’s offer to manage the bookstore. Her popularity for exhibition dancing and private parties had grown, as did her fees for such things. While the good people of Edinburgh were going to bed each night, she was draped in veils doing what she loved. She would help the new manager as much as she could but decided to decline Jamie’s offer.

As Jamie’s final days in Edinburgh grew near, he spent more time at the restaurant watching her dance. Claire tried to imagine his absence in her life, in the audience, and at the bookstore, as he went on with his life without her. The promise and desire behind his eyes would remain unknown to her and the blame was hers alone. If she had told him from the beginning that she was the dancer things would have gone differently. But she was hell-bent on revenge at that time and then it was too late. She tried to think of a dozen ways to tell him the truth but nothing would hide her betrayal, so she accepted her fate.

Jamie accepted Claire’s decision not to manage the bookstore like a gentleman and told her he was a phone call away if she needed anything. He promised to visit often as the new store was just a town away.

When he brought the new manager around for everyone to meet, Claire decided she was looking into the eyes of a human Bambi. John Grey was handsome on Jamie’s level but in a softer, more refined way. His smile was something to behold and she almost lost herself in it until she looked at Jamie and felt his power burn her on the inside.

Jamie was shaking hands and laughing with the staff, but he caught Claire in a moment of weakness and the look on her face made the hair on his neck stand up. She pulled away from the group and disappeared. He looked for her later wanting to spend some time with her before he left but she was nowhere to be found.

Claire drove home to get ready for her dance tonight. It felt like she was full of adrenalin with that awful feeling of impending doom. She knew this was about Jamie and his last night in Edinburgh. What ever did she want from the poor man who never received as much as a nod from her?

“Geillis! I have a problem. There is a man I have danced for numerous times. The way he looks at me makes my knees weak and I can barely keep it together. He is leaving town tomorrow and I may not see him again.”

“Okay Claire, you have my attention and I’m waiting for the problem. He’s married, he’s gay, he’s homeless, what?”

“No. None of those things. He’s perfect, and single, and moving to another town after tonight. I want to know him, that way, before I lose the opportunity.”

“That way?” Geillis was quiet for a minute. “Do ye mean ye want to fuck him, Claire?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then do it.”

Geillis caught on quickly that Claire needed help so she pledged to be there right after work, and they would make a plan.

Claire spent a quiet afternoon thinking about what she was doing and realized she could not stop herself if she wanted to. She spent an hour in a hot tub removing all her body hair, even her most intimate places. She was painstaking about her makeup, eyelashes, and bright red lipstick. The oil she smoothed over her skin was from Cairo, a gift from Madu. It heightened her senses when she dabbed it between her legs until she almost fell completely apart.

Pulling her most prized costume from her closet she zipped it into a garment bag for her second show, when she would touch Jamie and he would touch her.

Geillis whistled at the costume Claire chose and said she was getting hot just looking at it.

“Claire, relax. If ye want to fuck this guy and ye look like that, and he’s interested, then just let it happen.”

Geillis was winding the string of chains around Claire’s hips and looked at her friend.

“Ye know sex doesna bring love, right Claire?”

Claire nodded her head and raised her arms for the chain bra top Geillis was pulling onto her chest. It was time for her second dance and the invitation for Jamie to come to her dressing room. Claire felt the throbbing between her legs and could not wait for whatever was on the other side of that desire in his eyes.

When the spotlight hit the rows of chains, Claire sparkled like a thousand diamonds. Her body undulated up out of the fog layer Omar cranked out. Her performance was raw, and sexual, the best of her career because she would never have a greater prize than Jamie Fraser to dance for.

Jamie sat transfixed, unable to move as he watched the undulating hips and popping breasts promise forbidden love, the kind he would trade his soul for. As she spun in his direction the chains flew out at waist level looking punishing for any man who ventured to close to her. He watched her spin away from him and in a magical moment, he saw a card left on the table.

I await you, is all it said, and Jamie shook his head wondering if he imagined it was an invitation. He walked to the stage door and knocked softly. Diners were still eating but didn’t seem to notice him waiting for the door to open.

A warm hand pulled him into the dressing room which glowed with dozens of candles that smelled amazing and exotic. He bent to Claire and kissed her softly, noticing her chest rise and fall with her deep breathing. Whether from arousal or nerves he would take his time and see her relaxed and needy before he feasted on her body.

“What is your name lass?”

In that instant, Claire’s plan popped like a bubble. Holy crap, she thought, I have to talk to him? Why the hell didn’t I think this through? Her panic was rising, gripping her throat to choke her for being so selfish and concupiscent. In her panic, she could not think of a way to control the situation. She was bested and she knew it, so she just stopped moving and hung her head. She had heard enough Arabic to string some words together and show Jamie the door.

He looked confused but he left, and she locked the door behind him. Claire was too exhausted to cry or do anything else. She laid on the sofa waiting to hear Jamie’s truck drive away, praying he would not come back with more talking. She closed her eyes and imagined his touch, above her, beside her, behind her. Her body craved him and the sublime physical joining that would free her from the mundane world she lived in. Why had she convinced herself this was even possible? Because at the moment it felt like her life depended on it.

Claire heard Omar knock softly on the dressing room door, probably waiting to walk her out. When the door swung open Jamie lifted her up and kissed her quiet as he pulled the breath out of her lungs and every thought from her mind.

“No talking lass, just let me kiss you and touch you a bit then I go, without a word. There’s a reason you invited me here and a reason I came, that’s enough for me.” His kiss seared her lips with his heat and his hands ran over her body like he was touching the holy grail.

Claire twisted the buttons open and pushed his shirt off. She gazed at his muscled chest and arms feeling herself blush when he chuckled at her reaction. The kissing continued until Claire’s mind and body belonged to James Fraser. When she pulled her bra top off he held her away to look at her, then he embraced her, skin on skin, tilting her head up to kiss him again.

Claire knew the chains and veils would not easily come off without instruction and she did not want him to stop kissing so she pulled them off and stepped out of the tiny pants.

Jamie feasted on her perfect skin and lithe form watching the candlelight bounce off the flat planes of her body. He was speed stripping to catch up with her nakedness, wanting to feel her inside and out for as long as she let him.

Claire laid on the sofa, arms raised to him, mouth open, chest heaving. Jamie burned the sight of her into his brain to keep forever. His large warm hands caressed every inch of her from neck to feet as he laid soft kisses in their path. She felt his hot breath on her nipples before he filled his mouth and sucked to make her remember. When she was powerless to move, he pushed her arms over her head and wrapped several chains around her wrists before he stole the remaining part of her brain. His kiss started softly as his knuckles ran down her body, over her nipples, brushing against her core.

Each minute was more exciting and pleasurable than the last as Jamie swept her into an erotic fog that shot firecrackers to her brain. When Jamie’s knuckles started their return trip, he nudged her legs apart and dragged a finger up her fold. Claire bucked in his arms and she struggled to loosen the chains on her wrists. His long arm pulled the chains tight just before she felt his beard on the soft skin of her inner thigh. Pulling her legs apart he placed what felt like dozens of soft kisses between her legs, and inner thighs. Every few minutes the tip of his tongue would touch her bud nearly rocking her off the couch.

Claire didn’t think she could take much more without self-combusting. She felt Jamie shift his position and his hot, wet tongue slid into her, torturously slow as she gasped and arched her back seeking friction.

He would not be hurried with the beautiful dancer and intended to make this last, for both their sake. Claire was immobilized, without hands to distract him, so he set a slow pace and was thrilled the way her body reacted to him. He pressed his tongue deeper into her and his gigantic erection grazed the side of the sofa, hot and angry for being ignored.

Two long fingers replaced his tongue and he felt the walls of her pussy clamp down as he moved them in and out. She moaned and rocked his fingers feeling like she would explode. Jamie felt joy and satisfaction watching her fall apart. He lowered his head and flicked her bud viciously knowing the instant she left the earth. No longer on the plane of mortal man, she kissed angels and fell through layers of sparkling, raw sensation.

She felt the chains loosen around her wrist as Jamie kissed her deeply, preventing her full return to sanity. He wanted more, and she wanted to give it. He carefully negotiated the small sofa, pulling her knees up, creating a space to lay his long body as his tip pressed lightly against her opening. The intensity of his kissing made Claire’s hips rise to find him. Jamie smiled at her heroic effort to squirm under him until her wet pussy was pressing his tip into her.

He held her hips still and slowly pushed into her, watching her expression, feeling her energy shift to acquiescence. She surrendered to his strength, his need, his promise. As Jamie pushed into her he laid claim to her mind, soul, and body. His hard thrusting was banging into her clit making her lose her mind. Jamie kissed her deeply and felt her body grab him as her back arched tightly against his chest.

Jamie watched Claire’s orgasm second by second. She was wild, uninhibited, and completely under his spell. He released the iron grip on himself, slamming into her at least a dozen times, fearing he would lose his mind from the stinging in his balls.

The banging cymbals leading up to his release suddenly stopped as he was rocked to the core with pulsing pleasure. He floated back to her and nuzzled her neck. They were slippery with sweat and Jamie gathered her under him to keep her warm while she dozed. When she would startle awake her arms clutched him around his neck like she didn’t want to be without him, making his heart ache for her.

Jamie laid very still, watching Claire succumb to her exhaustion and kissing her quiet when she startled. He did not want this to end and letting her sleep added precious moments with her. He pulled her into a massive cuddle that overwhelmed her sluggish senses and she slept deeply for several hours while Jamie watched.

He was not used to the intensity of their lovemaking that now filled his head. Remembering her body quaking under him, mouth and eyes open, chest heaving while he pushed his full length into her. He could feel his erection growing until it throbbed for her again. She startled and grabbed him wrapping her arms around him to hold him to her.

Jamie pulled her to his chest and wiggled under her as his large hands held her gorgeous butt against him. She kissed him like her life depended on it and when he broke the kiss, she chased his mouth until he was putty in her hands. When she felt his tip against her, she pushed back until he slipped into her with a gasp.

Control temporarily lost, he wrapped his hands around her shoulders pulling down and pushing his cock deeper inside her. Jamie almost came when he looked into the eyes of a woman who would shred this couch to get to him. She needed to come, like a powder cake ready to explode and only he could make it happen.

Jamie grabbed her shoulders and lifted her upper body, so she straddled him. He groaned when her body opened to him, letting him sink into her warm wetness. Claire glared at him, panting, hands splayed on his chest. The feeling was so intense she couldn’t help but move her hips until she felt Jamie’s strong hands on top of her shoulders, holding her down. He sat up so they were face to face and pressed her shoulders down again feeling his dick go deeper into her body. He watched her eyes, only inches from his own. She didn’t know what was happening and no longer cared. She trusted Jamie to see her safely through the explosions she knew were coming.

We are almost there love, he thought, as he pushed her shoulders down and pressed his erection even deeper. Claire was wide-eyed and wanton when he impaled her, and he knew she had not been touched like this before.

Claire knew something was about to happen, good or bad she was powerless to stop it. He touched her cheek and smiled, then he touched her throbbing core and watched Claire’s world spin out of control. She threw her head back and rocked him with her hips until she slowly came back to earth. Her eyes opened and she smiled her gratitude, breathing deeply. He touched it again and she flew even higher in a long continuous moan as her hips rocked his cock again.

Jamie could not hold out any longer and flipped them pushing her legs over his shoulders for a dozen thrusts and stopped. Claire watched him get to his knees and push her legs open. He stared at her core for a long minute before he pulled her pelvis up and entered her again, watching the erotic show as his cock slid into her, over and over again until he shuttered and exploded deep inside her.

Jamie collapsed next to her panting for his life and refusing to let her go. He felt her hands on his cheeks as she kissed his face a dozen times, and then he felt nothing.

Some hours later Jamie woke up and smiled at the curled angel he held. He was leaving for his next job in Glasgow and wondered if he would ever see her again. He felt his heart swell at her trust and mutual interest. When he pushed the hair out of her face she smiled and pulled a lungful of air and opened her eyes.

Claire woke up to panic as the room was filling with light from the sunrise. Jamie could see the panic on her face and jumped up to dress quickly. He promised no words, so he kissed her softly and left.

She laid still with her heart ramming until she heard Jamie’s truck roar onto the road. Ten minutes later she was brave enough to get up and pull her sweatsuit on before disposing of the evidence of their magical night. She wondered if she would ever again feel a man touch her like Jamie did.

Claire looked at her watch and counted the hours until Geillis would come to get this wig off her head. Geillis added dots of the glue around the entire wig, so she didn’t worry about it slipping. Now she couldn’t get even a finger under it. She dropped her keys on the kitchen table heading for the shower. Raising her leg over the tub she saw warm liquid from Jamie run down her inner thigh. She watched it until her tears rolled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into a towel and sobbed.

Jamie pulled into Lallybroch and noticed Ian’s car in the driveway again. He looked up at Jenny’s window forming a possible reason before shaking his head and laughing. “It’ll never happen,” he said out loud. Ian was like a family member. Since they were lads Lallybroch was his second home and he often met up with friends and left his car overnight.

An hour later, Jamie tossed his suitcase, and briefcase in the back of his truck, the garment bag with his suits was hung inside the cab. With Glasgow just an hour away it hardly felt like he was going anywhere. How odd, he thought, that his last project would be in Scotland and so close to his home.

Once his big black truck was pointed at Glasgow, he sat back and let his mind drift back to the trauma he felt leaving home the first year. He hugged Jenny for a full minute and looked at her crying eyes trying to be brave. His Da shook his hand beaming with pride and fighting his own tears. Jamie walked away to board a very large plane that would fly him to Ann Arbor Michigan where he would build his first store.

The odds were stacked in his favor thanks to eight gentlemen that knew what factors influenced success and correctly matched the project to the manager. Putting Jamie on the other side of the world, where English was spoken, the winters were long and cold, in a college town with a superior football team, and thousands of coeds was no accident.

The next year was Italy, after that France, then back to America, England, Australia, Italy again, Germany, Edinburgh, and now Glasgow. He always came home to Lallybroch to rest. Sometimes it was three months, many years it was less.

Jamie’s natural charisma pulled people to him like moths to flame so he never felt lonely, or afraid. He saw his life as a never-ending string of new experiences, new challenges, and new people to meet, which became his Achilles heel.

Jamie remembered her still, the girl he cared for in Ann Arbor, the girl he left behind and then missed for the entire next year. It was a lesson to his heart to stay away from those most interesting, the most lovable, the most anything. He would find a lass or two in each town and move on quickly when they wanted more from him. It was a hard thing to do because he craved intimacy and feeling connected to someone. As his Scotland friends paired up and became a husband, Jamie realized he was going against the natural order, denying himself a heart to love. It got harder each year, but he never faltered from his plan. He would not leave a string of broken hearts in his wake.

The dancer crept into his thoughts and in his mind he reached for her, lovingly, protectively. Well, looks like yer comin to Glasgow with me. I thought maybe last night would cure me but here ye are. I’m no sorry. Ye are a rare gift to the world and I dinna want to let ye go. Not yet.

Geillis was losing patience, “hold still or I’ll spill this acetone in yer eye!”

She wasn’t feeling charitable this morning after being roused from her newest squeeze by a begging Claire. She dabbed the Q-tip into the glue as she pulled the hair from Claire’s skin.

“I hope the sex was worth all this.” She paused for a minute. “This is when ye tell me all about it lass.”

Claire stared out her kitchen window with a blank face seeming not to hear her friend's inquiry. She felt him touch her skin with warm hands that made magic happen the whole night. She tasted salty sweat from kissing his face when he was still far away spinning in pleasure.

“Claire!”

“What!”

“I’m talkin to ye lass. I’m gonna pull it off, ye ready?”

The wig pulled away and Claire instantly felt ten degrees cooler to her relief.

“Meet me at the wig store after work. Ye canna wear that one until yer skin heals. We can find somethin else to use. I have to break land-speed records to make it to work on time. Sorry to leave ye with the mess.”

Claire crawled into her bed where she would dream of copper-colored curls that tickled her nose, and thighs, and back.

For the next month, she spent a lot of time at the bookstore helping the new manager get settled. When she heard little voices yell her name she brightened considerably and watched tiny bodies run to the glass room with grateful mothers behind them.

The second month came and went but the bookstore still felt cold and sterile to her. John was becoming a dear friend who craved her company because he was alone in a strange city. Compared to Jamie, it was child’s play to avoid John’s constant questions about her other job. Claire was rarely bothered with anxiety anymore, so life went on with no great highs and no great lows.

When Claire was reading to her pint-sized fans she reached across the circle and pretended to grab someone's nose as little people erupted in laughter. Claire giggled back to her sitting position and froze when she heard his voice. Her heart was ramming and her ears almost hurt as they were seeking another sound wave, his wave, his cadence, and burr.

The story was over and the kids piled out to their waving mothers. Claire’s legs were hugged tight and tiny sets of eyes looked up to her smiling and waving. She waved back as the last few mothers led their children toward the exit. And there he was.

Claire felt the air evacuate from the room as she watched his genuine smile and outstretched arms. She leaned into him, smelling something lovely and familiar, wanting so badly to touch his curls and face. She felt his vibrating laugh when she hugged him and then quickly righted herself back to the friend zone tucking away her wants and desires for someone forbidden.

She smiled when John or Jamie made a joke but otherwise busied herself with cleaning up her room and flicking the lights off. She walked quickly to the exit and felt strong hands grab her arm pulling her to a halt. She knew that touch, those big hands, and felt herself shake inside.

“How is the new project going, Jamie?”

“It’s been a bitch, still is, but I’m done-in from all that anxiety and deadline insomnia.” He smiled at her, so relaxed and looking genuinely happy to see her. “I’m goin back tomorrow once I conclude some business here in Edinburgh, part of which is you.”

Claire looked up at him trying to look coy and relaxed. “What pray tell would that be?”

“Next weekend is Easter, Claire. I want ye to come to Lallybroch and spend the day with Jenny and me. Will ye come?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. And John? Will he be joining us too?”

“Who?”

Claire tilted her head to the upstairs office where John would be sweating bullets waiting for Jamie to announce the real reason he was here and hoping to have his job when he was through.

“Ah, yes of course lass, John too.”

Claire offered her hand and saw the change in Jamie’s face. “Until next weekend then.”

Jaime climbed the steps to the manager’s office feeling off balance at Claire’s stiff goodbye. His mind was in constant flux between two women since he left. The dancer reigned supreme in his thoughts and dreams, but he missed Claire in his life.

He felt his body calling to her, the dancer, and he knew it would take wild horses to keep him away from her tonight.

[mintdrop]

Mint is ADORABLE! How did she and Estinien get together? :)

aejisfiusdfsdidgj thank you!!!!! ;_;

i actually have this saved from an old ask that i got back when mint was a new character and i was new to wol/npc shipping! i’ll put it under a readmore because it’s super long

mint/estinien kind of started off as a continuation ship I had of my old character Amira (a purple bookwormy lalafell SCH) but it has turned into it’s own thing and it’s like 40% cuter imo.

since I’ve only ever actively played one character, WoL!Mint has all the memories of her adventures from from 2.x to now, ignoring all the fantasias I’ve gone through. She started off just absolutely despising him during the final 2.x dragoon quests and, going into Heavensward, refused to trust him. Refused to acknowledge him unless absolutely forced to, would usually reply in one or two words at best, and occasionally she’d catch herself thinking “but what if.. I “missed” a heal on him during this fight….” but in the end would rather physically remove all of her teeth by hand than sabotage a battle and sacrifice someone’s safety for her petty high-school-level drama. after all, even if she didn’t trust him, the others clearly did.

she only started to trust him, and inevitably start falling for him, after the incident at the Vault. she went mute for a length of time, didn’t give any input to anything and accepted all requests/orders without so much as a nod of her head; she’d just go, do it, show back up with some kind of proof of whatever was required and leave again. everyone tried to get her to go back to how she was before, or at least get her to speak again, but it was like reasoning with a brick wall to move.

at one point, Alphinaud needed Mint to scout the area surrounding the Gubal Library, but he couldn’t find her. she wasn’t in her inn room in Idyllshire, and there were no sightings of her around the Hinterlands; he contacted Aymeric through a linkshell, but none of the guards at any of the gates had so much as seen a glance at her. worried for his friend’s safety more than anything, he enlisted Estinien’s help in finding her, simply because he could cover more ground than most others. estinien already had a fairly good idea of where she was, though, and his hunch wasn’t wrong; she was, once again, at Haurchefant’s grave.

it had been lightly dusting snow at the time, but Mint was covered in what looked like several hours worth from simply sitting there, unmoving. frustrated with it all, Estinien stomped over and picked her up by the fuzzy collar of her top, lifting her to eye level with his visor. “You are needed, Totomi.” she gave a blink of acknowledgement and a small nod, expecting to be put down and given a location. instead the visor on estinien’s mask rose and he was glaring daggers. “You misunderstand. You are needed. Not this fragment of despair that is here right now.”

I used to have this whole scenario written out but it looks like it got lost when I moved computers. Basically he shook her to her senses (both mentally and physically, just wiggling his hand to try and get her to wake up) and it ended with Mint turning into this miserable faucet of tears and hiccups as she babbled out what you’d expect; how he shouldn’t have been the one who die for her poor judgement, that she was a bloody fool and wasn’t worthy of being the warrior of light, etc. Despite being incredibly blunt and calling her a dumbass, Estinien managed to calm her down and make her realize that it wasn’t her fault, and that if time were to rewind and Haurchefant was told what was going to happen, he’d still take the spear for her.

Heavensward goes on as is until the peace trial between Ishgard and Vidofnir, which results in Mint getting fucking pissed and swears to bring Estinien back or kill him to free him of Nidhogg’s possession, because she’s learned that he would prefer to die than let Nidhogg use his body to ruin Ishgard and get revenge. Luckily, it doesn’t come to that thanks to Ysayle and Haurchefant. Mint refuses to leave Estinien’s room after he’s brought to the chirurgin, going so far as to veil a threat or two under a very cheerful demeanor if she’s forced to leave. When he wakes up and notices her, the first thing he gets is a slap to the face followed by copious amounts of swears that would make a Limsan sailor gasp.

After a full recovery, unless the situation calls for either of them to do something, you’d always be able to find Mint basically glued to Estinien’s hip, although he would refer to her as a thorn in his side, “but not one that really needs to be removed.” The story progresses into Stormblood and Mint considers confessing, until the war between Garlemald and Ala Mhigo begins and she realizes “hey, maybe I’ll wait until after this is said and done.” That time doesn’t come, though, due to Zenos being Zenos and the threats from Garlemald still looming in their faces. Nothing really happens during Stormblood because of how busy Mint ends up being.

while it isn’t canon to the opening of shadowbringers, in this ship, Estinien was at the ravine with Biggs/Wedge/Tataru/Mint while they were investigating, and despite his attempt, isn’t able to stop Mint from being pulled to the First. After convincing both Tataru and himself that she’ll be fine because she’s Mint, he goes and fulfills his investigation into the black rose for the scions, using his end of the bargain as an excuse to keep himself busy.

When he returns to inform Tataru of what happened and that he’s done, he’s met by a bombshell of a Lalafell running at him at full speed, launching herself into a hug whether he likes it or not. Even though it was only a few days? weeks? maybe like a month idk the timeline too well to him, it felt like much, much longer to Mint because of how the time passes between worlds, and she once again ends up as a babbling mess. Krile and Tataru give them a few minutes alone because they feel like Mint probably doesn’t want to be seen like this, and she takes the time to confess before he can even open his mouth to welcome her back, “because I didn’t know how long I’d be gone and I missed you and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to come back and”

after that is some REALLY GUSHY stuff that makes me grin just thinking about because it makes my heart fluffy. Mint now spends all of her time on the Source with Estinien because she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get to make up for the time it felt like she was gone for. Her usual spot is on his shoulder, kind of carried like a sack of potatoes “because it’s comfy.”

[packsbeforesnacks]

Harmony Hall || Mercy & Winn

TIMING: Thursday, July 9th, 2020, Evening LOCATION: The Western Archives (Mercy’s Loft) PARTIES: @cryxmercy & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Mercy offers an explanation. Winn faces the truth about his lost years. WARNINGS: None

The lighthouse was intimidating, Winn thought, but no more intimidating than meeting someone for the first time… again, apparently. ‘Cause apparently this ‘Mercy’ woman knew him, said he’d lived in White Crest before he remembered livin’ in White Crest. The possibility had never crossed his mind, that there would be — could be — someone with the answers to the riddle of the years that had been taken from him. Winn would need to buy Rio something nice, if this panned out. Boy deserved, like, a fruit basket, bare minimum. Winn made his way up the staircase, twisted up in the lighthouse like a coiled spring, ready to pop out at any time and remind him why he was actually here.

An explanation. Mercy had promised one and Winn wasn’t about to let his only real chance at fixing all of this slip through his fingers. No one — Rio, Darwin, his dad — had been able to turn up any real leads, and there wasn’t a magic Facebook, where Winn could just post until someone said they’d fix his memories. He’d gotten lucky. He knew it. The chance of him findin’ another person with access to mental magic was too big of an ask. Luckily for him, White Crest kept an eye on wishes.

One of the many problems that came with living as long as Mercy had was that inevitably the past would circle back around at some point, either to bite you in the ass, or simply make life more complicated. She wasn’t quite sure which category the current bit of her past fell into. Winn was a good guy — it was why she’d helped him in the first place all those years back -— so perhaps it fell into neither. Perhaps it was simply the right thing to do. Because Mercy had seen first hand what missing memories could do to a person. How confused and lost they could become. Wondering what had happened to them in a span of time they couldn’t remember. It could drive a person mad.

So Mercy didn’t blame Rio for sending Winn her way. Even if she wasn’t sure what she could tell him, other than what the young wolf had asked of her all those years back, and the events that had followed. Perhaps that would be enough. Even if it didn’t bring the memories back. Because Mercy didn’t know how to do that. So she’d made sure the tower would let Winn pass through, that the roses that grew in the field outside wouldn’t harass him. And when she heard footsteps on the spiral stairs, Mercy looked towards the open door of the small flat at the top of the tower. Her tone was warm and easy as she spoke. “You can come in. I don’t bite.”

Winn passed through the open door with more confidence than he felt. He racked his memory, trying to figure out if he’d known her, some time ago, but there wasn’t even the faintest pulse of recollection. He took a seat, movements a bit stiff, as he considered the woman. There wasn’t much he could tell from just her posture and voice; if he had to pick an age— Well, ‘sides bein’ rude, he couldn’t really do that anymore. Living in a lighthouse wasn’t the most unusual thing about this situation, but it was as good a place as any to break the ice. “Sooooo,” he drawled, “you lived in White Crest long?” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of her knowin’ him. “This lighthouse looks old. Beautiful, though, the roses are lovely.”

A compliment, a well-placed smile. She knew Winn. But that didn’t mean she had liked him, in whatever history they shared together. He scanned the room, looking for another point of conversational topic, but his eyes drifted back to the woman’s. It occurred to him that, well, she might know him by his old name. He should clear up any confusion, introduce himself again. “Um, sorry, right. I’m Winn. Winn Woods. Winner Lycus Woods. Said that on the phone.” He gave a small wave, feeling incredibly awkward. What was it about this woman that put him on-edge? Or was it just that she knew more about him, perhaps, than he did? There were no easy answers, and so, he admitted what she’d probably already guessed: “Do I… know you?”

“About six years,” Mercy said, watching Winn as he took a seat. “Going on seven.” He was wondering about her, she knew. Who she was. Probably even what she was. Mercy hadn’t told him much over the phone. But that was deliberate. This was a conversation that needed to happen face to face. “Thank you. I… acquired it some years back.” She smiled at him, small and knowing. “The roses are just a bonus.” And a damn fine security measure. In case anyone who was unwelcome thought they could just waltz up to her tower.

Mercy’s eyes didn’t leave his face as he looked around. The room was small, but cozy. Full of shelves and books and benign things of interest that she’d brought up from down in the archives. There was evidence of Arthur here and there as well. A chess set she’d dug out of one of the rooms for him. New journals and fountain pens stacked neatly on a nearby table, along with a stack of scrolls and manuscripts still covered in dust. There was also a small bed in one corner, a tiny kitchenette, a small bathroom behind a closed door, and a woodburning stove. It was very liveable, even if Mercy usually stayed elsewhere. Winn’s gaze came back to her eventually, and Mercy waited a moment as he introduced himself.

“You did. Once. My name’s Mercy.” She watched him for a short but weighted moment. “I’m the one that took your memories.”  

Well, huh.

Winn wouldn’t pretend there wasn’t a part of him that had been… hoping for this. When Darwin had told him that they weren’t buried, but missing, he had been ready to abandon this entire ‘quest.’ Rio’s message, askin’ to give Winn’s information to one of his allies, had been a Hail Mary, as far as Winn had been concerned. But then, Rio had messaged him back, gave him a number to call. Winn had leapt at the chance.

Once. Maybe… Maybe, even if Winn couldn’t get back his memories, she could tell him about himself. It was another confirmation. When something went missing, there had to be a force behind it. Darwin had given him the information, Mercy had revealed herself as the thief herself. He took a deep breath, in, out, almost like he was preparin’ for Darwin to take another look around his mind. But, really, Winn knew that, if he let himself make assumptions, Winn would be transformed in the middle of this flat. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all him. So, before he’d climbed the tower, he’d ran through scenarios in his head.

And… Well, this hadn’t been the worst. Could be bleedin’ out. Winn locked eyes with Mercy, and said, strong and far more confident than he felt: “Why?”

Mercy often wondered if her long life — or perhaps her nature — had made her some sort of… beacon… for lost and wayward souls. She seemed to cross paths with them more often than not. If that was the case, it was ironic really, since she had no power whatsoever over the souls of mankind. Unlike the Valkyries of her homelands legends.

What she did have was knowledge. Centuries upon centuries of it. But with great knowledge came great power, as they say. And what good was knowledge if it wasn’t shared? At least when it was for the better. So while Mercy had also prepared for the worst, she didn’t pull any punches in answering Winn’s questions. She wasn’t afraid of the young wolf. Never had been. That said, she was very aware of the damage one could do. To her, and to their surroundings. And Mercy was in no mood to deal with an angry shifter tonight. Or at any point in the near future.

Mercy waited on Winn to process what she’d said. She watched for any signs he was going to lash out or react badly. Any tells that his emotions were going to get the better of him, and the wolf would take over to protect him. Or to get revenge for a perceived wrong. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. And Mercy let out her own internal sigh of relief.

Her tone was soft and even as she didn’t hesitate to answer his follow up question. “Because you asked me to.” There was more, obviously, but Mercy wanted to give him time to process the main parts before overloading him with the rest of the details. Of which there were many.

Winn felt like he’d been smacked with a sledgehammer, like the ‘brain freeze’ he’d felt at Darwin’s probing had been only an appetizer for this main course. The memories weren’t stolen. The memories were given. And his mind scrolled and scrolled through scenarios, trying to figure out what could have happened — what he could have done — that would make him do this.

He put his head in his hands, trying to stave off yet another anxiety attack. Winn had been preparing for an answer, even this one, for nearly a month — two, if he counted that first inkling that there was something inside of him. Finally, scrubbing the fresh tears away from his eyes, he met Mercy’s gaze with tired determination. He had to know.

“Tell me more. Please. I can… I can handle it.” Winn tried to give a weak smile, ended up somewhere in grimace, and settled back down into a flat line.

Mercy watched as Winn started to absorb what she was saying. It wasn’t easy to be told things about your past that you couldn’t remember. This wasn’t the first time Mercy had been in such a situation. She had learned, however, that giving too much all at once could send some people over the edge. Others did better receiving things in one big lump. Mercy wasn’t sure which category Winn fell into just yet. He’d survived the giving away of the memories. But that didn’t mean the opposite would be true. When he got himself together and looked up, tears staining his face, Mercy felt her heart ache for him. He was a good kid. It’s why she’d helped him in the first place.

“We met a few years back when you signed up for my self-defense classes. Didn’t take me long to realize you weren’t human. Took you a bit longer to realize the same was true for me.” Mercy explained how they’d come to be friends, and later, how Mercy had come to be a confidant of sorts for Winn. And how eventually Winn came to confide his personal traumas to Mercy. Who had already encouraged him to stand up to what frightened him. To take back control of his life, by not letting the past control his present, or his future. That effort — thanks to Mercy’s Fury nature — doubled when she found out what the hunters had done to him.

“One day you came to me and asked if I knew how to get rid of unwanted memories.” Mercy sat a book — bound in worn leather wrappings — and an ornately carved wooden box on the table between them. She opened the lid of the box, revealing a pair of ravens — carved from obsidian — nestled inside. Each was small enough to hold in one’s hand, and covered in delicately crafted patterns and runes. “This is the how.” She indicated the book and the stone ravens before looking at him evenly. “Are you absolutely certain you wish to know what memories you wanted gone? And why?”

There was a part of Winn that wanted to laugh at Mercy, to tell her that there was no way that she was right. It was a stubborn, temperamental part of himself that he hardly recognized. But, as she spoke, he realized that… well, that what she was sayin’ made sense. Winn had been in a bad way, after he left the pack. That… That was where the memories got fuzzy, where the train stopped because the track had been cut off. He’d always thought the wolf had finally gotten fed up with him, ran on a Full Moon and stayed transformed that way until Winn could get his shit together.

But none of that was true.

“I… kind of hate that you know more about me than I do,” Winn admitted, honestly. “So, I came to you to erase two whole years? That seems,” Winn grabbed one of the stone ravens to inspect it, “excessive.” His head pulsed, his vision blurred. Shit got weird. And painful.

“I’m used to it,” Mercy said of being hated, her voice holding a hint of something that might’ve been weariness. Or perhaps regret. Maybe both. But her expression turned to a true frown as he told her that— “Wait—” Mercy held up a hand, her tone one of shock. “You’re missing two years? Two entire years?” But Winn never got the chance to answer.

He reached for the raven… and collapsed to the floor.

Mercy was instantly on her feet, both out of concern for Winn, and to be ready in case she ended up with a fully shifted, angry werewolf in her flat.  

“Please…” Winn heard himself begging Mercy and a robed figure behind her. The room was barely lit, but Winn could make out himself, younger, and speaking in broken sobs. It looked like the loft, but… different, in the pieces he could see. “Mercy, I did something I can’t take back. Ever. I want… I want a second chance. I’m not… I don’t want to be this person. I— I wanted my life back, but not like this. I didn’t— He didn’t—” There was a crackle in the air as he looked up, meeting the eyes of the fury. “I want this. No going back.”

The scene cut out, Winn heard three words in a language he didn’t recognize. Then, there was darkness.

In Winn’s memory, Mercy looked on in sympathy at the young wolf’s pain. The air hummed with static. “If this is your wish, if you believe with all your heart, that this is what’s right for you… that your life can only be better for forgetting, then so be it.”

When the spell had been cast, Mercy had merely been an observer, until the caster had come to the final seals. How fortuitous it was that she was there, and capable of speaking the three runes that activated the spell and set it in motion.

When Winn came back to himself, in the present, he was on the floor of the loft, holding his head in pain, tears streaming down his face, claws and fangs extended and digging tiny cuts into his skull and lip. Fuck. Fuck. His ears rang, his heart was racing.

“... What did I do?” Winn asked, finally, when he had just enough energy to pull himself off the floor. He couldn’t look at Mercy, not now. Not until he knew.

In the present, Mercy had moved to place herself between Winn and the door to the stairs, just in case. She knew he was in pain. She could see the partial shift his body had gone through in response to such huge amounts of stress. Mercy waited, relaxing slightly as moving towards him as he came back to himself. And asked the million dollar question.

Mercy sighed, wondering where the hell to start. Perhaps the cut and dry version would be best.

“You started this… one-man ‘protect the wolves’ mission… tracking down and killing the hunters, and others, that were hurting them… You were ruthless. Vicious even. You grew numb to it. Or so you said. Until one day… you killed a hunter in front of his children.” Mercy squatted down so she could be level with the wolf. “That was when you realized all those people, those hunters, were people too. With families. Children. People who loved them.” Mercy knew all hunters weren’t created the same. But that didn’t mean she thought Winn had been in the wrong for what he’d done. How many lives had he saved by taking the ones he had? Though it wasn’t what Mercy thought that mattered, was it? This was about Winn. “It set something off inside you… and you couldn’t live with what you’d done. You wanted it gone.”

She watched him for a long moment. “You’re not a bad person, Winn. I know bad people. You’re a good person that bad things have happened to.”

“Okay,” Winn said finally, curling in on himself on the floor, taking it all in. Numb, Mercy had said. Well, Winn didn’t feel very numb right now. He felt… he felt awful. And part of it was recovering from the stress of touching the raven, but… It was true. There was no denying it. Mercy had no reason to lie to him, and, fuck, was that what Winn had seen at the carnival? Killing a hunter, apparently the last in a string of killings. Winn had found his answer. Or, part of it. And that answer was awful, ripping into him and carving at his heart. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Winn sat there, just… thinking.

Until: “Wait, then… Why? Why two years?” Winn said, finally looking up and into Mercy’s eyes. “It doesn’t— Tell me I wasn’t… killing people for two years.” Not that it mattered, he supposed, in the grand scheme of things. Just more bodies to the count. Fuck. Fuck.

Mercy waited patiently while Winn processed everything. She was used to this too, after all. It was the story of her life. Waiting and watching… sometimes for months, even years at a time. But when he asked his next question, the only answer Mercy had was, “I don’t know why the spell took two years away. But no. You weren’t. It was… a few months. Maybe.”

“I’m a coward.” Winn sighed, looking up at the ceiling and away from Mercy’s gaze. He’d run away again. He couldn’t stop running away. “And I’m… I don’t know if I’m a bad person, Mercy, but I… I don’t think I can be a good person, if I did that, if I hurt all of those people — and you said, you said others? So, not all of them were hunters? I mean, that… that makes it worse, right?” Would it be better, if it had only been hunters? No. No, Winn didn’t think so. Even without his memories, without his apparent realization, he knew so many hunters now and he knew they were just… people. Fallible and too, too human.

Mercy’s jaw clenched as he called himself a coward. She remembered a moment very like this one, where she’d told him he should take control of his fears, his doubts, his demons… face them and conquer them. She couldn’t help it as the air in the flat started to hum with static. “A coward wouldn’t be sitting here in my tower, asking to remember things he once thought so terrible that he begged to have them removed from his mind forever.”

“The fact that you feel remorse for any of it…” Mercy shook her head, her expression softening slightly. “Bad people don’t feel remorse, Winn.” What did that say about Mercy, and all the people she’d killed over the centuries that she hadn’t thought twice about? The thought was fleeting, and thankfully didn’t settle in Mercy’s head. So she pressed on. “We can’t judge ourselves for the way we deal with trauma. That’s why it’s called trauma. Because it’s a deeply disturbing experience. Something we can rarely control. The only thing we can do… is learn from it. And try to be better in the end.”

Mercy’s words were as much for herself as for Winn, even if she didn’t realize it. But even then, there was nothing more she could say that hadn’t already been said. So again, she waited. Where they went from here was up to Winn.

And try to be better in the end.

Winn pulled himself off of the floor of the flat, scrubbed at his eyes, and looked at Mercy. She was right, even if he couldn’t believe it right now. Had Winn learned from it? When Winn got the memories back, would time have helped? Or would he just be back to that broken man, cryin’ at his friend to take it all away?

No. No, he refused.

Winn had barely finished saying, “I want them back,” though, when he collapsed, again, to the floor, unconscious and still.

[neo-culture-mafia]

NCT 2018 Reaction When Someone Disrespects Their S/O   [U + 127...Dream is linked]

Hello Lovelies, these will be longer because I’m giving a scenario/blurb for each. Enjoy :) !

Dream / Junior Forces Ver.

LEE TAEYONG

Everyone was on his shit list today, even you at some given moments. He just wanted to get through his damn meetings in peace without listening to his constant update reports. Yet, when someone compared you to a servant, it got his blood boiling:

“Honey, I was wond-” You walked into the conference room, the entirety of the Neo Culture had their eyes focused on you. Some had the hands going to their hip, ready to fight for their leader’s life who sat closest to the door, yet most of them calmed once they recognized the big and gentle eyes of their leader’s partner.

 “Oh, I’m so sorry I should’ve knocked.” You said, bowing towards the familiar faces you deemed family. 

“Yeah…you should have.” A new prospect piped in from the bottom of the long table. “Gosh Lee, who knew you let the help step in for meetings. Put her in her place, would you?” He rolled his eyes, thinking that he would be praised as a manly man and a fearless advocate….when everyone just saw him as a dumba*s. 

To say you felt like a stupid nuisance was an understatement. Your eyes now trained towards the ground while you kept your inner lip fixed between your teeth. The fiery red setting in your cheeks as you felt out of place. Taeyong noticed this and decided to give you attention from his nice and friendly side while in his mind he was going over what he would have Jaehyun or Jisung do to the prospect later on. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer with both arms so you were standing in between his legs. “No, my attention is yours. What did you need?” He asked taking your hand and running his hand over your knuckles. “I just wanted to go shopping and was seeing if I could take the car.” You said, still feeling stupid. “Of course. Mark? Want to go with her?” Taeyong asked and Mark shot out of his seat, ready to leave this boring and useless meeting. Taeyong threw the keys to the younger and he caught them on beat. 

“Have fun, honey. Text me if you need anything.” He said kissing your knuckles as you nodded, a smile forming on your face. “Let’s go Noona!” Mark whined as he dragged you out of the room as both of you laughed at the fact you get to leave. The door closes and all the official members knows what’s coming though. 

Taeyong let an enthusiastic sigh leave his lips as he leaned back in his chair. He finally faced forward again as he took his gun from his hip. He set it down on the wood table infront of him. He had a sinister smile as he sat up, looking at the new recruits like a madman. 

“Let’s have a talk about respect, yeah?”

__________

MOON TAEIL

He sat next to you at the annual family and associates dinner that Taeyong threw. You sat at a LONG table that was faced into the ballroom where everyone else sat at circle tables. Only the closest and most elite members were aloud to sit where you sat with your husband. 

You were adorned in the finest jewels he had gotten for you specifically along with a dress you deemed unfit to be worm by someone like you. You were a goddess in his eyes along with everyone’s eyes who had a brain. So when someone compared your formal dress to a garbage bag…ends up he had to hold you back:

His hand found yours under the table as you toyed with the fabric of the elegant dress that hugged your body in all the right places. You looked over to see him smile and give you a reassuring nod. Taeyong was going on the usual speech he gave every year about the meaning of respect within the strong family we have. 

Yet, when Jaemin LITERALLY snaked his way under the table to where you and Taeil sat, to say you were shocked was an understatement. He was the last chair…on the opposite end of the table. You lifted the silk table cloth as he sat in between you and Taeil on the ground. “Hello, Noona.” He bowed nicely as he sat cross legged. He then turned towards Taeil. “Hyung.” He started, keeping his voice hush still. “The prospect at table 87 with the blue vest on keeps talking bad about Noona.” He said hurriedly and angrily. You comfortingly played with the hair on the back of his head so he would calm down. 

“What?” Taeil asked again. “Prospect. Table 87. Blue Vest. Talking bad about Noona…revenge?” He said and automatically held up handcuffs and a match box. “…what was he saying?” Taeil asked and you stared down the man. “That it looked like she was wearing a trash bag,,.and some stuff I don’t feel comfortable saying infront of a female presence.” Jaemin said as the speech ended and everyone clapped for Taeyong. Jaemin still rambling. Taeil hit Jaemin upside the head. “Stop. He didn’t say it, the prospect did.” You grabbed your husbands wrist as Jaemin rubbed the side of his head softly. “Oh yeah, sorry.” Taeil said. 

You cleared your throat, tapping your napkin on your mouth and setting it next to your plate. You pushed your seat back and stood up. “What are you doing?” Taeil asked as Jaemin just looked up at you. “Obviously if he’s speaking about me, he wants to talk.” I said bowing to some people who passed infront of me. “What? No.” Taeil said. “Sit your as* down, and you can see me from here. I’ll be fine.” You said moving your leg to your dress slit and exposing your holster on your thigh. He nodded and turned toward his food again. “Jaemin, will you please accompany me to the prospect?” I asked and he got up quickly, extending his hand. He guided you down the steps as he brought you to table 87. Most just gawked as you approached him, talked, and told him if he ever talked about you again in such vulgar ways you promised death. Taeil was quick to come in and swoop you up before the prospect lost his anger, and Taeil would get involved himself. 

“Talk about me one more time, and your body will be thrown out in the garbage bag you compared this dress to.”

_________________

SEO JOHNNY

You were walking around the base, making sure you hit up all departments to get what Taeyong was asking. You were walking back from Doyoung’s warehouse when a new fledged member thought you were on of the many hookers around the base…yeah…you weren’t…:

“Cherry Bomb shell and hand-held revolver…check…Brass knuckles and nun chucks…check…matches and fire kit…check…cyanide and sinai…ch-” you mumbled to yourself, strolling through the courtyard of the base while checking off the list you had on a piece of paper. The weapons were stashed in your backpack and without worry. You weren’t paying attention as you didn’t hear the man running up behind you. 

You didn’t even realize he was there until you were pressed up the side of the building with his lips on your neck. “Get off! As*hole! Get off.” You whined as you tried to throw the man off. A smack across your mouth had cut you off as you felt his hands grip your rear-end in a painful way. You cried into the ‘kiss’ as your hands were pinned into the rough concrete of the wall…painfully you might add. 

“God you’re such a bad whore.” He said and kicked your leg to open your mouth more. His hands roamed your body as you desperately tried to get him off. “HELP.” Was all you could shout as he bit down on your neck to probably make you shut-up. 

Finally, his body was thrown onto the ground, hardly. Your body crumpled down to the ground as you held your knees to your chest. You watched as Johnny took all his anger out on the new member. You were brought to your feet by Jeno who was talking to Johnny that was on a quest to find you. 

Jeno took you away, trying to calm you down. You ended up on the training center with all the Junior forces who were talking about what they would’ve done if it was their own girlfriend…most of them would act the same way as Johnny. 

“New member or not. Mine is mine. I would’ve hit him with a combo, monkey knuckle on the nose, nipple twister, stomp on a couple of his toes, do the eye poke thingy-” Chenle went on, his mission to make you smile after the incident and it worked as most of the others were laughing as well. He was cut off by Johnny walking in. “Y/N!” He yelled from down the hall. “I think I left my bean sprouts in my shoe. Lele, wanna help?” Jisung asked as he dragged his dolphin companion to the stairs. “She’s in here, hyung!” Renjun walked in himself with an ice pack and a cup of Jasmine Tea. 

He pressed the coldness to your leg and neck, trying to get the hickeys to go away as quickly as possible. You thanked him as Johnny walked into the dining/kitchen area where you and the others sat. He was out of breath and his knuckled dripping (love, love, drippin’ drippin’ love…srry) blood onto the white tile floor. He was still angry…not at you though. “You okay?” He asked and you could only nod. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”

___________

NAKAMOTO YUTA

You were at the local coffee shop, going for a well deserved coffee break. Yet…OUT OF ALL PLACES YOUR HUSBAND DECIDED TO HAVE A TRADE DEAL…it was at the shop you were at. He had no idea, and once he does realize in the worst way possible; it’s too late…but not for him:

“One large iced americano, please?” You asked the barista who nodded with a smile, gladly accepting your debit card with both hands. She scurried off and began making the drink while you scrolled through random apps on your phone and listened to whatever music was playing in the small cafe. It was pretty much a dead flow of customers but there were a handful of stragglers. 

You felt hands on your waist and you quickly turn around ready to hit whoever it was across the face. Yet your fist was met by the man’s hand. “Hey pretty lady. I need you for a job.” He said and you just dropped your fist, getting out of his grip. “I’m going on a meeting and need you to be my arm candy.” He said. 

You finally noticed the huge body tattoo he possessed and you sighed…Yakuza. “No. Hands off.” You pushed his chest and noticed how everyone around you had reached for their waist. You pouted. “Now. Let’s go.” He picked you up and dragged you outside and up the stairs to the building that sat atop of the shop. 

The door opened and he sat at the seat closest to the door. The curtain that separated the 2 gangs was left untouched across the middle of the table, obscuring both boss’s vision from eachother. 

You wanted to just cry and go back to see Yuta because you were some place you shouldn’t be and it scared you…especially because everyone was bigger than you. “We’re ready to begin.” A man on our side said and the curtain was dropped a few seconds later. You looked across to see Yuta seated at the opposite end of the table. Our own men surrounded him. 

“Yuta.” You shot up but was met by a forceful grab and pull, causing you to end up on the floor. “Ow.” You whined and held your arm that the man let fall to the ground with a thud. 

“Get up, whore.” He kicked your legs forcefully under the table where it was obscured from vision. You whined again softly, holding your leg. “Can you please return my wife before we have more than a territory issue on our hands?” Yuta spoke fire from the other side of the room. “We don’t have your wife, Yuta.” The man said and you stood up again. “Yes you do, dumba*s.” You said and his hand flew up to squish your jaw so you’d look at him. 

You put both hands on his wrist to pry his force from your face. Yuta flew up and his men stood up after they sensed his anger. “Let. Her. Go.” Yuta said throwing his fists on the table. 

The stupid man finally pieced two and two together and quickly released his hard grip. Yet seeing the red marks on your face threw Yuta over the edge. You wasted no time in running to Yuta after the grip was released. His one arm slipped around your shoulders to hold you close. “Fu*k you, fu*k you wanting more space. Get the hell off our land.” He spat and the men wasted no time in getting the hell out of there. 

He held you close as he made sure to get it across your concious that he cared deeply about what happens to you. He pulls away and looks at your face where he grabbed you. He grazed his fingers over the marks and examined them. 

“Find the leader and base of that branch. We leave at 1.” 

_________

QIAN KUN

This was supposed to be your guys’ night. It was your guys’ time to get out of that stupid medical room where your boyfriend locked himself into night and night again. Yet when a mission goes South, he is told to bring you in for backup…you both getting there was a mission within itself:

“Where to next, sweetie?” Kun asked as you looked around the colorful sky that filled with the smell of popcorn and the sounds of ride motors and children laughing. ‘I don’t know, there’s so many! Ferris Wheel is last though.” You said turning towards him with a smile. “Anything thing for you.” He said and you guys walked hand in hand down the grassy walkway. 

“Let’s go on the bumper cars.” You suggested and you walked hand in hand. You both gave up your tickets and got on. The ride started and all of you began driving and hitting eachother. It was a moment that would last in your mind forever. 

You then raced eachother to the mega air. You stood in the long line, and you guys would be on the next group of riders. His phone sounded off with a ringtone you were familiar with. He silenced his phone, yet no matter what, this person’s calls always came through and the loudest volume. Kun picked up without hesitating. “Yes?” He asked and the ride started finally. You watched at what you would hopefully be getting onto next. 

“Ok. I have y/n with me.” He said and a few more seconds, the phone was hung up. “Mission went wrong.” He said and your heart began racing. He ducked under the rope and then lifted you over, ultimately losing your place in line. He took your hand and started pushing people out of the way so he could get to his car with you safely. “Most guys are hurt. I need your help. Enemy’s are on their way to come get us so we don’t get there.” He said and as soon as he said that, both of you began running. 

We were directly outside of the entrance when someone passed by and grabbed your other wrist. When you are moving extremely fast and then stop because of a pressure is on one of your joints…it hurts. You whimpered as the person twirled you so their arms are around your body. 

Kun doesn’t waste time in pulling the gun on his hip. You’ve seen the gun on his hip, knowing he was forced to carry it. You’ve never seen him touch it though. You were clawing at his arm to get him off. 

“Honey. When I say ‘go’ turn to your left and crouch.” He said in Mandarin. You got the jist and he gave you the signal. You used all of your strength to turn to the left and crouch. The man’s hand was wrapped in your hair as you went towards the ground, yet once the loud sound of the gun went off, so were you and Kun. Kun picked you up and ran all the way to his car. 

He didn’t even throw you in your seat as he got in, he set you on his lap, and managed to get you out of there alive. You didn’t face forward as you looked over his shoulder to the fleet of cars behind him. “Those are associates, don’t worry.” He said as he laid a hand on your thigh. 

“You okay, pumpkin?” He asked and you silently nodded. “Do you think he’s alive?” You murmured and he chuckled. 

“If he isn’t it serves him right. He touched something that wasn’t his.” 

(I HIGHKEY LOVE WRITING ABOUT BAD-ASS KUN!!!)

___________________

KIM DOYOUNG (trigger warning of sexual violence) (LONGER)

You left him at the member and associates dinner. You had grown fatigued and needed rest. You assured him that you would be okay and that you would call him if ANYTHING happened, even if you saw a squirrel. He HAD to stay at the dinner because of his position and you knew that and completely understood. Yet when he doesn’t find you at home the way you left, he returns back to the party to wreck havoc:

“Call me when you get home and text me if ANYTHING happens. Like, you see a squirrel or your favorite K-Drama has a surprise ending today.” He said kissing your forehead. You nodded and chuckled as the cold air nipped at your skin. “I got it. I love you.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his waist that was hidden under his formal blazer. “I love you too, get warm.” He said as you started walking away toward your car. He didn’t let you go without a cheeky slap on the behind though, which in turn was met with the finger. He held up a finger heart as you got in the car. 

You laughed as you watched your husband see you out of the parking lot. It was a calm drive back, listening to TWICE and thinking about random things. Do you have any Instant Noodles at your house? Is your show on tonight? Where is Madagascar located?…can fish see water?…

You make it to your house with ease and you walked to your house with your elegant dress. You unlocked the door and made your way into the living room. You looked around and noticed the mess you were witnessing. Everything was either over-turned or slashed. You try to seem calm on the outside. You take the small gun off your thigh and turn around and was met with a bigger human literally right behind you. You screamed and weakly held the gun up but it was soon thrown at the wall where some of the metal popped off. Even if you grabbed it, it probably wouldn’t work now. 

Their mask was on their face and the only thing you knew is that you have seem the blue vest before (I’M SORRY, I WAS RUNNING OUT OF RANDOM PEOPLE). You were grabbed by the man and he held you above the ground as you fought your way off of him with no victory in sight. He opened a random door and it turned out to be the closet where you kept you SUPER fancy dresses like the one you were in now. 

He closed it and opened the door next to it, and it was the guest room. He dropped you on the bed, and you immediately rolled off the side, crawling to the loose floor board where there was a gun with your name on it. “Get back here.” He called, dragging you by your foot that was adorned with red bottom heels. 

“Please no. Stop.” You whined as he threw you on the bed and straddled your waist. He took his belt off and bounded your wrists tightly together and to the metal headboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doyoung waited patiently…waited. It was now 1 am, and the dinner was far from over. He then excused himself from the conversation he was caught up in with Taeyong, Taeil, and Yuta. 

He wasn’t calling anymore. He was going to show up at your house, gnaw your ear off…and then cuddle while eating ice cream because he’s had enough of caviar for the night. 

His car was easy to spot for him as he got in, and drove quickly to your place. Your car was there, and your light was on. He was pppiiiisssss*eeeeddddd now. He groaned and got out of his car, shoving his key into his back pocket. He didn’t even bother to knock as he walked into the front room. 

His breathing didn’t falter as he registered something was terribly wrong. He grabbed his gun and called out your name with force…and there was no response. “Y/N. Answer. Now.” He stated clearing out the kitchen and living room. He kicked your closet, bathroom, and bedroom door open and there was nothing. He sighed as he kicked in the last door with impenetrable anger. 

There you laid, hands and feet tied, body exposed, eyes covered, blood, cuts and bruises along with weird substances littered across your skin. What made him really mad was that you still had your feet adorned in heels. …they didn’t even take off your shoes before doing this?…

“Y/N?” He asked and you twitched a little. He went over and took off the cloth that held your eyes prisoners from the light. He threw it on the floor and held your jaw loosely, knowing that the gesture made you relax. Your eyes were tear filled with pain and shock. “I’m sorry.” You cracked from pain. The bruises around your neck made breathing hard. “It’s-it’s not your fault.” He said as he quickly and safely untied your various limbs. He picked you up bridal style but you tapped his chest. “What?” He asked coming closer. “Under the bed.” You choked out. He nodded, knowing even though he would be out of the room, the person couldn’t escape from the bolted closed window. 

He set you in the bath and started the water. He walked back to the room and with one swift movement, lifted the bed and the cage it laid on. The man tried to scurry like a roach once caught, but Doyoung kicked the air out of the man. “Family? YOU DID THIS TO FAMILY?!” He kicked the down man again. “WE TOOK YOU IN.” Kick, “WE ALL DID.” He said landing a hard blow to his head. “Just wait till Taeyong finds out abou-” “DOYOUNG.” You yelled. Doyoung quickly grabbed the belt that held you and he tightened it around the man’s throat, the other end hung on the door knob. “Don’t even think about moving.” Doyoung called as he ran out of the room and to the bathroom. The water was now red and you scrubbed lightly on your body. 

Tears rushing down your cheeks broke him. It broke him because it showed how you were broken. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doyoung walked into the ballroom at 4 am as everyone still talked and laughed. He kicked the big door open which got everyone’s attention. He dragged the man by the belt in one hand and a revolver in his other. 

Everyone watched as the man crawled on hands and knees to the front of the ballroom, right infront of Taeyong. “What the hell is this?” Taeyong asked as he peered over the table at the alleged ‘member’. “I went to Y/N’s house because she left the party not feeling well. After 3 hours with no word from her, I went to check up on her.” He said looking at his boss. 

Doyoung pulled on the belt as the man stood up. “And I found this bastard under her bed…where he raped her.” Doyoung spat while maintaining psychotic eye contact with the man. “Now…you might not remember but this as*hole was sworn in about…a week ago?” Doyoung questioned looking at the long table of true members. They had hatred and disgust in their eyes. 

Doyoung kicked the man’s knee cap as he fell to the ground with pain. Taeyong never lost eye contact with the ‘member’. “Thank you for coming tonight. Please come next year. Dismissed.” Taeyong said and EVERYONE cleared the room except the long table. 

“See, if it was my choice I would play pinata with his body as he hangs from the ceiling…but I don’t want to give him the gift of living any longer than he should.” Doyoung weighed out his options, waving his gun around in circles. “And because of him…she can’t even fuc*king exist without being in pain.” Doyoung said taking the man’s face in his hand. The man laughed as he spit random words. 

“She’s too tig*t…I don’t know why you’re with her…I’ll take her again if you want.” He laughed and Doyoung laughed too, but with a different meaning. He stood up, cocking his gun and splattering the man’s skull all across the floor laughing at his slumped over expression, sarcastically. 

Doyoung threw his revolver as hard as he could at the man, shaking his head. “…is she okay?…” Taeyong broke the heavy silence to ask what everyone was wondering. Doyoung chuckled as he walked down the aisle of circular tables where ladies in beautiful dresses danced as the men were proud to call one of them theirs. His footsteps echoing throughout the marble built room. 

“She will be now.”

__________

TEN

You were at a local coffee shop unwinding with your husband when the barista had some comments and actions that weren’t accepted:

“We haven’t done this in so long.” You sighed as you sat back in the chair, eyes trailing out the window. “Agreed.” He smiled and set his phone, face down on the table; something both of you haven’t been able to do in a long time. 

The drinks came on a cute platter as you both talked about random things that have never crossed both of your minds when you were alone. 

You pick up your drink and take a sip from the straw. You happen to look down to the lid where the straw poked through. “The straw won’t be the only thing you’ll suck tonight. Call Me 10 xxx-xx-xxxx ;)” You read out loud to Ten who just stared at you. 

“No way.” He said and took your drink from your hands to look on the lid himself; probably in disbelief. He slowly turned toward the barista who was red in the face, nonchalantly drying a couple mixing sticks. “Ten, it’s oka-” You tried to cut him off. “THE ONLY THING SHE’LL BE SUCKING TONIGHT IS YOUR SOUL FROM YOUR BODY. SHE’S A DEMON.” He said, getting the attention of EVERYONE in the small shop. Most of them laughed as Ten threw the lid back at the counter with such force. 

The barista sadly threw it away. “Also, that’s not cool. You obviously see me sitting right here.” Ten said as the younger boy bowed and apologized. He was in a bitter mood all day. 

”He wasn’t even that good-looking. Little boy needs to step his priorities up before I put them in check for him.”

___________

JUNG JAEHYUN

Both of you were on a late night stroll when someone tried to mugg both of you…tried:

“Dinner was so good.” You groaned, holding your stomach. “I’m glad you liked it, sweetie. Burgers was a good choice.” He said, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “I gained like, 20 pounds.” He said groaning again. “I’m losing feeling in my legs. You have to carry me.” He played as he slowly put more of his weight on you. 

“No. Jae.” You laughed as you both stumbled down the dark and deserted street together. You both loved times like this, where you were just acting like your real age and it was truly refreshing. Not a care in the world, going with the flow. 

“So where to next? Movie at your pla-” Jaehyun asked as you both passed an alley. A person popped out infront of you and held a gun in your face. It was plastic but it was still startling. “All your money, now.” He said. You and Jae looked at eachother with an obnoxious sigh. Jae took out his wallet. “How much you need, my man?” He asked and the person relaxed and dropped the ‘weapon’ a little. “Are you serious?” The man asked and Jaehyun nodded. “Now.” He coughed and you kicked the man’s ‘weapon’ out of his hand. “Hey!” He started but he was quickly cut off by a nice, clean fist to the face. I guess it was a little too forceful as he dropped down to the ground…unresponsive. 

“Poor soul.” Jae said as he tucked a 100 in the guys pocket. 

“And good kick, honey.”

_______________

DONG SICHENG (WINWIN)

Your anxiety was high already, but once you met his men at an abrupt moment, it was through the roof. You never understood how such a sweet human was the boss in this scary world of drug deals, money extortion, and merciless murder:

You walked into the main conference room, where Winwin was asking for you. You stopped once you had one foot in the door though. At least 20 other men sat around the large table. You thought the meeting was in an hour…boy were you wrong. “Uh-” You started. “Hey sweetie, did you get the files from the triad gang in the area?” He asked and you slowly nodded. 

Some of the men snickered at your scared expression, but your husband was quick to shut it down. “Excuse you. It’s not really a laughing matter.” He said and the person rolled his eyes. “Sure, boss.” He said. Winwin brought you closer. “Are you okay?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Here, sit down.” He said and pulled you into his lap. You were uncomfortable at the little snickers from around the room. “Boss, aren’t you going a little too far?” The same man asks and Winwin gave him a death glare. “You run this branch, you decide what is and isn’t too much.” He said and his hands ran over your arms comfortingly. 

The man just nodded and stared at his papers. “Because last time I remember, you were already on my bad side for running around with a random person last week when you were supposed to be on a mission.” Winwin spat at the already defeated man. 

You turned toward him and placed a hand on his neck, your thumb running over the bottom part of his ear comfortingly. “Honey, it’s okay. I think he gets it.” You said and he nodded. “Okay.” He muttered. “Alright, next page. Income revenue.” He said as you turned the page for him. You had gotten bored and doodled some random characters around the paper while you sucked on a random lollipop he had placed next to your hand. You could hear his smile as you doodled a dog spitting a spitball at the word ‘Revenue’

“You know, let’s wrap the meeting up early. We can go over this tomorrow.”

_____________

KIM JUNGWOO (His is a little different)

Both of you were a giggly mess when you were together. When it was work time though, no one peeped a chuckled unless you both knew you were clear. When he was in the middle of an on-ground mission, he spots / puts you in an awkward position:

You sat alone at a music themed coffee shop. Old record played of old hits and you were calm and at peace. Jungwoo was at work so you had the night to yourself, sadly. You wanted to bring him here, but seeing that he was going to be booked up the rest of the month…it seemed like a convenient time for some reason. 

You read a fascinating book on galaxies far away and their creation when the bell above the door rang. You looked over and saw Jungwoo. You looked back down at the book and continued reading…WAIT JUNGWOO…you snap your eyes up to see him trying to avoid your eyes. You know he knows that you are sitting right there. 

He gets a medium coffee and scoped around as if he doesn’t already know where to sit. He picks the lady that sat 2 small tables infront of you. He gently walks up and confidently asks if the seat is taken. She was really blunt. “I’m not into men.” She said and he froze. You hid your chuckle as a cute and small cough. His ears turned pink at this rejection he had never gotten before. “Are you serious..or do you just not want to talk to me…?” He questioned cutely. She held up her book bag where a Pride flag was sewn on. “Oh..okay…I’m sorry.” He said and walked away. He sat in the seat directly behind you. He texted you discretely. 

“We have 22 hours before it detonates and if I don’t find out where it is…I’m dead…WE’LL ALL BE DEAD.” He texted me. You bit your lip, already knowing what’s coming. “I’ll text you where to pick me up.” You said and he started fidgeting in his seat. “No. That’s not what I meant. No.” He said but you were already out of your seat. You fixed your hair cutely, already telling what this girl was into.innocent…dainty…cute…you shivered at the thought. You were always naturally cute with people, but knowing you had to be extra cute terrified you. 

You stood up and he sighed, tossing his phone on the table. You picked up your book and coffee along with your bag. You slowly approached. You tapped her on the shoulder and once her eyes met yours, they lit up. “H-hi. It’s okay if you say no…but, I was wondering if I could maybe…sit with you?” You stuttered and she smiled, clearing her paperwork from the other side of the table.

You sat down slowly and she leaned forward. “You are the most cutest thing ever. What’s your name, kitten?” She asked and you shivered. only Jungwoo calls me that. “Maya.” no it’s not. “You are the cutest little thing ever…why are you shaking?” She asked and you thought for a minute. “You’re just really pretty…way to pretty for me.” You said, running a hand through your hair. “Awe.” She said touching your hand. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got in the car slowly and almost silently. Your eyes popped out of your sockets as they had been ever since you left her apartment. You slowly buckled in and he drove off, a pissed off expression etched onto his face. “Sector 4, building 8, floor 2.” You hummed into the silence. 

He texted it and then looked at you once you both reached a stoplight. “Have fun?” He asked and you shook your head slowly as you stared at your shoes. “I need a bleach bath and a bible.” You muttered. He laughed the contagious laugh he possessed. 

“She was into so much stuff I didn’t even knew existed.” You shook your head and shuddered at the thought. “Awe. You okay?” He asked and you nodded. “What are those?” He asked as he quickly grabbed your arms. “Rope burns.” You answered nonchalantly. 

He just dropped your arm and hit you upside the head softly. “Yah, what did I tell you about on-ground missions?!” He said and you turned to him. “I literally walked in and she tied me like a pig from the ceiling. I didn’t ask and she didn’t even ask…she just…tied.” You said in a whine. He put his hand on your thigh and gripped,

“Well even if you are aloud to go on any more missions, which I’ll make sure you don’t, remember you’re mine as soon as you leave…geez…what am I gonna do with you?”

______________

WONG YUKHEI (LUCAS)

You both were undercover at a music store. Him as the nerdy university student, and you as the carefree and rebellious intern. When you’re touched though, the persona drops:

The bell dings as someone walks in and you sit with your feet propped onto the counter. “Welcome to Prokaryote Music…or whatever.” You said as you twirled your gum around your finger. Lucas rushed towards the group of shoppers. Highschoolers and older. “Hi welcome to the store. First timers or returning shoppers?” He asked. “Should I run your card numbers?” He asked as he took out the random hand-held machine from his back pocket. 

You stood up, walking. “No, nerd. Let the people shop.” You said and flicked Lucas’ fake glasses. Some of them laughed as Lucas walked away to leave them alone. He played this role really well. You went to a random section and just began organizing. 

You were approached by one of the people and they seemed pretty chill. They shared knowledge on the music you ‘liked’. You hadn’t realized till it was too late that he was very close. You were leaned over a bin of old records when you felt his hand slip between your legs and started to cop a feel. 

You gasped at the unwanted feeling and before you could turn around to slap the guy, he was being taken to the ground by an angry Lucas. 

“It’s going to be hard to cop a feel when you can’t feel anything.” 

______________ LEE MARK (STRONG THEMES)

He was confused on why you had been so on edge lately. Yet once he found out, he wasn’t afraid to stop it:

You walked down the hall, reading a random book when he stuck his arm infront of your face and onto the wall. “Hey, wanna go catch a movie?” He asked once he caught you in the hallway. “Ye-I can’t.” You suddenly retracted. He squinted his eyes. 

He quickly put his other arm up so you were encased. “What’s going on with you lately? Usually you would say yes before I even finished the sentence.” He said and you shrugged, looking down. “I know that you know. Just tell me.” He said but you stayed silent. “Do you think I’ll get mad or something?” He asked and you shrugged…but then nodded. 

“Then tell me and I promise I won’t get mad.” He said and you still stared at the ground. He took your face in his hand. “Well when you get enough courage to tell me, I’ll be here.” He said and you nodded obediently. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You shouldn’t be doing this. I’m still a minor.” Mark heard from behind a door. That made him freeze quickly. “Just shut up will you and take your shirt off, y/n.” He heard a voice say and his jaw and fist clenched. 

“N-no. I don’t want to be bossed around by you anymore.” He heard your voice shake. “Do it or I’ll tell Mark about how big of a whore you are - stripping for other members.” He said and he was about to open the door. “No, please. I’ll do it, but please leave him out of it. He has too much to deal with.” You said and that’s when the door flew off it’s hinges. 

He was just mad that he couldn’t protect you from this ‘member’. 

“She’s a minor, dumba*s. Just wait till Tae hears about this.” Mark goes crazy, hitting and swinging on the man till he let’s it all out. 

“The only reason I’m not ending your sorry ass right here, is because y/n is around.” 

_____________

LEE DONGHYUCK (HAECHAN)

Both of you were equally feisty, yet you weren’t afraid of most things that you should be:

“Come at me, bi*ch!” You screamed at the girl you were in a fist fight with. School had just let out and she had been running her mouth. “You wanna talk? Well put your fists where your mouth is.” You told her, throwing your bag and sweatshirt down. 

She rolled, her eyes, setting her bag down and her own coat. She grips brass knuckles in her hand but you weren’t going to back down. “Okay…you have brass knuckles…I have common sense.” You rolled your eyes and got into your beginning stance. 

She started and took a couple swings, one of them landing a cut across your cheek. Others were telling you to calm down before the principal came, but you both were fired up and willing to lose it all. 

You hit her a good time in her lip where it gushed open and started spurting. Arms wrapped around your body before you got another swing. “Dumba*s I told you no more fighting.” He groaned as he started carrying you away, one of the other boys getting your bag. “Hyuckie. Put me down, she wants to still fight.” You motion to her who’s still holding her weapon. Everyone knew you were dating a bad guy, so when him and his friends showed up to break up the fight, they began to shut up. “I don’t know what I’m looking at honey. You need to get better at fighting. My baby whooped your ass with her damn knuckles without you poor excuse of a weapon.” He said looking over his fake glasses. “You need to get better at stuff like this.” He finished and she questioningly raised her fists which raised giggled from you.  

“Honey, put those damn things down. 1) you’re fighting a girl with no weapon so technically if you guys were to get in trouble, she could come at you for assault; not that she would. 2) you try to swing one more time I will personally lay your ass out; girl or not. You’re trying to hurt my baby with me present. Good luck with that Satan.”