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typellblog · 1 year ago

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Nisemonogatari - An Analysis

Being a siscon really did not help with this one.

With Kizu I could somewhat pretend that it was its own isolated arc despite the absurd length, but as the cast ever-expands it becomes more and more difficult to act as though I’m only writing about one character at a time here.

Indeed, we even have mini-scenes for each of our previous heroines. These are deeply oriented around fanservice, albeit in a way that actually also contributes to the characterisation of everyone spotlighted here. (Not that I can say the same for those involving his sisters, later.)

Hitagi gets to indulge her most sadistic impulses in a way I don’t think we ever see again beyond this point, Kaiki serving as both catalyst for her kidnapping Koyomi and catalyst for her changing in a more substantial way in the future.

The mystery of Hachikuji continuing to hang around is once again raised, along with ominous foreshadowing of what this might mean for her future. She starts to emerge as a surprisingly mature character, her gags more obviously deliberate, her advice surprisingly helpful.

Nadeko is given a chance to pursue her one-sided crush on Koyomi. Her techniques are childish but reveal a surprising amount of . . . cunning? Malice? Foreshadowing for her later arcs. In any case, Koyomi remains completely oblivious.

I think the most interesting part of Kanbaru’s scene here is an indication that she’s not as much of a pervert as she presents herself to Koyomi as, and indeed to Koyomi is the operative term here, because as we hear from Hanekawa when Koyomi tries doing impressions of his friends (great scene, shame it was cut in the anime), Koyomi might have quite a different impression of Kanbaru than others do.

Speaking of Hanekawa, she’s the only one that seems to be actually folded into the main plot this time, but simultaneously she feels like she’s growing more distant. She doesn’t get a directly horny treatment like the other characters, instead focusing on a gag about giving Koyomi permission to touch her boobs, but if he ever uses it she’ll hate him forever. Notably it establishes a completely different dynamic to her totally accepting attitude in Kizumonogatari.

Her character growth is significant, putting aside the stereotypical class president look in favour of a more ‘normal’ one, arguably something she’s wanted to do for a while. She had a sort of . . . lack of self-awareness of her own abnormality, before. Her role here is as a positive role model, I guess, for the entire set of Araragi siblings. If they’re fakes, she’s the real deal. If they need to be aware of their own weakness and inferiority, she needs to become conscious of her own strength.

This, of course, doesn’t really make sense until we take a proper look at our arc character.

Karen Bee

To be blunt I struggle to bring myself to like Karen. She feels fake to me.

I find myself in a similar position to Koyomi in some ways, the mentions of his sisters peppered into the Kizumonogatari novel triggering my own weird sense of jealousy/inferiority.

In theory, I should like Karen. She resembles nobody more closely than Emiya Shirou, probably my favourite protagonist of all time. Although, to avoid the risk of derailing into another Fate/Stay Night essay, I’ll make a different comparison. Someone who himself gets compared to Emiya Shirou all the time.

Koyomi Araragi.

How come I’m able to get invested into this guy’s story, his justice, his self-sacrificing nature, his stupid, corny, but sometimes really cool lines, and not do the same for his sister?

I think on one level the answer is simple - I’ve spent the past four books inhabiting his perspective. I don’t have any context, for Karen. Who is she trying to save, and why? What difficult decisions does she have to make along the way? The Fire Sisters’ escapades are treated as a gag, occasional mentions of them playing Russian roulette with the Mafia or getting into brawls with the police, but nothing solid. Karen’s trying to save the middle schoolers getting scammed by Kaiki, but I don’t care about them. I’m not given any reason to.

That’s just a matter of perspective, though. I don’t find it a particularly convincing argument, when Koyomi tells her that her justice is fake because she only acts on the behalf of others. Is that desire itself not beautiful? If you saw the same people suffering that she did, would you not want to help them, too?

I haven’t been shown any of those people, though. So I don’t get it.

But I’m wasting time with this. I can’t see these people, won’t see them, because I’m living in a different world from Karen. She’s still in middle school, and Koyomi is in high school. This is explicitly called out as being a point of change for him, one where he first began to close himself off to others on account of his self-worth evaporating as he realised the world was more difficult than he had thought.

Karen and Tsukihi don’t have that, yet. They’re missing the key element that’s driven Koyomi’s whole character progression over these previous four books - the fact that he doesn’t have any friends. Lol.

But I mean seriously, you see how the problems Koyomi is faced with operate on a completely different level than those the Fire Sisters try to deal with? They have an idea of a clear and simple evil, one that they’ll go to any ends to defeat.

In comparison - Koyomi isn’t fighting villains. He tries to help the victims of oddities, but they can only save themselves, or so we’re told, making Koyomi seem useless when it comes to the big action scenes. What he struggles to overcome is his vision of himself as a burden, someone whose helpfulness is an unwanted favour and selfishness is a destructive, vampiric urge.

Karen and Tsukihi never once consider the possibility of themselves being burdens. They go off to help people heedless of the potentially destructive consequences (which inevitably seem to result).

Karen’s ‘acting only on the behalf of others’ is fake to Koyomi because he’s already come to terms with his own selfishness. He couldn’t help Kiss-Shot, couldn’t do what she requested, because her request was to die, and he wanted her to live. The Fire Sisters haven’t yet been faced with such a difficult problem, haven’t yet been asked whether their self-sacrifice is really just self-satisfaction. Koyomi is scared of hurting people. All the time. He makes his decisions with that possibility in mind. That’s something he’s just had to accept. The Fire Sisters don’t seem to worry about that at all.

When Koyomi tells Karen that before being right, she must be strong, we initially assume he’s talking about physical strength - the ability to defeat one’s enemies. But looking over Koyomi’s past actions, we’ve seen physical strength prove of little use to him time and time again. What he means is the strength of will to not falter in the face of opposition or difficult choices. He may not have been right, when he chose to keep Kiss-Shot alive. But at least he had the balls to do it.

Hanekawa points out he’s really criticising himself with this one. After all, there are plenty of times where he’s failed to show strength, like his struggle to let the second snake go in Nadeko’s case. He couldn’t commit to one course of action or another and risked getting the worst of both worlds. Hanekawa, in contrast, always commits to the bit, never giving away in the slightest that she had feelings for Koyomi after he started dating Hitagi. She’s almost too strong, that was her problem according to Oshino, and indeed in doing so she ended up hurting herself as much as she helped other people.

She has to be aware of her own strength, not act as though everything she’s doing is perfectly normal, hold off on dragging everyone with her directly to the right answer.

In the same way that Koyomi has to be aware of his own weakness, to know he can’t solve everything on his own, and not be afraid to ask for help.

In the same way that Karen hasn’t quite internalized it, that evil and good aren’t always so obvious, that you need to be ready for getting your ass kicked, and maybe you should have asked a couple of people to come with you.

When Koyomi and Karen fight, he gets the shit beaten out of him, but he still clearly wins. Karen struggles to articulate her viewpoint when faced with an actual objection, and eventually gives in, reassured by Koyomi that he never thought what she was doing was wrong.

Hmmm. I notice that I haven’t discussed Karen’s associated oddity yet, the bee. Interestingly enough, it’s just not that important to her arc. It doesn’t influence her personality or behaviour at all, like many of the other characters’ oddities. It just makes her sick.

Oshino’s old adage proves true to an extent - the bee does appear for a reason, in the sense that Koyomi says it's her own damn fault, for going up against Kaiki alone. She gets what she deserves! A bit harsh, perhaps. It’s also her own fault in the sense that her overactive imagination is part of what stimulates its effects so much - the bee is a fake oddity, clinging to a fake person, someone who plays make-believe in such a way that they’re susceptible to a fake disease.

Obviously the fire association with the bee makes sense for her, especially in regard to how it becomes a fever, getting heated up because of justice leads to her pushing herself too hard and burning out. Blah blah blah whatever. The symbolism doesn’t interest me, because I think the far more important thing about the bee is that it’s not representative of a larger problem. Karen acts fairly similarly before and after being afflicted. She isn’t saved by anyone else, but you’d have to stretch to say she saved herself, either. Unlike Koyomi, she has friends. Unlike Hitagi, she doesn’t have difficulty reaching out to others. Unlike Kanbaru, she doesn’t have a hidden side to her, a wish that she can’t fulfill.

I said it already, but the Fire Sisters don’t have regrets. They don’t have any lingering trauma. They’re the ones causing problems for other people, supremely confident in their own righteousness. They may be fakes, but in a sense they’re a lot more real than the rest of the cast.

Tsukihi Phoenix

Well, at least that’s the case for Karen, whose outside image and inside personality are perfectly aligned. For Tsukihi, on the other hand, there’s a bit of a disjunction.

Alright, I guess we’re doing Tsukihi too. I wasn’t exactly planning on both at once when I started this, but I suppose at this rate I have enough room.

What, I haven’t talked about Kaiki yet? God, who cares. What do you want me to say, here. He’s a fake that’s accepted his fakeness in the same way Koyomi asks of Karen. A withered branch to Koyomi’s sapling, the third stage in the Araragi evolutionary tree. I don’t quite get it, how exactly this man is supposed to be Koyomi taken to his logical extent. He’s evil, but in a very deliberate way. He’s not convinced of his own justice, has no interest in promoting his position. He almost feels like he’s playing a character. I’ll get back to him in later arcs, but for now I think the important thing to note is something I mentioned last time - as a male character, his role is more about mirroring Koyomi than being someone Koyomi ought to forge a connection with. As an adult specialist, his arc is complete, so to speak. There’s nothing in him to change or that needs changing.

He’s the polar opposite of the Fire Sisters in that way. They’re too young to have changed yet, not quite mired in the coming-of-age plotline that ensnares this story’s main characters. Kaiki isn’t an arc character, doesn’t need to be won over by Koyomi, but neither does Karen, really.

Koyomi already has a deep enough relationship with his sisters - just look at their openings, the lyrics addressed to a vague listener that’s almost him but feels far too idealised, his image cropping up again and again in their visuals. In Platinum Disco, he overshadows Tsukihi from the background, closing his mouth over her and forcing her to dance headlessly. His influence over her is obvious, almost total. In Marshmallow Justice, he’s buffeted around by the currents of Karen’s flames, speaking to a more antagonistic relationship, her trying to insist on her righteousness to him.

This is an established, regular part of their dynamic. If anything, the biggest change to their relationship doesn’t happen in the arc where Karen is afflicted by an oddity, it’s the toothbrush scene at the start of Tsukihi Phoenix. (Which still baffles me in a lot of ways, but I really don’t want to get bogged down in it right now).

I said it already, but Karen’s oddity doesn’t really represent any deep-rooted psychological issues for her - it’s fake.

Unlike Karen, however, Tsukihi’s oddity is of immense significance to her. Not just in terms of its importance to this arc, but all the way down to its influence on her personality and behaviours. After all, Tsukihi herself is the oddity.

The Shide no Tori, an immortal oddity that adapts to its surroundings. It’s volatile, mercurial, constantly renewing itself. It’s also eternal. The core of the thing is that it has no core, no consistent personality, and as such must take cues from those around it. Tsukihi acts according to her whims, but in the end remains incredibly dependent on others, latching onto them to give her a purpose.

Her justice is fake in the sense that it’s been picked up from Karen and Koyomi. It’s not at the core of her being.

She doesn’t have the same drive for it that Karen does, and as such tends to follow her sister’s initiative.

But, similarly to Koyomi, she does have the ability to regenerate from fatal danger. Just as he would throw himself into danger to help his friends even without it, she’s said to have thrown herself off a building to help Karen without even knowing she has the ability.

In comparison to Koyomi’s selfish, half-assed vampirism, a healing ability that has him straddling life and death without really making progress in any fight, Tsukihi’s immortality is pure. Instant. Perfect. There are no consequences.

There are no consequences. She doesn’t regret because she isn’t given anything to regret. Learning about the supernatural would threaten the Shide no Tori’s position as a normal human, so the memories of being killed are wiped from her mind when she wakes up.

Of course she would throw herself into danger to save someone else. She doesn’t really have a ‘self’ to value in the first place. Everything important to her comes from other people. Koyomi faces immense self-loathing for a similar reason. Tsukihi doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, though. Perhaps she can’t be.

She knows her sense of justice is a bit different from her siblings, and she considers the possibility of the Fire Sisters breaking up. The possibility of Karen changing when she reaches highschool, in the same way Koyomi did. The implication being that Tsukihi would not, floating from hobby to hobby without ever forming a permanent attachment to anyone, constantly reinventing herself like a phoenix rising from the flames.

That’s the Shide no Tori. A clever fake that keeps itself from being noticed by imitating a normal human. Kaiki might say that a deliberate fake may have more value than the original, but even the deliberateness of it is carefully removed, not allowing the host awareness of anything related to their condition.

In that sense she’s not any more or less human than her siblings.

That is, I suppose, the main conflict of this arc. It’s centered on Tsukihi but doesn’t involve her - how can it, when her entire gimmick involves being unaware of what’s going on around her?

Koyomi is opposed by the exorcist sisters Ononoki and Kagenui. Just as Kaiki mirrors Koyomi, they mirror the Fire Sisters. The older, physically inclined, human. The younger, an oddity. And they claim to be defenders of justice.

This is the tricky part about justice, which Koyomi has been trying to impart to Karen. Most people think their actions are justified. Someone like Kaiki is an absurd exception. How can you insist on being right when your opponents also claim they’re on the side of justice? We’re not getting a good answer to that in this book.

Perhaps I’m starting to understand a little how Koyomi is like Kaiki, here. Because he doesn’t claim to be on the side of justice. He never even tries. He gives up that battle before it starts. He’s not on the side of humans. He’s not on the side of oddities. Like the time with Kiss-Shot, he’s nothing more or less than on the side of the person he chooses to protect.

Little sisters are more important than justice. A sentiment I can get behind.

In any case, there’s something a little bit off about Kagenui here. Part of her motivation is hoping to meet Oshino and in his absence she takes on a little of his role - viewing Koyomi as a human, rather than a monster.

Something must have set her off, Koyomi thinks, when she starts talking about him forcing his ideals on others. He might be fine with leaving Tsukihi alone, but what would Karen think? His parents? Tsukihi herself? Wouldn’t she become a real problem if she was aware of her true nature as an oddity?

He responds by saying he’s allowed to force things on his family. Once again, he’s okay with being a bit selfish, a bit of a burden. Koyomi’s sisters aren’t like the other girls he meets throughout the series. He doesn’t need to win them over, doesn’t need to break down the barriers between them and come to a complete understanding - he already does understand them.

Tsukihi being an oddity prompts realizations on his part, but nothing he didn’t already know. He already understands and accepts the entirety of her, in the same way they do for him. So he doesn’t need to worry about forcing something that can’t ever be repaid on her. He’d accept the same for her. They would, all three of them, happily die for each other, and they know it.

Something must have set Kagenui off, talking about this topic, and it seems to relate to her relationship with Ononoki. Are they real sisters, or fakes? Wouldn’t it be a real problem if an immortal oddity was aware of her true nature and tried to practice justice regardless? Kagenui argues that Tsukihi would be cruel and arrogant in the pursuit of it, having been freed from the constraints of human reason.

Koyomi thinks of the former Heart-Under-Blade, someone who was obscenely over-the-top and utterly inhuman. I think of Ononoki Yotsugi, quick to violence, quick to insults, saying she’d be fine if this entire world of fakes was destroyed.

Yep, Kagenui is definitely a bit off, here. Too concerned with matters we aren’t really privy to, at the moment. It’s like the fight with Karen all over again - Koyomi gets the shit kicked out of him, but in the end he’s still standing, and his opponent wavers a little. Finally learning “a lesson ten years in the making”.

She talks about the inherent nature of humanity, the doctrine of innate evil. If we suppose that people are born evil, then any good act requires putting on a fake persona. Like Hanekawa and Koyomi talked about in Kizu, self-sacrifice vs self-satisfaction. They both think of themselves as faking it, only acting like they’re truly ‘good’, but according to Kagenui’s proposal, there’s no such thing as being truly good. The truest good is in trying to be good, a deliberate imitation. A fake that has more value than the original.

So, where does that leave us? One really has to wonder about Koyomi’s decision to not tell Tsukihi (or even Karen) anything about the supernatural. Another selfish decision, in the vein of what he did to Kiss-Shot. It’s in character, at least.

I think it’s interesting how he describes it, after kissing her. There was a time where Koyomi was an only child. There was a time when he only had one sister. But for her entire life, there wasn’t a single moment where Tsukihi wasn’t the little sister of him and Karen. Nisemonogatari is about family, and family, for Tsukihi, is something that she can define herself in relation to. It’s a permanent attachment, created by the circumstances of her birth. Like a cuckoo, the Shide no Tori leaves its young in the nest of another family to prepare them for facing the world. Tsukihi isn’t ‘really’ from the Araragi family, in the same way that she doesn’t ‘really’ have a sense of justice like the other two. But in her deliberate attempt to adopt it- well, you know how it goes.

Koyomi doesn’t need to tell her about the supernatural, about the fact that she’s a phoenix, because in a meaningful sense she isn’t one. She’s his sister. She’s Karen’s sister. That’s good enough.

Koyomi’s last lines are strangely poignant, contradicting the usual epilogue format by occurring before he’s woken by his sisters the next morning. “I got way more involved than usual, but there was no point in staying there forever. For now, I’ll go back to my room and change.” I feel like it’s a comment on the blending of worlds that’s been going on here - he’s part of the backstage, as Hachikuji puts it. His sisters are at the front. He’s entering the adult world, while they’re still kids. There’s a sense that he shouldn’t get too involved in their incidents, and vice versa.

A hopeful reading would be that like Koyomi, they’ll also change. In their own time, at their own pace, in their own way.

But that’s all for now. I managed to be somewhat normal about Tsukihi. Somehow.

#monogatariposting #monogatari #araragi koyomi #araragi karen #araragi tsukihi #nisemonogatari

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vxredemption · 9 months ago

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The First Tear (Epilogue) by vxredemption (Warmund)

A ("short") COTL AU fanfic writing for @gorjee-art COTL AU (All properties, AUs, concepts, imagery, etc. go their respective owners.) A step and jingle... a step and jingle. Narinder was making steady pace in the mid-morning sun, using his shepherds staff as a guide on his less dominant hand while the other was carefully tucking a gold-white flower by his side, still rooted in freshly dug dirt that left small trails of earth behind as he walked. Following suit, a heavy hooved step of the Lamb God followed just behind them, being extra sure that they were not foot closer than they were comfortably weighing in, following the hooded feline. In this walk, the god listened to his friend's experience in tending the farm plots with the followers of their cult, his most recent times as a missionary, and having just enough time to mange his family plans for feast for all. In all of this, despite having little show of emotion in the moment, the god is simply happy that their friend reached to a level care that reminded of themselves when they were a infant god. "You can imagine how Shamura felt when they have tend to the mess of Heket and Leshy: bothered... but still caring for them... though to be fair, they required another figure in the same room as to ensure no brawl ensue over which part of festivities should be done first." Narinder smiled as he looks ahead to the unpaved path he's taking, recalling some landmarks and features of the land as a guide back to cult grounds. Retracing his steps from the Lamb God's path prior to their reconnection was nothing short of aimless, the only pattern being found in the landmarks were that its either ancient foundations of the past or a slightly more condensed forest line than the "normal" amount. Narinder sighs a little, still holding his smile as he looks down to the glowing flower on his side, still having a magical bloom that him feel at ease when looking deeply into the petals and wonderous center it has. It's a wonderous pattern that mirrors the Lamb's flower design currently has on their fleece, being a deviation of the camellia flower found within the Darkwoods.

"You know Lamb... it does feel like this time, we can ease just a bit on the usual harvest feast and have a little celebration for your return instead. I am sure your followers are more than willing to understand such a case" The Lamb's gaze towards Narinder shifted away little as he mentioned on meeting their followers again, a tad uneasy at such an occasion. Still walking, Narinder was quick to reassure the god with a chuckle as he continued his talk with them, subtle in straining amusement at the expense of himself. "Just do note that if you do yearn for some delicacies during the feast, don't go about using your hands... you will very much leave ours empty at the start for seconds."

A harsh snort is heard from the snout from the Lamb, one of their ears twitched as they frowned at Narinder's words, finding them to be a bit on the tasteless side as their nostrils steamed a little. Narinder casted a side glance, then shrugging his shoulders, sarcastically running his voice in a casual manner that would surely offended the God... if not for following detail that made their rectangular pupils shimmer and dilated in a very... very rounded shape, interested beyond belief from their words. "That... or we could use some salt licks... I still kept yours in your own hut of yours... still pink and opaque like a foggy sunrise by a beachside at high tide. I swear to you, you could taste the salt by smell alone from the lack of use."

The Lamb God blinked and shook their head quickly, refocusing from their sudden (and frankly embarrassing) mortal desires as they looked back at Narinder... then simply giving a nod to the decision presented, showing humbleness to their friend. Narinder nods back, adding one last comment before focusing on the travel again. "I am sure that you'll find it were you left it, Lamb... and with good company once more." As he walked, his hand slid on the shepard staff slid a little, trying to start to familiarize the new feeling of it from last night's outburst. Narinder... couldn't feel no imperfections this time around... it was exactly how it felt ever since it was passed down to him. For the remainder of the trip... Narinder was happy... a path uncertain before him and the Lamb... but happy to not walk alone this time.... for however long it will take until they reach to the ones that love them...

End of epilogue. (This may or may not have been a thing that has happened with the OP's details of salt lick, but hey, I just got to!) (Will leave the starting story for the fanfic here and will give easier reading! Thank you for this bonus fun journey!)

#cult of the lamb #ascension of mercy - cotl au #my writing #my fanfic #“short” writing #artist mention #link #link to series

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sslitherslither · 27 days ago

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-Have Yourself a Fiery Little Sinsmas

Summary:

Hell’s still a relatively new concept for a sinner like you, but when Sinsmas rolls around, it’s nothing like the Christmases you knew topside. In Wrath, “happy Sinsmas” comes with a punch to the face, a kiss under the mistletoe, and just the right amount of fiery destruction to make it a holiday to remember.

Pairing: Striker x GN!Reader

Word Count: 6k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61644778

'Fa-la-la, the sin is calling, Fa-la-la, the sinners brawling, Raise your fists and join the fray, Angry hearts on Sinsmas Day!'~

Striker gripped the brim of his hat as if the very action would save his ears from this...he dared not call it music. But his partner in crime, his bo, however, seemed to disagree.

You threw your head back, beaming with enjoyment at his expense. Striker quirked a brow, "Yer actually enjoying this?"

You would've been lying if you'd said yes, or no, really. It was somewhere in between. You didn't prefer the music, but there was an odd novelty to it, like nostalgia from a memory never made or long since forgotten. Maybe in this case you'd hit the nail on the head for both instances, it was familiar but foreign all at once.

Perhaps that was the fate of all Sinners once they'd been down here too long. The wonders and terrors of Hell became the new normal, a life long lived in the world of man dulled to the mundane, while that of the Underworld burned through the soul.

"I wouldn't say 'enjoyment,'" a grin broke across your face. "Maybe more like nostalgic. I dunno why, but something about it feels weirdly familiar."

You tipped your head back and grinned, eyes cast upwards toward the many ornaments hanging above. "You know, now that I think about it..." Your gaze fell downwards to meet the narrowed expression of the imp next to you. "This... Sinsmas stuff sorta reminds me of Christmas."

"Christmas? Is that what they call this kinda crap topside?" Striker snorted. He released a humorless chuckle and threw his hand out, motioning to all the tacky glitter and garland around. "S'funny, 'cause to me it looks and sounds like someone died and vomited all over this place."

You laughed hard, the pleasant sound bubbling up over the screech of the jukebox. Striker, the jaded asshole that he was, smirked just so when hearing the mirth he was able to rip from that pretty little mouth.

You put a hand over it in a poor attempt to quell your laughter. It was entertaining to see Striker so riled up over something as mundane as holiday music and trappings and his irritation was entertaining in all the ways he most definitely didn't intend. But the action didn't fool either of you; both of you knew his behavior and distasteful comments were the product of his own frustrations more than anything. It had always been so with the two of you.

Striker grumbled, "Far as I know, and it ain't much when it comes to topside holidays, 'Christmas' seems kinda similar. Not that I know a'ton but Sinsmas looks like someone rolled down Santa Claus' chimney and shoved a big wad of dynamite up his ass."

The words would've been amusing if you hadn't pictured it in graphic detail; thankfully, a new tune on the jukebox broke that thought before it could get any worse.

"Down here, it's about embracin' your sin. Every ring's got its own way of doin' it." Striker pushed back from the table, right hand tapping against the surface while he crossed his ankle over his knee. His back straightened ever so as he allowed himself to lean against the booth's padded backrest.

"Lust’s probably throwin’ an orgy big enough to collapse a town, Gluttony’s eatin’ their weight in Hellfruit pies, and Wrath? Wrath knows what it’s about." There was almost a sparkle to his eyes at that last line; the deadly gleam you adored in your assassin.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking. “Blowing stuff up?”

“Close,” he said with a toothy grin, the glow of the light glinting off his golden tooth. “Wrath’s about good ol’-fashioned violence. Friendly, of course. Families sparrin’, neighbors brawlin’, whole towns tearin’ themselves apart just for fun.”

You raised a brow. “That’s your idea of friendly?”

“Damn right it is,” he said, tipping his hat. “Ain’t nothin’ like throwin’ a punch at someone you care about to say ‘happy Sinsmas.’”

The picture Striker painted was becoming clear, hellfire and ash, the scent of gunpowder and burning flesh; all the things you knew in this new life with him, but with a spritz of holiday flare and what was likely an array of terrifying looking knitted sweaters.

Your response came after a few seconds. "Not gonna lie, I can see the appeal. I wouldn’t mind tearing off someone's leg, hell, even yours, if it meant I could get rid of this shitty music."

Striker feigned offense, bringing his hand over his heart and leaning into the plush seat. "Ah, but bo," he said, flashing that toothy grin, "that's precisely why we ain't staying around to hear more."

Striker took one, and only one, moment to savor your bewildered expression before slowly rising up from the table. He whipped a couple bills onto the surface, and with all the flare of a performer, Striker snatched you from your seat with his clawed one and tugged you up and away from the booth.

“C’mon, sugar,” he said, gleaming in the Hellfire glow. “Time to show ya how Wrath really celebrates Sinsmas.”

Your smile couldn't be kept at bay any more than the red that crept across your cheeks as you two exited the bar.

Striker glanced back. You knew in that second all was as it should be when his mischievous smile appeared, this would end either in a good show or a riot.

With a sharp whistle that cut through the night air, Striker swung you up onto Bombproof’s saddle in one fluid motion, climbing up and leaning in with that wicked gleam in his eye as he hissed against your ear, "We're gonna make this one to remember."

His lashing tail curled around your leg; he clung tight to the reins in one hand, the other curling around your waist as the three of you tore out into the night. You held tight as Bombproof surged forward, the fiery night swallowing you whole. This was madness, wild, reckless madness, and yet, with Striker grinning down at you, it felt like exactly where you were meant to be.

He let out a whoop as he spurred Bombproof along, his laugh blending with yours as you streaked through the countryside with the Devil's bells tolling behind you and the stench of the Wrath ring's sulfur in your lungs. The very air reeked of gunsmoke, like fireworks erupting along your nerves and flooding you with a strange euphoria that felt downright holy.

The road stretching across the Wrath Ring was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic clank of Bombproof’s hooves against scorched ground. The distant glow of Hellfire flickered on the horizon, like a crimson aurora that refused to die. You settled comfortably against Striker, his arm clutching your waist as the two of you made your way to who knows where. This was his spur of the moment idea after all.

You'd learned fairly quickly not to press him for more than he would willingly give, knowing that if he wanted you to know everything, he'd tell you without resistance or resentment. However, curiosity was never so easily dissuaded, and although he'd given you a few little tidbits here and there regarding his past, the finer details continued to elude you. But it seemed tonight he was in the mood to share.

“Y’know,” he began, voice carrying easily over the crackle of distant embers, “back when I ran with my old posse, we’d spend Sinsmas raisin’ all kinds of hell.” His tail flicked lazily behind him, a sure sign he was drifting into memory. “We’d meet up in some dusty town or on the outskirts of a ranch, didn’t matter where, an’ go at each other ‘til we were bloody, bruised, and laughin’ like idiots. T’was the best way to bond, really. Nothin’ says trust like a fist in your face followed by a good bottle o’ Snakebite whiskey.”

A smile flitted across your face as the scene was set, Striker, a lot younger, not nearly as grizzled and dangerous as he was now, surrounded by a band of kids just looking for a good time and someone's teeth to knock loose. It was oddly pleasant to envision, your mind providing a grainy, wild West-type ambiance like something off of an old radio drama.

He cleared his throat as he went on, "Families in the ring got a knack for holdin’ grudges, so we figure it’s best to just punch it out. That way you know who’s serious about lookin’ after you, an’ who’s only talkin’ big.”

There was another pause then, a moment of quiet except for Bombproof’s steady stride. You found yourself thinking of your own past, of cold December nights back on Earth, hot cocoa warming your hands, gaudy sweaters and candy canes, pine trees decked in ornaments and lights that blinked all through the long winter darkness. Compared to Wrath’s infernal backdrop, it felt like a half-remembered dream.

It made you sad, a little, but you tried not to dwell, choosing instead to lean back and nestle against Striker until all the earthly pain felt a little farther away. "I had a different experience growing up. For humans, Christmas can get a little...family-centric."

Remembering back to yours was a jumbled mishmash of colors, sounds, and scents that were fumbled about like the scattered pieces of a puzzle. It was hard to recollect and organize into an image of what was once a cherished time. Even harder when you tried to explain it to an Imp who's known nothing but turmoil and heartache most of his own life. And it wasn't comparable to your own. You two were two terribly different beasts of burden, one a Sinner, the other hellborn. And you didn't even want to bother going down that rabbit hole of issues and consequences.

"On Earth, it's celebrated differently around the world, but some stuff stays the same. It's about family, friends, sharing and celebrating, singing, sometimes snow. At least I think. It was pretty great last I checked."

Striker gave a low snort, somewhere between amusement and skepticism. “Heh, sounds soft to me. But if it worked for you, guess it can’t be all bad.”

He said it dismissively, but his tone wasn’t unkind. In fact, the faint shift of his tail, thumping gently against your leg, suggested he was more interested than he let on. You allowed yourself a small smile, recognizing that in his own way, he was listening. For a man of few outward affections, that was enough.

"So when can I expect your fist flying my way?" you asked jokingly, squeezing the tail around your leg and adding, "Maybe sometime after I kick yours if the opportunity arises."

There came that laugh you enjoyed so much. "Somethin' tells me, ya ain't got the stones fer that, darlin’." He patted Bombproof. "Nah, I got somethin' more your speed planned. A lil' surprise for the ya, to take the edge off."

"Surprises are your way of taking the edge off?" you laughed. "Are you trying to put me through the damn wall, Strikey?"

He cringed at the nickname. "Guess it depends on yer definition." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hair before the both of you could continue. He pointed far off into the distance ahead and grinned. "Look alive. These poor bastards don’t even know they’re about to get a real Sinsmas show.”

The town's annual holiday fight was well on its way to starting without the two of you. What an honor.

Several various sized homes and buildings, of the barbwire, dust, and cow town aesthetic common to this region of Wrath crowded the stretch ahead. And in their midst sat one of those vaquero-styled bars, illuminated by lantern light and ruddy flames, and filled to the rafters with folks too entangled in their rowdy antics to notice your arrival. The streets carried various people two and fro, none to keen to look towards their towns newest cowpokes. Oh, only if they knew...

It would change shortly, you assumed, and judging by the twitch in Striker's tail and the hand clutching your hip, you gathered he was already brimming with excitement. He tipped the brim of his hat to you, mouth spreading into an impish grin.

"Guess we’re late to the party.” Striker called.

You raised an eyebrow, surveying the scene. “Late, huh? Or just in time to make it a lot worse?”

Striker’s grin widened. “Oh, sugar, you know me too well.”

The chaos started almost instantly, in perfect coordination as Striker whirled around and popped off several shots in quick succession. Windows shattered under the onslaught; screams erupted; folks raced in random directions while others sought the source of the commotion, namely the two of you.

Ornaments popped off from where the bullets made impact. Ribbons lit ablaze; a giant, festive rendition of Satan himself went up in a shower of fiery bits. You winced. Looks like this might be Wrath's only gray Sinsmas with all the ash that would surely rain. A chipped sign reading Satan's Little Helper flew straight up into the air.

All hell broke loose in the nearby bar as a hoard of people ran outside with the same tenacity of a group of rampaging hellbeasts, men, women, and a smattering of children whooping it up in their drunken stupor.

Striker reloaded with practiced ease, spinning his revolver before holstering it and surveying the destruction with a satisfied smirk. “Now that’s how you kick off a celebration,” he drawled, tipping his hat at you. “What d’ya say, sugar? Ready to help me take this town down in style?”

"Like I'd refuse?" you said, matching his crazy with your own, teeth nearly glinting with the same impish intent. "What's your poison?"

“My poison? I reckon it’s a little bit of everything.”

Striker laughed low in his throat, almost a purr, as his tail looped around your mid-section again, tight enough that you couldn’t move but soft enough that the sensation wasn't painful. It felt nice. Dominant in an adoring sort of way. He reached for the lasso coiled at his belt. With one fluid motion, he spun it through the air and caught a small loose board from a broken fence. The wood snapped free with a satisfying crack as he reeled it in and handed it to you.

The smile he gifted you was anything but subtle. "For ya, darlin'. Your first proper beatin'."

You stared back at him a moment before shaking your head, lips parting with your silent laughter as you took the board. It was weighty in your grip, it'd certainly leave one hell of a bruise, but somehow, you relished the thought.

He watched you test the board’s weight. “Don’t be shy now. Swing it like ya mean it. Ain't no time for half-measures.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Now listen here,” he said, spinning his gun with a flourish, prepping to dismount. “You take the high ground and smash whatever’s in reach, decorations, windows, heads if ya feel inclined. I’ll stay low and handle the rest. Sound like a plan?”

Your grip tightened on the board as he slipped off in a graceful tumble. “I’ll leave nothing standing. Better hope you can keep up.”

"Show me whatcha got, gorgeous. I've gotta see you put your money where that sweet little mouth of yers is."

That was a promise.

Fired up and itching for violence, you urged the Hellsteed forward, readied your weapon, and charged ahead. It was not the most noble form of battle-not a battle at all but rather a riot. Not at all what you expected, but not a second later, you decided you didn't care.

There was something in the air, thick and sharp and electric. It crackled around you like a blanket and fueled the adrenaline surge that raced through your body, pumped through the muscles of your arms, your legs. You were wide-eyed and wild, and the rush of freedom, of true and utter liberty, felt euphoric.

What had Striker unleashed within you? Was it a darkness of some sort, maybe? It hardly mattered because the ecstasy that swept over you in this moment was palpable, making every nerve tingle. And you never wanted to give this up.

Destruction was your name, and Wrath was your king.

The night was a typhoon of glitter and grit, shards of glass and broken bulbs that flashed white, red, and purple; splashes of paint and flame; the clang and bang and splash of tinsel; and above it all, your cry, triumphant and a little hoarse.

This was, quite simply, the greatest thing you'd ever experienced. Somewhere in the background, the clipping tune of Sinsmas music could still be heard from the beat of an old jukebox.

You tore across the main drag with the frenzy of a bat out of Hell, shouting obscenities and delighting in each explosive blast that tore through the old town as Striker laid waste to what you hadn't.

You never knew you could feel so free, like a dam of pent-up rage and chaos finally set loose upon an undeserving public. Maybe in another life, another time, in any reality, your actions here would have been the devilish sins that kept you confined in a place like this.

Here, right now, it felt more holy. Like finally discovering yourself in the middle of Hell's anarchist festivities.

This was you. This was your time.

It was insane, manic, deranged, and a part of you could finally claim it as your own. Perhaps you'd feel bad later, but right now? Right now, there were no repercussions, no judgmental stares, and no demands that held you back. You were drunk on it, on all the hedonistic hell-raising your impish suitor had turned you into.

And boy, did it feel fantastic.

There was a single instant, less than a second, in which the dust and debris began to settle. You managed to steal a glimpse of Striker, panting, wild-eyed and exultant amidst the rubble. He turned toward you with an expression that was half manic, all approval, and everything in between. His body tensed, the muscles beneath his clothes coiling in anticipation, a cat prepared to spring. And just when the world slowed to a near-stop, you let yourself go-

To say Striker's pulse was racing would be the understatement of the century. Watching you ride like some valkyrie and sock the townsfolk upside the head as if they were little more than props? It felt like his heart was caught in a fiery grip. As the pandemonium took root and he saw your dark power start to grow, his lust surged tenfold-to a point where he couldn’t simply watch his partner get their kicks anymore.

No, this wasn’t some fling of a few months or a hot night of sinful indulgence.

You were a star in your own right, and the way you’d grown and shone brightly within such a short time sent thrills of raw heat through his system. Sure, you had your issues to work through, and perhaps a psycho or two's influence had paved part of this new path, but you’d gotten here through your own agency.

And boy, was he happy to have been along for the ride and the havoc it caused.

Seeing you go buck wild? He found it rather addicting.

And once again, he was back under the spell.

One minute, he was watching with a level of pride and pleasure that no other Imp could offer; the next minute, he was falling face-first into the chaos he had birthed in your wake, desperate to be in the fray. You weren’t the only one looking for a good old-fashioned show.

Gunshots rang out like the twinkling bells on the holiday trees he tore through like tissue paper. You couldn’t be caught so long as the world was tinted in a lovely crimson haze. Neither would you remain stationary much longer, not as soon as you heard those sweet bells chime across the streets and found Striker weaving through the mayhem.

A piece of the Sinsmas puzzle you’d needed was staring right at you with his dashing grin, racing for his satchel full of Hell's finest explosives.

To others, he was simply a wanted criminal, a thug, a vicious murderer, and the one to make anyone shake in their boots. To you? He was a goddamn treasure, someone worth his weight and beyond.

And with a way of ending the night that would keep you singing his praises for days, you wouldn’t refuse his company any chance you were given.

The world was a haze of rubble and heat, shattered ornaments and drunken jeers. A swirling, throbbing heartbeat seemed to pulse through the streets, emanating from the two of you, like you were the epicenter of Hell’s greatest quake. Even the sky seemed to quiver under the onslaught of your mutual ecstasy.

Although the townspeople would rebuild and continue their way of life (as, according to Striker, these little battles were par for the course), for a moment you shared something together that no one else in Hell would.

Striker gleamed. Flashing an insane sort of smile that rivaled anything you'd ever seen, he leaned forward, tail swishing as though physically drawn to you by invisible strings. You could feel his approval, his need, his unyielding lust surging through you and setting off your nerve endings with enough energy to power all of Wrath.

Your lungs burned from shouting, your muscles humming in sweet exhaustion. Yet none of that mattered as he closed the distance to your side and climbed back up in the saddle like he’d never left. Your eyes met, and in them was a message without words.

It was time to leave.

But not without a grand finale.

As if to emphasize this unspoken communication, he reached down into his back pocket and slowly drew out the most spectacular stick of dynamite you’d ever seen.

"Now I ain't one to showboat my stash, darlin'," he drawled, running a hand across it. The look on his face was purely lecherous as he added, "but sometimes... well, you deserve to see the kind of pleasure I carry on the job."

Without further explanation, he struck a match across a claw-like nail, grinning wickedly as he held it to the fuse and gave the ignition a swift puff of breath.

"Consider this... a taste."

You weren’t sure why your breath caught the way it did, why such a tiny wisp of fire was having such a drastic effect on you, but your heart seemed to tremble. Or perhaps you were imagining the feeling. Either way, in that moment, your focus was solely on Striker. His arm wound firmly around you as Bombproof carried the two of you a fair distance from the mayhem.

You watched as his tail began to lash excitedly, your gaze fixed intently on the slow-burning fuse of the lit bomb. For the first time since you’d embarked on your date tonight, a hush fell over the chaotic streets.

The citizens watched in anticipation as the flames closed in, their breath held and eyes wide. Everyone seemed to know instinctively that things were coming to a head-this was going to be the finale.

The dynamite flew into the branches of a rather grandiose, Sinsmas-themed fir tree that loomed proudly in the town center-just seconds before detonating. Brilliant sparks and embers, followed by an earsplitting boom, split the sky and cast it aflame. The night came alive for one dazzling, awe-stricken moment.

The wind left your chest as the fireworks blazed, casting a red shadow that loomed over the city and bathed the world in the same crimson color that stained your vision during the earlier festivities. It was perfect and so damn fitting, it was impossible to tear your eyes away.

Striker took the reins from your hands, his own tucked tightly around your waist, and spurred Bombproof to a gallop. The thundering ember hooves sounded louder than usual under the rumbling echoes of the explosion. Soon, the lights faded to pinpricks of glowing color in the far distance, and you were the last thing people saw as your new, hellish paradise raced past and swept you away in an inky wave, swallowing your exit into its darkness and obscurity.

The adrenaline from the night’s chaos gradually ebbed, leaving a pleasant hum in its wake. The cool night air, juxtaposed with the warmth of Striker’s embrace, created a cocoon of comfort as Bombproof’s pace slowed. Finally, you came to a halt miles out of town.

In front of you sat an old, abandoned saloon, its sign creaking low in the evening air. As you gazed at it, Striker gently cupped your chin, turning your eyes to meet his. A soft smile and glinting, hungry eyes greeted you.

“Can I tempt ya?”

His lips parted just slightly to reveal his forked, serpent’s tongue. The sight was always welcome, but when mixed with the emotion glowing just beneath the surface of his smolder, it was even more tantalizing.

And you hadn’t the resolve to resist it tonight.

Not that you’d even try.

“It’s almost hard to believe,” you started, pressing your forehead to his and basking in his closeness, “I was scared of you once. A pretty funny picture, I think.”

“Scared? Hm, it seems your tastes run in quite the opposite direction now. And lucky for you,” his fingers nudged your chin up, your lips scarcely a breath apart now, “they happen to align with mine.”

There was a moment of pause, a shared inhale before..

Finally, a kiss. Warm and soothing, sharpened by Striker’s teeth as they grazed your lips, promising you something deeper. Fully aware, fully prepared, and more eager than ever to allow it.

But not here. In a little while.

As though reading your mind, Striker broke away with an uncharacteristically soft grunt. “As much as I’d love to carry on, this fine weather ain’t good for the skin.” He nodded his head at the sky, the wind whistling as a sudden change began to seep in. “Rain’s comin’, and those clouds’re telling me I best get a roof over yer head, lest a stiff wind tear it from yer shoulders.”

And as if the weather were toying with Striker’s idea, there was a rumble of thunder. Before you knew it, the two of you made your way to the ramshackle entrance of the nearby establishment, finding a suitable place for Bombproof to call home for the night.

Once inside, it took only a moment for your eyes to adjust and observe the condition. Everything looked fairly dusted-over and a bit barren, but not bad enough for the place to have seen frequent foot traffic.

It was as quiet as the dead, save for the occasional creak of floorboards, rough from age, as you took care to maneuver your steps.

In all, the place looked more like an inn than a bar, with a stairway leading up to what you assumed were once bedrooms for passing guests. To one side was an immaculately dusty bar; on the far left, a fireplace sat long-dead and without a trace of soot or embers.

There was another exit off to the side of the room, perhaps a kitchen, a broom closet, or a cellar. Anything was possible. Still, there was a serene aura here, the promise of rest and shelter from the brewing storm.

“Eh, not the Ritz, but it’ll do for tonight,” Striker broke the silence, moving through the room and beelining for the bar. “Let’s see if the hooch here’s still passable.”

His tail flicked and rattled curiously behind the counter as he rummaged around. Meanwhile, you scanned the room, picturing what adjustments could be made to turn this from a dusty hellhole into something resembling a comfortable refuge.

There were some cons that came with seeing a wanted man, and sometimes that meant abandoning the luxuries of civilized society for something less impressive. But as far as you were concerned? This might as well have been a five-star resort compared to the nothing you’d had initially when dropping into Hell.

“Haha! Well, lookie here.” Striker reeled back with a few bottles of uncorked whiskey and rum. “Found us some aged spirits. Might even be vintage.”

“Aged or forgotten?” you quipped, arms full of anything that vaguely resembled a pillow or blanket as you made a nest near the fireplace.

“Some would argue a little of both.” Striker walked up and set the bottles on the mantel of the fireplace, giving you a look. “Gonna go check the perimeter and gather some kindlin’ for a fire. Won’t be gone long.”

You nodded. “I’ll see what I can do about making this place a bit more hospitable.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, giving an appreciative whip of his tail to your ass before sauntering toward the entrance.

“Mmm,” you hummed, shifting with a subtle heat creeping through your features from where he’d touched you. Then, you went back to fluffing your pile of cushioned treasures.

A little while later, with a few extra scavenged blankets, you stood back to appreciate your handiwork. Surrounded by a cozy, comfy little nook to snuggle into, the rest of the room seemed dull in comparison, though definitely a lot less dusty. Striker joined you shortly after, the crackle of dry twigs in hand and the scent of rainfall wafting in behind him. He looked satisfied, confident with his inspection.

“Nice job on cleanin’ this place up. This is probably the nicest shithole I’ve ever been in.” His tone was half jest, but the look in his eyes revealed pride at how quickly you had managed to adapt and fix a less-than-pleasing situation. It was admiration for a skill many wouldn’t consider valuable but was a necessity of life in Hell. Another reason for him to fall further down the rabbit hole of affection for you.

“Had to make sure you had a reason to come back,” you quipped playfully.

Quick work was made of the fire, and soon your temporary safe haven was bathed in the flickering light and comforting warmth that drove the chill from the old saloon. Silence hung in the air, not oppressive, but rather restful. You didn’t realize how exhausted the night had left you until the calming quiet descended, bringing with it a pleasant heaviness that sank into your bones. Your body relaxed into the pile of cushions beneath you as you felt Striker curl up beside you while the embers began to settle. Your eyes flicked over him, noting that he’d stripped free of his usual ensemble in favor of ripped white pants, a black sweater, and his bandana. No jacket tonight, not even a hat. Simply Striker.

The distinct pop of a cork being pulled free broke the silence. Striker passed you the bottle of whiskey with an amused grin.

“Cheers,” you offered before taking a swig. The burning liquid slid down your throat, leaving a familiar fiery sensation in its wake.

Minutes or maybe hours passed in a pleasant haze. One conversation drifted into another, shared ideas, dreams, memories, and experiences. Yet the memory of the earlier dance and the destruction that followed was a recurring theme. The magic of it hadn’t yet faded. You were still high on it, and Striker’s expression revealed he was just as captivated, reliving the intense pride and wild lust he’d felt seeing you so unapologetically free. Just as unhinged. His little hellcat.

One look led to a smile, which led to a laugh, a touch... and then, a kiss.

Oh, what a kiss!

You could get lost in these kisses of his, like the slide of a well-aimed bullet, his softness in a moment of sharp intensity and, after the night's earlier chase, a bone deep kind of ache that you relished.

His hands were quick to slide themselves in the contours of your body, warm and firm and exploring, always careful to discover the curves and edges of each valley and peak they met, marking your topography like a man possessed. It wouldn't be long until you were as well, fully prepared and receptive to whatever else he was in the mood to explore, paying a particular amount of attention to a sweet spot between the junction of your throat and shoulder. The more you responded to him, the harder his lips pressed.

"Wanna keep ridin', sugar? Show me how you swing."

He was breathless, voice gravelly and eager as he curled his tongue around your earlobe, feeling you quiver, gooseflesh rising. He chuckled and sent a fresh flood of warmth through you as you reached forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt, dragging him with you and sealing it all with a firm, promising tug. It was a very unsubtle motion, one that told him everything without words.

"Don't hold back."

His smile grew devilish at your command, his grip firm on your hips, and every ounce of your trust laid out bare before him. It was so, so easy to melt in the haze of passion, especially as he rolled the black sweater up and over his shoulders, discarding it, revealing a path of sinewy muscle and scars along his chest and abdomen. The gentle orange of the fireplace seemed to lick up along his body like the hot blood running through your veins and his yellow eyes flared as if lit by the sun. There was a voracious spark hidden behind them, an undercurrent that seemed to glow every time your hips ground into his own, eliciting a shudder to surge down his spine and you couldn't help but relish it, because knowing he reacted to your body the same way it did to his?

There wasn't a Hell you'd want to be in other than this.

Your world seemed to spin as he grabbed the backs of your knees, pushing upward as he pressed you to your backside. In an instant he was hovering above, a slender figure against the darkened ceiling of the saloon. Each movement was full of intention, precise and planned and sent a heady, excited pulse to throb through your veins and between your legs as his hips slid and thrust just a few tantalizing inches from yours. With practiced, clever hands, Striker caressed every inch of you and even through your clothing he'd managed to turn you into putty between those well-calloused claws of his. The taste of alcohol and ash had become an indescribable delicacy. Like the very flavor of passion made solid form. And how wonderfully he treated it. Treated you.

Your clothes joined his in an ever-growing pile near the fire's edge, and when finally you had nothing more to separate the both of you, Striker gave a purr of delight as you both fell, and tangled, and thrashed. Heat poured off him in waves, your lips sucking and tasting. Your name had never sounded more satisfying on his tongue as he plunged into you with some preparation. But even as the two of you tumbled back to that mountain of blankets and cushions and pillows, hands greedily roamed. Hungrily pawed and took everything each was willing to give and take, and you were both oh so willing tonight.

Mercifully, there were no barriers now, there'd been so much on display tonight, had already shown yourselves to one another without hesitation but now there were no games or hidden agendas or layers of dress or thick denim to tease. This was the night, and all its pleasures would come to bear in all its fullness.

You were lost to the throes of passion as you surrendered, to each other and the chaos, to that unbridled impulse. It was freeing. An intimate release you never realized you'd craved; and now that it was yours, all you could think about was the searing taste of his skin against yours, the noises he made between gritted fangs. Your bodies connected like a perfect machine, not one missed beat as the tempo began to pick up.

The beat he set was reaching its finality in the way his breath hitched, the way his tail spasmed between his legs and curled around yours. The desperation of a man in the throes of unbidden temptation. How the pressure built and pooled and throbbed with a steadily building rush. The pace was getting to a head and you both were too hungry to resist the bite of it. This delicious, wild and reckless song you'd been playing all along that no words or instruments could've captured better than your gasps, his growls and moans, your entwined limbs and soon there was an explosion of pleasure that rocked through you. Every nerve screamed in ecstasy and you reveled in it, calling his name as though it were the name of a god.

Beneath your fingers his back flexed and shuddered, his powerful body losing that focused edge as he buried himself as deeply in you as he could get. Stars popped behind your eyes as he gave a drawn-out growl of bliss, the heat of his seed hitting deep within. For a moment, there was no feeling at all.

Utter bliss. Pure, blinding rapture as he pounded relentlessly, chasing that high until the sensitivity was all but too powerful.

“Now that’s what I call Sinsmas cheer,” he breathed, moving off to the side to allow you to catch your breath before settling next to you in a firm embrace. It was his silent signal that he was finished. “Could use a repeat though. Or ten. I’ve got quite the stocking.”

“For now,” you responded between heaves, “we should save the cheer.”

“Smart, sugar,” he acknowledged, smiling warmly as he brushed a clawed hand down your face.

“With time?”

“I’ll see what else I can fill up,” he mumbled back, nipping playfully at your neck before tucking his arms around you, spooning into your body from the side as you faced the warm fireplace.

The sound of your sighing breaths matched his, his muscles winding down with yours. Now, together, lying on a cushion of fleece and warmth, the day was finally beginning to feel complete. Your hand ghosted across his as the sky outside continued to fall, the tell-tale signs of a deluge evident even from inside. The tinkling sound of raindrops against the windowsills lulled the two of you further into one another, hands intertwined and breathing synced.

“Sometimes I wish days like these lasted a little longer, you know? That way, the nights like this can last, too,” you mused.

“Heh, well, I wouldn’t get my hopes up on that, darlin’,” he replied in a husky drawl, the reverberations in his chest becoming more noticeable the closer your head drew to his sternum. “Sides, you’ve got plenty’a nights left to spare. We can start again at sunrise if you’d like.”

“Would you like that? Just you and me… watching the sunset together before tearing the night a new one and dancing until sunrise?”

“Hell yes.”

“Thought so. After all, we haven’t shown Hell who’s boss yet.”

“I ain’t heard such a tantalizin’ proposal since we met, doll.”

“So…?”

“Count me in, sweet thing,” he trailed off, lost to the melody of the raindrops. “Guess you’re stuck with me, sugar. Not that I’m givin’ you a choice.”

You shifted, drawing your face upward toward his and planting a quick peck on his lips. You whispered sweetly in response, “Won't here me complaining.”

As his arms embraced you tighter and sleep began to beckon you closer with each passing blink, your thoughts raced and excitement began to build. You’d finally done it. Found yourself in Hell. Got a man worth more to you than any paltry Heaven or mortal afterlife combined. And all thanks to the delectable devil sitting next to you, eyeing you with his own pride and love.

And next Sinsmas, it’d be your turn to return the favor and spread the sin with him.

#first post lets go #helluva boss #striker helluva boss #striker x reader #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #christmas fanfic #fluff and some smut

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itssuppertim3 · 3 years ago

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Skyrim Husbandos Being Jealous:

Yes, not just Teldryn and Miraak content this time :')

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Ulfric Stormcloak: Ok, hear me out. Techinically he'd be such a whore for politics that he barely notices what goes on in reality. He's well aware of your loyalty to him, so usually he isn't too concerned. But if someone were to get a little too close for comfort; if you started hanging out a little too much with that one guy, dear God.

Ulfric wouldn't be able to focus on anything else! And if it urks him badly enough, he'll practically leap from his throne and appear by your side in an instant, not missing the chance to cast one of his deadliest glares at the man in question. Yeah, you definitely won't be seeing anymore of him. As a bonus, the grizzly will make sure to keep a much closer eye on you from now on.

Veezara: This lizard hunk is actually fairly laid back when it comes to jealousy. Being an assassin and all, he's skilled at keeping a leveled head... most of the time.

It's the physical contact that makes him break. Why are you touching that douche's shoulder? You're only supposed to do that with him! Ah! And did he just pat your back?! He better be on his guard on his way home, because there may or may not be a dagger lodged between his ribs by the time he gets there.

Argis the Bulwark: Believe it or not, Argis is very flexible and patient. He doesn't get upset if his thane wants to go out fot drinks with an old buddy. However, if you don't come back home in the exact same shape as you were when you left, there will be hell to pay.

Jealousy might not be the issue, but he's still very protective. He always has a bitter feeling in his gut when he's randomly told to stay behind. And you being gone for an outlandish amount of time only makes it worse. If he's alone for long enough, a whole flood of gory scenarios torments his poor soul. Word to the wise, just don't leave Argis alone for too long. He will lose his mind.

Teldryn Sero: This guy-- where do I even start with him? Teldryn glorifies jealousy. He'd practically be a different person if he didn't harbor at least a few ill feelings for the guy you're speaking to. Usually if you're busy reminiscing with your pal, he'll jump into the conversation, no invite needed. He'll often blurt out, "yeah, I remember that one time when we--" and "Y/n and I did that, too. Remember, Y/n?"

If Teldryn's impatient enough, he'll simply tear you away from your little chitchat until you're a fair distance away. Another thing he'll do , depending on how many drinks he's had, is starting a brawl with the guy. After Teldryn beats his ass, you instruct him to apologize. He will do no such thing.

Ancano: Poor guy. He'll be so livid that his face will burn red. Ancano is known for overthinking, like a lot. So if he catches you being especially friendly to a fellow student, you won't hear the end of it. The two of you might be in a relationship, but that won't stop him from scolding you like a child. It's in his snobby, elven blood.

On a good note, when you do manage to calm him down, he'll apologize unenthusiastically and promise not to strike the fool down with lighting. You'll both share a brew of soothing herbal tea right after.

Miraak: SILENT TREATMENT. That's right, folks. He may be a 3000 year old, Dragonborn, Atmoran beef cake, but there's only so much this man can handle. He'll have an anger kin the the wrath of the gods. But don't stress, he won't direct any of his rage at you of course. What you should be stressing over is his lack of response.

Miraak is obviously a grown man. He's definitely had his fair share of anger, but when he gets jealous you better expect him to behave like a toddler with his nose in a corner. At times, he won't even so much as glance in your direction. He feels betrayed mostly. Whenever you share a fondness for someone besides himself, Miraak feels completely left out. It could be a man, woman, dog, tree stump, you name it! He get's jealous a tad too easily. He won't dare admit it, though.

Savos Aren: He gets extremely fidgety when it comes to this. Savos just isn't super knowledgable when it comes to relationships, so a lot of this is foreign to him. He isn't sure how to react when he sees someone get cozy with you. He wants you to have your freedom and enjoy the company of others. Yeah! He's happy for y-- hold on why can he feel his blood pressure rising?

Normally the Arch Mage spends a lot of quality time in his quarters. Well, there won't be much more of that. He'll often find himself taking a stroll with you along the college grounds, arms locked as he throws a glare at whoever needs it. Another thing he'll do is lavish you with gifts and make it known to anyone hiding under a rock of your relationship. Sure, he gets a bit competitive for your affection, but it's cute.

#miraak #ulfric stormcloak #ancano #teldryn sero #argis the bulwark #veezara #x reader #skyrim x reader #elder scrolls #husbandos

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grailfinders · 2 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #19P: Musashibou Benkei

today on Fate and Phantasms it’s everyone’s favourite Japanese swordsman, Musashi! …bou Benkei! okay technically it’s the other guy, but whatever. The point is, he’s a Monk for some anti-spirit techniques and mad weapon skillz, a Bard to tell his story properly, and a Dual-Weapon Warrior to double down on those mad weapon skillz- literally.

check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

next up: didn’t we just do this guy?

Ancestry & Background

so- Kaison is a human, so he gets +2 Constitution and Strength. but he’s pretending to be Benkei, and his grail-given disguise is at least good enough that Ushiwakamaru’s willing to look the other way, so we’re making him a Reflection. this way you can look almost exactly like the guy, and you won’t have to constantly make deception checks to impersonate him. except against people who know him, like Ushiwakamaru. we’ll work with it, don’t worry.

aside from your looks, being a reflection also gets you access to reflection feats like Clone-Risen, the first of your 500 arhats. you can now become an Empty Vessel as a reaction once per day when you’d take mental damage or a mental effect, giving you a +2 bonus to the will save, or your level in resistance against the damage.

at level 5 you can Keep Up Appearances, which actually has nothing to do with being a reflection. this means you can use your deception as a reaction if you get affected by your emotions. if you roll higher than someone’s perception, they won’t notice. on top of that, if they were going to do something based on you getting affected, they won’t be able to.

at level 9 you become a Hardy Traveler, making your stances just a little more mountainous. this increases your bulk limits by 1, and you can move even faster than normal while traveling.

at level 13 your Stubborn Persistence will help you stay standing even when you’re dead. or fatigued, I guess. when you’d become fatigued, you can make a check to shake off the condition.

finally at level 17 you get an actual arhat you can launch at people when you Reflect Foes. once a day you can cast Duplicate Foe as an innate spell, creating a copy of a nearby enemy for up to 1 minute if the target fails their fortitude save. it can’t do much other than move and hit things, but that’s some sweet sweet action economy baby!

you used to be a warrior, but then everyone you cared about died due to your cowardice, so now you’re Lost and Alone. that gives you a boost in Charisma and Constitution, and every other part is basically just the regular fighter kit- intimidation, warfare lore, and an Intimidating Glare.

Class Levels

1. getting all the proficiencies out of the way: Key Ability: Strength. trained: perception, class dc, unarmed attacks, simple weapons, performance, deception, society, athletics, and eventually religion and stealth. you’re also an expert in all saves and unarmored defense.

as for your actual level, you get another set of Ability Boosts in Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, and Intelligence. tbh I miss D&D ability score improvements. it feels like they stuff so much into these boosts that going over it in a reasonable amount of time feels impossible.

on the plus side, Flurry of Blows is pretty simple. spend an action, attack twice, and they count as one attack to overcome resistances. plus, while you can learn Divine Ki Spells you shouldn’t expect a lot of them.

you have some Powerful Fists, letting you make lethal attacks with them and they deal more damage. but you have 999 swords just lying around, so you’re also trained in Monastic Weaponry. that lets you use monk martial weapons as easily as your unarmed attacks, and any time a feat mentions your unarmed attacks, that includes your weapons as well- with notable exception of stances that restrict you to one attack type.

2. we’re not “winning 999 duels” good yet though, so let’s pick up a brawling focus. with this, you get the critical specialization of your unarmed attacks and monk weapons. you’ve also been Ushi’s retainer long enough to have some Courtly Graces, so you can use your society skill to make an impression on nobles or pretend to be one.

finally and most annoyingly, becoming a bard requires more charisma than we have, so you’ll have to waste some time in the Dual-Weapon Warrior Dedication until we get another Ability Boost. the good news is this lets you Double Slice, spending two actions to make two attacks against an enemy, adding them together against resistances. if you’re fighting something really tough, you can flurry of blows twice a turn.

3. in order to survive your lord you’ll have to Diehard. or at least Benkei is a diehard, so now you are via transitive property. that gives you an extra dying condition, so you’ll bleed out slower. joy.

you can also avoid dying entirely with your Incredible Movement helping you outspeed your enemies, adding 10 feet now and another 5 every 4 levels. if you get into a fight anyway, your Mystic Strikes will make your attacks magical to get past resistances.

finally, we’ll boost your Performance to make Benkei a household name.

4. now that we’re level 4, we can finally pick up Benkei’s Guardian- er, Mountain Stance. As long as you’re touching the ground you can give yourself +4 AC and a +2 bonus against being shoved or tripped. you can also make “falling stone” attacks, which are the only ones you can make- they’re harder hitting than your regular fists, and they deal more damage the more you hit with in one turn. another downside is your dexterity modifier drops to +0, and your speed is a little lower than normal.

since your speed’s a little lower now, it’s good to know your dedication has your back, turning you into a Dual Thrower. whenever you’d make a melee strike with a dual-weapon warrior feat, you can make a thrown strike instead. monks end up with a lot of knives, so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to use this.

for a little more muscle, become a Hefty Hauler, increasing your bulk limits by another +2.

5. at fifth level we finally get another Ability Boost to Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, and Charisma! now we can finally become a bard! next level. right now your Alertness makes you an expert in perception, and your Expert Strikes bumps up your proficiency in your weapons. you’re also beefy enough to be an expert in Athletics.

6. at level 6 your mountain stance gets even more legendary. as an action you can become a Mountain Stronghold for a round, giving you an extra 2 AC. it also permanently increases your dexterity cap on your AC to +1 while in mountain stance, so even if you don’t use it much you’re still getting something out of it.

to celebrate the new nimbleness you’ve got, you can now make a Powerful Leap whenever you jump. You can get 5’ of height, or an extra 5’ of distance.

finally, we need one more two-weapon feat before we can bard it up, so grab Twin Parry. as an action, you can add +1 to your ac if you’re wielding two melee weapons, or +2 if at least one of them has the parry trait. that means while in your mountain stance you can get your AC all the way up to 25 if I’m doing the math correctly, which’ll be great for your final stand.

7. at level 7 you become a Keen Follower, so as long as you take your lord’s lead you’ll get an extra bonus when you follow the expert. you also get more Fortitude for the whole “last stand” thing, since that tends to help not dying. it’s all part of your Path to Perfection. similarly, you’re now an expert in Deception so that you can follow your lord without blowing your cover, and finally, your Weapon Specialization means you’ll do a little more damage with every weapon you’re an expert in, which is all monk weapons.

8.at level 8 you get another stance to spice up your fighting. this time you get the Ironblood Stance, giving you resistance 2 to all damage. plus, while this stance gives you an extra kind of unarmed attack it doesn’t require you to use it, so now you can stance up and sword up at the same time!

we’re also making you a Confabulator to help you live a lie. now if you’re trying to lie to cover up another lie, the person doubting you gets a smaller bonus to see through your bullshit. you spend a lot of time with Ushiwakamaru, you’re going to lie twice eventually.

finally, you’re not becoming a bard just yet. I’m sorry, but in my defense Flensing Slice is pretty cool for an action movie sort of move. as an action after hitting someone with both attacks of a double slice, they explode in a burst of blood, taking persistent bleed damage, becoming flat-footed, and reducing all physical resistances by 5 for a round. samurai movies are a little after your time, but there’s nothing wrong with doing something before it’s cool.

9. level 9’s another quick and easy one. your weapons and hands now count as cold iron and silver thanks to your Metal Strikes. it wasn’t enough to have iron in your blood, I guess. You’re also a expert in your class DC, ki spells, and Society now. if you’re going to cut people and let them bleed a second later like a samurai, you’re going to have to act like one too.

10. alright, now we can bard it up! first things first though, use the Ability Boost on Strength, Constitution, Wisdom, and Charisma. then, pick up your very first ki spell Wronged Monk’s Wrath. it’s a bit less spiritual than making a copy of your enemy’s sins, but it’s an aoe so it’s technically closer to what your 500 Arhat should be. you can spend between 1 and 3 actions to power up this spell. at one action, it’s a burst of force and lightning in a 5’ radius. at two it’s 10’ and dealing more damage, and at three it’s 20’ and dealing the most damage. creatures in the area make one reflex save for all the damage, if they fail they’re deafened, and critical fails even deal persistent damage. it’s not quite a stun yet, but it’s still pretty cool.

one last thing before barding- you can now make a discreet inquiry to prevent others from finding out what you’re up to. while gathering information, you can hide what you’re really looking for freely, so if anyone tries to figure out what you’re up to they have to beat your deception DC first.

okay, now Kaison is finally a Bard, giving you two occult cantrips and training with occult spells as well as Arcana. you also get a warrior muse, though it doesn’t do anything else off the bat.

now for your cantrips. with Daze you can finally stun an enemy. occasionally. your target needs to make a will save. if they fail they’ll take damage, and if they critically fail they’re stunned for one action. man, stunning is a lot better in fgo. you can also intone a Haunting Hymn, dealing sonic damage to enemies in a 15’ cone fi they fail a fortitude save. critically failing the save also leaves a creature deafened for 1 minute.

11. did you know monks weren’t always kung fu stars? it’s true! sometimes being a monk comes with religious significance, which is why Benkei is now an expert in Religion and can make Pilgrim’s Tokens. as long as you hold the token, you’ll always win any ties in initiative.

you also become a master in Reflex saves thanks to your Path to Perfection, so you always get critical successes too.

12. we got a lot of stances now, and nobody wants to waste time getting into them when there’s weaponing to do- that’s why you’re now a Stance Savant! when you roll initiative, you can enter a stance of your choice as a free action.

we’re also going to make you big and strong enough to become a Titan Wrestler, letting you attempt to disarm, grapple, shove, or trip creatures up to 2 sizes larger than you are.

you also get your second focus point all so you can make a Counter Performance as a focus spell. now you’ll be able to yell so loud as a reaction if a friend makes an auditory/visual effect you can roll a performance check to bolster your friends! they’ll effectively either make their own save, or use your performance check, whichever’s better.

13. at level 13 your graceful mastery makes you a master in unarmored defense, and your master strikes do the same for your monk attacks. you also get a little bit buffer with a skill increase in athletics! we gotta get you crackin the earth when you walk before it’s time for your final ascension photo shoot!

14. Now that you’re level 14, you can make a Mountain Quake when you’re in a mountain stance. As an action, you make the earth quake in a 20-foot radius around you, dealing damage based on your strength modifier against a Fortitude save. If they fail, they also fall prone. The downside is you can only use this action once every 1d4 rounds.

On the plus side, the +1 bonus to your dexterity cap while in the mountain stance is permanent!

You can also make a Wall Jump now, jumping off of a wall without having to land for extra mobility. Currently you can only Wall Jump once per turn, but if you become legendary in Athletics you can make as many Wall Jumps as you like as long as you have the actions to do so.

For more protection against evil spirits, you can now use the Inspire Courage bardic cantrip, giving you and all allies within 60 feet a +1 bonus to all attacks, damage rolls, and fear saves.

15. At level 15 you gain another Ability Boost in Strength, Constitution, Wisdom, and Charisma. you also get Greater Weapon Specialization which is like Weapon Specialization but greater, your Path to Perfection not only makes you legendary in Fortitude saves, but your critical failures are only failures now, and failures make you take half damage.

we’re also going to play the long game with Canny Acumen. it doesn’t do anything right away, but it’ll make you a master in Perception once we hit level 17.

16. at level 16 your Guarded Movement gives you even more AC while moving- specifically, you get a +4 bonus to any effects triggered by your own movement. Opportunity attacks, that sort of thing. you’re also down with gods enough to make a Battle Prayer as an action and actually have it do something. you make a religion check as an action against a creature’s will dc, up to once per day per creature. if you succeed you’ll deal alignment damage, but if you fail you can’t use this again for 10 minutes.

we also finally pick up our first Bard class feature, making you a Reliable Squire. this gives you a +2 bonus to Aid checks, and you can’t critically fail. a good retainer knows not to get in their lord’s way.

17. level 17’s mostly another improvement over addition level, though your Adamantine Strikes are nice. like the name implies, your punches and spears are practically adamantine now. you’re also a Graceful Legend, giving you legendary unarmored defense and masterful Class DCs and Divine Spells.

on top of becoming a master in perception this level, you’re also now a master of Performance. gotta spread that legend, y’know?

18. at level 18 your Diamond Fists make all your attacks Forceful, and if your attacks already had this trait they instead become one damage die bigger. not only does this make all your attacks stronger in general, it especially empowers your Mountain Stance attacks.

we’re not ignoring your bardly skills though! your Fascinating Performance will make one observer fascinated with you for a round if you roll better than their will DC. this can even work mid-combat, though you’ll have to critically succeed. since you’re a master of performance, you can use this on up to 10 creatures at a time to really spread the good word of the man you’re pretending to be.

you can also Accompany an ally as a reaction, spending one of your focus points or spell slots to make a performance check. if you do well enough, your ally doesn’t have to spend their point/slot to cast the spell. you only have focus points, but still it’s the thought that counts.

19. On our penultimate level, your Slippery Secrets mean your mind is harder to read than usual. When a magical effect tries to read your mind, reveal your alignment, or determine if you are lying, you can make a deception check against the spell’s DC to stop it. The Holy Grail itself handed you this disguise, so it won’t come off easily. In order to take this feat, you need to be a master of Deception, which you now are.

You also gain a Perfected Form, making the first attack you make each turn guaranteed to roll at least a 10.

20. For your final level, you get one final Ability Boost in Strength, Dexterity, Intelligence, and Charisma. You can also Fuse Stances together, making a new stance with both of the original’s strengths and weaknesses as long as they aren’t mutually exclusive. This means we can truly make Benkei’s Guardian Stance now by fusing together the Mountain Stance and Ironblood stance for an empowered AC and resistance to all damage.

you can also Consult the Spirits now thanks to your religious studies. Once a day you can spend 10 minutes to Recall Knowledge with your religion. Depending on how well you do, they will answer up to 3 simple questions, though if you critically fail they will give you harmful answers.

For our final Bard feature you can perform a Symphony of the Unfettered Heart. This allows you to make a performance check to counteract one of several effects on up to four allies (including yourself), but if you fail you cannot use this spell on that person for one day. We couldn’t get a skill seal skill, but making enemy skills useless is almost as good.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

turns out having a good ac and a resistance to all damage makes you really Hard to Kill. running away also helps, but now that you’re Benkei you’re pretty indestructible too.

you’re also good at dealing damage, either with sped up attacks from your flurry of blows or slowing down for some persistent bleed damage with your double strikes, you’re able to cut through most enemy’s defenses with the variety of weapons at your disposal.

while you’re not quite as nimble as Cu Chulainn, you’re still pretty dang Mobile with wall jumps and the standard monk speed boost. you’re free to pick your battles, though I’m sure your party hopes you’re a little more courageous this time around.

Cons:

the mountain stance is really cool for defense, but it also hampers your mobility and offense a lot by not letting you use weapons or leave the ground.

we also had to juggle a lot of skills around, so you’re not super great at any one thing without any legendary feats.

as for the last one…. range? I guess? maybe having too many options? tbh I think this is a pretty solid build, though admittedly I haven’t played enough Pathfinder to have a good feel for that.

#fgo #fate grand order #pf2e #Pathfinder #Musashibou Benkei #Monk #Bard #Dual Weapon Warrior

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rozengrotto · 3 years ago

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Azul’s dorm of choice [union birthday speculations??]

with the arrival of new union birthday cards, the birthday interview structure now significantly differs and one question being asked by the interviewers is:

“If you could choose a different dorm, which one would you pick?”

the answers received so far were all interesting and offered a better insight into the characters, however, we haven’t had a dorm leader answer this question yet which made me curious-

the dorm leaders embody the very essence of their respective dorm’s spirits, so…which dorm would they choose if they could swap at will?

first of them to answer in December will be Idia, but for now I wanna ramble a bit about Azul’s potential dorm choice as someone who likes Azul a very healthy and normal amount, I’m counting the days to his birthday so I can finally hold his b-day SSR jpeg in my grabby hands jsofcfj

(but yeah, these are all just my jumbled thoughts on the matter, sry for any inaccuracies or such, this is simply done for fun and bc I love talking about Azul lol)

(oh also, I will sometimes resort to equating the dorms with their respective leaders for I believe they all represent each values and philosophies the best)

also, also....under the cut because it got long orz

Hearts: this one...I’m not all too sure whether or not Azul would fit in there

Hearts is all about rules - quirky and nonsensical in nature, but rules after all, which demand to be diligently followed and enforced

while Azul certainly knows his way around laws and such, with his stepfather having taught him most about contracts, he’s not all too keen on playing very…fair in stark contrast to the straight-forward, rule abiding Riddle, Azul is much, muuuch more cunning and sly, willing to bend the rules to his whims and carefully treading the fine line of legality, which clashes with Heart’s (Riddle’s) philosophy quite a bit

maybe he would want to get into Hearts cause he gets a kick out of circumventing the rules and finding loopholes as mental stimulation like a metaphorical octopus left alone with food trapped in a jar?

the picture of Azul lounging in a rose garden sipping tea is certainly very welcome dhjfhdf

from a pure cosmetic standpoint - oh boy, do I want to see more of Azul dressed in Hearts attire

Savana: nope, absolutely not, never (probably)

albeit being one of the two dorms featuring solely animal-inspired characters in their main cast, the wild, physical strength-oriented Savana is the very opposite of the calm minded, intellectual-focused Octa (however, not all of Savana is merely brawn with no brain and Leona is the best proof for that)

Beans Day & PE lessons/story gave a good view on Azul’s lack of physical stamina and aversion to sport - he’s just not very athletic at all, sucks at flying lessons and gets out of breath fairly easily from just a bit of running (yet we got some crumbs from Floyd once, stating that Azul in his merform is a lot bigger and stronger than the twins, which implies that he isn’t as physically weak as he is frequently perceived by others...)

Savana is chaotic and wild and its students would rather brawl than sweet talk with a silver tongue

also, Savana being located in a...well, a literal savannah would be a bad pick for someone hailing from the cold ocean and with sensitive merfolk skin (yeah, I know, Floyd picked Savana, but it’s Floyd. he just doesn’t care lol) in conclusion: take one look at Azul and you know he doesn’t want to be in Savana

Scara: a very likely contender I’d say?

the dorm that favors resourcefulness and careful planning, known for their intelligence, scheming and mastermind plotting in the shadows - in this regard, it seems downright perfect for Azul!

however, as Jade stated before in his union birthday story, the heat of the desert poses a problem to sensitive merfolk skin, similar to Savana, which might be a breaking point for him in the end

I mean, Azul could still just hang around an oasis made by Kalim if he really wanted to stay there

(Scara also gets a plus point just because he would be a lot closer to Jamil lol)

Pome: the subject Azul excels in the most is Alchemy, so it wouldn’t be all too far-fetched to think he’d choose Pome, a dorm known for skilled potion makers (while alchemy and potions are two different subjects, they still share a lot of similarities with each other)

the pompous surroundings, beauty-care routines and graceful mannerisms expected from a Pome student would also very much align with Azul (look how he carries himself in public! - his ostentatious speech, smooth voice, pretty face and the way he is so focused on appearing prim and proper and absolutely flawless in the eyes of others)

he might be cunning and deceitful, but it’s undeniable that Azul puts a lot of effort into all his work - be it academics or business - and heavy effort is what Pome has been founded on after all

also, Azul seems to be on quite alright terms with Vil too, considering the latter is a frequent customer of that eel juice™ - Azul could benefit Pome a lot by being their personal cosmetic producer?

all of these statements would point towards him considering joining Pome

however, Jade before him stated he would join Pome if he ever were to change dorms, so from that alone I’d say Azul wouldn’t want to choose the same dorm as his vice (could be entirely wrong, I’m just going off the hunch here that all of Octa wants to choose different dorms zgzhg)

Igni: this one would fit him too in a way, I think

Igni’s students are said to be much more reclusive than other dorms

they shirk social interactions, harbor a desire to be left alone, thrive in tranquil solity, very different than the social butterflies from Hearts for example despite him seemingly having no problem to interact with other dorms, his rhetoric prowess in conversations with others and overblown business persona, Azul strikes me more as an introvert at his very core, hiding his true face behind a carefully crafted extrovert mask

he seemingly gets along well with Idia too, at least a lot better than most other dorm leaders do - perhaps because they are in the same club....perhaps because he understands the struggle of being ostracized due to his childhood experiences?

the future lies in technology! - could that be his motive to choose Igni? wanting to expand his skills in magic tech? or does he just seek it out for the opportunity to scam gacha game addicted students for their money by investing in the mobage branch? possibilities, possibilities…

Dia: ah yes, the elusive last dorm for some reason…I have troubles picturing him in Dia, I’m afraid

Dia’s students are excellent magicians, proud, skilled and elegant - to me, they always evoke the picture of the “cool, popular kids”, the ones everyone is too intimidated to sit next to could that be a reason for him to pick this dorm? as part of his retribution in a way? show his past bullies that he - the stupid, worthless octopus from back then - made it up into the ranks of the prestigious Dia dormitory?

Dia also represents the classic fairytale picture of knights and dragons - they excel at magshift too, bringing up the problem of lacking physical strength and agility yet again

Azul’s quite far from being a virtuous knight like Silver for that matter, so maybe not the best option his biggest goal would probably be to grow closer to Malleus and establish some juicy connections with the Valley of Thorn’s nobility as stated in Sebek’s lab story - but would that alone be enough for him to change to Dia?

either way, for some reason I simply can’t see him donning a Dia uniform…maybe it’s the fact that we still know the least about Dia...maybe it’s the heavy, gothic atmosphere that’s in such a krass contrast to the floaty, fragile underwater vibes, idk (but maybe it will be a total surprise for me and he really wants to join Dia, that would be interesting haha)

so yeah, that was me rambling on for way too long jdhfjdhjfdh the closer February draws and the more new birthday interviews we get, the more excited I get for some new Azul crumbs

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #twst #twst azul #character analysis #I guess???#jdfjfhjh I mean it's just me rambling for a good few paragraphs about my fave bc I'm desperate for more azul content #all of this is in anticipation for his b-day *head in hands*#the things these fish make me do #my writing

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 13.4k / genre: fluff + comedy (I suppose)

summary: you work the night shift in a supermarket. and now your crush, aka the cutest boy in the world, aka the guy you’ve been thirsting after for months, aka jeon jungkook, works the night shift too. les geddit

warnings: this fic is sfw BUT there is cursing/explicit language—the reader is thirsty af, just SO thirsty, seriously the thirstiest, but other than that this fic is pretty soft

a/n: thank you to my darling friend and beta reader @hobi-gif, without whom this would have remained an unpublished fic I just wrote for funsies, and also to @yeojaa for reading this through and enjoying this terrible self indulgence of mine, you’re both queens

Why is it that all the interesting things happen whenever you’re not at work? Like the time you'd been off for one (1) night so that you could move into your new place, so you hadn't witnessed the full on brawl between a customer and the security guard right before the store shut. Or the other time when you were twenty minutes late because of road closures and you’d missed all the free doughnuts—Yoongi hadn’t even saved you one, opting to give it to his crush instead, even though Jimin wasn’t even night shift.

(Yoongi was a Judas, betraying you all because of a little thirst. Snake.)

(Okay, sure, you're friends with Jimin too, but still.)

Anyway. You’re here almost all weeks of the year, and the few times you’re not, that’s when things get interesting. Working in any sort of retail job is boring at best, especially when the store is shut overnight (customers during the day were awful but at least they provided an ever rotating cast of varying characters that could provide amusing anecdotes to add to your repertoire), and it’s downright frustrating whenever you miss out on the few variations to your usually monotonous nights just because you happened to miss it.

Yoongi is also The Worst at keeping you updated. He has little to no interest in gossip and keeps himself firmly out of unnecessary interpersonal drama, staying uninvolved by being entirely unapproachable and blanking people whenever they try to talk to him. You keep out of it too, but in a different way— you don’t get involved in drama because everyone likes you. You’re personable and social, almost to a clownish degree, somehow treading the line between being Nice and Firm, so people simultaneously like you while also being wary of annoying you.

Either way. When you’re not there, Yoongi doesn’t go out of his way to find out any developments, so you’re always left floundering to catch up with whatever’s gone on so that you can keep your position as Liked-By-All-Sides as secure.

So, with all of this in mind, when he says that nothing interesting has happened in the two weeks since you’ve been off, you’re understandably sceptical, raising an eyebrow at him from where you’re reclining in his passenger seat. The entire supermarket could have burned down while he’d been working and Yoongi would probably say of the event afterwards—if pressed—that it had ‘been a little hotter than usual’.

(At least Jimin indulges you with petty gossip. You’re certain he’d let you know about any new developments, but he’s not on a late shift tonight, much to the disappointment of both yourself and Yoongi—although he won't admit it.)

You hadn’t sensed any ripples in the Force when you’d stepped into the supermarket. Everything looked the same, all the way down to the slightly wonky sign on the front display that was trying to persuade customers to buy the new lines of overpriced olives and antipasti, and nothing felt any different on your journey up to the locker rooms; the poster asking everyone to book their holiday before the 26th June 2001 was still up, as it should be; the sight of Yoongi walking in the direction of the staff canteen as you went to dump your stuff in your locker was as familiar as normal. You were usually good at sniffing out change, but everything had passed your smell check and so you let your guard down, bursting into the break room with your usual aplomb.

That’s one thing about night shift that people don’t usually realise. Because there aren’t customers around, you can yell up and down the shop floor as much as you like (it’s usually faster than walking around to find someone) and swear or be inappropriate in ways that wouldn’t fly during the day (like bowling products across the floor instead of walking up to the shelf and putting them down). You don’t swear or yell, really, but the amount of time you’ve spent on nights has increased your overall volume and altered your verbal filter, so once you’ve kicked the door open, what comes out of your mouth is as follows:

“Wassup everyone? Ya girl is back from her time off and is absolutely RARING to go! I know you all missed me, but please, no flash photography,” you simper. You hear Yoongi snort into his coffee from his seat on the sofa, directly under the sign that says ‘No Food Or Drink Allowed On The Sofas’ alongside a picture of a dancing hot dog with a massive red X across it.

Most of your coworkers are a lot older than you—young people don’t tend to work overnight—so they don’t match your level of energy, but they’re still pleased to see you nonetheless, a little chorus of hellos greeting you when you walk into the room. You shoot finger guns at them, ending with an overly theatrical wink at Taehyung, wiggling your fingers in a wave at the boy as he grins at you through his mouthful of food (he’s not night shift but he finishes a lot of his shifts late so you're on friendly terms).

When you flop down next to Yoongi he wordlessly hands you a coffee. You hiss a little at the contact of the hot mug against your skin—he’s holding onto the handle, and you’re quick to accept it from him so you don’t burn yourself—and peer down at the hot liquid before taking a small drink.

You’re mid-sip when your eyes flick up from the mug and you immediately splutter. You cough and hack, eyes filling with tears as you try to swallow the noises down to no avail; you sound distressed enough that even Yoongi gets concerned, thumping you on the back as you make a noise akin to a cat wheezing out a hairball.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is pained as you look out of the corner of your eye at the boy sitting next to you. “I thought you said nothing interesting had happened while I was off?”

Yoongi looks perplexed. “Nothing did,” he says. Somehow you resist the overwhelming urge to pour your coffee all over him.

“Then explain to me exactly why the Muscle Boy from morning shift who works on fruit and veg is sat over there in a night shift uniform,” you hiss.

“Oh, yeah.” Yoongi sounds entirely disinterested. “He moved on to nights the first week you were off.”

So not only has the hitherto-unreachable object of your affections moved on to your shift—great, you weren't mentally prepared for that at all—he'd apparently witnessed your unnecessarily theatrical entrance, as well as your subsequent near death experience via coffee. You wish that the near death experience had, in fact, been a full death experience; your final moments may have been undignified but at least you’d have gone out while looking at a pretty face and not have to live with the embarrassment afterwards, knowing that Jeon Jungkook had witnessed you spluttering coffee down your chin.

Normally your Jungkook-radar (Kookiedar? You’ll have to work on the name for it) is faultless, flawless, sensitive to his exact location at all times—but he was never there at night. You only saw him in the mornings, catching glimpses of him on your way out, lifting heavy crates of bananas or potatoes onto the displays. But he’s here, now, sat on his own table, alone, away from the other workers.

While you hadn’t spotted him before, what with how he’s sequestered himself alone, from your vantage point now? You can clearly see him, and you know that he would have had full view of you from the moment you’d stepped into the room.

He's on night shift now. With you.

“Yoongi, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

“No." His answer is immediate, but before you can be warmed by the fact he doesn’t wish for your imminent death, he continues: “I’d have to find someone else to reduce food for me, and I can’t go back to buying full priced noodles after this long.”

“I’ll reduce your head from your body,” you threaten, even though it makes no sense. Yoongi doesn’t react outwardly to this threat but you would wager anything that he was quivering in his boots, even though he’s doing a very good job of calmly sipping at his coffee. Ahh, Yoongi, always the master of the pokerface, despite the fact he must be terrified.

Anyway. You’re getting distracted. Basically, snake Yoongi had snaked on you and hadn’t told you about Jungkook transferring to night shift, like the snake he was. Yoongi being the snake, that is, not Jungkook. He wasn’t a snake. Sure, you’d never spoken to him in all the months you’d seen him and knew next to nothing about him but no one could be a snake when they looked that innocent. Besides, you’d seen him help customers, smiling at the old ladies who asked for him to reach for specific bits of fruit from higher shelves, or carrying their shopping for them, or—

Argh, you were getting distracted again. Essentially he was a hot, muscular angel who hadn’t had your existence on his own radar until approximately five minutes ago, and his first impression of you must be that you are an absolute clown. A buffoon. And, okay, maybe you are, but you usually only let people onto that fact after knowing them for at least a day or two.

He’d looked startled when you’d made eye contact with him across the canteen, tearing his eyes away from you the second you’d tried to inhale coffee instead of ingesting it. You’re grateful that he’s resolutely kept his gaze away, absorbed by something on his phone instead, but he must have heard your desperate wheezing from across the room. Even if you’ve managed to cough away the coffee in your lungs by now it doesn’t detract from the overall embarrassment that threatens to swallow you up.

Beside you, Yoongi continues to drink his coffee like a normal human being. He’s oblivious to your inner turmoil. Of course your crush had moved to night shift when you were on holiday. Of course you’d missed that. Why wouldn’t you? You were a snail and God was salting you. What had you done to deserve such torment?

“I can’t believe you didn’t think a new person was something I’d at least like to be made aware of,” you mutter waspishly. “Especially as he’s around our age! Since Hobi left we haven’t had anyone on shift who isn’t at least a decade older than us, Yoons.”

As is tradition, Yoongi says: “A moment of silence for our boy Hobi.” You both shut your eyes and tilt your heads forward as you mourn your fallen brother. (He wasn’t dead, he’d just moved to a different job a few months ago, although you both still see him on a weekly basis.) And then Yoongi continues: “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”

“Do you have a single wrinkle on your brain, Yoongi? Huh? Or is it completely smooth up there? Why wouldn’t a new night shift worker be something I’d want to know about?”

“I figured you’d find out eventually anyway.” Yoongi shrugs.

“I hope a stack of bread falls on you,” you say.

You’re glad when it hits 9pm and your manager, Sejin, gets everyone’s attention for the huddle so he can tell everyone where they’re working for the night. You normally don’t pay much attention but this time you’re like a bloodhound on a scent trail, sniffing out what where Jungkook is going to be.

“Jungkook, you’re on the fruit and veg section,” your manager says, and your nostrils flare. Of course. You’re entirely unsurprised when he delegates Jungkook to the fruit and vegetable aisles— it’s what the boy is familiar with, after all.

Most people in the store have areas they’re better at and do the same thing over and over, but you’re a bit of a wildcard, happy to work anywhere, so your own role varies a bit. You’d actually been there longer than Sejin, who’s a fairly new manager; he’d latched desperately onto you when he realised that you a) had been trained on pretty much everything and b) were also a pretty decent worker, on the whole, and so he allows you more freedom than he might afford other people.

So, because of this, you know that if you asked then he’d happily move you to a different area of the store, but you don't actually know where you want to go. You’re torn between hoping that you’re in a section near Jungkook (so you can ogle him) or the opposite of the store (so you’re saved any further shame due to the fact that you’re an absolute dunderhead, just an absolute embarrassment, why were you allowed outside?), but then Sejin tells you your job for the night and you can’t help a groan from escaping you.

“It’s my first shift back after my holiday and you want me to reduce all night?”

You can’t help but sound a little whiny. Reducing is so boring. Looking through everything on the shelf and scanning it and then having to stick the reduced labels on them? Over and over and over? For the whole night? Your brain is already shutting down in anticipation for the repetitive monotony. (You have to try to conserve what few brain cells you have left and you're not about to waste them on this.)

Sejin looks genuinely apologetic. “Some day staff called in sick so there weren’t enough people to finish everything. You only have the meat and fish sections to do.”

You’re so distressed at the idea of having to sift through piles of meat that you don’t notice how Jungkook perks up at this, sitting up a little in his seat; if you’d been paying attention you’d realise that the meat and fish area is directly adjacent to fruit and veg, both sections within direct eyesight of each other. Instead you’re remembering the time you’d had a packet of sea bass leak on you and no matter how many times you’d washed your hands, the fishy smell had remained. Eurgh.

“Alright, that’s everything!” Sejin claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work, everyone.”

There’s the usual grumblings and mutterings as people start to make their way out of the canteen and downstairs to start work. You take Yoongi’s mug from him and dump both of your empty cups into the hatch of the canteen, already resigning yourself to a long night of misery and boredom. Why did you choose to work in a supermarket, again?

You dawdle around upstairs for longer than you probably should once everyone’s gone, dreading the fact that you’re going to have to properly introduce yourself to Jungkook. Night shift is very insular and you can assume that no one’s introduced themselves to him or made an effort to be friendly— hence why he's been sitting alone. You’re the one person who works overnight who actually goes out of their way to introduce themselves to any new starters, but you’re fairly certain that if you try to introduce yourself to Jungkook you’ll end up throwing up on him. He’s just so hot that it makes you nervous.

You make a long drawn out ahhhhhhhhhhh noise, letting your frustration out before straightening up and puffing out your chest. It’s fine! You’re fine. You’re a strong, confident, smart night shift worker who’s introduced herself to new people multiple times before. Jungkook is just another person. Sure, he’s the cutest guy you’ve ever seen, but he’s just another person. It’s fine.

It’s not fine.

The second you round the corner to the fruit and veg section on your way to meat and fish, you see Jungkook effortlessly heft a massive crate of grapefruit as if it weighs nothing and you want to pass out. The one time you’d tried to lift a crate like that you’d almost done your back in, but Jungkook just lifts it with ease.

What’s worse is that while you’ve seen him do this before, he’d been wearing a day shift uniform at the time. The day shift uniform is, honestly, pretty ugly, an ugly beige long-sleeve button up with an equally ugly tan tie under an ugly grey apron (but of course Jungkook had still looked radiant in spite of the ugly ensemble he was forced to wear). The night shift uniform isn’t necessarily attractive either, a simple black polo shirt and combat trousers, but unlike the button up, the polo shirt is a t-shirt— and Jungkook’s rolled the already shorter sleeves up so that all of his arm is on display (holy shit he has tattoos). You can see the flex of his muscles in all their glory, the way his biceps bulge as he lifts the crate higher, the veins that run down to his hands, and your mouth floods with saliva.

“Arm,” you say.

“Pardon?” Jungkook looks up, confused, and then startles when he sees you.

“Um, nothing!” you stutter. There’s a loose lock of hair hanging across his forehead and you stare at that rather than looking into his eyes. You’d probably burst into flames if you made eye contact right now. “I just wanted to, uh, introduce myself? I know you’ve been working nights for a few weeks now so I’m kind of late, but I was on holiday. I’m Y/n.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and then he sees how your eyes widen and he scrabbles to explain. “Uh, Sejin said it during the meeting.” He swallows.

You cough. Of course. There’s no other reason Jungkook would have known your name without you telling him; you sincerely doubt he’d sleuthed your name out via the rotas pinned on the board, much as you had with him. (You swear you’re not a stalker, he’s just really cute, okay?)

“I’m Jungkook,” he finishes, laughing awkwardly.

“I guessed,” you say, pointing at his name badge like that’s the reason you know it. He stares down at his chest, as if he’d forgotten that he had it pinned there, and although you'd genuinely been looking at the badge, you suddenly notice that you can see the definition of his pecs even with the thick fabric of the polo shirt. You want to pass out again. You need to divert your attention to something else, stat, your brain scrambling for something to say next. “You know, you’re the only person on night shift who’s wearing a badge. No one else does.”

You wince. Great. Now you sound like an asshole. Nice going, idiot.

Jungkook glances away from his badge to your finger, which is still pointing. He’s staring at your nail polish. Even though no one cares what the night shift gets up to, nail polish is technically against the rules and you wonder if he’s about to say something derogatory—you’d deserve it, you were just kind of a dick to him—when he smiles instead. “I like your nails.”

“O-oh,” you stutter, surprised. They’re nothing special, the colour a little chipped in places, but you’re still flattered by how genuine Jungkook’s compliment sounds. “Um. Thanks.” And because you have a habit of responding to compliments with one of your own, you say: "I really like your tattoos. The flowers are beautiful."

Jungkook looks stunned and doesn't respond. You spend a few moments staring at each other before Sejin rounds the corner, and you both abruptly turn away so it doesn’t look like you’re just standing around and talking instead of working (although that is, in fact, what you’re doing). You hustle over to the meat section, grabbing packs of bacon and pretending to look at the dates, even though you have no idea what date it is. No thoughts head full of Jungkook.

Over the years, you’ve mastered the art of Quick Glancing™. While to anyone watching you it would seem as though you’re absorbed in your work, sifting through food to check if it’s going out of date, you’re actually looking at Jungkook more often than not. Whenever it seems like he might catch you, your eyes dart back to whatever cut of meat you’re holding at the time—a box of liver, eww, slimy—but you spend the majority of the time watching him move around. You can’t help but wonder if he’d lift you as easily as those crates and have to suppress a full body shiver. Down, girl.

Yoongi appears like clockwork the second it hits midnight, leaning against the fridge as you stare at a pack of chicken wings. “Coffee time.”

“Oh, thank God.” You straighten up, unceremoniously dropping the chicken wings onto the shelf. “Caffeine, I need caffeine, get me the caffeine.”

You get the caffeine. You and Yoongi always go back to the canteen at midnight for coffee—even though you’re technically not meant to—and bring your mugs downstairs—something else you’re also not meant to do. You drink your coffee between looking at the packets of food on the shelf, sifting through trays of chicken breasts and stickering whatever's due to go out of date as Yoongi idles around near you, peering at everything you’ve slapped a reduced label on. He clicks his tongue at a lacklustre reduction, unimpressed at how little money has been slashed off the price, and honestly? Mood.

“Don’t you have bread to put out?”

“Finished it. I’m waiting for the next delivery.” Yoongi yawns, but then his eyes suddenly narrow as he looks in the direction of fruit and veg. “Your new little friend keeps looking at us. I think he might be a narc.”

“Huh? Oh, Jungkook?” You look up from the chicken thighs. Jungkook is far out of earshot but clearly visible, hunched over a shelf as he starts to furiously organise some courgettes. “Nah, I don’t think he’s a narc. Besides, what’s Sejin going to do? Fire us? We get coffee all the time and he's never said anything about it before.”

“Yeah, but Jungkook doesn’t know that.” Yoongi scowls. He sounds suspicious. “Hm. I’m going to go back to bread, but keep an eye on that one.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. “Got it,” you say with a salute.

Yoongi wanders off but not before throwing Jungkook a sharp look, which the boy doesn’t notice, resolutely staring at the courgettes. Seems like he’s really intent on making them look neat, which you think is kind of unnecessary, but whatever. It's kind of cute actually.

You don’t think Jungkook is a snitch, but you do have to admit it’s maybe a little weird how often you seem to catch him watching you, though he’s very quick to look away. Your suspicions grow somewhat when he ends up in the canteen at the same time as you, eating your lunch a lot later than everyone else. You like the peace and quiet when the room is almost empty.

Yoongi normally has lunch with you, but today he’d had to eat earlier because Sejin had asked him to help unload the delivery lorry, so you’re alone in the room with Jungkook. Although he sits on the table farthest away from you, it’s maybe a bit strange that he’s up there when you are. Like, sure, you do appreciate the fact that you can gawk at him a little bit more, but maybe Yoongi is right about him being a narc?

Nah. You’re probably just being paranoid. Jungkook is clearly introverted, not talking to the other guys working on the fruit and veg section, so he probably came up at the quietest time of day (/night) so he could avoid everyone. You can understand that.

Your lunch is almost over and you’re in the middle of making yourself and Yoongi another cup of coffee to take downstairs when Jungkook suddenly appears at your shoulder. You yelp in surprise when you notice him there, scattering coffee granules across the counter instead of dropping them in the cup like you’d meant to, clutching your chest in shock.

“Oh, God, sorry,” he apologises, and he fumbles as he scoops the granules into his palm to clear them up—and then he just stands there with a handful of instant coffee as he looks at you. You’re still clutching your heart. “Uh. I was wondering, do you bring your own coffee in?”

“Yes,” you say, cagey, unsure what he wants. You notice that he’s unintentionally cornered you against the counter, and now that your earlier shock has ebbed away, you can’t help but notice your height difference when he’s this close to you. “Can’t get coffee overnight otherwise. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t realise we were allowed to?” Jungkook sounds awkward, unsure. “I would have brought my own in if I’d known.”

You stare at him for a second. Yoongi would kill you if he saw what you did next, but you just end up turning around to grab another mug and dump a spoonful of coffee into it. “Do you have milk or sugar?”

“Huh?”

“Do you have milk or sugar? In your coffee?” You repeat carefully, tapping a spoon against the third mug, trying to tamp down the blush that’s threatening to appear on your cheeks when you glance at Jungkook over your shoulder. “You want one, right?”

“Oh.” He goes a little lax with surprise, apparently not realising that he’s done so until he drops a few bits of coffee on the floor and then lifts his hand again—you can see where the granules that are directly in contact with his skin have started to dissolve a little, sticky. The pile of coffee looks so small in his big hands. You want to eat out of his palm, as gross as that thought is. “Yeah, milk and sugar, please.”

As he goes to wash the coffee from his hands, you stare at yourself in the reflection of the metal kettle, wondering what the fuck you were doing while also trying to tame your thirst into submission. You never let anyone have your coffee (except Yoongi, obviously, and Hobi, when he’d been here) (a moment of silence for your boy) and you’ve known Jungkook for less than one (1) shift and you’ve already initiated him as part of the Coffee Crew.

Yoongi picks up on this immediately, spotting you and Jungkook reemerging onto the shop floor at the same time, although you peel away to visit your friend in the bread section. “Is that a mug that I saw Jungkook holding?”

“Yeah,” you say with forced casualness, wary of Yoongi’s response. Here we go.

But to your surprise he seems pleased. “He can’t narc on us now that he’s drinking coffee on the shop floor too,” Yoongi says.

“Oh, right! Yeah, that was my plan all along.” You force laughter, as if your pulse hadn’t been racing as you’d watched Jungkook take the first sip from the coffee you’d prepared for him, worried that he wouldn’t like it. You’d wanted to vomit your heart out of chest when he’d given you a small, shy smile and said that it was perfect, as if he wasn’t drinking cheap, crappy instant coffee, which was subpar even when it was good.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at your fake hyena laughter but decides not to comment on it.

He raises his eyebrows again the next night when he witnesses you preparing coffee for Jungkook firsthand, lining up three mugs at midnight instead of just two, making coffee the way Jungkook likes it. “Once was enough to stop him from double crossing us, I think,” Yoongi says.

“I’m making this for him because I want Jungkook to be part of the group,” you say firmly, ignoring the way your hand trembles a little when you say this. Jungkook had waved goodbye to you when he’d spotted you in the morning after your first shift together, and tonight he’d made eye contact when you’d walked into the break room—more quietly than you had the day before—before smiling at you. (You’re constantly torn between wanting to coo at how adorable he is or begging him to bend you over a table, and it’s hard to keep these thoughts from showing on your face whenever you smile at him, but you’re doing a damn good job.)

Yoongi, despite his usual unflappable nature, looks absolutely floored. Even though you’d both spoken to Hoseok from the moment he’d started working with you, it had taken you a few weeks before you’d even offered to get him a drink at midnight, a mutual decision both you and Yoongi had agreed upon. And here you were, inviting Jungkook in without consulting your coworker-turned-best-friend, after one night. (You’re sure Hobi wouldn’t mind, but you feel kind of bad when you think about it and resolve to pay for his lunch when you see him next week.)

Yoongi squints at you as you keep your attention focused on the coffee and so don’t see the realisation settling across his features.

“Oh,” he says once it’s clicked. “You wanna suck his dick.”

You end up scattering coffee across the counter again. At this rate you may as well just pour the granules straight into the bin and cut out the middle man.

“Yeah, you wanna suck his dick,” Yoongi muses, watching as you grouse and clean up the coffee.

“At least when I talk about your crush on Jimin I have the decency to not be crude about it,” you say, jabbing a finger in Yoongi’s direction. He flushes.

“I don’t have a crush on Jimin,” he scowls. You scoff.

“Oh, please, Yoons. You’re not as subtle as you think. If I catch you staring at Jimin’s ass one more time with those googly eyes of yours I’m gonna yarf.” Jimin’s ass, admittedly, is very nice, the awful work trousers somehow flattering on him, but it’s the reverence with which Yoongi looks at it that makes his crush obvious. Amongst plenty of other things. “And you let him have my doughnut! As if that isn’t practically a declaration of marriage!”

“You’re still going on about the doughnut?” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That happened months ago.”

“It was a limited edition Krispy Kreme doughnut, Yoons!” Your voice has gone shrill. “A motherfucking Kit Kat doughnut! The only reason I didn’t strike you down where you stood is because I fully support your crush on Jimin, even if I think it’s ridiculous you haven’t asked him out already! Anyway,” you say, letting the spoon clatter into the mug. “Whether or not I want to suck Jungkook’s dick, I miss having a third person in this group. Hobi actually laughed at my jokes.”

“I laugh at your jokes when they’re funny.”

“You never laugh at them!”

“I said what I said.”

“I’m going to poison your coffee so Jungkook and I can drink the rest in peace,” you say. “Oh, moment of silence for Hobi, we almost forgot.” The moment of silence lasts for a second, and then you’re pouring the freshly boiled water into the mugs.

“I guess I should talk to Jungkook, then.” Yoongi still sounds suspicious and you glare at him as you stir the coffee.

“If I find out that you’re being mean to him, I will genuinely poison your drink,” you say, lifting the spoon and gesturing with it aggressively enough that a droplet of coffee goes flying off and lands on Yoongi’s face. You have no doubt that Jungkook could snap Yoongi like a twig if he wanted to, but Jungkook seems far too nice for that, and Yoongi can be surprisingly intimidating.

“You won’t poison me.” He wipes the coffee away, unperturbed.

You snort. “I’ll use decaff and I won’t tell you.”

This makes Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”

"Watch me.”

With that threat firmly in place, you feel a little better when you hand Jungkook’s coffee to Yoongi to give to him. You’re not near the fruit and vegetable section tonight so you won’t be able to keep a direct eye on them, but you’ll catch up with Yoongi once he’s wandered back over to bread.

You’re starting to feel a bit suspicious at how long Yoongi’s been absent for and so you make your way across the shop floor to see if you can find him. To your infinite surprise you spot both guys near the salads, Yoongi perched on an upturned crate while Jungkook puts watercress onto the shelf, the two of them in deep discussion about something. You feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone when you see Yoongi genuinely laugh and you back away, unsettled.

When you eat lunch that night, Jungkook sits with you on your table at Yoongi’s behest. It’s still a quiet affair, like normal—you take as many opportunities as you can to sneak glances at Jungkook, surprised at exactly how much food he puts away—but when he offers to make the coffee, you have a hushed conversation with Yoongi while your muscle boy is distracted. You keep your eyes fixed on Jungkook’s back, and it really is unfair how good his shoulder blades look with that black material stretched across them. There’s no point in trying to hide your thirst from Yoongi now that he knows about it so you’re free to stare.

“I thought you said he was a narc,” you whisper, eyes still fixed on Jungkook's back. How is his waist so small? (Lord have mercy on your soul.)

“Nah, Jungkook is okay,” Yoongi replies. In Yoongi-speak this means that he really likes Jungkook and you’re flabbergasted.

You don’t get a chance to say anything else before Jungkook is turning around, proffering your drinks to you with a bright smile—you can see his teeth, and you’ve never wanted to lick someone’s teeth before but apparently the sight of Jungkook’s mouth will do that to you, who would have guessed. It’s been two shifts and you’re already this dehydrated, just dying of thirst, shrivelled up like Spongebob in that episode where he visits Sandy’s dome for the first time. You’re a crusty thirsty sponge and Jungkook is a tall, sexy glass of water.

(You’re so fucking screwed.)

The thing with initiating Jungkook into the Coffee Crew is that you’re faced with the reality of his good looks constantly. Jungkook still doesn’t talk to anyone else, really, but he lights up around Yoongi and yourself, and you start to look forward to seeing those shiny doe eyes of his, the way he perks up whenever he sees you.

Work quickly becomes the highlight of your week, which is something you thought you'd never say, but Jungkook is just too powerful. Everything about him is absolutely fucking devastating, a few examples being:

The night when it’s a little warmer, and he unbuttons all three buttons on his polo shirt—you can see his collarbones and the tiniest bit of his chest, going feral over such a small slip of skin like you’re some sort of Victorian lady who keeps her ankles hidden in public and you’ve never seen bare skin before.

Or when you got caught behind him on the stairs while he’s explaining the difference between meat protein and vegetable protein—you get a wonderful view of his ass, which you take full advantage of (respectfully). You get another look at said ass when he plays a game of pool against Yoongi while you sit on the sofa and watch, Jungkook leaning over the wonky pool table so that he can make a particularly difficult shot, placing his wonderful butt directly into your line of vision.

Or when you notice that even though Jungkook cycles to work, he never seems to smell like sweat, and instead he just smells like fresh clothes, clean linen that’s so potent you can smell him before you see him. But no one smells that much like clean laundry, right? It must be his cologne.

“Jungkook, do you wear cologne?”

Jungkook, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised at your question and just answers it like he would any other. “No, why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you smell nice? Sort of like whatever 'clean cotton' is apparently meant to smell like. Y’know? Like fresh laundry.”

“I do wash my clothes every day,” he says. “I guess you could call me a bit of a clean freak?”

For some reason, the fact that he smells so nice because of his clothes is just so hot. You want to bury your face in his shirt and just breathe him in, but that would be weird and creepy and invasive. So you don’t do that and instead allow yourself to sniff from a polite distance, olfactory senses working overtime whenever he’s nearby.

(Yoongi finds you uncapping all the detergents down the laundry aisle one night, desperately huffing each type to try and work out which one Jungkook uses. “Jesus Christ,” he says, watching as you take a particularly long drag of whatever Spring Day is—it’s pleasant, whatever it is, but it’s not what you’re looking for. “Are you trying to get high?”

“Smell this,” you say instead, shoving it in his face. He takes a wary sniff, nose crinkling. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“I guess?” Yoongi seems baffled. “Okay, you’re clearly busy, I’ll tell Sejin to ask someone else to do the job.” You don’t reply, too busy sucking in a lungful of Crystal Snow as Yoongi backs away.)

Jungkook also seems to have this weird knack of appearing whenever you need help lifting or moving something heavy. Normally you hate it when someone steps in to help you, a little offended at the idea that you can’t do something yourself—you've been doing this for long enough that you've developed a technique for things—but when Jungkook does it you don’t feel disrespected at all. He’s just so nice about it.

Like the time when you’re struggling to move an empty wooden pallet and put it on top of a stack of others; not only is it heavy, it's large and unwieldy, too. The last time you’d tried to move one of these you’d ended up hitting it against your shins while also getting a palmful of splinters. You hate these things. Jungkook, however, materialises out of seemingly nowhere and offers you his help. He ends up lifting the thing himself, squatting down to grab it and just tossing it on top of the pile. He does it effortlessly, literally effortlessly, like the pallet weighs nothing to him, and when you ask if he thought it was heavy, he blinks.

“No, not really,” he says. You have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from screeching.

“You must lift a lot of weights,” you say, weakly, and Jungkook nods.

“I’ve started incorporating weights into my pull up routine recently, too.”

“Oh? Do you, like… tie them to yourself or something? Uh. How heavy are they?”

Jungkook perks up, apparently excited at the opportunity of talking about exercise. “I hold a fifteen kilogram weight in one hand while I do a pull up with the other,” he says.

Your legs feel weak at this mental image and you end up sitting on the stack of pallets as Jungkook starts to tell you about the rest of his workout routine, and when you find out he does kickboxing as well, you almost have to excuse yourself so that you can try and calm down. Instead you grin and bear it, your fingers digging into your thighs in the horniest grip known to man, acting like this is just a normal conversation that is absolutely not affecting you, no sir, no sirree, holy shit you’re going to die.

That night you do have to excuse yourself at lunch when you make a comment on Jungkook’s food, and he says that he needs to keep his calorie count up because he’s bulking at the moment.

“Bulking? Like for abs?” Yoongi asks.

“I already have abs,” Jungkook says dismissively. Your leg jolts under the table and your knee hits the underside of it, sending your empty lunch box almost flying to the floor, and Jungkook and Yoongi look at you in alarm. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

“Bathroom,” you gasp. “I gotta—bathroom. Lady stuff.”

You splash water over your face and run it over your wrists, desperately trying to cool down. You’d suspected he had abs, for multiple reasons, not least of all the fact that whenever he leaned back in his chair the material of his shirt would settle on his stomach in a way that hinted at the shape of the muscles underneath, but to hear him confirm it—like it was nothing—good lord. (Yoongi’s caught you staring at Jungkook’s stomach multiple times when the boy was distracted, but you’re beyond caring. If you have to deal with Yoongi fawning over Jimin then he can put up with you ogling Jungkook.)

When you come back, Yoongi is at the counter making your coffees while Jungkook is still sitting at the table. You slide back into your seat, about as composed as you’re going to get, when Jungkook leans towards you.

“Are you okay?” He looks worried. “I have some heat pads in my locker if, um, you wanted them, if you’re having period pains?” he says, but then he looks unsure. “I don’t know if you’re actually meant to use them on your tummy, though.”

Tummy. You want to squeal at how cute the word is, not to mention the fact that Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered about talking about period related stuff, unlike a lot of guys you’d known. “Oh, uh, no, thanks, Jungkook,” you say, flushing. “That’s really nice of you but I’m alright.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, although he’s still clearly concerned. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

And that’s the other thing. You still think Jungkook is the hottest person you’ve ever seen, of course, but he’s also so nice. And hardworking. And sweet. And gentle and thoughtful and determined and talented and just—he's just a whole lot of man, really, just so much, too much. Initially you’d been attracted to him based purely on how cute he was, but now that you've actually gotten to know him, your attraction has morphed into a full-on all consuming crush that’s absolutely catastrophic.

Even when you’re not at work, you keep zoning out because you’re thinking about: Jungkook’s arms, Jungkook’s thighs, Jungkook’s face, Jungkook’s personality, or a mix of all of the above. You can’t focus on things when all you can think about is Jungkook.

Jimin, of course, has been kept fully up to date with the situation. You squat behind the bakery counter whenever he’s on a late shift, hiding away from prying eyes so that you can talk to him as he tidies up, although you know he’s making moony eyes at Yoongi, who’ll glance back at him between the shelves of bread.

You groan into your hands from your cross legged position on the floor, sat atop a flattened croissant box, and Jimin pats you sympathetically on the head.

“Jungkook is very cute,” says Jimin. You groan again.

“I want him to raw me,” you say. Yoongi must have been closer than you thought because you hear a noise of disgust from the other side of the counter before the sound of his footsteps moving away. Jimin laughs his tinkly little laugh as you continue to speak. “But I also want him to hold my hand? And I wanna kiss his cute little forehead. And make him breakfast in bed. Ugh. I hate this,” you whine.

Jimin pats your head again. “Why don’t you ask him for coffee?”

You take your head out of your hands and fix him with a pout. “Why don’t you?”

“You know I don’t ask people for coffee, Y/n, I’m the one who gets asked,” Jimin says, and you know he’s projecting his voice so that Yoongi can hear him. You also know that Yoongi is too dense to pick up on this obvious flirtation, even though you can see how Jimin throws a wink in the direction of where Yoongi must be; you don’t turn to look over the counter but you hear the distinct sound of someone walking into a stack of bread and knocking it over, before Yoongi swears. Jimin just looks fond.

“Oh my God, just marry each other already,” you mutter.

“He has to ask me out first,” Jimin says, softly enough that Yoongi can’t hear from where he must be furiously tidying up the bread, if the sound of plastic packaging and low curses are anything to go by. “Seriously, Y/n, it sounds like Jungkook likes you as well. I think you should just go for it.”

You sigh. “Jungkook’s so far out of my league it’s like we’re not even playing the same sport. He’s sinking three pointers while I’m, I don’t know, whacking balls with a croquet mallet,” you mumble.

Jungkook is nice and funny and works out and is hot, so hot, the kind of hot that has people literally stopping to look at him. (You certainly had, the first time you'd spotted him down an aisle, doing a literal double take at how cute he was.) You, meanwhile, are a clown whose sense of humour has been warped by years of niche internet memes, you drink more coffee than is probably medically advisable, and make-up can only take you up to a shaky 6/10 on a very good day. All in all: Not Exactly A Catch.

Jimin clearly disagrees. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.” He sounds genuinely mad, frowning at you. "If I didn’t like Yoongi I absolutely would have asked you out by now. Jungkook would be lucky to have you, you are a wholeass meal.”

“Yoongi compared me to a slug the other day,” you say. Admittedly it was because he’d knocked on your door when you’d been in the middle of shaving your legs, your skin shining with coconut oil—so the slug slime comment was definitely warranted and hadn’t been an insult—but Jimin’s expression turns murderous, unaware of the context.

“Min Yoongi, you get over here right now,” he hisses. Yoongi is there in seconds. “Did you call Y/n a slug?”

Yoongi’s face looms at you from over the counter. “Should’ve called her a snake instead,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hiss hiss,” you say. “That’s what you get for chatting shit about coconut oil.”

Jimin blinks before his face goes smooth and a look of understanding crosses his features, raising an eyebrow at you. You bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m going back to the bagels,” he says, but then his voice is gentle when he continues: “Unless you need something else, Jimin?”

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” He smiles at Yoongi, soft and sweet, instantly forgetting about the slug comment.

The two of them look at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist and you mime throwing up, but because they’re looking at each other like the rest of the world has ceased to exist, neither of them notice. You hear Yoongi’s footsteps recede and you lift your hands in despair.

“How is it even when I’m having a breakdown over a boy, the two of you manage to be so incredibly gay over each other?”

“It’s a talent,” Jimin says. “Besides, as happy as I am to listen to you, there’s only so many ways you can say I wanna suck Jungkook’s dick so bad, or he’s so adorable, what the fuck, or oh my God, Jungkook is so hot and I’m so thirsty, which are all things you’ve said, verbatim, multiple times.”

“It’s true.” You pout. “You’ve only seen Jungkook from a distance, anyway. He’s even better up close.” The bakery section is the other side of the supermarket, as far away from the fruit and veg section as you can possibly get; Jungkook has a much better work ethic than you and Yoongi and actually stays in his area to work, so he hasn’t met Jimin properly yet.

Jimin’s expression becomes thoughtful. “You know what, that’s true,” he says.

You’re immediately on guard. Jimin is well-meaning and considerate and kind, but he also loves to meddle and has absolutely no shame about it—the second you see that glint in his eyes, you think that maybe you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, but then you notice the time and your eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, I better go pretend to work before Sejin realises I’m missing.” You scrabble to your feet. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe drive home, Jimin!”

Jimin’s usually pretty punctual about leaving on time (even if he’ll hang around to talk to Yoongi, ugh). You wander over to the fruit section to help Sejin fill a display stand, and you freeze in the middle of lifting some apples into a paper bag when you spot Jimin talking to Jungkook. Jimin looks coy, Jungkook looks confused, and you? You probably look constipated. Why is Jimin still here?

You only realise that your mouth is open when Jimin spots you and winks, overexaggerated and theatrical. Your mouth snaps shut as Jungkook’s attention turns to whatever he’s winking at. You duck out of sight before he can spot you, scampering down the length of the store before practically throwing your apples at Sejin, who is understandably caught off guard and fails to catch the bag.

“I’ll go get some blueberries for the other shelf from the back room,” you bark in his face, all but running away before he can respond, leaving him surrounded by the escapee apples (escapples?) that are rolling away from him. You skulk around the entrance of the fruit and veg room for a little while, waiting for Jimin to leave via the staff exit—directly across from where you’re standing—but he doesn’t appear and you can only pretend to look for blueberries for so long, eventually returning to Sejin while despondently clutching the trays of berries.

Jungkook doesn’t seem any different when you make your midnight coffee run, and lunch is about as normal as usual. When you mention Jimin, he smiles, saying that it was nice to finally meet him, but other than seemingly slightly distracted—as if deep in thought—that’s it. There’s no hint that Jimin mentioned anything about you at all, least of all your crush—thank God—but you can feel the ripples in the Force. (Or maybe that was all the coffee you were drinking, seriously, maybe you should slow down?) You know that it’s not a coincidence that you’d had yet another meltdown about Jungkook right before Jimin had introduced himself to the object of your affections. You also know that Jimin knows that you know that, utterly shameless as always.

Jimin is on another late shift the next night. You squat behind the bakery counter when it’s unmanned, Jimin going outside to throw away some old baguettes or whatever, and you (metaphorically) pounce on him when he reappears. “Park Jimin.”

Jimin is entirely unsurprised. In fact he even has a box for you to sit on, proffering a flattened piece of porridge packaging; you feel uncomfortable at the idea of sitting on the Quaker Oats guy’s face and flip it over so you can see brown cardboard rather than his weirdly smug expression looking up at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly were you talking to Jungkook about last night?” You peer up at him, attempting to look at least somewhat threatening, but it’s kind of hard when you’re so much lower to the ground than Jimin is right now. Jimin has to look down at you so far that he’s given himself a double chin, but he’s still gorgeous, because of course he is. (He should leave some for the rest of you, jeez.)

“Oh, a lot of things,” Jimin says. “You were right about him being a sweetheart. He’s very nice. I approve.”

“What are you, my dad?” You mutter to yourself, but then: “You didn’t say anything about my crush, did you?”

Jimin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. So when he answers you with a simple “no” you believe him, although you can’t help but still feel a little suspicious. Your gut might be full of coffee more often than not, but she’s also a smart bitch—smarter than your brain for sure—and your gut is telling you that Park Jimin must have done or said something.

“Yoongi is putting the tortillas out, so excuse me if I’m distracted,” Jimin says. The tortilla wraps are on the bottom shelf so Yoongi has to bend over to work them. You make a face of disgust and stand up to leave.

“Fine, me and the Quaker Oats guy will take ourselves elsewhere.” You tuck the flattened box snugly under your arm. “We know when we’re not wanted.”

You feel a little bad later when you put the box into the industrial baler that you have, the machine crushing all of your cardboard flat, saddened that you’ve had to part from your new friend so soon. Bye, Quaker Oats guy.

Jungkook finds you standing in front of the baler with a genuinely sad expression on your face, silent as the machine makes mechanical squealing and wailing noises while it crushes the boxes inside it. “Uh. Is everything okay?” He asks, delicate.

“It will be eventually,” you say solemnly, but then you look away from the baler and immediately brighten, smiling at him. “Did you need me for something?”

Jungkook looks at you for a second and then shakes his head. “I was just out here to get some more stock from the back room,” he says, and you both get back to work, unaware of the glances you steal at each other as you part.

Later that night—well, technically, morning—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and you gasp with excitement when you spot him. “Namjoon!” You holler down the aisle, far too loud and energetic at 5am, jogging up to him. “I thought you stopped morning shifts!”

Namjoon is a beautiful tree of a man, tall and long limbed, and probably the nicest person you’ve ever met. You’ve missed his dimples. “I did, but, I’m doing a bit of overtime,” he says, and you can’t help but smile up at him.

You’re so caught up in your laughter, cackling at a story that Namjoon is telling you, that you don’t notice Jungkook spotting you from the other end of the aisle. He circles around a few times, pretending to be straightening up the shelves, but watches as you shuffle closer to Namjoon, your heads practically knocking against each other as you stare intently at something on his phone. Jungkook can’t bear it any longer and starts to walk over. He has no idea what he’s planning to do once he gets there but he’s marching over anyway, and that's when you spot him.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You beckon him over—like he wasn’t coming in your direction already—and you sound so excited. “Jungkook, look, puppies!”

Jungkook has no idea who the tall guy is but he’s nice enough to turn his phone towards Jungkook without being asked to. There are multiple puppies tumbling over each other in the video, nosing at each other and flopping around. “I thought a golden retriever would be good for Jin, because he’s never had a dog before,” the tall man says, and you coo.

“They’re so cute! Oh my God, Joon, you should get one of those little bandanas you could tie around their necks, those are adorable,” you squeal. “Ahh, I love dogs so much. Don’t you, Jungkook?” Your eyes are shining as you look up at him, excited.

Jungkook feels like he needs to sit down. “Of course. Who doesn’t?” He says, and you beam at him; he has to dig his fingers into his palms at how cute you are. He desperately turns his attention back to the video, where one of the puppies is nosing at a ball. “Look at them retrieve.”

“Retrieve my heart,” you say, clutching your chest. “Ahh, gosh, Joonie, you’re really living the dream, moving in with your hot boyfriend and getting a dog together.” You’re too busy imagining living in that reality to notice how all the tension leaves Jungkook the second he hears that Namjoon has a boyfriend. Oblivious. “Anyway, you should probably get back to work, I’ve distracted you for long enough. Sorry!”

“No problem.” Namjoon quirks a smile at you, nodding at Jungkook before moving away.

“Ahh, Namjoon is so lucky,” you say wistfully. “He’s so nice though, he deserves it.”

Jungkook is looking at you, curious. “You really get to know everyone, don’t you?”

“Huh?” You blink. “What? Yeah, I guess. Is that weird?”

“No.” Jungkook pauses, and you think that’s all he’s going to say on the matter, but then his mouth opens again. “You’re just so nice to everyone, and you actually pay attention to what they say and remember it. Most of the time when people talk, they don’t actually listen, they’re just waiting for when it’s their turn to talk about themselves, but you don’t do that. It’s cool,” he adds, belatedly. “I really admire it.”

You’re staring at him in shock. No one’s ever said anything like that before, complimented you in such a wholehearted way about something they’ve noticed about you. It's thrown you for a loop. You’re so used to thinking of yourself as a clown—a friendly clown, sure, but a clown nonetheless—that you’re genuinely shaken to the core after hearing what Jungkook’s just said about you.

He looks alarmed when you don’t respond, just blinking up at him as your brain desperately tries to reboot, but you’re saved from having to reply when Sejin calls out to you.

“Y/n, the computer at the front desk is playing up again." His hands are cupped around his mouth, amplifying himself so that you can hear him down the aisle. “You’re the only one who knows how to fix it.”

You snap out of your daze. “Again? You’ve tried turning it off and on again, right?” You’re about to walk away from Jungkook, but first you glance up at him, shy. “Um. Thanks for always being so nice, Kookie. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he says. He sounds a little breathless. You don’t have time to ask why, Sejin’s noise of distress catching your attention.

“I’m coming!” You rush off, nearly tripping on a loose grape on the floor; you manage to regain your balance with minimal flailing, unaware of how Jungkook fondly watches you go.

A few weeks later, you get sick.

You’re really bad at being sick, one of the reasons being that you don’t like to admit that you are sick—and so you still roll into work despite the fact you’re clearly unwell.

“You look like a body that’s just been fished out of the water.” Yoongi shows his concern in an interesting way. “Like you’ve been floating belly up near that trash island in the middle of the ocean that’s the size of Texas.”

You fix him with a baleful stare. He’d threatened to not let you into his car earlier, locking the door as you’d been reaching for the handle; he’d only relented after you’d hissed at him and scrabbled at the glass like some sort of feral cat.

“You do look a bit more tired than usual,” Jungkook says delicately.

You groan. The noise sounds like it’s being ripped out of your throat, which feels as dry as the sahara desert; why are your throat and eyes so dry while your nose keeps running? Why is the liquid in all the wrong places? The human body is a wreck. (After glancing at Jungkook, who looks as perfect as always, you mentally correct yourself—your body is a wreck.)

“I’m fine,” you rasp, and then sniff, trying to stop your nose from dripping. Jungkook hands you a tissue. “I don’t need this, because I’m not sick, but thank you.”

You proceed to blow your nose loudly into the tissue, a trumpeting noise that trails off into a squeak, a sad little thing that sounds like the farting noise a balloon makes when all the air finally escapes it. Yoongi snorts with amusement but Jungkook’s brow is furrowed with concern.

Rather than being disgusted at your appearance—you’re not sick, you’re just suffering from mild allergies or something, so maybe you’ll admit that you look a little washed out—Jungkook has been worried about you from the moment you’d walked in. He’d even offered you his work fleece when he’d caught you shivering, which you’d graciously accepted. (Again, you weren’t shivering because you were sick, it’s just weirdly cold in the store today, even though no one else seems to be affected by it.) (Also, like, hello? The man of your dreams was offering you the chance to wear his clothes? As if you were going to say no to that.)

Despite definitely not being sick, you do sort of feel like your head is full of cotton wool, and everything seems so much louder than usual. Sejin takes pity on you and gives you the surprisingly easy job of counting stock out back in the warehouse, where it’s quieter and warmer—but you still keep Jungkook’s fleece on anyway, breathing in the lovely smell of his fabric softener as you idly count items, taking it slow.

You’ve climbed a stepladder so that you can reach a higher shelf, mentally tallying the cans of coke you find up there; you shuffle through them so you can turn the labels towards you, making sure you’re keeping the different flavours separate. (What’s the difference between diet and zero sugar, anyway? Aren’t they both the same thing?)

“Did I just see a pigeon walk past?”

You startle and nearly knock your row of cans off the shelf. Somehow you hadn’t noticed Jungkook walking into the warehouse, even though he clearly hadn’t meant to surprise you; his hands fly out to steady the stepladder, and though you appreciate this it throws you off balance and so you grab the shelf in front of you. One of the cans falls off, jostled by your movements, and your instinct is to try and catch it with your foot so it at least slows enough before it hits the ground that it doesn’t explode.

In theory, it’s not a bad idea. In reality, you wildly overestimate how heavy the can is and so you put way too much power into the swing of your leg and punt the can of coke into the distance. The two of you trace its arcing trajectory as it disappears over the metal racking before landing with a distinctly wet clatter. Yeah, it’s definitely exploded, hasn’t it.

“Wasn’t me,” you say immediately, but then your slower-than-normal brain catches up with what Jungkook just said. “Wait, what?”

“I was wondering if you saw a pigeon walking around,” Jungkook says. “I think I saw it walking from the back entrance into here?”

Much to his obvious surprise, your eyes light up. You’re maybe not as exuberant as usual because of your illness but you’re still clearly excited. “Oh!” You hop down off the stepladder, nearly losing your balance for a second—maybe you are a teensy weensy bit sick—but then straighten up before Jungkook can help steady you. “Shortbread’s back!”

Jungkook looks baffled but follows after you when you start to walk, abandoning your stock counts. “Shortbread?”

“Yeah! Hold on, you’re taller than me. You see that bit of metal that juts out of the ceiling there?”

Jungkook looks at where you’re pointing. It’s against the back wall of the warehouse, the ceiling lower here than in the rest of the room, panelling and wires supported by criss-crossing bars of thick blue metal. “Yeah?”

“Can you reach up there and feel around a bit?” Jungkook makes a face, clearly not wanting to shove his hand into some mysterious hidden nook, but you look up at him with the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. You probably look like a wreck (what with how sick you are) but Jungkook relents immediately anyway; you think it's because he's nice and not because your attempt at being cute had been successful. He cranes upwards and feels around with his hand until it makes contact with crinkly plastic, and you motion for him to grab it—it’s an open pack of biscuits, with a receipt wedged inside that has your name scribbled on it.

“Gimme, gimme.” You make grabby hands at him. He tilts it towards you and you latch onto a biscuit, which is clearly stale; it crumbles almost immediately in your hands but you don’t pay it any mind, gesturing for him to put the tray back in its hiding place. “Where did you see the pigeon last?”

“Uh, near the soup, I think,” Jungkook answers. You immediately head in that direction, talking over your shoulder as he follows after you.

“You’ve seen that fishing net near the cardboard baler, right?” Your eyes flit to and fro, trying to spot the errant pigeon.

“Yeah, the green one? I was wondering why that was there.”

You click your tongue. “A few months ago we had a pigeon who kept flying here and wandering into the building,” you explain. “We knew it was the same pigeon because it has a tag around its leg? I think it’s a tracker pigeon, I don’t know. So I would use biscuits to get it to follow me outside. But then management got the net and someone said they caught it and, uh, ‘disposed’ of it.” You look equal parts distressed and sad and Jungkook’s chest twinges. “I haven’t seen it since, so even though I hoped that it wasn't the truth, I kind of accepted that it probably was.”

You round the corner past soups, heading towards the cereal overstock, when you both spot the pigeon. It’s slowly walking backwards and forwards on the floor, but when you appear, it stops and looks at you.

“Shortbread! It is you!” You sound absolutely elated, squatting down and proffering the mess of crumbs in your hand, sprinkling them in front of you. “I knew they hadn’t caught you!”

The pigeon—Shortbread—hops forward immediately, heading straight for the crumbs. You laugh in delight as it gets closer and starts to peck at the food. “You’ve gotta stop coming here, bud, Sejin’s going to get really mad if he spots you,” you say. Shortbread, of course, ignores you, more intent on eating the crumbs of—well, the crumbs of shortbread that you’ve given it. You look away from the pigeon, up at Jungkook, who’s watching you with an expression on his face that you can only describe as consternation. Does he dislike pigeons, maybe? “Do you want to feed him?”

“Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?” Jungkook blurts. The remaining crumbs of biscuit fall out of your hand, scattering into a wild constellation of fragments that Shortbread immediately swoops down onto—but you’re not paying the bird any mind, completely blindsided.

“Uh. What?” You stare up at Jungkook. Your mouth is open and slack with surprise; you hadn’t quite caught his words, but you could have sworn that he said— “Come again?”

Jungkook’s put a hand over his face, which is starting to turn red. “Do you—do you want to get coffee with me?” Even though he’s turned his head away from you, his eyes are pointed in your direction; Shortbread makes a cooing noise and starts to peck at the crumbs directly in front of you, but neither of you pay the pigeon any attention.

“Uh.” You know your brain is running on around 25% capacity right now, a mixture of your sickness and lack of sleep catching up with you, but you could swear that—what does Jungkook mean—nah, he doesn’t mean that, no way… haha… unless…? “You… want to get coffee? You know where we keep the jar.” Shortbread pecks at your open palm, a few crumbs still stuck to your skin. You’re momentarily distracted from your mental breakdown, giggling at the sensation of the pigeon’s beak, even though it hurts your throat to laugh. “Shortbread, there’s way more food on the floor, why are you trying to eat from my hand?”

“Y/n.” When Jungkook says your name your eyes snap back towards him. “Can I take you out on a date?”

This time you do catch all his words. Your mouth falls open again and you stare at him like the dumbass you are. Is Jeon Jungkook—your cute, kind, buff angel seriously asking you out? Right now? When you're squatting on a dusty warehouse floor with a handful of stale biscuit crumbs, wearing the world’s least flattering uniform, all while looking like some sort of washed out river corpse? (Thanks for that lovely comparison, Yoongi.) Has he lost his mind? Maybe lifting all those heavy crates meant that all the blood has run into his arm muscles rather than his brain and it's been starved of oxygen, because there’s no sane reason as to why Jungkook would be asking you out on a date.

“Me? A date?” Your voice comes out as a squeak. “With you?”

Jungkook looks absolutely mortified. You didn’t realise someone’s cheeks could go that red. “Forget I said anything,” he says, turning on his heel so that he can walk away; you catch a glimpse of bright crimson climbing up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, too.

“No, wait, Jungkook!” You snap up from your squatting position and grab Jungkook’s shoulder, smearing crumbs onto his shirt. You feel light headed as he starts to turn around, but not because he’s looking at you—you’d stood up too quickly and you feel woozy from your illness, swaying off balance.

You nearly careen sideways into some cereal overstock. Jungkook’s eyes fly wide open in alarm, interposing himself so that you land against him instead. There’s the sound of metal clattering as your weight sends Jungkook into the cereal, rattling the cage, but he holds you steady. You still feel a bit faint, but now you’re sure that it’s partially due to the fact that you’re crushed up against Jungkook’s warm, firm chest, his hands on your hips as he frowns down at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better,” you mumble into the fabric of his polo shirt. (Jungkook's at risk of you snotting on him if your nose starts to run, but he doesn’t seem to care.) He smells even better up close than you ever could have imagined—thank god your sense of smell is still intact—and you melt against him for a second before your brain catches up with the situation and your head snaps back so that you can look at him. “Wait. Why were you about to leave?”

Jungkook’s look of concern turns instantaneously into one of embarrassment. “No reason,” he says, voice higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

You clench your fist and hit his firm chest, but with no strength behind the punch; your hand may as well have been a slice of bread for all the impact it makes. “Liar.” There’s no heat behind your words. “Did you seriously ask me on a date?”

Jungkook’s face is reddening again, but you’re still leaning against him. He can’t try to escape this time. “Uh. Yes?” From this close you can count his individual eyelashes, pick out the moles that dot his face, and, yep, you were right, he’s even better up close. “I’m sorry?”

You blink. “Sorry? For asking me out? Jungkook. Do you seriously think I’d say no?”

“... yes?” Jungkook’s voice is a squeak, much like yours had been a moment earlier. Holy shit. Does he not realise how amazing and hot he is? Does he seriously think that you, resident clown, would turn him down? Does he think you’re the one who’s out of his league?

You try to put this into words. Try to ask him this gently, so you can highlight just how ridiculous he’s being. However, what comes out of your mouth is: “Are you an idiot?” Thanks, brain, for once again abandoning you in your greatest time of need. Quick, reel it back. “Why would you think that?”

Jungkook, to your eternal gratitude, doesn’t seem offended at your implication that he’s stupid. He just seems flustered. “I—you’re just so unapologetically you, you know?” He says. "You're charismatic and confident and everyone likes you. You’re the most popular person on night shift. I’m too shy to talk to anyone and I just do the same thing every night I’m here, but you can do everything. I always saw you talking to the other morning workers and you were always so nice, but you never spoke to me? When you introduced yourself to me after I moved to nights, I was confused, but, uh, really happy.”

Holy shit. He really does think that you’re out of his league. He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up after this little speech, mouth snapping shut while his cheeks continue to blaze red. He's so cute. He's going to be the death of you.

“Jungkook. I didn’t talk to you before night shift because you made me so fucking nervous,” you say. “I could barely look at you for weeks because you’re so beautiful that it kind of makes me want to barf sometimes and I couldn’t handle it. But then you moved to nights and I couldn’t avoid talking to you, and I found out how kind and hardworking and interesting you are, and—Jungkook, I don’t think I’ve ever crushed this hard on anyone in my life.” Why are you telling him all this? You must be more sick than you realise. Your mouth is entirely out of your control. “I get so excited for work now because it means I get to see you. Yoongi and Jimin have been listening to me gush about you for months. And Hobi too, but you don't know him. But I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I didn’t say anything,” you admit, and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functional shoots a prayer off to God, or anyone else who’s listening, begging to be struck down by lightning. No such luck. “Uh. Basically, yes, Jungkook, I would love to go on a date with you, please excuse my rambling, my brain feels like it’s full of cotton.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. He’s staring at you like he can’t believe anything you’re saying. You abruptly realise that the two of you are still wrapped around each other in a very compromising position, in an area of the building where anyone could appear at any moment—not to mention that Shortbread is still fluttering around nearby, eating up crumbs with typical pigeon inefficiency.

“You—you think I’m beautiful?” Jungkook asks, and you blush.

“I think you’re the hottest person who’s ever existed, probably,” you answer honestly. “Please don’t ask more questions, I start to feel queasy whenever I have to express real emotion.”

“Y/n.” Jungkook seems to be rapidly getting over his shock, and a smile starts curling at his lips, and—yeah, you still wanna lick his teeth. Good to know. “I couldn’t possibly be the hottest person who’s ever existed.”

You snort, even though the action grates the back of your nose and throat. “Where’s your evidence?”

Jungkook gently squeezes you. “Right here,” he says.

Your brain desperately scrabbles for purchase in reality, shutting down and then rebooting, internet modem sounds crackling slowly in your head as you try to get to grips with the fact that Jungkook just did that, even though the motion was meant to be tender. Why must your mind be so dirty?

Wait.

Wait, he thinks you’re hot?

“Jungkook, I look like death,” you say, and although you’re ostensibly referring to the fact you’re sick right now (fine, you’ll admit it, you’re sick), it’s more of a general statement.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook says, deadly serious. Your heart flutters. What did you do to deserve this boy?

You’ve still got your faces tilted towards each other, and you can’t help but notice Jungkook’s eyes darting down to your lips. You’ve just started to inch closer to each other when your brain finally snaps back to full capacity and you’re shoving your hand in Jungkook’s face; the clean one, thankfully, not the one covered with biscuit crumbs. Seems like your brain came through.

“I don’t want our first kiss to be in the warehouse at work, when I’m sick,” you say. While that’s true, your heart is pounding in your chest at the idea that Jungkook apparently still wants to kiss you despite the fact you definitely need to blow your nose.

“Okay.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled against your palm. “That’s fair. Can you move your hand? It’s kind of hard to breathe like this.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.” You pull your hand away, and Jungkook takes in a deep breath; you feel how his chest expands and you’re once again reminded of how you’re flush against him. Jesus. “Uh, we should probably get Shortbread out of here before someone catches him.”

Jungkook lets you go so you can coax Shortbread towards one of the fire exits. He holds the door open as you squat down, wishing the pigeon good luck before you say goodbye; when you glance back up at Jungkook you notice the look on his face, open and fond, and your heart does a loop de loop in your chest when you realise that he's been looking at you like this a lot—your brain had just refused to let you notice it for what it is. What the heck.

As Jungkook lets the door shut behind you, you clear your throat. “Um. While I do absolutely want to get coffee with you, can it wait until I’m better? I don’t wanna be all crusty and snotty on our first date,” you say, weirdly shy despite the fact it’s obvious that Jungkook seems to think that you hung the moon. (Which you still don’t understand but you’re not complaining, not at all.)

“Sure.” Jungkook smiles and your heart flip flops in your chest again. The feats of acrobatics your heart achieves when Jungkook around is honestly astounding, but everything he does is just so… adorable. You’re certain that when you see him out of his work uniform and in his regular clothes you’re going to spontaneously combust, but you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it. “I should probably get back to fruit and veg, but, I’ll see you for lunch?”

“Yeah.” You smile helplessly back at him. “Of course. See you at lunch.”

Despite the fact you’re worried about getting him sick, Jungkook really doesn’t care about keeping his distance. When Yoongi walks into the canteen to the sight of you snuggled up to Jungkook and giggling as you feed him his lunch, your friend just rolls his eyes. “Kids these days,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You’re just jealous that it’s taken me and Jungkook less time to confess to each other than it’s taken you with Jimin,” you say, and then gasp as you remember something. “Oh, Jungkook, that reminds me! What was that long conversation you were having with Jimin the other week?”

Jungkook flushes. “Uh, he was giving me advice on how to ask you out,” he admits sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on just blurting it out in the warehouse, but you were being so cute that I couldn’t stop myself?”

You stare into Jungkook’s eyes for a few long moments, before solemnly saying: “Jeon Jungkook, if I wasn’t sick, I would absolutely be kissing you right now.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Yoongi says. Jungkook buries his head into the material of his work fleece, hiding his embarrassment against your shoulder, and you just laugh.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts #bts au #cypherwritersnet #bts fluff #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x oc #joy.masterlist

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liesoverthec · 3 years ago

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Hi! first of all, thank you for doing screen times, it's always so interesting to see and I'm grateful that you're taking the time out of your week to do this. Second, I'm curious to know how May's time compares to the mains, and maybe how it compares with what Maddie would have under normal circumstances, since May is filling in as main dispatcher while Maddie's gone. It feels like she's getting good time, but I'm curious to know if that's actually the case. You don't have to answer now, if you prefer getting into it later when more episodes have gone by, I'd get that. Just thought I'd send the message while I'm thinking about it. 💜

Hi A-C how are you??? Thank you for the compliment, you're so lovely and this has been making my day every day since you sent this 💛

Thank you for letting me hold onto this - I'm finally feeling ready to answer this lol, specifically b/c 4A had only 8 episodes, so doing it now felt like a more accurate and a more even comparison.

I was actually so intrigued by your question that you've warranted your very own graphic! 😊

Long story short - May does not really compare to regular season Maddie, unfortunately.

Lol oh man I'm just now realizing I didn't round May's times any to make it look nice I'm so sorry but there you go, there's May's EXACT time 😂

S5 May and S4 Maddie are probably the best one-to-one comparison for two reasons: they're both the main dispatcher in their respective season, and they were both only in 7 of the first 8 episodes of their seasons (4x06 Jinx for Maddie, 5x06 Brawl in Cell Block 9-1-1 for May).

As you can see, May's had about a 50% increase since s4, to account for the lack of Maddie in the dispatch center. Which is probably why it feels like she's had a substancal amount of time. But she's at half of what Maddie would get in the same amount of episodes.

In my anecdotal experience doing the screen time, the difference comes down to two things - one: for the first three episodes of the season, May was more or less restricted to one emergency call an episode. And she was only getting ~1 min for each call. A call Maddie might receive, can and frequently is, stretched out to 3 min. And then two - when Maddie's stories focus on her relationships outside her job, eg w Chim or Buck, she receives equal time and equal camera focus usually as whomever she is talking to. May's stories tend to be more related to her mother, so Athena tends to get the camera time/focus during May's outside of work scenes. And that's fine - it's why Maddie is a main and May is a regular. But between those two instances, it really cuts into May's time and adds to Maddie's.

And it's also why I'm not promoting May back up to main this season even though she's our "main" dispatcher. Currently she still has less time than Chimney, and he's had two less episodes than she has. The data just clearly shows that she's a regular, bc she doesn't have the kinds of times to compare to the mains. And that's okay! We already have a pretty crowded cast/show imo lol.

I hope this answers your question to your satisfaction, and PLEASE let me know if you want to know more or if I can explain something better 🥰

-💛🐝

#b talks screen time #asked and answered #my anon who told me i was racist for considering maddie a main and not may can suck a dick lol THIS is why #race has nothing to do w it #may just literally cannot compete on even footing w the actual mains unfortunately :/#but that's okay!#i'll be really interested to see how her screen time goes now that michael is gone and harry is doing okay #and maddie should be back shortly #i can't decide if we're gonna see it drop off a cliff or not #we shall see!

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beauregardlionett · 4 years ago

Text

morning begins with your lips

AO3 Link

The Mighty Nein was a group that one could describe as existing in a constant state of flux. Sometimes they appeared competent and sometimes...well. Precious little in their lives remained as a fixed constant, including themselves. They were always changing and shifting one way or another, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It did, however, make it rather difficult for allies and enemies alike to keep up.

There was, however, one consistent constant - even if it was a minuscule detail. Beauregard Lionett always woke first in the morning.

Her training was a hard thing to shake, and life on the road did not lend to sleeping late most days. Beau also wasn’t in the market for changing her sleeping habits. So she woke moments before the dawn each morning and went through her usual workout.

That morning found them in a tavern, Caleb having used up too many spells the day before to cast their tower. It was a fairly nice tavern, so none of them minded. Beau sat herself at a circular table in the corner with coffee and some food (thankfully they had bacon here), and waited for everyone else to arrive.

The rest of the Nein arrived in a particular pattern - one Beau kept intricate familiarity with. About twenty minutes after she got back from her workouts, Caleb would show his face, slightly haggard, but awake. His inner alarm clock benefited him in waking up on time. Veth often followed close on his heels, especially since they frequently shared a room.

Fjord came next, no more than ten minutes after Veth. Beau suspected his life at the docks had ingrained the habit into him over the years of work. Jester and Caduceus were a toss up because sometimes Jester arrived first, others it was Caduceus, and sometimes both appeared at the same time. No matter what the order, the clerics always arrived to breakfast looking perky and put together.

Yasha always woke last, and Beau knew it was because the Aasimar always struggled to fall asleep at night. She slept late every morning, and usually just rolled out of bed, straightened out her clothing, and came down to breakfast.

A consistent morning routine that Beau knew by heart, a practice in a punctual routine that soothed like meditation. A promise kept the same way the sun rose every morning.

Sure enough, Beau sat in her seat, nursing her coffee and savoring her bacon as Caleb trudged down to the tavern. His tired blue eyes scanned for her, his feet carrying him her way once he located her. Beau watched as he gave the barmaid his quiet request for breakfast on his way over. The wizard dropped into his seat beside her and yawned a greeting.

Beau slid what remained of her coffee his way in silent commiseration. His fingertips were ink stained, which meant he probably had gotten little sleep, the fool.

Veth came bounding over minutes later, cheerful and sleep rumpled as she perched on Caleb’s other side. Stretching up on her tip-toes, the Halfling planted a sweet kiss to his cheek (a practice only done occasionally) before hollering an order to the barmaid that hollered back.

“Morning,” Beau said as she tugged a piece of bacon into two, trying to make it last longer.

“Morning,” Veth returned, fiddling with her crossbow already. Beau didn’t ask what she was attempting this time, just monitored the mechanism in case it misfired.

Their conversation didn’t extend much past that as Veth continued fiddling and Caleb tried to keep his eyes open. Beau was content with the familiarity.

They had barely finished exchanging pleasantries when Fjord arrived, yawning but alert. The half-Orc caught Beau’s eye with a nod before he wandered over to the bar. She watched him exchange pleasant conversation with the barkeep for a few minutes, probably gleaning some information about the town or surrounding area. He did this sometimes when they got to new towns none of them had heard of or been to before, and it almost always helped.

Beau tracked Fjord’s movements as he left the bar with a coffee, making his way to their table. The barmaid arrived with Caleb and Veth’s plates as Fjord sat down on Veth’s free side.

“Whatever you’ve got works for me,” Fjord said pleasantly, his effortless charm pulling a smile to the woman’s face. She bustled away, and Fjord suppressed another yawn as he turned to the table.

“Barkeep says the town’s been calm ever since the war was called to truce. Decreased presence of guard, not as many brawls in the streets and bars, and trade has been up. I don’t think there’s much going on here if we want to move on later. We might have some luck in the market for rations, but beyond that,” Fjord ended with a shrug.

Beau appreciated his forethought in matters like these, because she sometimes got caught up in the bigger picture. Her mind worked in ways better attuned to connecting threads and digging up nuanced details. Sometimes she could ground herself enough to get shit done in the present, but it was hardly ever regarding mundane day-to-day plans.

“So, shopping and hit the road?” Beau said, tearing her bacon into smaller pieces again.

“Sounds like a plan,” Fjord nodded, sipping at his coffee. The barmaid arrived then with the half-Orc’s food before she bustled off again.

Beau settled into her seat, one leg thrown over Caleb’s lap as he chipped away at his plate. Veth began needling at Fjord in teasing conversation, the half-Orc indulging her with fond exasperation. Beau watched on and chuckled now and then, thoroughly entertained.

Veth had just convinced Fjord to play a game of boulder parchment shears for his last piece of sausage when Caduceus and Jester arrived. The clerics were discussing the benefits of talking to the massive oak tree they saw on their way into town as they took their seats. Jester flounced into the seat beside Fjord, Caduceus sitting on her other side as they kept talking. The pair paused long enough to greet the table before getting back into it.

“I’m just saying - morning guys! - we should try it,” Jester said, eyes boring imploringly into Caduceus’. “Maybe the oak will be friendly!”

“Of course we can try,” Caduceus agreed, setting his staff to lean against the table. “But in my experience, oak trees are always rather stuck up.”

Beau decided not to question how many oak trees Caduceus spoke to in his free time. The barmaid swept up to their table again, distracting the clerics momentarily.

“I’ll have some potatoes and tea, please,” Caduceus drawled with a pleasant smile.

“Do you have any pastries?” Jester asked predictably, violet eyes wide as she twisted in her seat.

“We’ve got muffins?” The barmaid said, eyeing Jester’s bright, eager eyes warily.

“I’ll take three!” The Tiefling chirped. “And a glass of milk, please!”

“Sure,” the barmaid nodded before sweeping off.

Beau gnawed on her bacon as Jester and Caduceus resumed their conversation, Fjord dejectedly losing his sausage to Veth’s victorious crow. Caleb started tapping an absent rhythm against Beau’s knee, and she let him. All was as it should be thus far, Beau’s eyes wandering to the stair as she waited for the last piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

Yasha’s absence when she had been under Obann’s control was a jarring discontinuity to Beau’s routine. She had been off kilter for more than one reason the entire time Yasha had been away. Beau hated to remember those days. As much fun as they had on some of their adventures, there was always that missing piece, that quiet snark that never piped up in conversation. There was no one at her back in those fights, no familiar battle cry, no unyielding support that Beau could fall back on with absolute trust.

She knew Yasha was last to rise, but the passing minutes never failed to pulse in Beau’s veins with anxiety. An irrational yet rational fear that she would never show.

Beau counted the minutes, tuning out conversation, absently aware of Caleb’s pattern against her kneecap.

Yasha stumbled down the stairs, tugging her tunic into order as she made her way over to their table. A surprising amount of tension bled from Beau’s shoulders with every step closer Yasha took. Jester came up from devouring her muffins long enough to greet Yasha, crumbs falling out of her mouth as she did.

“Mornin’ Yafa!” Jester managed through her food. The Aasimar offered the Tiefling a sleepy smile as she headed for the only empty seat between Caduceus and Beau.

“Good morning,” Yasha murmured as she rounded the table. Her eyelids still drooped with exhaustion she had yet to shake off. But she smiled small and warm at them all, her eyes landing on Beau as she stepped up beside the monk. Fondness made Beau feel like her heart was melting in her chest as she grinned up at Yasha, tipping her head back to catch her eye.

Yasha bent down and planted a quick, sweet peck on Beau’s lips, the monk’s smile curling wider as Yasha pulled away with a murmured, “morning Beau.”

The Aasimar wandered off to the bar a moment later to get a drink, yawning as she did. Beau happily went back to her bacon, picking it into pieces and popping them in her mouth. It took her a few moments to realize that something had changed.

Looking up, Beau froze with bacon halfway to her mouth when she found everyone at the table staring at her in stunned silence. Caleb’s tapping against her knee had ceased, Veth’s mouth was hanging open with sausage half-chewed. Fjord and Caduceus were giving her matching stares that were somehow both knowing and awed. Jester looked as if she were two seconds away from combusting into glitter.

“What?” Beau asked, somewhat defensively.

“Beau!” Jester exploded, squealing loudly. “You didn’t tell me you and Yasha finally talked!”

Beau’s cheeks grew hot, and she put her bacon down slowly. “Talked about what?”

“You kissed Yasha like it was a normal, everyday thing!” Veth said, thankfully swallowing her mouthful of food beforehand. “When did that happen?”

Beau froze, eyes going wide.

Oh.

“Uh...just now.”

“What?” Fjord said, brows furrowing.

“It happened just now,” Beau said, quiet and struck.

“Oh my gosh,” Jester gushed, practically vibrating in her seat. “That was your first kiss with Yasha? And it was that easy? And we all got to see it? That’s so romantic, Beau!”

Beau’s eyes flit to where Yasha stood at the bar. The Aasimar had twisted around to look back at the table, eyes wide and mouth agape. Clearly, she had come to the same realization as Beau. That same fondness from before softened everything in Beau’s countenance near instantly, and she smiled across the tavern at Yasha. She watched the Aasimar blush as she grinned back, turning to the barkeep to order when they came up to Yasha.

“I guess it is pretty romantic,” Beau whispered.

Veth and Jester squealed with each other as Fjord and Caduceus went back to their breakfasts. Caleb gently pinched the inside of Beau’s knee where her leg was still across his lap. He smiled when she looked at him and squeezed her ankle.

Beau’s chest felt full to bursting when she realized that her happiness could spread so easily among this family she had cultivated. She settled into her seat as Yasha came back and held her hand under the table for the duration of their meal.

This was something new Beau wouldn’t mind adding to their routine.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #m9 #writing #my writing #[shrug emoji]

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addicted2escapism · 5 years ago

Text

when you travel with a jaguar | geraskier

summary: the positives and negatives of your travel companion being able to turn into a big cat

read it on Ao3

The first time Jaskier turned into a cat, Geralt was shocked– at the very least. There was a multitude of reasons for him to feel this way. Geralt was a Witcher. He should have known, should have been able to tell that Jaskier was actually a– well, whatever he was. The changing was also extremely abrupt. There was no phasing in and out of forms. One moment Jaskier the bard was there, and within the blink of an eye, a jaguar stood in his place.

That part was the least shocking bit of it all. That Jaskier wasn’t just a cat, he was a big cat. A predator. A beast that brutally tore out the throat of the man that had been accosting them, while Geralt stood frozen like an idiotic brick wall. Now, it was sitting, staring up at Geralt with wide eyes and an inquisitive chirp. The innocent expression didn’t match the way it’s–Jaskier’s–tail twitched back and forth irritatedly, beating against the ground repeatedly.

Geralt had many questions. Why didn’t his medallion hum? Wasn’t this magic? How long had Jaskier been like this? Was he cursed?

Instead, all that came out was an exasperated, “fuck”.

It took another five seconds for him to regain his awareness (and suggest that they should probably get out of this town).

Night had already fallen so they didn’t travel far, only putting a safe amount of distance between them and the town they were planning to stay in, before making camp in the woods. Geralt had led Roach on foot, who was very displeased about being torn away from her stall, and didn’t seem to be afraid of Jaskier in the slightest. The jaguar had prowled along next to him the whole time, looking through the trees and into the darkness. Geralt realized that in this form, Jaskier’s night vision was probably up to par with his own.

Once Geralt had decided on a spot to settle down in for the night, Jaskier bolted away before the Witcher could utter a word to stop him. Creating a fire was left to him, since Jaskier clearly wouldn’t be able to do it. A faint scampering of footsteps could be heard while he gathered kindling, and by the time he cast Igni, Jaskier was trotting towards him with two rabbits clamped in his jaw.

It was a wary sight, despite Geralt knowing that it wasn’t a wild animal. Well, it was, in a way. But it wasn’t. It was Jaskier, who unhinged his jaw and dropped the rabbits at Geralt’s feet. The Witcher sat beside the fire and began to skin the two animals, and the next time he glanced over at Jaskier, he’s human again. Human with this expression that screamed nervous and concerned. Geralt didn’t like it.

“You’re not a therianthope, a werecat,” For once, Geralt spoke first. “So what are you?”

“Ah, a cursed bard?” Jaskier supplied, shoulders raising to his ears, knees drawn up to his chest. Cursed, so Geralt was right. “Although, I don’t really think it’s a bad curse.”

His additional comment was confusing. What kind of curse wasn’t bad?

“I have full control over when I shift.” Jaskier explained. “And I was going to tell you! Well– eventually. I mean, I was going to do so with much more style! And in a much less violent manner. But, here we are. That moronic man just made me so angry, it slipped out!”

“So, you don’t have full control?” Geralt narrowed his eyes. A slip of the tongue was common for Jaskier. Accidentally changing into a jaguar and mauling a man to death over some harsh words was not.

Jaskier glared back, but his body relaxed a bit from the familiar pattern of their bickering.

“I do. I just hadn’t shifted in awhile because I’ve been traveling with you for so long. Normally when I get that mad, I stab, not bite.”

Geralt hummed. Jaskier did tend to stab people.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Jaskier sighed, staring at the rabbit cooking over the fire. “At least now I can shift more often.”

And he did. Very often. Sometimes Geralt wondered if he preferred being a cat, and that the only thing holding him back was the ability to sing as a human. It was certainly a welcomed (but not necessary) improvement on their companionship.

Jaskier often took over the role of hunting for their dinner, dragging full-sized deer back to camp and dropping it at Geralt’s feet with a chirp. He was also quite proficient in fishing, and would use his tail to lure fish nearer to the surface. In cat form, Geralt didn’t have to worry about Jaskier’s ability to keep up with Roach while traveling, and it was nice to have another set of sharp eyes and ears. At first, Geralt assumed Jaskier would be the same reckless bard, only in cat form. But no, Jaskier was every bit attuned to his enhanced senses, and more than capable of using his speed and strength. It made sense, if the Witcher thought about it. The bard put on a fun and harmless facade, but Geralt’s seen enough tavern brawls, and the accompanying malice in Jaskier’s features, to know that he was a force to be reckoned with if need be.

But, as much as the jaguar clearly had a human conscience inside of him, there were certain cat traits that Geralt had to… deal with.

Jaskier was an affectionate human, and the trait only amplified when he was a cat.

When he first started shifting around Geralt, he would stretch out right next to the Witcher at night, the warmth radiating off of his feline form a comfort that Geralt wouldn’t admit to. After a few days, Jaskier started settling closer so that his back was a constant pressure against Geralt’s arm in slumber, even though Geralt didn’t always fall asleep. He only realized that Jaskier was holding back after he worked up the courage to pet him.

The most common form of affection (although Geralt wouldn’t admit that it was, in fact, affection) was the head butting. One time he even did it to Roach. Geralt, with his limited knowledge about wild cats, knew that it was instinctually a form of scent marking. With how often they travelled to new locations, Jaskier was practically relentless. If they stopped on the path, Geralt would earn a headbutt to the hip. If they were sitting around a campfire, Jaskier would press his forehead into Geralt’s shoulder, sometimes as a form of thanks and other times for seemingly no reason at all. The jaguar would pace endlessly beside Roach while Geralt battled a monster, and when the Witcher returned, he’d be rewarded with heavy paws pinning his shoulders to the ground, a headbutt to the forehead, and a soft chuff.

One time, Jaskier had tried to lick him, to groom him. Geralt put a stop to that. A house-cat’s tongue had nothing on a jaguars, the roughness of which could make skin break and bleed with enough persistence.

And then, there was the stalking.

He would never intentionally hurt Geralt, but having a wild animal creeping behind him certainly put his Witcher senses on edge. Geralt could be sitting, cleaning his swords, when suddenly Jaskier would rise to his feet, seemingly in slow motion. He’d keep his head low and prowl towards the Witcher, silent. The white haired man would set his weapons aside, turn his head to look at Jaskier, and Jaskier would pounce. He’d tackle Geralt with 200 pounds of force, wrestling with him in the grass and growling softly. Geralt would put up a fight, of course, and he could win if he wanted to. Most of the time, he let Jaskier get the kill, and if the bard was feeling petty, he’d lay directly on top of his prey, a deadweight atop the Witcher. It happened every time Jaskier wanted to play. Geralt would be subjected to a few minutes of slow motion stalking, Jaskier would reel back on his hind legs (and sometimes wiggle his back end), and then Geralt would get jumped.

Jaguars also seemed to have an affinity for the water. Jaskier would run and jump and splash, and tackle Geralt into the water if he felt extra mischievous. Geralt learned that jaguars were very good swimmers.

The worst was probably the biting.

Sometimes Jaskier forgot that his feline teeth were very sharp. He’d nip at Geralt’s jaw while they laid (cuddled) together, and sometimes a fang would catch in just the right way and draw blood. He’d try to amend it with his sandpaper tongue, which obviously wasn’t that helpful. Other times they’d be playing, and he’d clamp his jaw around Geralt’s forearm, who, if he was lucky, would be wearing armor. More often than not, he’d release the other man’s arm immediately, from either not truly intending to bite hard enough to break through skin, or from being a little jarred at the odd taste and texture of leather in his mouth. But sometimes Jaskier’s cat instincts would go into overdrive, and once his jaw closed around Geralt’s arm, he wouldn’t let go. The Witcher had learned to keep his arm still, as moving it about only caused Jaskier to hold on tighter. Eventually, Jaskier would let go, but if Geralt got the sense that he might not, if the jaguars canines started sinking into his skin, and if the rumbling in the feline’s chest started echoing deep within Geralts, the Witcher would hiss out a warning, “Jaskier”. It would sober the cat up, who’d unlock his jaw and probably apologize with a headbutt.

But these traits weren’t all so bad. Geralt was getting worse and worse at denying any enjoyment from Jaskier’s affections. His denials couldn’t mean much when he went out of his way to give Jaskier’s head a soft pat. He enjoyed when the jaguar wanted to play, although Geralt couldn’t use his full strength on him, it was still a nice energy outlet. Jaskier kept a nice balance between being a bard and being a cat, since it wouldn’t exactly be socially acceptable for Geralt to ask for a room at an inn for him and his wild animal. And of course, Jaskier couldn’t go more than half a day without singing a tune or plucking a few chords. But when it was just the two of them at night, when the sky was dark and the only nearby sound was the crackling of their campfire, Geralt would happily overlook the blood the came with the biting, and the stalking, to have Jaskier’s soft fur and warmth pressed against his side every night.

#i feed off of big cat jaskier but theres Not Enough #so i wrote some myself #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #my writing #gem writes

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missingartist · 5 years ago

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The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 18 Part one

Yennefer was angry, more than angry. She felt betrayed and usurped. A woman that Geralt had hardly known for more than a couple of months had replaced the mage in his heart. Yennefer’s lips still burnt from their kiss is not the normal pleasant way, the way that used to send shivers of pleasure down her spine and spread warmth around her core. Instead only bitter filled her, his lips felt cold and dead against hers, unmoving and unresponsive to her. Violet eyes stared down at the book in her hands, cracked open to the well-read passage on Witcher’s Mate, angry tears well up in the corner of her eyes. Igniting the book in her hands, she watched in glee as the pristine book turned to ashes before her very eyes, as the fine aches trickled onto the marble floor. Glancing across the table she snatched up the burgundy book and marched around the table intent on throwing the book into the roaring fire, the meagre book not worth the small amount of magic to incinerate it when her eye caught a glimpse of a page. The squiggled writing was not what she expected to see, she knew exactly what the writing was, but it was the drawing itself halted her breath in her chest. Eyes darted around, Geralt paced from one side of the fire to the other for the best part of an hour, Triss trying to pacify the tetchy man who growled and fidgeted as he cast a longingly look to the stairs. Yennefer knew Geralt; she could tell he was using his Witcher senses to hone on the girl, to listen to her. Neither of them was paying any attention to her, and Ciri had wondered off with Jaskier to tend to the creature. Slowly, she slid the book into the folds of her dress; her need was greater than some man stealing slip of a girl.

‘Geralt it will be fine just let her have a moment.’ Triss tried pushing herself in front of the mass of muscles as the white-haired man stalked toward the stairs.

‘She is injured; she needs me.’ Geralt panted, eyes wild as he zoned in on the stairwell.

Triss tried to hold his eyes that were almost completely black with a thin circle of gold surrounding them. ‘She will be fine, Ciri and Jaskier are with her. I will go check on her, but I need to know you're not going to do something stupid like burst in and go all possessive on her.’ Triss bite out eyeing the other mage who rolled her eyes as she talked.

‘Hmmmmm’

‘Don’t worry, Triss; I am sure she will enjoy being dragged away. Sluts like her usually do.’ Yennefer growled, brushing her hair over her shoulder, wafting the scent of lilac and gooseberries into the air, she watched eagerly as Geralt nose twitched. Her face fell when his features twisted in disgust, his eyes never leaving the stairwell.

‘Look who’s talking….’ Triss snapped sending a death glare at her friend, who only responded in a sneer.

Triss turned back, wearily watched as Geralt agonised where he stood, he looked longingly at the stairwell. His healthy glow from this morning was all but distinguished, and the sullen pallor replaced it. Triss followed her hands to where they laid against his chest, the skin underneath them, even though shield by a thick tunic top, was on fire. Frowning, she looked to the ashes that danced on the polished floor, where the book had been destroyed not half a minute ago—bloody Yennefer.

A thin sheer had broken out against his forehead, and his body shook in mild tremors. A wave of nausea washed over him, forcing Geralt to sink onto one of the benches and the purple-eyed mage watched closely. Violet iris roamed over his worn face as he began to shake violently. The bronze hulk seemed to shrink before her very eyes, become a wreak who shivered the warm summer air like a sickly new-born babe.

‘Did you really have to burn the book? Without that, we have no idea what to do now?’ Triss growled as she summoned a cooling flannel to his forehead.

Yennefer took a step closer as observed the scene before her. It was the first chance she had to really look at her former beau. Geralt was still the magnificent figure of manhood, tall and broad, tone bronze muscle peeking out from underneath his tunic and naked forearms. But the lustre had gone from his skin; the glowing skin was now dull and pasty. His cheeks seemed hollow and grey circle lightly graced beneath his eyes that burnt like molten lava, given him a frantic feral look. The Witcher’s frame hummed with an energy that she had never felt before, both primitive and powerful, the type you caught a glimpse at in the ancient ruins long forgotten by man.

‘What wrong? He’s burning up.’ Yennefer damned as she reached out, pressing her palm to his cheek. Hurt rocked her heart as he recoiled, snapping his head away.

‘Geralt…did you started the claiming last night? Did you tell her’ Triss whispered softly, pressing her fingertips to his throat, as the pulse speeded quicker and quicker.

Geralt shook his head and simply grunted batting her hand away.

‘You didn’t tell about her! Geralt for someone so old you are such a fucking idiot. No wonder she ran off. Gods I need to…’ Triss tittered on her feet, glancing between the two.

‘Yennefer come here’ Triss scowled and pushed the mage into the workshop off the room.

‘I know you are beyond pissed off. But for 5 minutes you need can you please stop. If you want to be pissed at someone be pissed at me. I elaborated a whole scheme to push them together. You should have fucking seen him all noble and broody trying to do the right thing and not bond with her, even though it was killing him. And Adva…. the poor girl don’t get me started on what a number Cersi did to her. And I thought the mind fuck Tissaia did on you was bad. Yen, if you had seen what not completing the bond was doing to Geralt, you would have done that same. You need to bring down his temperature, or he will go into shock. I tried Exismo, but he seems to build up an immunity, and with this Witcher's ability, I am not sure what else to give him. I know you are hurt, and I understand, but they have a soul bond so powerful in cancelled out the Jinns magic Please just stop trying to kill everyone for five minutes. I swear if you do anything else to mess this up, then you already have I will never talk to you again.’

Yennefer felt a deep pang of something in her; her best friend seemed determined on the pairing that she had cast her aside. For the doorway, she observed Geralt, a sweaty hunched figure, pushing out a puff of air. Her hand traced the outline of the book she had hidden in her dress. Not for one second did she trust the girl, but she was intrigued. If this were a soul bond, the energy it would create would be phenomenal, as documentation on it was rare, to say the least. It could be useful, and she had nothing better to do but sit back and let the plan of the little creature unfold.

Picking up a large bowl and armful of herbs she swayed over to the polished mahogany table. Pulling the tops of pots with a snap, she deposited as dash, a handful and a sprinkle into the bowl. The bright petals and herbs mixed to do a dry mulch. Adding elven wine to the mixture, she mixed till the concoction was a watery mess of mashed up leaves. Waving a caramel hand over the mortar, concentrating as the liquid simmered and boiled, concentrating as the mixture bubbled into a tar-like gum.

Swaying over she sat beside him, not close enough that they touched, but close enough she could feel the unspent energy spill from him, it was unbearably, the heat prinked her skin till it began to sweat itself. Shimmering back, she winced, a piteous look cast against her old lover.

‘Why didn’t you come to me with this.’ Yennefer’s tone softened, as she wiped the thick substance into his skin in the signs of runes.

‘I think you have just proved why Yen. Besides last time we spoke, you screamed that you never wanted to see me again.’ Geralt scoffed, a sheen of sweat began to form at the top of his forehead down the base of his throat and disappearing down below his tunic neckline.

Purple eyes are taking movement ever as the heavy mixture turned a pale blue as it fought against the heat. Yennefer smiled as the sweat began to stop and dry against his features. Carefully she did the same with his collar bones and then his forearms. Not before long, every inch of exposed skin was covered in blue runes. Still, it took 20 or 30 minutes for the Witcher’s temperature to return to normal, but Yennefer looked on in concern as the Witcher grunted and gruffed in pain.

‘I felt our spell bond break…I thought you had finally found a Jinn to remove the spell; then I started hearing tales about the Witcher’s Wife.’ Yennefer glowered quickly, moving to grip his face to turn him completely to her.

‘I am sorry.’

‘Is sorry all you have to say.’ Yennefer choked out; tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Is that all that I meant to you?’

‘Yen…I didn’t mean for this. I did not believe it at first but…. I don’t want to fight it anymore. Please.’ Geralt rasped out weakly, reaching out his hand to grasp hers. Purple and gold eyes met, and the purple erupted in a blaze of pain. Yennefer glared at his hand, wavering from tears to rage, fat tears lined her eyes as she stared at his hand. Gripping his hand with both of hers, she traced the rough callous and scars that littered his hands, scabbed over from years of bare-knuckled fights and brawls. Tracing every line in his palm, she had spent years looking at him, but this was the first time she had ever really look at him and his hands. He had touched her thousands of times, but now she was touching him, it felt different, he felt different. Casting his hand away, she stood and stormed to the window, back turned as she blinked away the tears. She waited and waited, but he didn’t come to comfort or soothe her as he always did. In the reflection of the window, she watched as gazed longingly at the stairs.

So when I finished this chapter, it was 5000 words long- to spare you a headache, so I broke it into two parts.

What do you think?

@fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png @wastingmypotential @luxyash @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @crazynocturnalkiki @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @broco8 @introvertedmouse @threepupsinapuddle @pastelblogsposts

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #Geralt #geralt x reader #geralt x smut #witcher geralt #geralt imagine #geralt x oc #netflix the witcher #witcher netflix #thewitcher #witcher 3

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moviesrotbrains · 4 years ago

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FREAKY slashes up a piece of that horror-comedy pie

Hey, let’s remake FREAKY FRIDAY, but this time it’s about a middle-aged serial killer who swaps places with a 17-year-old girl. That simple yet ridiculous premise is the main plot behind a surprisingly perfect, and fantastically gory, horror-comedy.

youtube

FREAKY is one of those movies that could have failed hard. It’s a brilliant idea that could have fallen apart in the wrong hands. Many films have tried to balance genres and get lost along the way. FREAKY is NOT one of those fails. It’s one of those films that had me rooting for it from the first 5 minutes and still had me pleasantly surprised throughout. In addition to being a great body-swap flick, it’s also an engaging horror flick. It’s like someone shoved your favourite FRIDAY THE 13TH scenes in a blender with MEAN GIRLS. It shouldn’t work… but it does. It’s an ode to 80s slashers, but it’s also an ode to high school-centred comedies? And it does all this while keeping hardcore horror fans pleased by giving it a hard R rating?!? And it’s actually really funny?!?

When they first announced this film, I was expecting a fun PG-13 flick in the vein of HAPPY DEATH DAY, and I was okay with that. I really liked HAPPY DEATH DAY (as with FREAKY, also directed by Christopher Landon). HAPPY DEATH DAY, was a smart spin on GROUNDHOG’S DAY that it did a lot of cool things while also being able to do so with a PG-13. It wasn’t trying to be MANIAC, nor did I ever expect it to. I’m an annoying purist, but I’m ok with light pop-corn horror if done right, and that film did it right.

So with that in mind, I was utterly blown away by the very, very R-RATED kills in the opening 10 minutes. It was a brutal onslaught of gore. It was Landon’s way of saying, “Relax, horror bros, I got you.” It was like a Greatest Hits from decades ago but with a fresh spin on it. Slashers got a little lazy in the last few years, and this film just let it all hang out in that opening scene. It was ballsy as all hell, and I was totally on board. And luckily it didn’t just stop there.

This one has all the tropes of classic stabby fright flicks. Huge emotionless killer? Check. Ominous mask? Check. St upid teenagers getting in trouble? Check. Inventive kills that make you cackle “Holy Shit”? Check. Twists and turns? Check. A growing body count? Check. Final girl? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that swaps that final girl with that emotionless killer and that’s where you get something new and different!

And if you’re coming into this one from a comedy perspective, this one has all the tropes of classic high school movie. Insecure lead going through an awkward time? Check. Supportive comic relief friends? Check. Parents that just don’t understand? Check. Villainous teachers? Check. Mean girls? Check. Huge awkward misunderstandings? Check. And let’s throw in an occult artifact in the mix that causes said misunderstandings and that’s where you get something new and different!

That new and different wouldn’t be what it is without the standout performance from the two leads, Vince Vaughn & Kaythryn Newton. Vaughn is the aforementioned creepy masked killer. He’s wonderfully cast here as a towering, silent brute. Vaughn of course might be known for his comedic work, but he’s actually got an impressive range that’s very rarely utilized (see BRAWL AT CELLBLOCK 99 for more details). Here he excels as the Butcher. Effective, brutal, and cold. He’s been on a killing spree lately, which we see a bit of at the beginning, and he’s definitely looking to kill some more. And it looks like he found a spooky looking occult dagger

Newton, known to genre fans from her recurring role in SUPERNATURAL, is very likeable as the main lead, Millie. Having recently suffered from the loss of her father, Millie is currently dealing with the ongoing depression that the loss put on her mother, as well as her own struggles to return to normality. Can she survive a day at school from the usual trials, tribulations, bullies, and high school crushes, let alone a serial killer lurking nearby?

And thus their two paths meet in the most unexpected (or very expected) of ways. We soon witness a thrilling chase, very reminiscent of the best Michael Myers and Jason hunts-- in fact this whole chase actually takes place on the eve before Friday the 13th, a very knowing wink to the genre that birthed this film. And soon the Butcher, with Millie in his grips, claims his latest victim… only he doesn’t… darn those occult daggers!

And that’s when the two leads really showcase their acting chops. Vaughn is now a frazzled high school student, and Newton is the silent and sinister stalker. Both take on their new roles excellently and they both embody (heh) them flawlessly. Vaughn is awkward and fragile and Newton is menacingly fierce as fuck. Newton utterly transforms into someone else and her performance is a total triumph. Vaughn is adorable.

Seeing them both re-interact/meet with their friends (and foes) in their new forms is endless fun. You see Vaughn run like a girl and Newton go on a homicidal spree. You see Vaughn give off his best flirty eye and Newton’s best glare of doom. They both seamlessly fill their new roles.

But it’s not quite the seamless exchange for Millie and the Butcher. Millie clumsily gets used to their bigger and stronger frame… and the Butcher realizes they are not as strong as they once were. A lot of what works about this ride is seeing how they both adapt to their new struggles and use it to their advantage. The Butcher has a new mask, and Millie soon finds confidence in herself in her new self.

The supporting cast is used with great effect, too. They all get us to where we need to be. Everyone serves a purpose. From the mom, to older sister/cop, to the comic relief, to the love interest, and classmates of varying degrees of douchebagginess. Everyone is either likeable or unlikeable as they should be. There’s even a nice nod to previous academic farces with a cameo from FERRIS BUELLER’S Alan Ruck as an asshole shop teacher.

Director Christopher Landon is really slicing out a nice niche of off-kilter spins in the horror genre, and it’s reassuring that he knows what he’s doing. It truly is a well-crafted film. Not just as a horror film, but also from a technical standpoint. The pacing is dead perfect, every joke hits, the story beats and setups are well orchestrated, and not a moment is wasted. It’s tense when it needs to be tense, gory when it needs to be gory, and legit laugh out loud moments when it needs to have those LOL moments.

It’s such a great spin to the body-swap comedy genre, a genre that feels like there’s an endless amount where they all sort of felt very “samey”; especially in the 80s, where at one point three different body-swaps came out within 2 years of each other! This one takes the better elements of those, relishes in them, carves new ground, and adds a bit of Tom Hanks’ BIG in for good measure.

But homage to a decade old cinematic fad aside, at no point does it ever stop delivering on the humour and slasher content. It’s tight, daring, and keeps you enthralled throughout. Whether you’re a horror junkie, or into well-written oddball comedies, or even into clever thrillers, the end result has you covered.

There’s a great message in there too, as the film tackles school killings, social media, pc culture, and the general malaise many of us experience after the loss of a loved one. It’s about grief and acceptance and moving on… yet it’s very light-hearted. And you still get ample buckets of blood and splatter.

Yes, fans, there’s so many gruesome and cool looking on screen deaths your morbid heart’s desire. Amazing uses of wine bottles, tennis rackets, chainsaws, and industrial equipment. A creepy serial killer flophouse complete with creepy mannequins and various implements of torture. Possibly a severed head in a bloody toilet? Yeah, this film has that too.

You can currently rent this one on various VOD services. Hopefully this one hits the majority of streaming services soon, since it had the misfortune of opening late last year during the pandemic. It definitely needs a wider audience because it’s another one of those instant classics. It’s easily my favourite current horror-comedy, and I’m looking forward to more from Christopher Landon. A film that’s both goofy and gory with just enough twists to keep your attention and please jaded genre fans? That’s freaky.

#horror #horror movies #blumhouse #freaky #kathryn newton #vince vaughn #Christopher Landon #Slashers #movie reviews #film reviews #body swap #moviesrotbrains #movies rot brains #universal

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jyiori · 5 years ago

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Slow and Steady

Arcana Fan Fiction | Khayalan Alnazar x Adrian Devorak It’s time for some self-indulgence~ Thank you ever so much for lending me Adrian, dear @lazyvoyager ~ I had a great time with this one, it’s been a while! A long one, so I’ll be keeping things under the cut. Lime? Lemon? Warning. Exploring their dynamics, mostly... I think I love them a little too much ><

Notes: Kak means elder sister / respectful / endearing term to refer to an elder female in Malay Flickering amber hues lighted the otherwise dark, dingy place. The stench of sweat, booze, and the odd sickeningly sweet perfume constantly permeated the air, while one find themselves easily drowned out by the ambient sounds of shouting matches, raunchy jokes and loud guffaws. The Rowdy Raven has always been one of Khayalan’s favourite haunts, more so because it was so effortless to mingle with the crowd and blend in with the unusual crowd that frequented the place. It was harder to go unnoticed that very night, though. The entire crew and cast members of the Vesuvian community theater’s latest performance were crammed into a large corner of the seedy tavern. Fans, admirers and detractors alike jostled for a closer spot to mingle with the cast, especially the star performers. Tall and graceful with a roguish charm, Khayalan Alnazar was born with beguiling violet eyes, lush raven locks streaked with blue and a devilishly disarming smile. He was used to being the center of attention most of the time, although his head seems far in the clouds that night. Holding his fifth tankard of Salty Bitters of the evening, he gave it a mild shake and gazed unseeingly at the swirling contents. The others paid him no heed and partied on, they knew better to than to intrude when he was in one of his ‘moods’, more so if it involves brooding over a pair of smoky grey eyes. “Isn’t that one of the Devoraks?” drawled a fellow performer, rousing him from his reverie. She indicates a heavily bejeweled hand across the room towards the entrance of the tavern doorway, where the feisty Rhys Devorak stood in an intense discussion with two rough-looking individuals that dwarfed her being. Khayalan swerved his head in sudden interest, although his enthusiasm simmered down a little when upon locating and recognizing the owner of the mop of auburn hair. “Mmn…Rhys. Why?” It didn’t take long for him to fully grasp the gravity of the situation, his eyes narrowing in distaste as one of the men started brandishing a huge fist close to his friend’s face. "I owe you one, kak Zita," he murmurs as he gets up swiftly, lips briefly brushing across the back of the veiny outstretched hand she lazily offered to him. Knowing eyes followed idly as the determined figure navigates deftly through the crowd to reach his friend. A slow, satisfied smirk appears on her face as she reaches across the table to claim Khayalan’s drink for herself – he won’t be coming back anytime soon. The oracle chuckled quietly to herself, a toothy grin showing a glint of solid gold filings. Ah. So easy, so very predictable. If the constellations are right, as they usually are… you owe me a lot more than just one, dear boy. ~~~ It wasn’t before long that Khayalan got the full gist of the dealings between Rhys and the ruffians. Negotiating a new deal however, seemed pretty bleak since his friend already traded off the item they were clamoring for. They were insistent on having her drink from a special brew as a wager, although it was as obvious as daylight what shady contents might be involved. “So back OFF, pretty boy,” the taller of the duo snarls vehemently. “Lil’ missy here deals with us.” “HEY WHO ARE YOU CALLING LITTLE –” “Look.” The word was quietly spoken, yet the icy tone it took froze all parties involved. Holding up a hand, Khayalan waited until he had the full attention of Rhys the disgruntled men. “A deal is a deal, no? Sailor’s oath? Or whatever you call it,” his eyes glinted dangerously, though he continued smiling as he spoke. “If I manage to finish every single drop of liquor wagered without passing out, that fulfills her part of her bargain. Both of you shall no longer give her trouble, yes?” Their eyes bulged almost out their sockets at the blatantly confident proposal, even Rhys tugged on his sleeve urgently. “Khayal, there’s poison –” He turns slightly to face her, long hair falling over his shoulder and obscuring part of his face from the debating brothers. Eyes narrowed into reptilian slits, he gives her a conspiratorial wink – and it returns to normal in a blink. She stares, realization dawning on her face. Oh. Right. Rhys had quite forgotten that her friend was immune to most common poisons. Not that she was really thrilled to test that theory out, but it did seem like an extremely useful skill to have in this particular situation. The brunette crossed her arms with a pout, tapping her feet on the ground impatiently. She would have preferred an all-out brawl, she’s pretty confident about winning, anyway. “Do. We. Have. A. Deal?” Khayalan enunciated each word slowly, taking a threatening step towards the towering men. They looked at each other nasty grins, passing half a bottle of uncorked wine over. He gives the wine a cursory sniff, sheer bravado waning when he couldn’t really tell what sort of poison it holds. With blind determination and a hopeful prayer, the man downs the contents as it is. Waiting eagerly for the alcohol’s effects to take hold, the duo was sorely disappointed to note even after half an hour of patient waiting – it seemed to have zero influence on the dark-haired male. Only Rhys noticed the small slips in her friend’s façade, the slight slurring of his words, the almost imperceptible flush on his bronze skin and the sweat that started beading on his face. Of course, she was not going to point that out to the thugs. Cursing the defective product and bemoaning their bad luck, the two shambled away from the establishment with their loss. Literally moments after they were safely out of earshot, Khayalan’s body gave an involuntary violent shudder and he swayed, staggering to keep his balance. Quite alarmed, the younger Devorak rushed forward to support him by the shoulder. Only upon contact does she realize that his body was almost feverishly hot. “Rhys. Rhys. I don’t think… this was such a good idea after all,” he whined pitifully, trying to walk in a straight line as she tried her best to drag him along. “You think? Idiot,” came the curt reply. “We should have stuck to my plan and kicked their butts.” There was a brief silence when all could be heard was Khayalan’s labored breathing and gasps for air, and then he broke into a faint smile upon hearing her voice again, in the faintest whisper. “…thank you. Idiot.” How they managed to arrive in one piece at the Devorak household was a mystery. Both of them were sweating bullets with the physical exertion by the time they arrived – to be greeted by an extremely upset elder brother. “Thank you for standing up for Rhys,” Adrian grimaced and shuddered at the possible scenarios that might have played out if her friend was not present. He bustled about preparing a large array of various antidotes, laying the herbs on the table. Shooing his protesting sister unceremoniously off to bed, Adrian directs a question the patient who seemed to have grown extremely fidgety in his presence. “Please can you try to describe the taste of the poison?” ~~~ Thus it soon came to light that the poison was in fact, not truly poison after all. In fact, it was an enhanced aphrodisiac. After learning the full story behind their shenanigans, the doctor felt utterly bewildered and plain exasperation about the way both of them handled the entire incident. Prescribing restful sleep as a cure, he settled Khayalan into his own bed for the night. Returning with a fragrant jug of hot lemon tea, Adrian gulped audibly and almost dropped the entire jug on the floor as he came across the sight of Khayalan. Pants nowhere to be seen, his top was dipped low to reveal an ample amount of glistening skin, almost barely covering his manhood. With the alluring expression on his face and legs spread slowly and seductively, the combined effect set poor Adrian’s face on fire with a ferocious blush and he involuntarily took a step backwards. Unsettled by the tepid reaction, Khayalan buried his face into the pillow without much thought, mumbling vague apologies as he tried sinking himself into the bed entirely. It was only a few seconds that the doctor took to set down the jug of water, quickly covering up Khayalan’s body with a blanket – but to Khayalan, it felt like an eternity. He felt a dip in the bed beside him, and a slightly hesitant but soothing hand on his back, calmingly stroking him in a circular motion until his trembles and incoherent mumbling stopped entirely. “You’ll be fine in the morning, Khayalan,” said the doctor, his voice coming out oddly hoarse. “It’s just the effects of the tampered wine.” “What if it isn’t?” the muffled response came from the depths of the pillow. Adrian blinks slowly, uncomprehending. As the younger man sits up on bed to face him, woeful hazy purple eyes meet the clear greys. “Am I not allowed to love you?” “It pains me so… doctor. Knowing I’m in love with someone unreachable.” There was forlorn sadness in Khayalan’s voice, his shoulders drooping like a wilted rose as he gazed mournfully at Adrian through his long lashes. Almost reflexively, he shifts closer towards the doctor to get a better look… oh how he simply longed to kiss away the worries in those constantly furrowed brows. Upfront honesty was rare for him, and it gave him comfort that he would have alcohol as an excuse to fall back on the next day. His mind raced ahead, fabricating even more excuses and jokes to brush off the confession. Perhaps nothing in the world would have prepared him for the answer he received. “I think… I do care for you,” Adrian blurted out despite himself, the fiery blush on his face evident down to the last freckle, especially in such close proximity. “Doct– …Adrian?” Their noses were almost touching, hot breaths mingling together. Adrian felt the heat flush on his face, but somehow, he wasn’t able – simply couldn’t tear his gaze away from the half-lidded violet eyes. Khayalan voice was slightly hoarse, yet oh so soft as he gently cupped the side of the brunette’s face with one hand, tracing the outline of his trembling lower lip with the other, “Please… may I?” It came as a surprise when the doctor made the first move. As he shifted forwards suddenly, their lips meet in a clumsy crash. Eyes widening in astonishment at first, Khayalan smiled into the kiss as he closed his eyes to savour the moment. Their arms seek each other urgently, enveloping one another with a passionate embrace that closed the distance between. He fell back onto the bed obediently at the slightest push, raven locks of hair splayed wildly over the pillows. To his absolute delight, the doctor pressed further, deepening the kiss for some long, wild seconds before releasing him to catch a breath. Instinct and heated desire taking over, Adrian finds himself trailing bruising kisses down the smooth bronze skin. Was it because of the taste of the potent drugs on Khayalan’s lips? It was as if his mind was taken over by a haze of lust. Encouraged by the tantalizing soft moans and the way the younger man arched his back for more, more – the temptation was almost too great for him to stop. However, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind kept whispering to him, a voice of reason that told him what he was doing was very, very wrong. Panting slightly, Adrian realized belatedly his own predicament as he found his arms caging the younger man… feeling a slow heat rise from his arousal as it pressed itself snugly against the other’s. Yet even amidst this moment of passion, Khayalan was quick to catch the flicker of worry that creased his love interest’s brow, the flash of uncertainty that came with it. Carefully, gently, he chooses his words, touching a reassuring hand to Adrian's flushed face, “Will you… take me?” He reads the relief in the other man’s eyes as the reply came, quite readily, as his mind snapped back to sudden clarity at the question. “No.” “Just. Not… today. Not like this,” Adrian added, apologetically. Slightly soothed by the understanding smile he received, he hastily disentangled himself from the bed to excuse himself from the room. A warm hand softly catches his wrist as he turns to leave, and he finds himself once again lost in Khayalan’s pleading gaze. “Please, will you stay?” Relenting with a crooked smile, he picks up a book from the nearby desk and settles himself into the chair next to the bed. Mustering his most practical doctor-like voice, he sternly chides the other figure, "I'll be here. Now, sleep." Comforted by Adrian’s presence, Khayalan drifts off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. It was unusually difficult for the young doctor to concentrate on his medical book tonight, especially when he was having difficulty willing his unattended business to calm down. Busying himself, the doctor methodically sets out fresh clothes for his sister’s friend to change into for the morning, blushing lightly as a vision of Khayalan in his own clothes comes unbidden into his mind. He heaves a sigh as he sits back in the chair, frowning at the book unseeingly. Unbeknownst to him, the reason he was having difficulty comprehending was probably because he held it upside down, and mostly because he kept stealing glances at the sleeping beauty. What. WAS that about? Long, delicate eyelashes. Inky black hair with the dash of colour. Adrian had often caught himself wondering more than once, how it would feel like to run his hands along it. To idly twirl his fingers around the dark blue streaks and watch as it bounces back upon letting go. And that he wondered, even as a child when Khayalan made frequent visits to play with Rhys. Adrian himself always had his nose buried in a book. Yet he puzzled, for a long time… if those secretive glances and winning smiles Khayalan threw in his direction were truly meant for him. The odd times he would find new, difficult-to-obtain books on his meticulously scribbled read-list placed on his desk. Never an indication as to whom or where it came from, but always, always with the faint lingering smell of sandalwood incense that prevailed through the Alnazar household. They were cordial friends, that much is certain. It was mostly because of their bond with Rhys, and also because of the closeness between their families as the Devoraks and Alnazars. Had there always been something more? The way Khayalan looked at him that sometimes made his heart race, the way he phrased his words like he was hinting at something deeper. He buries his face in his hands as he remembered his vague confession, although he doubted any amount of rephrasing would sound better. Troubled by the uncertainty of the nature of their relationship, the brunette finds his eyelids drooping as he drifts off uneasily, hands folded neatly on the book that resolutely remained upside down. ~~~ It was in the middle of the night when Khayalan woke to a heavy thud, and a mild whimper. He blinked hazily, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight. A low chuckle came from his throat as he realized that Adrian’s heavy book fell out of his lap and landed partially on his foot, and yet was tired enough to sleep through it all. Sliding smoothly out of bed, he picked up the offending book and smoothened out the creases with a murmured spell, placing it carefully on the desk. He glances at the tired person contemplatively, before just cautiously sliding an arm around the slender waist and another firmly supporting the legs. A small thrill made his heart beat faster as Adrian’s head lolled backwards, nuzzling into his neck. In slow, confident strides Khayalan reaches the bed, setting down the sleeping person without jostling him too much. Settling right next to him, he debates if he should try giving a shoulder massage, but dismisses the idea for fear of waking him up after taking too many liberties. Instead, he contented himself with gently tracing patterns and connecting the freckles on Adrian’s skin, replaying their previous conversation in his mind. It wasn’t exactly a secret, how he felt about his best friend’s brother – but to hear reaffirmation and reassurance from Adrian himself, it was as if a dream too good to be true. As the flickering candlelight peters out eventually, sudden doubt seizes him. What if it was just a rush of adrenaline, some feral attraction based on purely instinct and nothing more? Or even worse… pity? Mind made up, Khayalan gingerly removes one of his earrings and drops it onto the pillow. Landing with a gentle thud, it gleamed inconspicuously on the white cotton folds. After a cursory survey at the clothes laid out for him to change into, he decided to go with the shirt and nothing else – the bottoms looked a little too form fitting for his liking, although it would probably look divine on the doctor himself. Pausing near the door, he cast a regretful look back at the sleeping form peacefully sprawled out on the bed. The first rays of day light filtered in the windows, casting an enchanting glow on the tousled flaming red hair. How long would it take before he could laze blissfully in those warm and comforting arms, never having to leave? A twinge of dread fills him – what if this was the last time he ever gets this close? So he stared, long and hard, committing the scene to memory. From the unruly locks that framed Adrian’s chiseled features, the way the sun kissed that delightfully freckled skin, the loosened collar that showed a delicious sample of skin. Khayalan drinks in the sight thirstily like a man deprived of water, blows him a kiss before turning away regrettably. On his way out of the building, he casually saunters by a second, shorter redhead, mouth agape and eyes widened with incredulity. “Morning, Rhys.” There was no response, although Rhys’ wandering eyes intently took in her brother’s shirt and the questionable blemishes unapologetically displayed on her friend’s neck and collarbone. Before she could come to, Khayalan flashed her a smug smirk before winking conspiratorially and disappeared from the front door. It was seconds after he barely left before a high-pitched shriek of “ADRIAN–” resonated throughout the building, leaving the young lad convulsing with mirth. There was a tremendous bang on Adrian’s bedroom door, kicked open with full force. An excited Rhys stormed into the room like a mini tornado, knocking over a stack of books in her haste. “Wha…?” the prone figure startled awake, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus. “…Rhys?” “…didn’t think you had it in you,” she chatters away at top speed, not really noticing the lack of a proper response. “WAS that why you wouldn’t let him sleep in my room??” Wearily, Adrian stretches out his long limbs, his mind duly registering that he was in fact, in bed and not on the chair. Waking up with a start, his eyes darts to the empty space next to him, that side of the bed fully made up. The glint of gold on the pillow next to his catches his eye as his sister drones on, “Hey. Hellooooo, are you even listening-” Carefully picking up the delicate trinket, Adrian makes a conscious decision to return it to its owner that very day. … … Except that he nearly didn’t. ~~~ The clinic was busy throughout the day, and by the time the last patient left, it was almost dark. As the young doctor reached the magician’s shop, it stood silent and empty of its usual inhabitants. Undeterred, Adrian takes out the earring Khayalan left behind and cast out for the familiar trace of magic. Although there was a large concentration of magic residue at the shop, a fresher trail led away from the building. As he followed the gradual pull of magic, Adrian eventually found a lone figure perched upon tall crates at the docks. Heat flushed his face when Adrian realized the other individual was still wearing nothing but the shirt he lent, yet worry creased his brow as he saw how those downcast eyes were staring forlornly at the setting sun. Did Khayalan wait for an entire day…? The doctor cleared his throat audibly, rousing Khayalan from dark thoughts. The way Khayalan face alighted with joy, the dazzling smile he offered was such a stark contrast from the previous mood that it took Adrian’s breath away. With the grace of a feline, the other man leapt down from his perch and landed easily beside him. “Hey. You found me.” Wordlessly, Adrian offered the earring back to its owner, whose fingers tingled with warmth as they lingered a few moments on his hand. Surprise coloured his voice, almost as if he entirely forgotten about the jewellery he left behind, “Oh. Thanks.” There was growing disappointment in Khayalan’s heart when Adrian remained silent, although he tried to smooth things over by talking quickly. If the doctor was having second thoughts, perhaps a hasty exit would be the best for all parties involved. Turning away abruptly from Adrian, he started walking away even as he started his monologue, “Sorry… you had to come all the way for just this. I can drop off your shirt with Rhys later, after I get it washed…” Yet he didn’t manage to get far before Adrian’s shaky voice called out, halting his footsteps. “Khayal, please.” “We need to talk.” As he faced the doctor again, there was a gradual tinge of blush on Adrian’s countenance that Khayalan had not noticed in the first place, and it gave him wild hope. Sensing that Adrian was struggling with words, he offered his own. “…did you really mean what you said last night?” Khayalan’s voice was so soft that it was almost drowned by the gentle crash of the waves. The brilliant blush on Adrian’s face bloomed to the tip of the ears, and his lowered gaze fell to his own boots as Khayalan continued, “That you also care… about me, that way?” “…Yes.” Adrian mumbled without looking up, still focusing his attention on his feet. He could hear the other man shift, hear the wooden boards creak lightly under soft footsteps, and finally a pair of feet came into view, right in front of him. Still, there was enough space. He could breathe. He focused on it, taking deep breaths, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. He was… confused. It was unusual to be overwhelmed by feelings, of this sort. No amount of reading or research could have prepared him for this. A firm hand tipped his chin upwards, letting go when his gaze lands once again on pleading violet eyes. “Would you allow me a chance…? A chance to get to know you better?” A flicker of surprise came over the red-head. Honestly, he half-thought it would be a more… difficult or intimate request. There was a slight pause, only the soothing sound of waves crashing on the rocks in the background. “I saw another shipment of books come in the other day. Maybe we can go book hunting? Or…perhaps reading… together? Drop by the theatre? Maybe, tea?” the words just tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to please, as Khayalan prattled suggestions one after another. It was all so very simple and contrary to his many worries, that Adrian just stared blankly – and then started laughing heartily, tension dissipating from his shoulders. “Perfect,” he gasped, after catching his breath and regaining his composure with difficulty. “What, tea?” a seemingly perplexed look coming over Khayalan’s face, unconsciously twisting his fingers together. “All of them.” And the dear doctor smiled, that perfect crooked smile that always made Khayalan’s heart skip a beat. Things were off to a great start. He can live with that. Khayalan reached out to Adrian then, lightly wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him closer till their foreheads were resting against each other. They stayed like that for a while, eyes closed and noses gently nuzzling, when Adrian finally placed his hands around the other’s waist – closing the gap entirely. Even with the cooling salty mist that the waves sprayed, Khayalan could feel the heat of the fierce blush on Adrian’s face. With the warm reassurance of the hands place tentatively around his waist, life seemed like it couldn’t feel any better. It felt… it just felt right. Tipping his toes slightly to reach upwards, he placed a tender kiss right between the ever-worrying eyebrows. “Thank you.” ~~~ And thank YOU for reading it, if you’ve made it this far~! 50 points to whichever House you belong to! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

#my writing #arcana fanfic #self indulgent #lemon #khayalan and adrian #khayalan #adrian #rhys

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crimsonrae · 4 years ago

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Bear and Birdie

Chapter Five

Summary: AU Howard only ever had Birdie to confide in as a child and Steve only ever had Bucky. So, what happens when more than just a supersoldier serum connects these people? Told in a collection of one-shots and flashbacks, rating subject to change.

Bucky BarnesxOFC

Rating: Mature

Chapter Five

1937 Queens, New York

"Hey lady, are you sure you want to be let out here? It ain't exactly a nice neighborhood, you know?"

Elena's eyes pulled from the darkened street to meet the worried gaze of her cab driver. He was nice as far as cab drivers went, smart too. He had picked up that she wasn't from around these parts. Her clothes while simple were well made and clean. Her hair curled and pinned. She presented a well kept facade – a complete contrast from the world outside the cab. She offered him a rueful smile as she gazed out to the club she was to enter. A few men lollygagged outside, smoking and generally just shooting the breeze. For a moment, she contemplated how the night made men seem more sinister.

She sighed, "Yes, this my stop."

The driver opened his mouth to question her again when she opened her purse and handed him his fare, plus a tip. He sighed quietly to himself as he thought of his Millie coming to a place like this by herself. It didn't sit right with him to let out this nice girl. She'd be eatin' alive, "Look, do you want me to come in with ya? Or wait?...this place really isn't safe, doll."

Elena's smile tightened at the pet name and she had to force herself not to react. The man before her was simply trying to be nice. She glanced at the club again, "I shouldn't be longer than twenty minutes and my cousin's inside. He has a car here."

"If you're sure." The cabbie mumbled hesitantly, already planning to stick around to make sure she got out okay.

"I am." Elena replied as she stepped out of the cab without a glance back. She missed the cabbie shaking his head as he watched her stroll up to the club as if she owned the place. He wasn't sure if she didn't notice the leers of the men standing outside or was just ignoring them. God, he hoped his Millie never had reason to come to place like this.

What the cabbie didn't see was the firm icy glare that had fallen over Elena's expression as she headed for the doorman. It was just past midnight and she had been lucky to get a cab at all – but Howard had missed their dinner appointment. Not an unusual event, but his disappearance from his home the past few days, coupled with the stressful events that were currently surrounding Stark Industries and by default Howard. Well...she knew there were only a few places that her cousin would disappear to, in order to relieve his stress.

This was her least favorite place.

The doorman only held her gaze for a split second before he simply took the money she palmed him and let her inside. He could practically feel the irritation wafting off of her and seemed to know better than to question her presence. Elena paid the man little mind as she stepped inside and followed a set of stairs to a basement. The steps seemed to vibrate with the noise of raucous jeering and deep laughter as she grew closer to her destination. She ignored the curious glances she received as she passed a few more men on the stairs and tried not to crinkle her nose as the hefty smells of intermingled tobacco, booze and sweat entered her nose. Normally, those smells didn't bother her, but there was something about smelling it here that made her stomach curl a little.

Finally, she stepped into the room that held a corral of men around a flimsy wooden barrier. A scowl alighted her face as she caught sight of who was inside the barrier. Howard's head snapped to the side as he took a right hook before he danced away. He was taking more hits than making any swings which only made Elena scowl harder. She quickly scrutinized his form as he danced away again. He had removed his shirt for the fight and she could clearly see the bruises that were beginning to form on his torso. It made her nervous and annoyed because she knew he had taken those hits on purpose. Whether he admitted it or not, Howard seemed to get some sick satisfaction out of being beat to a pulp. She blamed his brute of a father for this quirk.

Turning to her right, she made her way to the makeshift bar the underground brawl room hosted and tossed a few coins to the sudo barkeep for a glass of whiskey or rum or whatever was on hand. It was only when she turned back to the fight that Howard spotted her. She nearly smiled grimly as he winced – he knew he was in for an earful. His fight didn't last too much longer – he stopped messing around and finally landed a few hits much to the astonishment of the crowd. The man he was fighting had much more muscle on Howard, but her cousin was quicker. He took another hit, before he managed to knock the other man down to the ground. She wasn't sure if the fight was declared over, but there was a sudden loud barrage of yelling and her view of the ring and cousin were blocked for a few moments. She downed the rest of her liquor and moved around the crowd to find her wayward cousin.

It didn't take her long to find him as he sat slumped in a corner. He had his shirt in one hand and was speaking rapidly to a strange hulk of a man as he glanced about. More than likely he was looking for her. Her eyebrow raised as she watched the man try and pass a small bag to Howard before her cousin waved him off with a few more rapidly spoken words.

"Not going to take your winnings?" She drawled lowly as neared him.

Howard shrugged as he wrestled with his shirt. His movements slow and staccato-like belying the amount of pain he was currently in and she was in no rush to help him, "There's a guy that's fighting next – he's interesting."

Elena frowned in bemusement, "You're betting on someone?"

"Sorta..." Howard grunted as he managed to get one sleeve of his shirt on, but gave up on the other, "Just making sure he gets something when the fight's over."

Her frowned deepened as she looked over the makeshift barrier at the next two men preparing to fight. Her eyes widened as she noted the marked difference between the fighters. One was a moderately tall man with a lean muscular body – she couldn't see his face, but she wasn't much interested as she ogled his arms for a moment. The other man was huge. He reminded Elena of the purported Strong Man that she and Howard would see at the carnivals they went to as children. He even seemed as giant to Elena now as the carnival worker had when she had been much smaller. Horrorstruck, she murmured, "He's going to kill that man."

"Doubtful." Howard muttered as he slumped against the wall, too tired to try and finish putting his shirt on now. He just wanted to rest for a few minutes.

Elena eyed him in exasperation, "You're an idiot."

"Birdie..."

"One of these days, I will find these people carting out your dead body."

"At least, you don't find me unconscious anymore."

"I'm sure if I had arrived 10 minutes later I would've." Elena muttered darkly, as she finally gave into her urges to check his wounds. Quickly and gently she tilted his face into the light to see how badly bruised he would be.

Howard smirked knowingly as he watched her, "You always did ruin my fun."

"You know, I'm beginning to think you enjoy getting punched." Elena said dryly as they fell into their same old routine.

"Beginning?" Howard snorted as he looked glumly back at the ring, "Sometimes you just need to hit something, Birdie. Makes all the difference."

"You're still an idiot."

The boisterous din of the underground brawl room suddenly got much louder and both Howard and Elena looked towards the ring to see the smaller man dragging himself up by the barricade. Blood spilled down the side of his face and Elena gasped as she met steely blue-grey eyes. Despite his ruffled and ruin appearance she couldn't deny his attractiveness. Though he wouldn't remain in that state if he took any more blows to the face.

Howard chuckled lowly as he watched Elena's concern branch out to the stranger in the ring, "Don't worry, Birdie. He puts on a good show."

"Funny, that blood doesn't exactly look fake, Howard." Elena murmured as she cast another look toward the ring and the gargantuan that was barring down on the other fighter.

Howard smirked and resumed tugging at his shirt, "His name's Bobby or Buddy or something. He's one of the better bareknuckle boxers I've seen. I don't think he has much money – it's why he fights. Came in last month and I could see the poor man's ribs. He usually comes out on top."

"Usually." Elena shook her head as she looked over the rest of the crowd, "None of these men have much, but I wished they'd find a better way to make money. Doctors bills aren't kind to these types of wounds."

"That's if they actually go to a doctor."

Elena felt her stomach sink with those words. How many times had they neglected to take Howard to a doctor after one his father's discipline sessions? How many times had these men simply ignored their broken bones to save the few pennies they had made from a fight? She hated this. Biting her lip she didn't look at the ring again as she pulled the other half of Howard's shirt around and helped him slip his arm into the sleeve, "You're pathetic."

"Pathetic and an idiot. I'm really runnin' the gamut tonight." He had to force himself not to quirk a grin at Elena's glare. She may scare others, but he knew his cousin, "How'd you know I'd be here? Why are you here?"

"You missed dinner."

"Ah, a mortal sin."

Elena rolled her eyes, "Just because I've been spending a lot of time on my schoolwork doesn't mean I've been oblivious to what you rant at me." She frowned worriedly and brushed some dry blood from his cheek, "I know you. I know what's been going on at the company. I know what the board and Uncle Leo have told you. Plus I saw mother today -"

Howard's eyes widen comically as he suddenly sat up straight, "You saw Aunt Vitoria and you're just now telling me?"

Elena sent him a dry look, "Well if you had come to dinner, like you were supposed to – especially since that's where she ambushed me."

"Ah, it really is a mortal sin. What did the old hag want?" Howard asked almost jovially.

As she opened her mouth to respond another loud cheer erupted through the room, but this time Elena didn't see anyone dragging themselves into standing position. The gargantuan stood off to the side looking pleased, but she couldn't see his opponent. She was just a few steps away from the barrier before she realized she had even moved. She glanced quickly behind her to see that Howard had the same concerned glint in his brown eyes as she had in her stomach. It was only when she neared the edge of the crowd that she saw the blue-eyed fighter being helped to a bench.

Later, Elena wouldn't be able to recall what exactly possessed her, but she somehow had managed to get a bottle of whiskey and a wet rag from the bartender before appearing at the stranger's side. She could already hear Howard mocking her bleeding heart as she did so. She paused for a breath as she quickly studied him. He was younger than she expected. Closer to her age...She didn't know why she was surprised. Most of the men in here were in there early twenties.

The man had a dazed look on his face as he reached up to touch the nice gash that was gushing on his forehead – wincing as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"That was stupid." Elena commented as she caught his gaze. She honestly had no idea what she was going to do as she approached him – falling back onto her usual role of protective lecturer was most easy in that moment. And the most comfortable for her as well.

He started in surprise at the sound of her voice, before easing a chagrinned smile to his lips that she guessed was meant to be charming, "Yeah well, had to see how bad it is."

"I was talking about fighting the walking skyscraper." Elena murmured as she tilted his head back much the same way she did with Howard. Except, Howard's chin wasn't scratchy with evening scruff and didn't cause tingles to travel up her fingers. Her cousin had a few small cuts, but the gash on this man's head would require stitches. She frowned darkly before she pressed the rag against his wound.

He hissed at the sudden sharp pain from her attentions and almost glared up at her, "Yeah well, it was good money."

"You lost." Elena pointed out unimpressed as she silently passed over the bottle of whiskey.

"Had 'im on the ropes." He took it almost suspiciously, though it only took him a quick second to get the bottle open and take a pull, "Who're you?"

"Concerned citizen." She replied blandly as checked to see if the bleeding had stopped, "You should get this looked at."

"I'll be fine." He muttered a little too quickly as he smiled slowly at her, "Though it's nice to have a pretty lady looking after me. You wouldn't happen to be my guardian angel would ya?"

Elena felt her lips twitch with amusement as she tried to stifle a smile, "Sorry, can't say that I own a pair of wings...More partial to horns anyway."

The man nearly choked at her words, before grinning slyly, "Yeah? Nice dame like you?"

"Dame? I'm not royalty." Elena retorted as gestured for him to put his hand on the rag. She glanced over toward Howard to see how If you would like to be tagged in my stories please add yourself to the taglist linked in my bio!!he was doing and nearly snorted as she saw him half-asleep against the wall.

Her new ward followed her gaze and raised a brow, "He your beau?"

Now it was Elena's turn to choke a little as she shook her head, "No, my idiot cousin. Apparently, he felt the need to get punch drunk as well."

She felt more than saw him nod, "I've seen him in here before – never takes the money."

"Hmm."

"Somehow, the guys that fight after him always get that dough." He continued on as he studied his guardian angel's carefully blank face, "You two aren't from around here, are you?"

Elena shrugged, "Depends on what you determine as 'around here'. I should be getting back to him. Take care of yourself..."

"Bucky." He supplied with twinkling eyes – though whether that was from his concussion or not, Elena couldn't guess.

Yet, the name made her pause, "You're joking."

He shook his head, before shrugging, "What's wrong with Bucky?"

"It's a child's name."

"Well I did receive it when I was a child" Bucky pointed out, silently delighting in the muted exasperation in her ocean blue eyes. He had no idea who the woman standing before him was, but he wasn't one to deny the attentions of a beautiful stranger. If he could keep her in engaged in their strange conversation for as long as possible, the better.

"I would say you're not still a child, but I just watched you tousle like one." Elena returned as she smirked at the indignant look that flashed across his face.

"I'm beginning to see those horns you were talking about." Bucky murmured as he pulled the rag away from his head and smiled ruefully at her.

Elena couldn't help, but laugh, "Oh, trust me, this is me being nice. Besides you can't tell me that's what you get the girls to call you."

"How do you think I got this name?" Bucky grinned wickedly, his insinuation more than obvious.

A curious thrill traveled up Elena's spine as she gazed at him, "Now, I know you're joking."

"James Buchanan Barnes. That's my given name." Bucky said sagely as he gave her a pointed look. As if challenging her to find something wrong with his full name.

"So Bucky came from Buchanan, then"

He shook his head firmly destroying any notion that Elena had on his name. A small smile that she couldn't quite identify fell across his lips as he quietly explained, "My dad. He called me Bucky – said I bucked up his day and it just seemed to stick."

"Oh." Elena said quietly as she felt herself soften at the cherished memory. She hadn't missed his use of past tense either.

"No one really uses my given name." Bucky continued as he ignored her sudden understanding glance

"They should, it's a nice name." She met his gaze with a small smile, trying not to blush as his grin turned cocky. She couldn't remember the last time a man had made her blush just by talking.

"You think -"

"Birdie."

Bucky and Elena looked up to see Howard ambling towards them, looking far younger than his eighteen years. Elena for her part, rolled her eyes when she saw that his attention was more on the buttons of his shirt than the conversation he had interrupted. His swollen fingers fiddle with the small piece of plastic, unable to get it through the hole. He finally looked up blearily, "I'm tired."

"Oh?" Elena drawled sagely as she quirked a brow, "Did getting beat to a pulp wear you out?"

Howard scowled, "Don't patronize me."

"He calls you Birdie, and you have a problem with Bucky?" Bucky stated in disbelief as he watched the cousins.

"I don't tell people to call me Birdie. He's the only one that can get away from it." Elena retorted as she watch her cousin analyze the man beside her.

"This is true. The last person to call her Birdie, who wasn't me, ended up with a black eye." Howard stated sagely as grinned winning at Bucky, "You look like a train wreck, no wonder my cousin likes you."

"Howard!"

"She goes for train wrecks, huh?" Bucky asked curiously as he sent her a teasing smile as she glared at him.

Howard shrugged, "I don't think she can help it. She's studying to be a nurse."

"And I'm going to wait in the car." Elena muttered as she watched the boys become quick friends.

"You don't have the keys."

Elena pulled her hand from her purse, "You mean these keys?"

Howard quickly patted his pockets to find that his keys were indeed missing, as was his wallet. He scowled at her, "Thief."

"Brute." She turned with a nod toward Bucky, "It was nice to meet you, James."

Bucky had eased himself into a standing position. Not sure what to do, but knowing that he didn't want her to leave just yet, "Wait, I didn't get your name."

Elena merely smiled slyly at him as wandered to the door while Howard chortled lowly, "Sure you did. It's Birdie."

Bucky blinked as he watched Howard saunter after Elena – not really sure if he would ever see the two cousins again or at the very least if he would ever see her again. They seemed to disappear from the brawl room as quickly as they had appeared to Bucky. So lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice Mac approaching him. The older burly man was the only one trusted to act as bookie during the fights. He knew the amount of each purse and who was to get what. His presences wasn't unusual, but the fact that he was approaching Bucky that night was.

"Hey Mac, you getting' busy over there?" Bucky asked as he finally noticed the large man standing next to him.

Mac shook his head, "Same old grind, Buck. This is for you."

Bucky frowned as the bookie held out a leather purse to him. He hadn't expected to win much of anything that night. His opponent had kicked his scrawny ass, after all, "What's this?"

"That rich kid you were talkin' to. It's his winnins from his fight. Said to give it to whoever lost the next one." Mac explained as he pushed the purse at Bucky again, "That would be you."

Hesitantly, Bucky reached out for the bag. It was heftier than he thought it would be. Not much was usually put into the fight purses. He glanced quizzically at Mac, but the older man had already ambled back to his corner of the brawl room. Curiously, he tugged open the purse to see a note laying on top.

Elena Marie Turner.

He smirked as he twisted the paper between his fingers and wondered when exactly when she had the time to slip the note in there.

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