#The skull is of a crow and not raven but close enough

[iheartchv]

🌿🍒Hello! I'm putting this in for the mistletoe ask! Here is my info! (Also cod mwf2 please!)

I am an ISFP-T, and I have an Anxiety disorder. I make my own jewelry on occasion and have a very goblincore/corvidcore style. I like knitting and crocheting gifts for people and my love language is words of affirmation and physical touch.

Physically I'm 5'5, a bit on the heavier side and blonde. I struggle with my self esteem but I'm in a pretty good spot recently.

Romantically, I have a thing for people who are taller than me, and certian styles of voices. I haven't been able to pin point what types but there are some that give me butterflies

Thank you so much!

// hello~ sure thing, I hope you'll like who I picked for you~💗

Your mistletoe match is...

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

I think Ghost would be your match

He's tall ✔

His voice is ufff 🥴 ✔

And I think he just fits your vibe

He may seem like a tough guy but he would fall in love with you

You are a breath of fresh air to him

For the sake of the scenario let's say you have a family member in the military and they happened to be in a team led by the infamous Ghost

You had heard stories about Ghost and thought he sounded like a pretty cool guy, despite his reputation

Some few years ago there was a terrorist attack in your home country and Task Force 141 was sent to handle the job

You were being held as a hostage at gun point, and then the masked man let you go as his body went limp

You had heard a gunshot and thought you had been hit...

"Are you alright?"

You heard a gruff British voice

When you opened your eyes there was a tall man wearing a skull mask

From the stories you heard, you figured this was Ghost

As a thank you, you gave him the raven/crow with skulls bracelet you wore

"This is a nice lil' trinket..." he said as he examined the detail put into it

"Thanks... I made it."

"... You've got a talent..."

You couldn't help the light blush that colored your cheeks

Even if you thought he was just being nice, his comment made you feel happy

❤️

Ghost loves physical touch too, so be prepared to have lots and lots of that

Hugs, cuddles, snuggling under the covers

The whole shabang 🥰

During the winter time, and during Christmas time, he'll be holding you close and wrapping his arms around you...

... Pulling you close to him

He can't get enough of your soft body

Kisses...

Oh you're going to be covered in them😉

During one Christmas Eve, he'd sneak you away from any eyes and steal a kiss from you under a mistletoe

Whether it was placed there by him or someone else, you didn't know

But his kisses always made you melt 🫠

[marisramblings]

You asked for some touchstarved requests so here I am! Can I get something fluffy with mhin where kuras mentions that tonight is mhins transformation night. So the mc heads over to mhins place with some pain meds/medical supplies to help with their monster transition. First, it starts with mhin being kinda aggressive due to their monster form but ultimately ends with them cuddling afterwards once their monster form realizes the mc isn't a threat.

Went a little overkill with the word count…hope you enjoy 😅

Mhin x reader (cw cursing)

“You want me to do what?”

Kuras bites his lip. “It’s an odd request, I acknowledge that. Normally, I would go, but the most recent soulless attack has created a higher demand for my services. You’re the only other person they’re comfortable with.”

“I understand that, but I’m still lost. You want me to visit Mhin and do what exactly?” The good doctor was light on the details. Why do they require a personal home visit? Why couldn’t a courier handle this?

Voices clamor behind the clinic door. Kuras looks between it and you, eyes almost anxious. You sigh again. He’s a friend. It grates on you to see him flustered. You are close with the soulless hunter but you’re careful about it. Skittish people bolt easily, and Mhin hasn’t deemed it suitable to tell you this secret.

“Fine.”

He smiles. “Thank you, and take this.” As reticent as he seemed before, Kuras doesn’t hesitate to shove an aid kit into your hands and you out the backdoor.

“Wait,” The door slams in your face before you finish. “where does Mhin live?” You peer at the kit in your hands and see a hand drawn map taped to it. You have a strong suspicion that you’ve been played.

“I better not get eaten.”

***

How should you approach this? Mhin doesn’t know that you’re coming and imagining how the freakishly strong mercenary will react to an uninvited guest is…unpleasant. You steel yourself and knock.

“Mhin, it’s Y/N. Kuras sent me.” You wait for a minute before knocking again. You step back as the door creaks open. You can barely make out their face, but what you see isn’t good. It’s gaunt and their eyes seem even more flat and lifeless.

“Bring it in then leave.”

Whatever quip you had ready dies on your tongue. They clearly aren’t well. You nod and enter.

“Is the table fine?” You turn and see them hunched over. “Mhin, what’s wrong?” You move to their side but they push you away.

“Get back. Don’t…don’t come near me.” They collapse to the floor.

You curse Kuras. “Fuck me. Mhin, hold on.” You dive for the kit you had abandoned and start digging through it. There’s a vial marked “pain relief” and you rush back to the hunter’s side.

“Here, drink.” You lift them into your lap, but they fight.

“Mhin, hold still.”

“G—go. Before I hurt—”

Your back hits the table knocking the breath from you. You scramble to your knees as a piercing wail fills the room. You blink the stars from your vision and gasp. This is why Kuras sent you?

What used to be Mhin shakes itself and stands. A crow? A raven? Whatever it is, it stands heads taller than you with wings that span the width of the room and human-like limbs with talons longer than knives. Before you can move, you’re knocked back and pinned against a wall. You’re surrounded by large feathers that gleam in the lowlight.

“Mhinnie?” Your voice breaks.

Crazed eyes blink at you. A razor sharp beak is a few inches from slicing clean through your skull. Through the fear you feel heartache. Is this why Mhin came to Eridia? Why they also sought entrance to the Senobium?

“Ah, Mhinnie.” Even if you could unwrap the bandages, do you want to add another curse?

If you’re going to be devoured, then Mhin should know you weren’t mad in your final moments. They’ll feel guilty enough anyway.

“It’s okay.”

You close your eyes and wait for pain, but Mhin gently nudges you instead. They even angle their beak to avoid cutting you.

“Huh?”

Their eyes are calmer now, almost aware. Still not them, but the air of danger has passed.

They settle against you and you carefully reach a hand into the feathers. You stroke them. “Aw, who’s a cutie?”

They give some kind of purr, a low sound you know means they’re comfortable. You squish their face and the sound grows louder. Seems like this form is separate from normal Mhin. You’re tempted to unleash every sappy thought you’ve had about them, but exercise restraint. Not content with your lack of attention, they lean more of their weight on you. You both sink to the floor near the kit. You reach for it, patting reassurance when they chirp.

You dig deeper and find books, blankets, and a bag of sweets? “Kuras, I will murder you.” You bandage your cuts and take out some cookies, giving one to Mhin and another to yourself.

Mhin wraps around acting like a makeshift pillow of sorts. They’re clearly unaware of what they’re doing in this form and the thought of the full face blush they’d have at this makes you smile. “At least you won’t know about the nickname, will you, Mhinnie?” you coo. A wing covers your body like a blanket and you settle in for the night.

[streamdotpng]

Hozier has my brain stuck- save me please-

(I think of loss, and I can only think of you.)

Enid doesn't like death. It's nasty and gross and sad. Enid doesn't like sadness.

('I don't like it when good things go,' she'd told Yoko during lunch, recalling the life of her pet bird, 'I don't think anyone does.')

Wednesday does. Because she's weird. She likes rotting flowers and funerals and weeping, mourning people. Because she's weird.

Weirder still is that Enid doesn't dislike her. She wants Wednesday in most of the ways a friend should.

'Sometimes,' she thinks, looking at the Murder Board, 'I wonder why I got the weird ones.'

Wednesday likes taxidermy. She has a wolf's skull on her desk. She has a fucking scorpion on her desk.

For someone so loving of death, she doesn't mourn. Ever.

She's only cried when her scorpion died. She was 6.

Enid wants to see her cry- for scientific reasons. She pretty sure the tears would come out like a water gun for all of 2 seconds then stop completely. That would fit Wednesday's kookiness.

Enid wonders if she'd ever break her vow of dry eyes. She wonders what it would take.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Enid learns 3 things.

Wednesday broke her vow.

Wednesday cries for Enid.

Wednesday does cries weird.

They don't shoot out like a gun, much to Enid's dismay, but her eyes don't close. She just stares at the damage on Enid's body and stares unblinking as tears race down her cheeks.

She's touched that Wednesday cares enough about her to weep over her, but Enid's been hit in the firm of her abdominal and she'd really like it if Wednesday helped her.

There's a bruise on her stomach and it's big. It's sore.

She wonders if Wednesday would comfort her if she cried.

"I'm happy you're expressing yourself," she starts, grunting when she breathes because it's a bad hit and those muscles are needed, "but could you please fucking help me?"

Wednesday turns to her, still not blinking.

There's gold in her eyes.

"How?" It's sounds broken to Enid's ears.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe death isn't bad. Things need to end. If nothing ended, things would just get worse.

But now, Enid has a new, fresh-out-of-the-oven dilemma that she isn't sure is even actually happening to her.

She's starting to see Wednesday in death.

The little house plant she got for the dorm died because she forgot to water it.

She wonders if Wednesday knows how to revive it.

(She does; for someone with a penchant for death she's an incredible botanist.)

She sees a dead crow in the woods she uses to try and wolf out in.

She brings it back so Wednesday can taxidermy it.

(She does, she displays the animal above her desk and has it in a frame. She adds the beautiful dark feathers to her green gem earrings.)

She notices crows and ravens around her more and more. She likes to imagine Wednesday's sent eyes to watch over her, keep her safe.

She feels safer.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Enid cherishes life. All the breathing animals and glowing light and sun-warmed flowers.

And she smiles when she finds a dead flower.

-Writer Anon.

i love the way Enid had to clarify that she wanted to see wednesday cry for scientific reasons, feel like she's used needing to explain context because someone (yoko) would tease her

Wants wednesday in the way most friends should.. mhmm sure enid, sure. Convince yourself but we know what you are

and just... Enid being weirded out and most likely uncomfortable with signs of death but slowly affiliating it with Wednesday has me HSKDJADA

she totally would and vice versa with Wednesday. Girl will be in the set during a show, see the colorful outfits and wonder if Enid would've love to wear those instead of looking away at the sear of bright.

She sees the bushes of flowers and instead of walking away, unbothered, she thinks enid would've looked amazing in a flower crown

these people are so in love istg

[carmencxgni]

--For the scrying prompt, if you're still accepting it

After a minor encounter with some malevolent creatures of the night, a lone mage had retired to rest in an empty alley, sitting against a wall and focusing some kind of regenerative magic to close her wounds. As the spell kept working, her shadow took its own shape, and she seemed to be interacting with it, speaking of objectives and ruins and... turning to the crow that had been flying nearby for a bit, staring at it right in the eye.

"That's not my Kolmer," she stated with a grave voice, green flares lighting up her eyes and inside the empty eyesockets of the skull that seemed to make the phantom's head at the same time. The next thing the bird could focus on were green blasts of focused energy directed right at it.

@undyingmedium

My muse is scrying on yours. Send in something weird or concerning to see their reaction!

🔴- Another mage. Noxus may not display nearly the same cold dissonance and disdain for magic as their rivals in Demacia, but that did not mean that the Grand General simply left them unattended or unobserved. He liked to keep an eye on things. Many eyes. Those with magic always had more.

He observes the magic used, making small mental notes, her appearance, and then- she takes notice of the raven at all. The bird flutters off quickly- and if she'd paid close attention, simply dissipates. After all they aren't real birds, simply demonic energy given a mortal form.

And the vision ends, he's left staring with the knowledge that by some means she realised something was amiss, and that discernment is cause enough for him to make a note of it .

[willowedhepatica]

A raven whispered on death's shoulder. Ash in its voice and black eyes shimmering with a message. 'New life. New bearer.'

Death furrowed her brows, the upper half of her face masked by a skull of bones. Jagged and sharp, a black hood casting the rest of her in shadows. "Are you sure?"

'Oh yes, exuberant this one.' The raven crowed, ruffling up its feathers.

Beatrice fought the urge to sigh. "For what I've learned, that's a common attribute."

The raven shook its head, which was more like a quick twitch of the neck to the left. 'Not like others. Life before.'

That made her turn, just enough to face the black bird. "She was human?"

'Yes yes, they've chosen someone with a name.'

She frowned. It bothered her, not because they had chosen someone who once was mortal but the fact that she didn't have an answer as to why. She thrived in the comfort of knowledge. She never wandered. Her steps had as much purpose as the souls she retrieved and the realm that came after. But this made her wonder. It made her want to stray away from the calculated path she'd created for herself to take a look at the new bearer.

Beatrice shook her head, and thus the slipping thought of straying away from her duty. She told herself it didn't matter. That lingering on it was foolish. "Let's hope they've chosen wisely then."

—

You would think that life and death would cross paths more often than the sun rose in the sky or the moon pulled the water to shore.

But Beatrice was like a shadow, her footsteps light and hands gentle as she swept them over a body to bring the soul to her realm.

Quiet and proficient.

She felt no need to linger in the world of the living.

The first time Beatrice saw life she was sitting on the side of the road, her yellow coat that dressed her like the sun itself casting a pleasant light on the otherwise dark city.

Rain poured down but didn't seem to bother her. Patterning against her cloak before trailing down and dropping to the ground. She was smiling, looking down as she talked to someone Beatrice couldn't see. For all she knew, she wasn't talking to anyone at all.

"Hello?"

Life whipped her head up and Beatrice couldn't help but stare at her eyes. Golden brown. She got this strong feeling that those alone were the inspiration for how fire wanted to behave. Wild and dancing. Certainly, unmistakably alive.

They flickered with something Beatrice couldn't depict. Then she tilted her head to the side, brown strands of hair slipping over her eyes as her smile widened. "We have been waiting for you."

Beatrice forced herself to look down. "We?"

"Yes, Blu just wanted to watch the rain for the last time."

She saw him then, the entire reason she was brought here in the first place. The cat's tail stuck out from under lifes cloak, slowly going back and forth. "He's a little nervous."

"There's no need. It's simply a pass between two realms." The answer was automatic.

"You make it sound so irrelevant."

"Excuse me?"

Life leaned down and moved her cloak slightly, revealing a tiny nose and ears that turned down in alarm. Its translucent body shimmering a soft blue. "It's a pretty big deal for him so it is for me too."

Beatrice pressed her lips together. She would certainly not regard it as irrelevant. But wasn't it that simple? Just something that was a part of life – or what came after.

"It's a big deal for you?"

Life nodded. "Of course it is! I mean, just look at them. Everything they have been through and what has shaped them to who they are."

"I don't see why that's important."

"Not important?" Life flung up and Beatrice couldn't help but take a step back when she began walking towards her. "Don't you speak to them? Don't you see how important this is because it is a part of their journey. It is nothing irrelevant." She stood close to her now, the cat tucked in her arms, watching her wearily. "Isn't it your job to make sure they feel safe while crossing over?"

She was staring at her now, those brown eyes boring into her and she had to consciously tell herself not to squirm. "I can assure you that they are safe with me."

To Beatrice's surprise, life shook her head at the answer. "Don't tell me that. Tell Blu."

Beatrice never really talked to the souls she needed to bring with her. There was no need to. Her job was only to make sure they crossed between the realms safely.

And she had certainly not learnt any name. She had always been told it was disadvantageous. A name was a connection. A connection to something she couldn't have. Couldn't savour. Because before she knew it, they were gone. She was the bridge, and bridges weren't meant for anyone to bide.

Her lips twitched, and she took her hand forward to sweep over the anxious cat. "It's not wise to form a connection with a soul. It will only Impede in what must be done."

Life watched as the cat's body slowly fragmented to what looked like small stars. Trailing around her hand and collecting in deaths folded hands.

Beatrice turned to leave.

"No way you really believe that."

She stopped, jaw tightening. "Look, I know you're new to this but you need to understand, this is our duty. Not a game."

"I don't think this is a fucking game, just," she threw her hand ups helplessly. "I don't know. I don't even know why they chose me."

She couldn't help but look her over then. The emotions etched in her face, more prominent than what should be considered acceptable. She looked too human. Still, Beatrice didn't correct her on it, couldn't help but be intrigued. Why did they choose her? "They must have had their reasons."

She jerked her shoulders up. "Maybe, for all I know it could be an acciden–"

"No, that's not possible." It came out sharper than she expected and life took a step away. Beatrice opened her mouth to apologise but stopped herself last second, instead turning away. "It doesn't matter now, I need to leave."

"Hey, wai-"

Beatrice closed her eyes. She was gone before life could finish her sentence. She sighed when she realised where she was. The darkness was familiar.

The raven crowed from where it sat. 'I told you.'

"Don't start it."

Yeah, this was going to be a problem.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

You know I just have to give you a Calamórë request and those smut prompts made me go brrrrr so hear me out

“i’m going to fuck your so hard you’re going to forget that guys name”

I'm thinking another modern au but honestly it could work in normal verse too. Just imagine a bit of a possessive Manwë thinking that someone is getting a bit too friendly with his little crow ( you can decide who that person is! )

Hmm I'm a whore so spice level 🔥🔥🔥

Can't wait! Take your time with it, love your writing always<3

I hope you don’t mind, but I kept to the normal timeline. I also changed the prompt a wee bit, just to suit the story. I hope you like this.

“Mine”

Pairing: Calamórë 

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Possessive Manwë | Kissing | Nicknames | Some explicit language | Spanking | Rough Sex | Oral | Cream pie

Word count : 1.9K words

Summary: At a feast, Manwë finds Tilion getting too close for comfort where Námo is concerned.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form can be found here.    

The feast was nearly over. Many of the guests had already departed for their rooms. Only a few remained in Oromë's great hall. Some made the most of the food, talking and laughing while they ate, while others danced, hoping to enjoy the music a little longer before leaving.

The hall was still hazy with smoke from the fireplace. The air was still heavy with the scents of wine, fruit, cheese, and baked bread. The empty tables had been cleared, but those with occupants were served as much food and drink as they had a hunger and thirst for. A great tree stood in the middle, its lower branches spreading under the roof. Pelts and skulls of fell beasts that had fallen to the Lord of Forests decorated the walls. Manwë barely noticed them. His gaze kept cutting to Námo and the Maiar speaking with him.

Oromë called him Tilion. As skilled as his mentor, Tilion had joined the hunt for Ungoliant and Melkor and would have killed the spider himself had she not shielded herself and her dark master with an impenetrable cloud of darkness. The fact that he came so close was impressive. And he seemed to have captivated Námo completely.

Manwë didn't like it. Not one bit. Tilion said something to make Námo laugh. Then he touched Námo's arm, squeezing it ever so gently. He leaned in and got closer than he should have. Manwë had seen enough. He rose and left his seat on the dais. He needed to get the measure of this Maia trying to be all too familiar with his little raven.

"Little raven," he said when he reached Námo's side. "Care to introduce me to your new friend?"

"Your grace," Námo said, doing a double take when Manwë's jaw tensed and he stood to his full height. There was anger flashing in his king's starry eyes, and jealousy too. Even his wings were tensed. It gave him pause. "This is Tilion of the noble house of Oromë. He was talking to me about his most recent quest."

Manwë pretended to be interested. "And that quest was?"

His hand still on Námo's arm, Tilion said, "I was telling Lord Námo about the time many of us searched through an abandoned fortress that was once under the control of the Dark Lord. Lord Námo was eager to hear more."

Yes. Eager and always ready to give a listening ear and mine! Manwë fought for composure. As the king, it would have been unbecoming if he lashed out because of a fit of possessiveness. He had to find another way to tell the Maia he was stepping over a line.

"He is, to be sure," Manwë said, his glare going cold as ice and his eyes frightening. Tilion gulped and took a step back. "I find it all rather endearing, really. But I believe we cannot stay any longer. Come, little raven. It's time we said our farewells."

The term of endearment and the murderous stare were all the hints Tilion needed. He took his arm away and bowed as deeply as he could. "Of course, your grace. Farewell."

Manwë wasted no time escorting Námo out of the great hall and shepherding him to the cottage Oromë had prepared for their personal use during their stay. He was courteous to those who stopped to talk for a moment or two, but he always made his excuses. Námo went along, wondering what was going on. He would have stopped to talk to the elves that served Oromë, but Manwë was having none of it. The king wanted to go straight to their cottage, and he had no choice but to comply. He couldn't even stop to admire the garden and its sweet-smelling roses. Námo could not stop until he was safely inside, and the door slammed shut behind him.

"He touched you," Manwë growled under his breath, pulling Námo to him. The king's arms went around him like vises. "He fucking touched you."

So this was the cause of everything. Námo looked up, only to find Manwë's eyes fixed on his. "It meant nothing to me, your grace, and..."

"That may be so." Manwë cut him off and walked him back to their bedroom. "But it still doesn't change the fact that he touched you. All I can see is that pathetic Maia laying a hand on you and touching you. No one touches you but me. No one. Is that fucking clear?"

Námo nodded, heady anticipation coursing through him. He knew what the king was like when he was in such a mood. And it always ended with him bruised and sore in all sorts of wonderful ways. Námo tilted his chin, hoping to goad the king a little more.

"He did touch me," he agreed. "His hand was soft. I never knew a hunter's hand could be so soft. Usually, they're...-

Manwë crushed Námo's lips with his, drowning out the last of his words. It was a kiss that had more teeth and tongue and left Námo gasping for breath. His knees nearly buckled by the force of that kiss when Manwë growled and tightened his grip. Námo whimpered, his arms circling Manwë's shoulders. When the king pulled away, his gleaming eyes had gone hazy with lust.

"Get rid of those robes," he hissed, his voice thick and hoarse, "and get in bed. I'm going to fuck you so hard you're going to forget that Maia's name."

Námo didn't have to be told twice. His robes were disposed of in moments. His fana trembled when cool air danced over his skin. Námo got in bed, acutely aware that Manwë had been watching his every move. By the time Námo made himself comfortable amongst the silken sheets, Manwë had already begun disrobing himself. Námo's eyes wandered the length of the king's fana. Manwë's skin was flawless and seemed to defy all flaws. His wings were relaxed now, rustling softly every time he moved. When he finished, he went over to a trunk and threw open the lid, fishing around for what he was looking for. The crystal bottle glittered in the starlight streaming through the windows. Manwë brought it over and left it by the bedside counter. He pushed Námo onto his back and moved over him.

His kisses were just as rough as before. All Námo could do was whimper helplessly, his nails leaving little gouges on Manwë's back. The king was all over him, his kisses hungry, his teeth leaving dark bruises to form in their absence. Pain and pleasure mingled and licked their way up Námo's spine. His first moan spilled free.

"Do you think that Maia could make you moan like that?" Manwë's eyes were glinting in triumph. He ran his tongue over a stiffened nipple, causing Námo to moan even louder and arch his back. "Rouse you the way I do?"

"N-no your g-grace." Námo let go of Manwë and grabbed the sheets, making them bunch up around him every time his nails dug into the fabric. "He cannot."

Manwë kissed down and tugged, not too gently. His tongue took over where his lips and teeth left off, leaving a wet trail all over his companion. His hands gripped Námo's thighs every time he arched his back. And he didn't stop there. Every time Námo moaned, every time he whimpered the king's name, Manwë grew bolder, leaving very little of Námo's fana untouched. 

"Now everyone knows who you belong to." Satisfied, Manwë rose and went over to the counter. He picked up the crystal bottle and pulled out the stopper, emptying some of its contents into his hand. The ointment spread easily around his cock. He came back to bed and flipped Námo onto his stomach. Námo raised his hips, making Manwë growl in approval. 

"Already eager, little raven." Manwë grabbed Námo's waist and pulled him closer, entering him slowly and carefully. The sounds Námo made when he filled him made it sound like he was dying. 

"Y-yes, your g-grace." Námo trembled when a large hand glided over his thigh. He jumped when it struck him, and he moaned again. Manwë didn't go further, but Námo wanted more. Once was not enough. "M-more your grace. Please. Give me more."

It was music to Manwë's ears. He struck Námo's thigh once, then a second time, and a third. Each time he struck, Námo would moan long and deep. The sounds he made were like a drug. Manwë couldn't get enough of it. "Do you think that Maia could make you beg and plead like this? Like a needy little slut?"

Námo had nearly forgotten about Tilion, just like Manwë had said. "No. He cannot."

Manwë rewarded him with another spank before grabbing onto his hips. He started to move slowly and gently at first. He had to rest his legs over Námo's own. His little raven tended to squirm, and Manwë didn't want that. When Námo propped himself on his hands, Manwë let go of his hip and wrapped his hand around thick silver-grey hair, yanking on it and pulling Námo's head back with every thrust. His wings rustled every time his fana trembled. His breath grew ragged and labored. Manwë was close—so very close. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Námo's moans matching his own filled his ears. His fana tensed, and his muscles coiled. A wave of unimaginable bliss spread through him as he neared his orgasm. Námo moved in time with his thrusts, his own fana tensing. Manwë grabbed onto his hip, hard as ever, and cried out when his orgasm ripped through him. He waited long enough for his seed to spill and his fana to stop shaking before pulling out and flipping Námo onto his back.

Námo had been waiting for this. Manwë dipped his head and wrapped his lips around the tip of Námo's cock, running his tongue over the length of his shaft. Námo trembled violently when Manwë took his cock into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, his hand moving in rhythm with his tongue and lips. It felt so good. The warmth of Manwë's mouth, the softness of his lips, and the wetness of his tongue were all a heady mix. No one could ever make him feel like the king did, all needy and wanton. He grabbed at the sheets, his fingers practically ripping into the fabric. He felt it—a coiling in his belly. He closed his eyes, the king's name falling off his lips like a soft chant. Manwë draped a hand over his belly to stop him from squirming. Námo arched his back one last time, and the world seemed to stop spinning. He couldn't breathe or even think. All he could feel was a pleasure of the acutest kind shooting all over his body. It pulled him in and threatened to drown him. Námo willingly surrendered and allowed himself to be pulled under.

Soft kisses started to move over his legs and his belly. Námo took a deep breath and blinked, welcoming Manwë into his arms. He ran his hands over the king's wings, marveling at how soft the feathers were. Manwë sighed in bliss. Only Námo could make him feel like this, treating him with reverence. He hoped to always prove himself worthy of such devotion. 

"Will you talk to that Maia again, little raven?" Manwë rested his head against the crook of Námo's neck. 

"Which Maia, your grace?" Tilion was utterly forgotten by this time. Manwë chuckled, his chest rumbling against Námo's. His little raven returned the feeling, and they both laughed in the end.

Tags: @fictionfordays @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[astarab1aze]

➥ Crovita

⸻Technical Information. // Face, Voice, etc.

01. Faceclaim. Enigma   [ Musaigen ] 02. Voice Claim. Arwen / Liv Tyler [ LOTR ] 03. VG Faceclaim. Nyotengu [ Dead or Alive ]

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

01. Name. Karasuka Kuraime   [ Redacted Information ] 02. Alias. Crovita   [ Primary name ] 03. Sex. All sex organs are cloacal. [ Female ] 04. Gender. Female    05. Age. 129, physically early-30s   [ Dependent ] 06. Birth Date. September 24th   [ Libra ] 07. Blood Type. Sub-type HAA+ 08. Race. Crow Harpy, Japanese by nationality ; Japanese by ethnicity. 09. Marital Status. Single   [ Multiship ] 10. Orientation. Bisexual   [ Leans toward women ] 11. Residence. Chimachi, a hidden nightfolk haven in Tokyo, Japan 

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

17. Physical Description. Her appearance is altogether rather youthful ; She has long raven hair that reaches the midpoint of her back, silky soft, an oil-slick shine to it, and she typically keeps it down with her fringe oscillating between hime-cut or straight-cut. Smooth and well-maintained. Her eyes are heterochromic, the right being piercing gold and the left a rich royal purple - a vivid representation of her magic as well as genetics. They are always framed by smoky eyeshadow and thick, long lashes. Her skin tone is a pale beige and she usually wears a layer of makeup that accentuates the curves and angles of her face, with winged eyeliner and a point at the inner corners of both eyes, black lipstick or gloss. She stands at an odd 6'1" / 185cm, rather tall and long-legged. She has a classic coke-bottle body shape, curvy and generally proportioned well, though her breasts are exceptional, pillowy, and just the sort of thing you'd want to rest your head on. She can be seen wearing modified kimono with gothic motifs, black, purple, and gold in color, as well as goth-style club outfits and really anything that highlights her sex appeal. She also wears a black crow skull half-mask to conceal her identity (and also for the aesthetic). Similarly to Asuka, she has beauty marks in random places on her body, with her most noteable being the one on her left breast and the other just below her lower lip (also on the left). While she's able to concel her harpy appearance, she is still very much a harpy ; Her feathers are sleek oil-slick, sweeping and sturdy, with her arms serving as her wings in much the same way as Asuka. Taloned fingers at the end to function as hands. Her tail feathers are long and some curve upward at the end, but are stiff and otherwise perfect for flight and balance. Both legs are relatively human to a certain point, til about mid-thigh, before making way for tufts of feathers, leather black skin, and finally more talons. She has a number of scars both on her face and all over her body, but she hides them with prejudice.

13. Equipment. Crovita is prepared for anything, so she's got a few infinite pockets sewn into her kimono and they're all filled with: Tungskin, singing stones, knives, explosive alchemical reagents, scrying glass, invisibility potions, healing draughts, a blackwyrm whistle, husbandry tools, witchlights, flamedancers, money, drugs, a cellphone, and honestly a lot more. 14. Occupation. JDR agent, specialized in organized crime & espionage ; She's effectively the equivalent to an FBI agent and has been working for the JDR for about 30 years. 15. Job Performance. Exceptional ; Her superiors at the JDR give her a lot of leeway in her work, allowing her the wiggle room to play both long and short games 16. Children. Asuka Kuraime (21M), whom she bore with Tethis Surna, a long-time close friend she was once married to for a decade or so (and also the longest living harpy possessing enough power to crack a planet). 17. Siblings. None

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

18. Likes. The night, night markets, making beefy men squirm, money, champagne, girl scout cookies, matcha lattes, black lipstick, anything that accentuates her cleavage, expensive lingerie, witch-fingers, bloody delights (high in iron!), flirting, drinking sake, ballroom dancing, gothic nightclubs, cute girls, fishnets, dried mackerel, plain white rice with bonito flakes and seaweed, anything Asuka does with his painting, Asuka's feathers, the picture of Asuka as a baby she keeps on her desk, etc.  19. Dislikes. Her JDR superiors, every government with an INC department, literally the INC, most criminals, most people, stuffy by the book types, not working / keeping herself busy, being controlled, cottonmouth cakes, scarbuncle cheese, daytime, the ocean, anyone with an ego the size of Texas, Sanguinarians, harpy hunters, etc. 

20. Positive Traits. Nurturing. Loving. Doting. Independent. Resilient. Resourceful. Intelligent. Motherly. Understanding. Playful. Protective. Careful. Deliberate. Thorough. Supportive. 21. Negative Traits. Secretive. Distrustful. Overbearing. Selfishly selfless. Blunt at times. Moody. Loud. Manipulative. Possessive. 22. Goals. To put away as many criminals as she can, even if that means sending them off to the Triangulary or prisons like it, to protect Asuka. 23. Desires. For Asuka to be happy. She wants nothing for herself. 24. Alignment. Neutral Good

25. Personality. Crovita is a very complicated woman. She comes across as a sensual delight, happy to make your night, pepper you with inky black kisses and dote on you till morning - and to a degree, she quite literally is. But you'll never know who she is, what's important to her, who's important to her, what her name is, if you'll see her again. She's mysterious and beautiful, and means business when it comes down to brass tacks; A brutal businesswoman with an appetite for control and long battles of attrition, choke out the competition. She uses her skills to tip the scales in her favor, always ensuring she comes out of any scenario on top, even when the outcome is too much of an unknown to even bother gambling with. A natural at negotiation, steering a conversation, and risk assessment. But she's horribly closed off from most emotional attachments, denying herself the distraction from work and Asuka. She's a focused, capable woman, and she's always got a trick up her sleeve in any given situation. But her love for her son may sometimes cloud her judgment. Anyone she loves especially will end up smothered by her in some way, whether by too thorough check-ins or by genuinely too much affection. She's overbearing and overprotective, and although it all comes from such a place of love and care, it is often too much. It's a good sign, if she feels protective like this toward you, but it can also be the opposite depending on your perspective.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Element, Talent, etc.

26. Element. Aerial, Necrotic, Shadow - high manipulation skill ; The older a harpy is, the more elements they can acquire and control, usually about every 50 years depending on the harpy. 27. Shapeshifting. Low-level Multishifting - she can transform into an odd array of animals and inanimate objects, though she is imperfect in practice ; If you know what to look for, you'll notice ; She can also hide her harpy features this way. 28. Utility. Illusions, dispelling, wards, binding, trapping, alchemy, husbandry, curses, magical theory & history, economics, investigation, forensics, criminal justice - she knows a lot of things and can put them well to practice. 29. Specialization. Shadow magic - the resulting sub-school of magic between necromancy and illusions ; This allows her to become a shadow, become invisible, manipulate shadows, create them, and just about everything else. She's quite adept at it too, being the modern pioneer of a lost school. 30. Graduate School. Chimachi Prefectural School & Tokyo Sorcier Academy - two of the several magic schools in Japan with astounding repute ; Dedicated and rigorous, the educational environment is competitive and tense, but focused entirely on quality.  31. Classification. Anthromorph, Shade-Class Retributor - anthromorphs are nightfolk with presenting beast-oriented primary or secondary physical characteristics ; A Shade-Class Retributor is more or less an agent dedicated specifically to undercover operations, organized crime, espionage, assassination, and long-term government investigations - versatile, and with much more responsibility.

⸻Background Information. // Past to Present.

    Crovita learned early on in her life what it meant to be a harpy; Everyone in the world wanted her dead, if only to pluck the eyes from her head and rip the feathers from her skin - hell, even remove her talons for the especially horrific sorts of poisons. A harpy's body parts, physical manifestations of the avian creatures they were part, are incredibly valuable, containing within an untapped well of incredible magical power with specific natures. Eyes, especially, for an array of applications, feathers for flight and safety, talons for strength and death, organs for vitality, flesh for protection. She watched countless harpies die over the course of her life, slaughtered at the hands of harpy hunters and poachers all looking to sell harpy bodies for very expensive parts.

This did not serve to weaken her mentality, rather it strengthened it, pushing her to reach for balance in the world and safety for her people; And as she aged, as she grew, she honed a vast number of skills, training under Tethis Surna following her graduation from Chimachi Prefectural School - who fostered her unique talent for weaving types of magic together (necrotic, illusions) and creating new ones (shadow), thus reviving lost schools of magic. She learned a great deal from him, allowing her to steel herself and her resolve when she believed herself ready to take the next step and become a sorcier, a necessary evil. To make the world a better place for herself and people like her, for the family she one day hoped to have, she would have to be in peak condition, strong, fierce, and powerful, and suffer the consequences of it if necessary.

Somewhere along the way, she sort of fell in love with Tethis, around the early 90's; They'd already been together for years in a mentorship, what could be the harm? At about this time, she entered the Chimachi Sorcier Academy and began her training as a sorcier, not long after marrying Tethis. In this time, much of her focus was on her work, but inklings of that family she'd wanted came bubbling to the surface. Many discussions were had between her and Tethis, and it was clear that whatever children they had would not be born of love. Tethis was too cold, too mechanical, too logical, time having worn away the best of his emotions - she was just too blind and too busy to have seen it. Even so, she was resolved in thinking it wouldn't matter if Tethis loved their child or not; She would, and if it made matters better, she wouldn't hold him responsible for it - she just wanted a family. And he gave her one. Soon after, they filed for divorce; It was a clean break.

When Asuka hatched from his egg, Crovita fell in love all over again, and her life changed dramatically in the blink of an eye. Her sense of purpose was renewed, underscored, and highlighted, and she knew that no matter the circumstances, this baby was all that mattered. Unusual and weak though he was, at first. Still she loved him, even though he couldn't fly, even though his feathers were weak and flimsy, even though he had a weak constitution and looked a bit more like his father than she'd have liked - she loved him. He was precious, and she would protect him always, no matter the cost. She would need help, however, so she hired help and forged a vow of silence, magically preventing them from ever revealing any information about herself or Asuka, even under threat. Asuka was home-schooled, cared for by nannies, and kept under surveillance in order to protect him. Crovita couldn't take any risks, not with her baby.

She nurtured his every whim, however. If he wanted to dance, she'd hire a private instructor. If he wanted to play an instrument, she'd hire a private instructor. If he wanted to paint, if he wanted to sing, if he wanted to swim, anything he wanted - she'd hire someone to teach him how - always and exclusively harpies. Painting seemed to be what he liked best, so she nurtured this interest in particular, buying every kind of paint in every color, all sorts of paint brushes, canvas, you name it - and set him up with a meeting with Cedric Montgomery, a renowned gallery curator, critic, and seller. Asuka's natural talent and interest in the arts led him down a career path that would ensure his health and safety, especially given Cedric's generous funding of his artwork.

Around the time Asuka struck a deal with Cedric, Crovita met a young sorcier by the name of Kaede Shikabane, who she took quite a liking to. Being stuck at work the majority of her time, they became friends, and she took him under her wing, looking out for him, protecting him, and vouching for him if ever he needed it. In a sense, she saw him as a sort of...little brother, or even an adoptive son. She was the reason Senkei saw any consequences for what he did to Kaede, once she learned of it; They have a unique bond, and don't get to see each other much these days, but like Asuka, she would go to hell and back for him.

Presently, she's trying to strike a balance between work and motherhood (an endless process), to give Asuka more independence and hunting down harpy hunters (also an endless process).

[helenaheissner]

A Dream of Summer Rain: Chapter 16 (Way Out in the Water)

Hello, lovelies! Don’t forget you can read up to 20 advance chapters of ADSR and 2 advance chapters of "Love During Robot Fighting Time" by pledging to my Patreon or Substack!

***

The second floor of the castle was where Morganna slept. This was the one Gwen had been looking forward to the most. Morganna waited for her in her room, a den of snakes and viper carcasses’ all feasted upon by an unkindness of ravens. They followed Morganna everywhere, just as the murder of crows followed Gwen close behind. 

The crows flew in first to attack the ravens; the crows were smaller, but smarter and more vicious. The smaller birds feasted on their larger brethren throughout the room, all the while Morganna sat on her bed. 

“I always knew this would happen,” Morganna said. 

“You’ll burn in hell,” Gwen said. “The devil will take you, drown you in the Lake of Fire. You will feel nothing but agony for all eternity. And you’ll deserve all of it.”

 Morganna smiled. “I can’t wait to see you there.”

Gwen once more put down her gun, and she let her Star hover overhead as she brought her fists down upon Morganna until her skull had caved in and there was nothing but the soggy red remains of her brain matter.

***

Danny drove his truck, while Gwen rode with Quentin in his RV. Joshua drove his own. And Lacy inexplicably found herself in Isabella’s winnebago. The Puerto Rican girl drove, while Lacy rode shotgun sitting on her hands. Lacy tried not to look at Isabella, but when her eyes darted over she saw the other girl was looking at her. Outside, a thousand identical trees passed by, while birdsong carried on the wind across the green-gray of the nature-lined highway. 

“So,” Isabella said. 

“Hm?”

“Where are you from?”

“Michigan,” Lacy said.

“Like, Detroit?”

“No, I’m from out in the sticks. North-central part of the state. Town called Dresden.”

“Small place?”

“Like 10,000 people.”

“Goddamn,” Isabella said. “What do you do for fun around there?”

Shit, what am I supposed to say? Lacy thought. Is this small-talk? How do I small-talk? “Shoot glass bottles, mostly.” Nailed it. 

“That it?”

“No, occasionally we shoot squirrels, too. And sometimes each other.”

Isabella chuckled.

“So where are you from?”

“Boston.”

“Oh, cool.”

A momentary pause.

“Well?” Isabella said. 

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask to hear it? Everyone always does?”

“Hear what?”

“My accent. Aren’t you gonna ask me to say ‘park the car in the Harvard Yard?’”

“Why would I do that?”

“... You’ve never heard that before?”

“I, uh, have perhaps had a tendency to bury my head in the sand up until pretty recently.”

“Pft, fair enough. I used to do a lot of that myself. Before I hatched, I mostly just sat in my room all day listening to music.”

Lacy perked up. “What’d you listen to?”

“Well,” Isabella said, “Actually, pull open the glove compartment for me?”

Lacy obliged, and opened and reached in to find rectangular cartridges spilling out. “Oh shit, you have mixtapes! I’ve always wanted to make one of these- I love this shit.”

“You do?” Isabella said, her voice lilting upwards. 

 “Yeah! I mostly tinker with radios, but I have- er, had, I guess- a tape recorder and was gonna make a mixtape off some stuff I picked up at a pawn shop. But, uh, then my house got destroyed.”

“Oof. Been there.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. But, uh, stick this in, see if you like what I’ve got to offer,” Isabella said. And then she winked at her. 

Lacy felt her own heart skip a beat. She just hoped her face didn’t look too stupid. She slid the tape into the player, and heard the opening notes to the Pixies’ ‘Where is my mind?’ She smiled, and she rewound it back to the beginning. “Stop,” she said, in time with the lyrics, and then she sang the rest of the song along with it. When the song ended, and it began to fade into the next one, Lacy’s face reddened as she realized she’d sung every word and hummed every note. She ejected the tape, and she looked away. 

“Uhh… Whatcha doin’ there, Lacy?” Isabella said. 

Lacy gulped. God, she’s beautiful, Lacy thought. “I, um,” Lacy said. “I’m sorry- that was really embarrassing.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Isabella said, putting the tape back in and hitting play. “This is embarrassing.” And then Isabella sang along with Nirvana’s ‘Dumb’ word for word, mangling every note. “I’m probably tone deaf,” Isabella said, chuckling. 

Lacy laughed too.

“You’ve got a really good voice,” Isabella said. 

“Uh… Thank you,” Lacy said, hoping she wasn’t blushing still. 

“You wanna hear the rest of the tape?”

“Yeah!”

Lacy slid it back in, and listened to her mix of rock music beginning around ‘89 and ending around ‘05. When they came to a Mudhoney song, Lacy found herself singing again, and Isabella sang with her, laughing the whole way. 

After another hour’s drive they stopped for gas at a station on a wide stretch of highway. The midwestern flat sprawled forever, and the sheer size and scope of the land dawned on Lacy in a way it never had before. Isabella fed gasoline into the tank of her RV, while Quentin, Joshua, and Danny did the same with their vehicles. Lacy looked up at the empty blue sky, squinting at the sight of the noonday sun hanging proudly above. “I’ve never actually left Michigan before this,” Lacy said, to nobody in particular.

“Shit, really?” Isabella said, taking a penny from her pocket and chucking it at Quentin, who caught it in his palm. 

“Yeah. Dunno why that didn’t occur to me until now. Are we still in Wisconsin?”

“For the rest of the day, yeah,” Joshua said. “Should cross over into South Dakota tonight.”

“It’s just… Weird. I know how this sounds, but I guess I forgot how big the world is.”

“And how small it is,” Isabella said, almost to herself. 

“This is only the fourth time for me,” Danny said. “And my first time out of the Great Lakes region.”

“You two are so young and sheltered,” Gwen said, smirking as she leaned against the side of Quentin’s winnebago and lit a cigarette.

They piled back into their vehicles. Lacy sat next to Isabella in the front seat, while the other girl drove down the highway through the flatlands. Farmers worked the fields as they drove by, tending to stalks of corn. “Wonder if I could do that,” Lacy said. 

“Do what?”

“Have my own farm.”

“That something you’re interested in?” Isabella said with a chuckle.

“Maybe. I mean, I do have a green thumb. Why do you ask?”

“Just find it a bit weird.”

“How’s that?” Lacy said in a low tone. 

“I’m a city girl,” Isabella said. “The idea’s a bit foreign to me.”

“Boston.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you guys do for fun there?” Lacy asked.

“Heroin, mostly. And tipping over cars when the Red Sox lose. Or when they win. Or… Anything involving the Red Sox, mostly.”

Lacy looked at her.

“That was a joke,” Isabella said.

“What’re the Red Sox?”

Isabella pulled over to the side of the road and parked the car. Her hands gripped tight on the wheel, and she stared directly ahead. 

“What?” Lacy said, eyes wide with concern. 

Isabella reached over Lacy’s lap to open the glove compartment. Lacy blushed. Isabella retrieved a tape from the compartment and jammed it into the player. “2004 American League Playoffs, Game Four highlights. Listen, and listen good.”

And so, as they drove south, Lacy listened. She figured out the rules to the game as she went, and she found herself getting caught up in it, cheering alongside Isabella as the game progressed. 

“That answer your question?” Isabella asked. Night had descended upon the fields as the land grew emptier and harsher. 

“Yeah,” Lacy smiled. She and Isabella both reached for the tape player, and their hands met atop the stereo. 

For a moment, it all froze. Her hands were warm and soft, and Lacy wanted to hold onto them. Then, however, came the static. The radio burst to life, and the dials turned themselves as a hundred thousand voices came in a brutal cacophony. Finally, it settled: “-From Fresno, the remains of three missing persons have been found. A local street gang is suspected to be responsible for these brutal killings-”

Isabella froze. 

The dials turned again. 

The new voice was familiar. The lawman: Hannibal DeRosier. “-Suspect has vanished from the state of Michigan, we are now undergoing a federal investigation in pursuit of-”

Again. 

“Be not afraid.” Drew.

Isabella pulled over again, parked the car, and froze solid. Her eyes were glazed over, her pupils dilated. 

“Isabella?” Lacy asked. She reached to put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, but stopped herself. That would probably make the situation worse. So what would… 

Lacy climbed out of the winnebago and stepped onto the dirt and fauna lining the road. She reached into the ground with her magic, felt the Stardust all around, and ignited a small bloom. A rose sprouted from the ground, sweet-smelling and clean. She plucked it, and went back into the car and held it beneath Isabella’s nose. 

Isabella blinked, then noticed Lacy, then noticed the rose Lacy was holding near her face. Isabella blushed red as the flower, and Lacy felt her own cheeks running hot. 

“Th-thanks,” Isabella said, taking hold of the flower, putting her hand briefly onto Lacy’s once again. 

“No problem,” Lacy said, not letting go. 

The car door burst open. Lacy jumped and cursed, and let go of Isabella’s hand. Gwen and Danny both burst in. Lacy’s head jerked around to look at them. 

“Is everything alright?” Danny asked. 

“Uh…”

“It happened again, didn’t it?” Gwen asked, looking at Isabella.

“Yeah,” Isabella said, exhaling heavily. She cracked her neck, then her knuckles.

“What happened?” Lacy said. 

“One of my episodes,” Isabella said. She turned back to Gwen. “Why don’t we make camp for the night? We covered a lot of ground for today.”

“Good idea,” Gwen said. 

Soon after that, they found a dirt road off of the highway that led to an empty field. They piled the RV’s and the truck onto the field and dug themselves a campfire. When they all sat beneath the stars, Isabella took a seat between Joshua and Quentin and stared straight into the flames. “So, when I was fourteen, something happened to me,” she said. She told them, of the fox, and of the Pale. She took World-Carver from its scabbard and held it by the handle, her hand trembling despite the tight grip. 

When it was over, she looked up at the stars. 

When it was over, Lacy looked up with her. How could she have that sword? That didn’t make any sense. That was the sword that the Chosen One had in Lacy’s dreams, the sword that killed her. And if it came from the Pale, then… That made the odds more likely. 

No, no it wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be the person who would kill her. It didn’t make any sense. 

“Thank you for listening, both of you,” Isabella said. “I get… Flashbacks, sometimes, where I’m kinda pulled back into where I was. It’s difficult, but I manage most of the time.”

“Not a problem, friend,” Danny said casually. 

Lacy just stared. God she’s beautiful. Danny elbowed her in the ribs. “Right, yes, yes,” Lacy said. “Not a problem at all. Not one bit.”

Danny made that face he made where he was trying to stifle a laugh with mixed results. Isabella didn’t stifle hers, though, and it was more of a… Giggle then a regular laugh.

Lacy blushed.

Dinner was a modest affair of sandwiches they’d bought from a gas station earlier that day. They ate under the clear night sky, in the late spring wind. Eventually, Danny left them, saying he was going to go read. Joshua went to work on his knitting, and Gwen and Quentin excused themselves without saying where or to what they were going. 

This left Isabella and Lacy alone around the dwindling fire.

Now or never. Lacy tapped her chest, and her Star emerged. May as well be direct. “You don’t happen to have one of these, do you?”

“What? No, of course not. I can’t even do magic. If I could, I wouldn’t be able to use World-Carver.”

“What do you mean-”

Isabella swung the sword, and reality ripped open. A golden and silver vortex sprang to life silently, a hole in the world. An identical hole emerged ten feet up above them. Isabella chucked a pebble through the lower portal, and the rock went through and then fell out the higher one. Lacy gaped. “Neat, huh?” Isabella asked. 

“Yeah, I’ll say! But how come-”

“Mages can’t use magic artifacts,” Isabella said. 

“They can’t?”

“Yeah. Nobody knows why, they just can’t. Quentin and Josh have both tried to use this thing, and nothing. Nada. No portals. For me, though, it works just fine for me.”

“Huh,” Lacy said. If this girl was telling the truth… IF… then… Then she couldn’t be the Chosen One. The Chosen One was a mage, a Starbound, and she was reasonably sure a druid like herself based on the wind and lightning and earthquakes they used on her in the dreams. This girl probably wasn’t the Chosen One… She’d just… Found their weapon, somehow. And brought it back with her from that place.

If this girl was telling the truth. 

But Lacy wanted to believe it, and so she decided she would try to.

“So,” Isabella said, “Not to change the subject, even though that’s exactly what I’m doing: what did you think of the game?” 

“I liked it,” Lacy said. “I’m not sure how much I understand the rules, but-”

“Okay, but how’ve you never heard of baseball?”

“I’ve heard of it, I just don’t know the rules.”

“It’s America’s pastime,” Isabella said, brushing an errant strand of hair from her eyes.

“I’m from Michigan. I prefer hockey.”

“Oh my God, you are so very white,” Isabella giggled.

“Pfft. Can’t really argue with that.”

They went about talking for a while after that, even as the fire faded into embers and ashes. Lacy and Isabella laid flat on the ground, next to the dying fire on opposite sides, parallel, looking up at the night sky, just talking and enjoying each other’s company. 

***

“Hey, let’s go shopping,” Isabella said. 

“Hm? Oh, uh, why?” Lacy asked.

Isabella tried not to sigh, but rather kept pressing forward. They were in another trailer park a few miles outside of a small Nebraska town called Vogel, a flat, nondescript place where Harry had been waiting for them, wrenching on an engine the size of a sedan, pouring over his blueprints. One day she’d get him to explain how he was everywhere all the time. One day. Today was not that day, however- today was a sunny, warm spring day in a very, very flat place. She could see for miles in each direction, and everything seemed to lead her back to this girl. “Well, mostly because you’ve been wearing the same two outfits for over a week now. If for no purposes besides the practical, you should probably-”

“Oh God,” Lacy said, looking down at her black blouse and blue jeans that she’d worn the past five days in a row. It probably didn’t help that they’d all been bathing in rivers, but still. 

They stood on the hard packed dirt surface between the various winnebagos, around the dead campfire. Danny sat there drinking straight vodka out of a hip flask even though it was one in the afternoon- God, that guy was a mess. He was Lacy’s oldest friend, and he’d been dragged into this whole thing pretty unexpectedly, but still, he did not know how to cope without hitting the bottle. Lacy, for her part, was standing behind him pacing back and forth- she’d been doing it for hours. 

This girl couldn’t be the one, could she? There was no way. 

“So, shopping? We passed a mall on the way here,” Isabella said. 

“Yes, let’s!” Lacy said. She turned around to face Gwen, who was leaning against the side of her and Quentin’s trailer smoking a cigarette. “Hey, Gwen, do you wanna come shopping with us? Girls day?”

Isabella’s heart hollowed and her shoulders slumped.

Gwen took a long drag on her cigarette, her eyes darting back and forth between Lacy and Isabella. Finally, she breathed out a puff of smoke, and said, “No, I think I’ll hang back.”

Oh thank God, Isabella thought.

“Are you sure? It’ll be fun,” Lacy said. 

Dammit.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Gwen said.

YES!

“Aw. Why not?” Lacy asked.

FUCK’S SAKE! Gwen took another long drag. “Because I was gonna take advantage of the kids being out of the house and have loud, kinky sex with Quentin, stuff involving chains and floggers, and with your whole super-hearing thing I don’t think you’ll wanna be within a hundred yards of that.”

Lacy went tomato-red. Danny down his entire flask in one gulp, then took a fresh flask from the breast pocket of his red flannel shirt. Isabella mouthed a ‘thank you’ at Gwen, who winked at her. After that, Danny tossed Isabella the keys to his truck and gave her a nod and a thumbs up- maybe he wasn’t all bad. She herded Lacy into the truck, and they drove towards Vogel. Isabella turned on the radio, and they were immediately met with news reports about a rash of murders in Chicago- which, given that it was Chicago, meant it must’ve been even worse than usual to be newsworthy. She turned it until she found a heavy metal station, and Lacy began instinctively headbanging to the tunes of Five Finger Death Punch. God, this girl has no idea how adorable she is, does she?

“Your face is red- are you alright? Do you have a fever?” Lacy asked after a moment. 

“Er- no, no. I’m just… A bit sunburnt,” Isabella said hurriedly. 

“Oh, gotcha.”

A faint ringing in Isabella’s ears warned her about this, about the possibility of getting attached. If this girl was the one she was supposed to kill, that she’d promised the Elf-King she would kill… She didn’t know if she’d be able to go through with it. Lacy was too nice, too sweet, too… Pure, quite frankly. And maybe that wasn’t always a good thing, but for Isabella it was a refreshing change of pace. And Lacy had cute dimples and a nice butt, both of which were things Isabella appreciated… Your judgment is cloudy here, chica, she thought. Maybe it’s not her, though. Maybe this is a coincidence.

“It’s a shame Gwen couldn’t come along,” Lacy said. 

“Hey, so, uh,” Isabella started. Don’t say don’t say it don’t say it- “I was wondering: how do you feel about Gwen?” FUCK, I SAID IT- WHY??!

“She’s cool. I trust her,” Lacy said, resting her head on the window.

“No, I mean, how do you FEEL about her?”

“She’s a good teacher and a good friend. Danny seems uncomfortable around her- I’m not sure why. But other than that-”

“That’s not what I- I mean do you like her? Are you attracted to her?” WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME WHY DID I FUCKING SAY THAT-

“I mean she’s a good looking lady, I’ve got eyes, but no, I don’t like her like that. She’s not really my type,” Lacy said with an innocent grin. “Why? Do you like her? Are you hoping to invoke a certain Mormon tradition with her and Quentin?” The grin turned less than innocent at that moment; one might even call it ‘shit-eating.’

“Um- no, no definitely not,” Isabella said. “Quentin’s not really my taste in guys, and I don’t wanna complicate anything for them. And Gwen IS gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I guess I’m just not into people who are taller than me.”

Lacy looked like something was beginning to dawn on her. “Oooohhhhh.”

“W-what? What’s that mean?”

“So do you want me to set you up with Danny, then? Is that what this is about?”

“What? No. He’s not my type either.”

“You said you like people who are shorter than you and he’s an inch shorter than-”

“I meant more like you,” Isabella said, then instantly put a hand over her mouth. She parked the car and sat there a moment while Lacy stared at her. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean that- I-”

“Cool,” Lacy said, hearts practically visible in her eyes. 

Isabella began playing with her hair, then caught herself and stared at her treacherous hand.

“You’re really cool,” Lacy said. “You’re easy to talk to and to be quiet around as well- that’s not a lot of people for me. I’ve never really met someone like you before, and I’m really glad I’m getting the chance to. I wasn’t really sure when you asked me to do this with you, so I invited Gwen as a buffer just in case. She’s gotten good at catching me before I talk without thinking- she and Danny are kind of similar like that. But I’m glad we could clear things up.”

Isabella started driving again, the streets growing more crowded as she entered Vogel. Okay, okay, this was a good sign, she trusted her.

“And… If I may be so bold… You’re absolutely beautiful,” Lacy said. 

There it was. In spite of how she was the rest of the time, when Lacy had decided on something, how she felt about it, she gained this confidence that was… Appealing, if slightly jarring. Isabella was sure she was still red, but she kept driving. “Thank you. You are too.”

And then Lacy started giggling and playing with her own hair. 

I’m not gonna be able to kill this girl, Isabella thought. That might pose a problem.

But as they arrived at the mall, it became a problem Isabella was content to ignore. 

The Vogel Mall was an underwhelming affair, only one story with only twelve stores, but the wide-eyed look on Lacy’s face indicated that this would do nicely. She really was from out in the sticks if this constituted a proper mall for her, but in Isabella’s opinion every girl had to start somewhere. So they started with pants, ones with a more feminine cut, but about a size too big so as not to hug Lacy’s crotch too much. They moved onto shirts, tops, and blouses. 

When they got to underwear, Lacy asked, “I don’t know how much I really need bras.”

“Right now, you mean,” Isabella said. “Are you planning on starting hormones at some point?”

“Uh, I didn’t really think that far ahead, but now that you mention it, yeah I’d like to.”

“Then you’re gonna need some bras as the girls grow in,” Isabella said. She took a bra off the rack and held it over Lacy’s chest, and the girl’s crooked smile said she didn’t mind the physical contact. 

After that was the fun stuff- dresses and skirts. Getting to wear those had been one of Isabella’s favorite parts of transitioning, and from her reaction to the sun dresses and knit dresses and maxi dresses, Lacy’s was of a similar stripe. She spent two hours trying them on and taking them off, putting on a fashion show for Isabella. 

“Come here,” Isabella said, handing her a pair of shoes with three inch heels. “I’ll show you how to walk in these.” She put her hands on Lacy’s hips and guided through the motions, heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe. Lacy’s giddiness reached new heights- she looked like she was practically drowning in gender euphoria. 

“I want to buy all of the dresses! All of them, I say!” Lacy said, happy and greedy and smiling, hand on Isabella’s as they sat at a bench together sipping cherry smoothies. 

“Well you can buy ONE of them,” Isabella said. “They’re not super practical for our lifestyle, but it is good to have a few nice things. You’ll never know when you’ll need them, or just when you’ll want them.”

“Fair enough,” Lacy acquiesced. “God, I can’t believe I used to think all this was stupid.”

Isabella cocked an eyebrow. ��Seriously?”

“I, um, used to have this problem where I resented other girls because I knew I was one but I couldn’t… Do anything about that. And they got to be girls, and it looked fun, all the things girls do for themselves and each other, but I told myself it was stupid so I didn’t have to feel like I was missing out.”

“Did it work?”

“No, it just made me incredibly depressed,” Lacy said with a wide smile.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Isabella said, raking a hand through her hair.

“I take it you never went through that phase?” Lacy asked. 

“No, not really. I came out when I was ten, and my parents, rest in peace, were pretty cool about everything. Honestly, I think my mom was excited to finally have a daughter,” Isabella said. Wait, she mentioned that her parents sucked; maybe I shouldn’t mention my-

“What were they like?” Lacy said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

A sinking feeling went through Isabella’s stomach, hollowing a pit and threatening to drag down all rational thought. “I, um, I don’t really wanna talk about them.”

Lacy nodded. “Okay.”

“Thank you… For being understanding,” Isabella said.

“And thank you,” Lacy said. “For taking me here. I needed this. Life lately has been, uh, stressful. To say the least.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Isabella said. “Glad I could help.”

After that they drove back to the campground, and kept talking about clothes, and about music, and about where they’d grown up, and about anything else that came to their minds. Anything except what Isabella was most worried about, which she tried to limited avail to put out of her mind. I’m not gonna be able to kill this girl.   

***

Hello, lovelies! Don’t forget you can buy the official ebooks for MGES and ADSR here:

[newedensgarden]

The very first tattoo August ever got was a tattoo of an eye on his inner forearm. It is of his grandmother’s eye. His grandmother is the one he credits for starting the entire New Eden’s Garden. August hates his mother Marilyn but holds his grandmother very highly and adores her with all his heart. She died from old age a few years back, but he thinks of her every day because of the tattoo of her eye on his arm. She is always watching over him and, in his mind, she is watching him lead New Eden’s Garden so he must do the best job he can.

His sleeve represents heaven and hell and is very Day of the Dead inspired. August is quite religious, so this has a lot of hidden themes in it including roses, skulls, crosses, butterflies, and pretty women. He often says it is an 'I Spy' game for his life. The bottom part of his arm is hell, and the top part is heaven. His mindset is that if you are going to be in Hell, you might as well have a pretty girl there. The two women included in the sleeve are loosely based on his ex-wife who he only refers to these days as Parasite Eve but when he first began the sleeve, they were simply dating and not yet married or with child. In his mind, his wife would be with him whether he went to heaven or hell, so he included her loosely in both representations. This is the one that is most obvious that he is asked the most questions about, and August thinks it is amusing to give a different random answer each time, just to mix things up a bit.

One of the more important ones is the date in roman numerals behind his ear which he got when he was a freshman in high school. The numbers are 9 22 2000 in roman numerals which means Friday, September 22, 2000. The meaning for this is unknown except to those closest to him. The true meaning of this tattoo is that this is the official date where his family was a whole complete unit.

August has an IX on his bicep, quite large. In roman numerals it stands for the number 9 but to him it is a constant reminder. September 9th is when his daughter Elizabeth was born and nine years later on her birthday is when she died. So, nine is a very important number in August’s life. Ironically enough, so is the number 6 which is 9 upsides down and very reminiscent of the devil’s mark, 666. He has a 666 tattooed on his ass, mostly because it was funny and inspired by SLC Punk.

On the back of his calf August has a tattoo of half a moon and half a sun face, very similar to the doll of Angie – his younger sister. It also looks like her face when she was still alive and human, not in doll form, with the deformation down the middle of her face.

On his back across his shoulders he has a black crow with red eyes. August has always been known to be oddly obsessed with corvids. Crows and ravens are some of the smartest animals in the world, with their intelligence considered on par with chimpanzees. Crows also have a lot of symbolic associations. Everything from Omens Of Death And Doom or being the bearer of bad news to representing big transformation and even linked to Edgar Allen Poe.

On one rib he has cursive that says "Theres a Power in Belief" which relates to his faith and religion. It is not specifically Christian, but it is most closely related to Christian Mythology. He always claims it is more important to have faith, not what you have faith in.

On the other rib he just got a new tattoo. It's a womans face coming out of crow wings that looks more like a puffy collar. The woman's face seems to be a clown jester makeup at first but when you look closer, she has no eyes and is bleeding from her eye sockets with a twisted carved smile. This is a very disturbingly beautiful tattoo that nobody knows the meaning of. The true secret meaning is that this is a tattoo of a nightmare he kept having involving his ex-wife when she was set on fire. In his dream, she came to him with bloody eyes and a twisted grin and after having the nightmare so many times, it started bringing him an odd sense of comfort. Like he was making 'friends with his ghosts'. This marks the third tattoo that August has for his ex.

Underneath his chest he has a tattoo of a bleeding cut going in a specific pattern. This is the way he cut his chest when he tried to take his own life, but when asked he just says it looked cool. Since he survived, this is his reminder to himself to never attempt it again.

His nipples are pierced, but usually only wears one. He also has gages, a nose and a lip piercing but doesn't wear them anymore except on special ocassions.

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

So this is definitely in response to that certain dark section of our fandom (you know exactly who you are) who are throwing a fit about the Arya and Daenerys fandoms enjoying the possibility of a canon Daenarya friendship in the future.  So let’s look at all the quotes that possibly foreshadow a future Arya and Dany friendship and put it into context.

It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again.

The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver.

"It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. - Arya III AGOT

Here is the initial passage that has to do with dragons in Arya’s story.  She comes across the dragon skulls in the dark and feels afraid of them.  She feels as if the eyes of the skulls were watching her and did not like her. She also doesn’t recognize them for what they are.  She initially refers to them as monsters, but later she comes to realize they are dragons: 

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand. - Arya IV AGOT

Now admittedly the first quote does sound like the foreshadowing could suggest antagonism between Arya and Dany, but the second quote doesn’t suggest this.  Arya thinks of them as if they are old friends.  That is the most notable sentence of the paragraph, not the fact that she slid Needle out.  But when you actually look at this paragraph you actually see a duality here.  The monsters did not frighten her.  They seemed almost old friends.  Yet she slides her blade out and feels better?  So for me this quote just seems to foreshadow that Dany will be Arya’s friend, yet Arya will remain wary of her dragons like anyone naturally would be.

So putting these two quotes into context, it tells us that if Arya and Dany will meet they will initially be antagonistic and wary of each other (most Daenarya fans I’ve seen acknowledge this will likely be the case).  However it also suggests that this wariness will eventually fade and they will become friends.  Arya doesn’t need to think she is wholly safe from the dragons to have a friendship with Dany.  EVERYONE is wary about the dragons, just like most people would be unsure and most likely afraid if they were in the same room as a large cat or a bear. 

But this isn’t Arya’s only dragon connections in the narrative.  Arya’s closest relationship is with Jon, who is half Targaryen.  In Braavos Arya is fascinated by the courtesans and the Black Pearl in particular:

"The Black Pearl," she told them. Merry claimed the Black Pearl was the most famous courtesan of all. "She's descended from the dragons, that one," the woman had told Cat. "The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen. A Westerosi prince took her for a lover and got a daughter on her, who grew up to be a courtesan. Her own daughter followed her, and her daughter after her, until you get to this one [...] - Cat of the Canals AFFC

The woman with him could not have been more than a third his age. She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts. As they watched, she leaned close to the envoy and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. "They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black."

"The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover."

"I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully. - Mercy TWOW

There is even foreshadowing that Arya will form a closer relationship with the Black Pearl in the future by becoming an apprentice for her so Arya can refine her highborn manners so it’s easier for the FM to place her into highborn society to do their work, because why not utilize a highborn girl in this way?

But also notice that Arya/Mercy is friends with a girl named “Daena” which is ridiculously close to the name Daenerys.  And in the same conversation with Daena (Daenerys) Arya/Mercy also said she wished to see a dragon.  And no this isn’t “Mercy’s” wish, this is Arya’s wish:

As Arya crossed the yard to the bathhouse, she spied a raven circling down toward the rookery, and wondered where it had come from and what message it carried. Might be it's from Robb, come to say it wasn't true about Bran and Rickon. She chewed on her lip, hoping. If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

Doesn’t really sound like Arya hates dragons or have any issues regarding them.  She wants to see them irregardless of any fear they may inspire within her that everyone would naturally have upon seeing a dragon.

Arya also expresses a wish to fly throughout her narrative and she also has wing symbolism in her arc:

If I was a crow I could fly down and peck off his stupid fat pouty lips. - Arya X ACOK

If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself.  And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

I wish I could change into a wolf and grow wings and fly away. - Arya XIII ASOS

She might be bald and skinny, but Mercy had a pretty smile, and a certain grace. Even Izembaro agreed that she was graceful. She was not far from the Gate as the crows flies, but for girls with feet instead of wings the way was longer. - Mercy TWOW

Also lets not forget how similar Arya and Dany are to each other and how many parallels they share.  They are both lost princesses exiled and sent to Essos, specifically Braavos, after their father's deaths at the hands of Lannister's.  They each know what it's like to be bought and sold and to be enslaved – Dany as a child bride and Arya as a child soldier.  And they both have pretenders trying to take their claims.  Both have been forced into becoming smallfolk, living in poverty and starved.  And they both know what it's like to be hunted and scared.  They adapt exceedingly well into other environments and cultures, and their morality and sense of justice are very attuned, as they seek to protect those that can not protect themselves.  Very protective, they are both empathetic and maternal and care for the sick, ailing, and dying.  Both of them are survivors and have both suffered abuse and sexual assault (more so for Dany, but it's still there).  They are both clever and know how to manipulate people.  They are both polyglots and both of their deepest desires are for home and family/pack.  They both try to live up to the image of their older siblings (ie Sansa and Rhaegar).  Arya is said to look and act like Lyanna and Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar by the people that knew him.   They are both very close to their house sigils and even dream about them and the mystical beasts they both own.  They both love horseback riding and they both have encountered mystical prophets.  Wanted/considered becoming sailors and they both have fantastic people skills.  Not to mention that it was Arya who said that the slaves should have killed the masters, while Dany is leading a slave uprising to overthrow and yes, execute the masters.

Dany is also not some “mad queen” and she does listen to the people who knew her father and Rhaegar.  She is learning the truth about the monster her father was and learning to accept that.  So there is no reason why Dany should continue to feel antagonistic towards the next generation of Stark’s for something they didn’t do.  

I’ve also seen comments about how the fire devastation that is within Arya’s story must clearly mean “Dark Dany” and that Arya and Dany will be antagonistic towards each other in canon when they meet.  I’m assuming these people are referring to the burning barn scene:

"You take her!" she yelled. "You get her out! You do it!" The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn. It felt blessedly cool outside, but men were dying all around her. She saw Koss throw down his blade to yield, and she saw them kill him where he stood. Smoke was everywhere. There was no sign of Yoren, but the axe was where Gendry had left it, by the woodpile outside the haven. As she wrenched it free, a mailed hand grabbed her arm. Spinning, Arya drove the head of the axe hard between his legs. She never saw his face, only the dark blood seeping between the links of his hauberk. Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn't quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn't see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound. - Arya IV ACOK

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn't care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say. - Arya IV ACOK

This chapter does not mean that Dany is going to go “evil” or “mad” and start burning stuff to the ground.  You guys do remember that Dany has three dragons right?  And that Dany is only the dragonrider to Drogon?  That leaves two other possible dragons that could be stolen from Dany.  We have Euron/Victarion who has the dragon binder horn and then we have Aegon who may or may not be able to claim one of those dragons for himself.  There is also the possibility that Euron dies or Aegon dies and someone else will take their places as dragonriders via Targaryen blood or use of that horn.  So besides Dany we have Aegon, Jon, Euron, and Tyrion who may all ride dragons within the story as they all have the proper set-up and foreshadowing for it to be a possibility.  So why is it the automatic assumption that it will be Dany burning shit down?   

Not to mention, wildfire has the same types of language used as the two quotes above:

And then some vast beast had let out a roar, and green flames were all around them: wildfire, pyromancer's piss, the jade demon [...] From bank to bank there was nothing but burning ships and wildfire. The sight of it seemed to stop his heart for a moment, and he could still remember the sound of it, the crackle of flames, the hiss of steam, the shrieks of dying men, and the beat of that terrible heat against his face as the current swept him down toward hell. - Davos I ASOS

So considering there not only is there a ton of foreshadowing that it will be Cersei who destroys King’s Landing with wildfire, but also there is foreshadowing that Jon Connington will do something incredibly drastic to win and keep the Iron Throne for Aegon.  And may I remind the audience that the fires Arya went through and experienced in the Riverlands had zero to do with Dany.  They were the direct result of the Lannisters.

So if Arya IV ACOK is foreshadowing a future fire she is stuck in, there is no evidence that the fire will be caused by Dany nor that the fire is dragonfire.  And if you are going to point out the show as evidence, let me tell you something, go to the youtuber The Dragon Demands and watch his videos dissecting everything about the scene of Dany burning King’s Landing by using the script, listening to BtS content, looking at the storyboards, actually noting that a scene of Cersei looking out the window, depicting her watching people put barrels of wildfire on the battlements, etc.  Because the compilation he makes proves that Dany burning KL the way that she did in 8x05 was a last minute change.  It was supposed to be an accidental wildfire explosion before they changed it so they could justify Jon killing her.  But I’m sure even with the evidence you’ll still cling to the idea of Dark!Dany because you are incredibly insecure about your fictitious ship and your blatant mischaracterization of your favorite “pure as the driven snow /s” character, because there is literally nothing in the books that foreshadows Dany going “mad” or “dark”.  So why don’t you take your jealousies about Daenerys and Arya and the very possible Daenarya friendship somewhere else.

[razieltwelve]

Menagerie (Rebirth)

If there was something that Atalanta - who had once been Taylor Hebert - had noticed it was that animals played a much more prominent role in Remnant’s society than they did on Earth. It was probably due to Remnant being a death world where the Grimm and various species of mega fauna would absolutely murder anyone who wasn’t prepared. Forming alliances with animals or outright domesticating them had allowed humans and Faunus to survive. 

There was also the somewhat scary fact that many of the animals here were way smarter than their Earth counterparts.

“Um... why is your crow staring at me?” Atalanta asked.

Aquila glanced up from the picture book she was reading to several young crows. “Which crow? There are at least three of them keeping an eye on you.”

“Really?” Atalanta asked. She’d only noticed the one crow staring at her, not that it was easy to miss. The crow in question was perched on Aquila’s shoulder and glaring at her balefully.

“Yeah.” Aquila pointed. “There’s Beaky on my shoulder here, and Whisper-Wing and Captain Caw are also watching you.”

“Oh.” Atalanta looked to where Aquila was pointing. There were indeed another two crows watching her. One was a particularly large and vigorous looking fellow whilst the other had somehow managed to stay completely unnoticed despite sitting on top of a bare branch. “That’s kind of scary.”

“It probably is to most people. But what’s scarier is what Beaky did to the last person to try to attack me.”

“Do I even want to know?” Atalanta asked.

Aquila reached over to grab some food to feed to the young crows who cawed happily and waited patiently for their turn to eat. “The crows and ravens that follow me and my mom around aren’t like regular crows. They can use Aura a lot better than regular crows, which makes them quicker, stronger, and a lot smarter. Beaky here gets his name from how good he is at enhancing his beak for fighting. It turns out that, yes, a crow can punch right through someone’s skull with his beak if he knows what he’s doing.”

“Ewww...” Atalanta made a face... and a mental note to keep a closer eye on Beaky who just gave her what passed for a smile amongst crows.

“He’s pretty tough too. Sure, he can’t stand there and take a bazooka shot, but Beaky can shrug off a few bullets without much trouble. Given how fast he can fly and how agile he is in the air, that’s usually enough for him to get close. And, hey, anyone who really wants to go after me is going to have to bring a lot of people, and the crows and ravens will notice that.”

“You basically have a gang of birds willing to murder anyone who tries to hurt you.”

“Basically, yeah.” Aquila shrugged. “They’re pretty friendly, though, provided you don’t try anything stupid. I suppose it’s probably a bit intimidating, especially in Paddra since there are way more of them there than here.” She chuckled. “Whenever my mom or I leave the city, some of them insist on coming along. When she was young, she once tried to sneak onto a transport without them noticing. They clung onto the transport and followed her once it landed. Ever since then, she’s just accepted they’ll follow her. Now, they get a spot inside the transport.”

“Huh... that’s kind of cool, though. It must be nice having them around.” Atalanta nodded thoughtfully. “Kind of like how Taren always has Fury around.”

Aquila giggled. “Don’t get them started on Fury.” She gestured at the crows who all shook their heads in unison. “I don’t think they like him very much. It might be because Fury is kind of a jerk, or maybe it’s because Fury tried to build a nest on my head once.”

“He does that to everybody he likes. If he didn’t like you, he’d just sit on your head and peck you.”

“True.” Aquila’s smiled widened. “It really irks them that Fury is bigger than they are now too. I mean, yes, they understand he'sa chocobo, but it’s still annoying since now they can’t really pick on him.”

Fury was the size of a pony, and he was only going to get bigger. “Yeah, he can definitely fight off at least a few of your crows. I don’t know how he’d do if the rest of them turned up.”

“Oh, he’d be doomed. There are hundreds upon hundreds of crows and ravens back home. Actually... I think it’s probably somewhere between ten to thirty thousand of them. It’s hard to get completely accurate numbers since we don’t know all of them personally.”

“Really?” Whenever Aquila had come to visit, the crows she’d brought had always seemed more like close friends than random acquaintances.

“They have a whole hierarchy and organisation of their own. Even mom isn’t entirely sure how it works. But there’s a system for promoting crows and ravens from those that just keep an eye on things in the city up to the ones that spend time with me and mom directly.”

“That’s definitely a bit scary.”

“Your sister runs an actual gang of multiple kinds of animals that she equips with advanced weaponry.”

Atalanta smirked. “Technically, it’s my gang now.” Once her sister had started attending Beacon Senior Academy in earnest, she hadn’t been around enough to command her gang of animals properly. Instead, she’d given command to Atalanta. Having a small army of geese, raccoons, squirrels, and other animals at her command was really cool.

In fact, she had several of those geese with her now. They were keeping a polite distance, but she knew that if any of the crows went after her, the geese would be happy to wade into battle on her behalf. Of course, while the crows might glare, Aquila had them well in hand. They wouldn’t attack without a good reason or her approval. That, and they knew exactly what would happen to them if they attacked Atalanta.

The crows might be scary, but Atalanta’s mother was the wielder of invincible levels of tyranny that did not discriminate between species. Lightning Farron was an equal opportunity tyrant.

“Have you decided that you’re going to do?” Aquila asked, changing the subject.

Atalanta nodded. She’d been attending regular school for some time now, but it was time to make a decision about what she wanted to do in the future. The Junior Academies were still a few years away, but the Pre-Academies were coming up. For people who were interested in becoming hunters, they offered a much more hunter-focused program than regular schools.

“Pre-Academy,” she said. “I want to be a hunter.”

“I thought so.” Aquila looked at her for a moment, and Atalanta shivered as the other girl’s gaze grew distant, locked onto something only her eyes could see. On her shoulder, Beaky stirred, feathers puffing out as Aquila’s Aura flexed. Her lips curved up into a smile. “I think you’ll do rather well.”

“Is that my friend talking or the next Grand Seeress talking?”

“Both. Your friend has every confidence in your ability to become a skilled hunter. The next Grand Seeress knows you’ll become one unless you do something extraordinarily stupid like trying to punch an Ancient Beowolf sometime in the next week.”

Atalanta’s eye twitched. “Really?” An Ancient Beowolf would be a formidable foe for even an experienced hunter. “I meet one in the next week?”

“You do, so you should probably just let your mother handle it.”

“I think I will.” Atalanta paused. “You know, you visit us here pretty often.”

Aquila laughed. “There’s a good reason for that. Outside of Paddra, this might be the safest place on the planet for me. There’s your parents, your aunts and uncle, and there are your siblings and cousins. That’s not even mentioning all of the stuff Diana leaves around to help keep the neighbourhood safe.”

“Good point.”

“You know,” Aquila said. “You’re very mature for your age.”

Atalanta grimaced. Aquila was only two years younger than Diana, so it might have seemed a bit odd for her to be such good friends with Atalanta, but Atalanta had never really had problems connecting with people a bit older than her. It might have had something to do with the fifteen years she’d lived as Taylor. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Aquila turned a keen eye on her. “You know,” she said quietly. “Trajan says that he sees a tall girl standing behind you. She has large eyes, long, curly black hair, and wears glasses. She looks very sad but proud when she looks at you. But she rarely speaks to him, and when she does, it’s with a voice that sounds an awful lot like yours.”

“...” Atalanta went still and silent. Her geese snapped to attention, and a raccoon lazily ambled out into the open with a pair of squirrels. They could feel the tension running through her. “Has... has he said anything to anyone else?”

“He has spoken to our parents.” Seeing the panic on Atalanta’s face, Aquila continued. “But they haven’t said a word to anyone else.” She reached out and took Atalanta’s hand. “It’s okay. He was just worried. That girl... she wasn’t like the ghosts he’s used to seeing. He wanted to make sure you weren’t being harmed.”

“I...”

“That girl is linked to you in a way no ghost should be,” Aquila said quietly. “It’s like she’s a part of you. When my mother looked into the ghost’s past, all she saw was you.”

Atalanta took a deep breath. Did she trust Aquila enough to tell her the truth? She did. She did trust her. “I think we need to go back inside,” she said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Yeah, keeping secrets from a family that can see dead people and the past is pretty much impossible. That said, there are few people better equipped to understand where Taylor/Atalanta is coming from than the Ballad family. What Trajan is seeing is actually part of Taylor’s soul. Despite being reborn as Atalanta, the part of her that is Taylor still exists. It’s why she can return to her original world after dying of old age as Atalanta. Because it’s a part of her, it doesn’t act like a regular ghost would, which is why Trajan was worried about it.

[cheshiresartblog]

Some Concept Stuff for the Reaper and Witches AU

Remember my Witch Eri picture I posted a while back? Well there is an AU behind it. It’s heavily inspired by both Bleach and Soul Eater with stuff pulled from a part of a personal project of mine that ended up being cut. 

Basically there are four key types of beings: Reapers, Witches, Vassals and Fears. 

Reapers inhabit a place called Purgatory, which is kind of a city of sorts, and are either born there or are the souls of mortals that were deemed not acceptable enough to move on to the afterlife but also not bad enough to be tossed into the Fear Pit. (Said souls are reborn in Purgatory as babies and are assigned a family). They keep the balance between the world of the living the the world of the dead by keeping Fears in line. Everyone in Purgatory is a Reaper, but not everyone becomes a Reaper if you feel me here. Fun fact. Oboro’s a Purgatory Born Reaper, aka a New Soul while Hizashi is a Reborn Soul. Reapers can pull weapons from their very souls if trained well enough. Oboro’s weapon is a war hammer that can create clouds but also bursts of electricity or a booming thunder-like noise. Hizashi’s is an old-fashioned mic on a stand and he can project his voice through it as well as summon what I’ve been calling phantom amps to project his voice further or in different directions. They teach at a school specializing in training Reapers. 

Since I keep mentioning Fears I’ll explain them really quick. None are depicted here but they’re usually large beastly creatures formed from the souls of those either too corrupted to be saved or too irredeemable to be allowed to pass on. They’re characterized by their animal based appearances that look like their made of oozing black tar and their skull-like faces. They feed off the negative emotions of the living and can cause what's called "Fear infections" which can cling to people's souls and eventually turn people, living and dead, into fears themselves.

Witches are something I’m still kinda working on here. I know that unlike Reapers who destroy Fears Witches often utilize them for their own uses or goals. This makes Witches and Reapers enemies. Not all Witches necessarily use Fears. Eri, for example, doesn’t use Fears, though she’s young and young witches tend not to have the ability to tame them into familiars. Witches either set up their own magically shielded area they call a Witch’s Domain or they live on a floating island/city called Walpurgis. Witch’s Domains mostly pop up in the Living World and rarely will one ever set up shop in Purgatory. All Witches, though, have a Vassal. A Witch and their Vassal share a very very tight bond that extends through their very souls. Also all Witches use their magic through a conduct. Most use wands when their young but can late move on to rings, staffs, swords, etc etc. 

Vassals are beings that often seem to be born Reapers that somehow lack the ability to summon their soul weapon. The truth is that these “Reapers” are actually Witch’s Vassals, beings born into the world to protect their respective Witch. Their abilities as a Vassal often lay dormant until they experience an awakening upon meeting their Witch. When that happens appearances can change and the Vassal gains the ability to shift into what they call their Beastly Form. Shouta’s is based off a raven or crow. The big reason Vassals fail to summon a weapon from their own soul is because they can only summon a weapon from their Witch’s soul. You see, their souls are literally connected. That being said Witches and their Vassals are typically very close. Shouta develops an older brother/little sister or father/daughter sort of relationship with Eri meanwhile Nemuri (Midnight) is a Witch who’s romantically involved with her Vassal, Emi (Ms. Joke). Reapers often don’t understand this at all and are under the impression that Witches capture and use a fear to control their Vassals to do their bidding. 

There it is. There’s the background to this au ; v ; 

[regicidal-defenestration]

Victoria Died (and then some other things happened and we all got a bit distracted sorry about that Victoria)

.

A Death by Dying / Lost Cat Podcast crossover fic, because I think the Lost Cat narrator and Obituary Writer deserve to meet each other

.

[Lost Cat Narrator]

They say you have to go far away to realise what you had close by all along. They never did say exactly how far though…

[LCN]

“You need a holiday,” said Bojana.

  “What.” I said, because it’s quite an odd topic to spring on a person like that.

  “You need a holiday,” she said again. “I’ve booked us the plane tickets already.”

  I didn’t say “what” again, because you can overdo these things. “I have work.”

  “Your podcast?” Bojana asked, and she sounded unfairly incredulous.

  “And make music,” I added. “And-”

  Bojana stopped me. “You can do all that in America.”

  America? I thought to myself. “America?” I asked out loud, with more emphasis. “I’m not going to America.”

  “Yes you are,” Bojana said, and like that, it was sorted. We were off to America.

    *

  [LCN]

    The sign cheerfully welcomed us to the small town of Crestfall, Idaho, and informed us that it had been 5 days since the last unexplained death.

“That isn’t very reassuring,” I said.

“It’ll be a local joke,” said Bojana, but she didn’t sound very sure. Unexplained deaths, it seems, are an international uniting factor. Fun!

We stayed staring at the sign for a few more moments, in case any more unexplained deaths happened whilst we were watching. And one did, technically, although we didn’t actually get to see anyone die, which was disappointing. A man pushed past us, felt tip in hand, and carefully crossed out the number 5 and replaced it with a 0.

      He turned to us and frowned. “You’re new.”

This felt accusatory.

      Bojana said: “Did you kill them?”, because Bojana is good at cutting to the point, whereas I am more used to using enough words to make a story seem long enough to be worth it.

The man didn’t answer, which was definitely worrying, because you would think it is easy to say whether or not you’re a murderer. He had a firm, steady gaze, the kind that seems to have an internal monologue behind it, just on the edge of hearing. An internal monologue that might have sounded something like:

*

[Obituary Writer]

Victoria was dead, to begin with.

She was dead afterwards too, but I think misquoting famous literature always helps set the mood.

Victoria was dead, to begin with, and when I went to update Crestfall’s Unexplained Deaths Board, there were two strangers there, staring at it. You can always tell who’s new here, because for some reason they all react to the Unexplained Deaths Board with the same concern.

        I turned to them after changing the number, and introduced myself.

“I am the modest and handsomely dressed Obituary Writer of this little town called Crestfall. You must be new here, I can show you around if you want?”

      I also took a moment to adjust my stance so that they could both hopefully see the enamel pin on my lapel, which is in the shape of a typewriter and coloured with the bisexual flag colours, because they both seemed friendly, and you never know.

      The woman looked at me suspiciously. “Did you kill them?” she asked. Her eyes bore into me like she was trying to read the truth of my very soul, like if she just looked hard enough all the secrets of Victoria’s death would be laid out before her. It was the kind of stare that you can hear the internal monologue behind. An internal monologue, that might sound something like…

(the sound of howling wind. In the distance, a crow caws)

    Only joking. It’s impossible to hear other people’s internal monologues, no matter what Dan the Fake Tarot Man who lives on the edge of town claims.

A crying shame.

      “You’re taking a long time to answer that,” the man pointed out.

      “I am merely investigating Victoria’s death,” I replied, sounding suitably serious about the whole matter. “If you would like, I can show you my current notes?”

    The man frowned. “Why is an obituary writer investigating a death?” he muttered, more like he was speaking to himself than to me. However-

    “Obituary Writer,” I corrected him.

  A slight pause.  “Yes? That’s what I said.”

  “You called me an obituary writer, but I am the Obituary Writer."  Ugh. Tourists.

        The man and I held each other’s gazes. He seemed to be having an internal discussion with himself, perhaps even an argument.

Again - it really is a shame we cannot hear the thoughts and motives of others, don’t you think?

The silence stretched out long and sharp. I shifted. His eyes flicked down to my enamel badge. I looked slightly past his left ear. He looked up to a spot between my eyebrows.

      "I’m Bojana,” said Bojana. “Can we see your notes?”

*

[LCN]

Currently, my life does not have a motto, but if it did, I might decide on “never follow someone back to their house when they have already talked, at length, about murder.”

      “We’re going to die,” I whispered to Bojana.

    “We might not be,“ she whispered back, unhelpfully. "Besides, we’re on holiday. Lighten up a bit.”

      “Whilst searching for my cat, I have found all manner of things,” I whispered, although it was louder this time, and so more like a murmur. “Some of those things have been death, and some have been worse still, although I won’t go into those, since we are on holiday. The point is - I have no wish to be killed again.”

      “You two aren’t very quiet whisperers,” the Obituary Writer called back, stopping in front of a door and rooting around in his pockets for a key.

“Besides, I’m not a murderer, and I find that accusation slightly offensive.”

      Beckoning us to follow, he pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

I must admit: the house fit his whole aesthetic exactly. The curtains were a deep red, the carpets thick and shaggy, and there was, naturally, a typewriter, rather than a computer, left out on the dark oak table. There was another little pride flag in a skull-shaped mug, and on one wall hung a cork board that was covered in notes and red string.

“The house at Land’s End” read one note, which connected to another that said “The end of Land’s House???”, with three question marks, which is far too many for any normal person to use. Clearly, this job had put the Obituary Writer under large amounts of stress.

  I went to read further when -

  (the meow of a man-eating cat)

  - my thoughts were interrupted.

  He has a cat?

“You have a cat?” Bojana asked before I could. Damn.

  *

  [Obituary Writer]

The One Who Hunts wound himself between the man’s legs, purring.

“Three, actually. The One Who Hunts, The One Who Glares, and The One Who Sulks. They don’t eat people.”

      My two guests didn’t take that last sentence quite how I thought they would. The man stopped his idle scratching between The One Who Hunts’ ears. Bojana took half a step towards the door.

  “Okay, usually,” she began, “you don’t need to reassure someone that your cats won’t eat them.”

  “But I like to reassure people.”

    Bojana frowned. “I don’t feel reassured.” She looked over at her friend. “Do you feel reassured?”

      “I got eaten by cats once, whilst searching for my own,” the man said, with a dramatic stare into the middle distance. “They ate my right hand and my left foot, then they ate my nose and my tongue. My ribs were gnawed and my heart-”

      “Dude,” interrupted Bojana. “We’re on holiday, remember?”

      The man held up his hands apologetically but I was keen to hear more. If he had truly been eaten alive by cats, then I, the Obituary Writer, wanted to write him a damn good obituary. And with all due respect to Victoria, who was a much loved member of the community and will be sorely missed by all - this was the most interesting thing to happen all week.

“No please,” I said, “go on. I might even write you an obituary.”

    The man smiled- no- grinned. 

“Well then. How about I tell you, over a glass of wine?”

  *

(the narrator begins his song. It’s bittersweet, about missing cats, lost friends, and returning home at last)

  *

  [LCN]

When I finished telling my story, the Obituary Writer thought for a long time.

A long, long time.

“I think,” he said, at last, “you should meet my friend.”

  *

  [LCN]

Bojana said: “Dude.”

  I said: “I know.”

  Bojana repeated again: “Dude.”, a little more firmly.

  I said: “I know.”

      She pinched her arm. “Am I dreaming? I don’t think my imagination is good enough to make this up.”

      “We’re going, on the insistence of someone who may well be a murderer, to see the Angel of Death, who is not, as it were, a metaphor, and who is, unlike her sibling, the Angel of Life, quite a nice person, apparently.”

      Bojana sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that,” she said sadly.

       “If this all turns out not to be a metaphor,” I took a deep breath, “I’d just like to say-”

      “I’m not going to kill you,” someone interrupted with a voice like light refracted in glass.

      We screamed, Bojana grabbing my shoulder and me grabbing her arm. When we realised what we had done, we stayed like that anyway, because sometimes the comfort of having another person is worth more than pretending to be cool.

The woman was beautiful in the way that wildflowers growing up and out of a sheep’s skull are beautiful. She was pale and almost translucent, with a pair of great wings of bone folded against her back. Her eyes were old and sad, and her dress fluttered in the breeze like moth wings.

The Angel of Death.

      Bojana opened and shut her mouth a few times, trying and failing to find the words. “…dude,” she whispered at last, awe-struck. And then, slightly more worried - “Are you going to kill us?”

      The Angel cocked her head at us curiously. “I just said I wasn’t. Besides, I do not kill people. Only Life kills people.”

      I asked: “Can I use that line in my podcast?” and Bojana trod on my foot to get me to shut up.

      The Angel ignored both of us, which was probably for the best. “Why have you come to see me?” she asked instead.

        “Your friend is concerned about my friend,” Bojana said. “It was the bit about getting eaten by cats, I think.”

      In the trees, a raven cried out. “Woeful are the lost and woeful are the found! Caw!”

You know, I never realised American ravens were so eloquent.

      “They didn’t kill you though,” asked the Angel, in a way that wasn’t a question.

      “I got better.”

      “You bled out all over our nice carpet,” Bojana muttered.

      The Angel of Death didn’t say anything and that was an answer enough.

      “My cat is lost, and I miss it,” I began. “My search for it has lasted many years now, because I know that it isn’t dead. I have found people playing at being monsters and monsters playing at being people and I have found everyone else, who just sort of exist in the middle of those two states. I have been to strange places through strange portals and I have been to strange places like America, and, despite all, of this my cat is still lost.”

        The wind blew through the trees, a dog barked in the distance, the world turned on and on. My cat, wherever it is, meowed.

      The Angel looked at us with her sad eyes. “Why do you search for something forever out of reach, ignoring those around you? Your cat will return - all lost cats must show up somewhere.”

In a flurry of feathers, a raven settled on her shoulder. The light glinted off its eyes and I saw they were not eyes at all, but buttons. It cawed again as the Angel fed it a berry.

“Listen please: in life, death. In death, life. Enjoy it. Live a full, good life. It will make the wine taste better” She frowned for a moment. “Another person said those words before me, but I like them. Sometimes, it’s nice to have someone else tell you about what you already know.”

      And then she was gone, fading away like smoke spreading out into the night sky.

      Bojana let out a long, quiet whistle. “Do you think she’s single?”

[caydesgirl-uldrensprincess]

Her || Crow x OC (Smut)

Fandom: Destiny 2

Pairing: Crow/Oc

Warnings: Sexual content, M/F sex, romance, some fluff, but mostly sex

Summary: Crow and Isabelle are in the mood and can't help but give in, save for the interruption from young Lukas.

A/N: I never write this sorts of stuff cause I'm terrible at it, but I thought I'd give it a go 😅

-------------------------------------------------------

Crow looked at Isabelle as she laughed at something he had said. Her laugh was beautiful. He loved the way her sapphire eyes closed and crinkled, how her nose scrunched up, and how the smile spread across her face.

His heart skipped a beat. He could hear her laugh forever.

They were sitting on the couch in the living room of their shared apartment. They were just talking and drinking red wine while a random movie on Disney+ played on the TV above the electric fireplace. From the sound of it, it could've been Robin Hood. Crow wasn't really interested, he was interested in the Awoken woman in next him.

Isabelle stopped laughing with a heavy breath. She still smiled and looked at Crow. One of her legs were tossed carelessly over Crow's lap, whole the other was tucked underneath her.

"Damn, I can't believe Spider didn't bloody kill you pulling that stunt," She said, taking a sip of her wine before setting it on the coffee table.

"What can I say, it was the most effective way to get rid of the Hive," Crow replied, his hand resting on the leg Isabelle tossed over his lap.

"Maybe you should show me sometime," Isabelle suggested, leaning closer.

"You're starting to sound like a hunter," Crow's voice grew husky, "I like that."

"Only for research purposes."

Crow leaned in until their faces were pretty much touch. Isabelle was the one who closed the gap, kissing Crow slowly, but passionately.

He pulled Isabelle onto his lap as they started to make out on the couch. He dug his fingers into Isabelle's hips, bringing her in closer. She moaned aginst his lips.

Since coming to the tower, Crow and Isabelle had a lot more alone time to each other. Most of that alone time was spent tangled up in the sheets, but Crow did relearned a lot of things about his wife. Like how she likes her tea or how much of a clean freak she is. Crow also learned that he was the father a young six and a half year old, who goes by the name Lukas Aiden Sov.

Isabelle pulled away and started to trail kisses along his jawline. She nibbled Crow's earlobe gently, earning a groan of pleasure from him. Crow bit his bottom lip as his wife started to roll her hips against his already growing erection. It was like waves of pure ecstacy hitting him head on.

"The things you do to me, Hummingbird," Crow said.

"Oh, Crow, you do much worse to me just by looking in my general direction," Isabelle chuckled, unbottoning the Hunter's shirt and and sliding it off his shoulders, throwing the garment across the living room.

She trailed her hands down Crow's pecs and stomach, stopping at the waistband of the slacks he wore.

"A bit eager?" Crow chuckled, pressing a kiss just under Isabelle's ear.

"Shut up," the warlock purred, pressing another kiss to Crow's lips.

The hunter removed Isabelle's purple blouse by unbottoning it and sliding it off her shoulds. Crow pressed gentle kisses to the rise of Isabelle's breasts and the valley between them.

"Mummy, Daddy?" Came Lukas's voice from behind them.

Crow pulled his lips away from Isabelle's chest, pulling her tightly against his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Yes, Luke?" He asked.

"I had a bad dream," The boy said.

"Okay, go back to your room and I'll be there in a second," Crow replied.

The sound of small footsteps climbing up the staircase was heard. Isabelle chuckled, pressing a small kiss to the Hunter's cheek.

"Look at you taking the initiative to help Lukas get to sleep," She said getting up and picking her's and Crow's shirts off the ground.

"I'm is father aren't I?" Crow stated, slipping the white button up on then adjusting the erection in his pants.

"That you are, my dear husband," Isabelle smiled, "I'll be in our bedroom."

Crow followed Isabelle up the floating staircase. He watched as she went to the room on the far side of the hallway and disappeared. The hunter chuckled before entering his son's room.

Lukas was sitting in bed, clutching an Eliskni plush (who he named McStuffy). Crow sat on the edge of his bed and took the boy into his arms.

"So, you had a bad dream?" He asked

Lukas buried his head in his father's chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was really scary," The awoken boy said, "You and Mummy died, forever, and left me alone."

"Oh, Lukas," Crow held him close, running a soothing hand over Lukas's back, "Your mother and I will always be here, you don't have to worry."

Crow pointed to Lukas's chest, indicating his heart.

The young boy nodded, "Promise?"

The hunter smiled sadly, "That's something I can't promise, but I can promise that you will have us for a long as possible."

The awoken boy nodded again, snuggling into his father's chest once more.

Crow started to rock him back and softly sing a lullaby to him. It was from a Disney movie Lukas was watching earlier that evening before going to bed. The boy started snoring softly in Crow's arm. The hunter smiled and laid him down and tucked him in.

"Sweet dreams, little one," He said, placing a kiss on the sleeping boy's forehead.

Crow left Lukas's bedroom and went to the room he shared with Isabelle. He opened the door and went in, closing it behind him.

"Lukas is out like a li-" Crow frozen in the middle of his sentence as he found Isabelle laying seductively on the bed, wearing nothing but a lacy pink bra and matching panties

"Let's finish what we started, huh?" Isabelle asked, her sapphire eyes swimming with lust.

"I fucking love you," Crow smiled, taking his shirt off again and strutting over to his wife.

He crawled on top of her and pressed his lips to hers.  Isabelle hummed and returned the kiss, running her fingers through Crow's raven locks. 

"Still hard," She said, bucking her hips against Crow's erection.

"It's a miracle Lukas didn't ask any questions," He replied, trailing kisses down Isabelle's neck and chest.

Crow reached behind her and unclasped Isabelle's bra. He pulled the garment off and threw it behind him. Crow pressed his tongue to Isabelle's right breast and swirled his around the nub, hardening it to a point. The warlock moaned breathlessly, tugging Crow's hair.

He swapped breasts and did the same thing. Crow started grind his hip into Isabelle's clothed core.

"Crow, stop bloody teasing!" Isabelle exclaimed, her English accent coming out slightly pitched.

Crow moaned, "Be patient, my beloved wife."

Isabelle pulled him back up to her lips, slipping her tongue inside Crow's mouth. Her hands trailed down to his belt, unbuckling it and undoing his slacks. He got the message and pulled away from the kiss long enough to take the slacks off. Isabelle pulled Crow back to her, making sure he was on the bottom.

"Isabelle," He said, admiring her body from the new angle, "you look absolutely breathtaking."

The Warlock smiled before she leaned down and started to trail kisses along his jawline again then down to his navel. Crow watched as a mischievous look flashed in Isabelle's eyes. Before he knew it, his wife hooked her fingers under the hem if his boxers and pulled them down. His hard erection spang free, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

A purplish blush dusted Crow's cheeks as Isabelle pressed a kiss to his cock. A moan left his mouth as her thumb swiped the head. Her tongue found its way to the base of his shaft and licked a line up to the tip. Crow bucked his hips at the feeling, earning a giggle from Isabelle. He couldn't help, but look at her, she looked beautiful, even if she was giving him a blowjob. Isabelle took him in her mouth bobbing her head up and down, hollowing her cheeks .

Crow let out loud moan, as his head fell back onto the pillows and his eyes rolled up to the back of his skull. His hips bucked as Isabelle's tongue worked its magic. One of her hands slid up Crow's thigh, void energy pulsing through her fingertips and onto his skin. Crow caught his breath, feeling like he was on the edge.

"Isabelle, come here, I wanna finish inside you," He managed.

The Awoken female smiled and crawled on top of him. One of Crow's hands found Isabelle's waist. He smiled as her sapphire eyes met his amber ones.

"I know I said this earlier, but have to say this again," Crow said, using his other hand to cup her cheek, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Isabelle replied with a smile, leaning down to kiss Crow.

He returned the kiss as he flipped the both of them over, so that he was now on top. He pulled away from Isabelle's lips. The hand on Isabelle’s waist found its way to her panties and slowly slipped them off her. He readied himself at her entrance, pushing into her gently. Isabelle moaned as she kissed Crow again. When he was fully inside her, he started to thrust his hips. He kept a slow rhythm as he and Isabelle moaned softly- making love.

Solar and Void mixed perfectly. Sliding, pushing, and pulling never felt so good. Crow felt Isabelle's fingers dig into his back. Surely to leave marks in the morning. The sounds falling from Isabelle's mouth was like a sweet melody that harmonized with his own.

How was he this lucky to be married to a woman this beautiful both inside and out? Crow had no idea. A woman so caring, kind, loving, passionate, understanding, intelligent, and charismatic should not even exist, it was simply impossible. But here was living proof in his arms, coming undone by his touch and his touch alone.

Isabelle arched her back against Crow's chest as he sped up his thrusting. He pressed feather light kisses to Isabelle's neck and collar.

His love for her was something he couldn't describe. Trying to would cause catastrophic results. But he would simply do anything and everything he can for her and their son.

"Crow," Isabelle mewled, her head lolling back.

Her bubble gum pink hair clung to the sweat forming on her forehead. The purplish blush on her ears spread to her cheeks, neck and chest. Crow groaned as her walls tightened around his cock.

"Hummingbird," He muttered back in her ear.

"Fuck, I'm close, Crow," Isabelle moaned, wrapping her legs around his torso, quivering under his touch.

Crow sped up his thrusting. Isabelle's moans increased, curses slipped passed her lips. He felt her tighten around him one last time before her orgasm hit, cumming all over his cock. He finished a few minutes later, his seed spilling inside her.

They both panted heavily. Crow pressed gentle kisses to Isabelle's forehead before pulling out and collapsing on his side of the bed.

He heard Isabelle chuckle, "That was the best sex, we've ever had."

"You could say that again," The hunter said.

"Wanna join me for a late night shower?"

"You know I do."

The couple chuckled again before getting up and heading to the master bathroom.

[amazedforjjk]

Black Crow - Yoongi

Summary: It’s not often you stumble upon a handsome tied up man in your parking lot in the dead of the night. What adventures this mysterious stranger is going to embark you on?

Genre: mafia!Yoongi, angst, humor, a tiny tiny hint of fluff

Warnings: Strong language, violence, blood and injuries, mentions of abuse and torture, tragic backstory, snarky Yoongi

A.N: Black Crow is finally here!! I’m so excited for you guys to read it! I’ll go on a hiatus for about two weeks but I’ll be back, don’t worry! I already have a new story idea I’m excited about!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow, I love interacting with you guys!!

Word count: 14K

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10:43 pm

It’s pitch black when you step out through the big glass doors of your office complex and the only way you manage to put a foot in front of the other without falling on your face is thanks to your flashlight on your phone. Everyone is already gone by now, and you should be as well but your boss had asked you to stay later tonight, because that fucker isn’t able to prepare a powerpoint by himself. Fucking boomers and their inability to use a computer. You huff in frustration as your heels click on the ground. You try to readjust your tight skirt by pulling at the edge. You hate this office with a passion, from your boss to his abject dress code. You absolutely despise having to dress in a tighter than normal grey skirt along with dark pantyhoses and a white blouse just for him to ogle you and your female coworkers. Your scalp hurts from having to pull your hair in a tight bun everyday.

Your heels are so fucking painful after a day of working, your boss making a point of having you run around the open space for different files that he strangely doesn’t need merely five minutes after asking you for them. You are not his assistant either, so you shouldn’t have to do anything for his fat ass but he holds your career in his hands, promising you the position you aspired towards for the past year without ever committing to his word. You huff again as you try to find your car in the dark, holding your phone between your shoulder and your cheek while you rummage in your purse to find your keys. Your office’s neighborhood isn’t exactly unsafe at night but you’d rather be home as fast as possible.

Admittedly, no one’s waiting for you there, except your bed and a comfy pair of pants, but you still sigh in contentment when you find the button to open your car. You get in in a hurry, throwing your bag across on the passenger seat and starting the car up. You already feel more relaxed in your car, removing your painful heels to drive. Your ankles are covered in blisters for sure and the tight fabric of your pantyhose pressing against the tender skin makes you grit your teeth. You drive home in a hurry, certainly not very safely but you don’t seem to care tonight, still fueled on the rage you piled up inside you today.

It’s definitely not your dream job, but a writer’s salary doesn’t pay the bills, at least not yours. And it’s not that bad; Sure you hate everyone in this office but the work in itself is okay, and the paycheck is worth the trouble. It’s thanks to that that you are two steps from owning your apartment in the center of the city, currently reimbursing your loan from the bank. It’s also why you need that new position; Bigger responsibilities but a bigger paycheck and flexible hours, perfect for an aspiring writer. Most importantly, you’ll don’t have to do anything for your asshole of a boss anymore.

You park in your parking spot down your building complex, calming down as you retrieve your keys from the ignition. You sigh. Sometimes you think you let the rage of your job consume you because it masks the loneliness overflowing from you everytime you come back home. You shouldn’t feel that way; you are the one who decided to move thousands of miles away from your parents. You are the country girl who decided to flee her small town to settle in the big city. You are not the only one, most of your friends moved as well, but not to the capital and sometimes you feel really alone. Even if you live in an over crowded city you can’t seem to find people to talk to other than a therapist.

You sigh as you slip your uncomfortable heels back on, stepping out of your car with your bag. You don’t notice at first the grunts and sounds of straining as you close your door and lock the car, but when you do you still instantly. Your eyes scan all around you while you strain your ears to find the origin of the noise. It sounds like a man is struggling against something, huffing and puffing in frustration.

The parking lot is empty and dimly lit, which is not unusual at this time of the night. You grab your phone tightly in your hand. The screen reads 11:07 pm before you tap on the emergency button. You don’t call the cops yet, but you feel a bit more reassured now that they are only a phone call away. You tentatively step closer to the trunk of your car towards the sound, steadying your breathing to be as silent as you can. Surely the person making the sound has already heard you arriving in your car and knows you are here but the fear gnawing your stomach keeps you from thinking straight. You forget about your painful heels, the rage of the day and your loneliness to focus entirely on the sounds . You can tell the man is still struggling, grunts and curse words alike becoming louder.

The deep voice spits a “Fuck!” and a car two rows away from yours sways lightly as if someone pushed against it. Having finally located the source of the sound you approach the car slowly, only stopping when you are close enough to determine what’s happening. A man is sitted against the back door of said car, head turned to look at his hands behind his back while struggling so that you can only see his raven hair. From the rope tied around his shoulders, you gather that his hands must be tied up as well and that he must be trying, with no success thus far, to break free.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, and you take advantage of that to figure out what the hell you are supposed to do in this situation. You could call the cops, leave him in their hands and he’ll be fine. Or you could try to free him from his bonds, there’s no need to get the police involved if it’s only a bad prank gone wrong. You glance at the chains around his neck; a silver skull is on the biggest of them and you can’t help but gulp. He could be dangerous… Like a gang member? Who else wears chains and skulls nowadays? Or he could be in danger, you realize as you notice a big dark stain on his khaki shirt. Wait, is that blood?

You let out an involuntary squeak as the stain seems to get even bigger. Your eyes widen when you realize how much you fucked up and you bring your hands to your mouth as if it would silence you but it’s too late. At the sound the man snaps his head in your direction, his grey eyes instantly finding yours. His brows are furrowed in both frustration and surprise, making him look intimidating. What shocks you the most though is the huge scar coming from his forehead to his cheekbone. You can’t help but take a step back, your hands falling to your sides, revealing your gaping mouth.

His eyes scour you and his eyebrows relax when he seems to understand that you pose no threat to him, but he still doesn’t talk. He gets up from where he was sitting, using the car behind him for support, gritting his teeth together in effort. You take another step back and your rear meets the car behind you. He looks much more intimidating now; he isn’t particularly tall nor is he very broad but his stance makes him terrifying. Your instincts are screaming at you to run away, that he is dangerous, but it’s like you are glued in place, unable to move. It’s only when he winces in pain again, surely from the wound on his side that you regain your ability to form coherent thoughts.

He is tied up and wounded; The man’s not a lot of a threat for you right now. A kick in his groin and you should be able to get home without a problem. You gulp before breaking the silence.

“You are wounded… It looks bad” is all you can muster tentatively. Silence.

Wow, that was lame, you internally cringe. He simply cocks an eyebrow and a smirk appears on his lips.

“Yeah, no shit”

You stammer and you feel your face heat up. Unable to find a witty comeback, you just huff, crossing your arms on your chest.

“Look, you need help or not?” you say simply but that is enough to wipe the smirk off his lips. It’s his turn to huff before looking away from you and you wonder how he could seem so intimidating earlier. He turns around, not without difficulty, facing away from you in an incredible demonstration of trust, displaying his tied up hands and you warily step towards him.

“Don’t try anything, I have a taser in my purse,” you bluff, eyeing the ropes currently cutting into his chafed wrists. The ropes are bloodied and you question how long he was trying to break free for. His shoulders move up and down as he laughs.

“I’ll be good,” he says, his voice filled with sarcasm. You roll your eyes. He is way too sassy for someone presently tied up.

You start to tug at his binds, trying to find the knot to let him free. He grunts as you put pressure on the damaged skin of his wrists. You look up from his wrist to look at him. He is turned but you can see his strained face in the car window’s reflection. Now that you can see him from a closer perspective, he looks abnormally livid, eyes unfocused and panting. He looks like he’s about to pass out, you note. Wait, he is passing out! You barely have the time to catch him before one of his knees falters.

“Hey hey hey- Dude? Are you okay?” you ask, voice full with concern. He mumbles, quite clearly unable to talk. “Fuck” you curse under your breath. You’ll deal with the rope later, you need to treat his wound. You grab his shoulder, trying to get him to lean on you and you start to walk to your apartment complex. He doesn’t even try to complain, and you are grateful; It’s already too difficult to carry his weight in your flimsy heels, especially without a good grasp on him. The ropes around him make it difficult for you to hold him steady, and he almost fell a few times when you tried to get a better grip.

Your perfect bun is ruined by the time you reach the elevator, and you are panting from the effort. Who’d have thought having to drag a semi conscious man across a fucking parking lot would be so difficult? The elevator ride provides you with a break, and you simply keep him against the wall while you catch your breath. His face is lolling forward, chin pressed against his chest. He still looks white as a sheet and you start to worry. Was it really a good idea to bring him home? You are capable of treating wounds, that’s not the problem, but if his wound is too deep or if he needs a blood transfusion you won’t be able to do anything.

“Shit, I should’ve brought you to the hospital,” you say, mainly to yourself as you stare at the elevator’s mirror.

“NO!” he shouts, making your head snap to look at him, alarmed. He managed to lift his head to look at you, his grey eyes burning with a fiery determination. “No hospital,” he repeats, and you nod at him, disconcerted. He calms after your nod, his head sinking back down to his chest.

Entering your apartment was a challenge; You had to hold the black haired man against the wall with your side while you searched your purse for your keys. He almost fell when you found them and forgot to press into him against the wall to open the door. Thankfully for him you realised your mistake early enough, dropping both your keys and bag to keep him from crashing on the wooden floor. You are also grateful none of your neighbours decided to take a midnight stroll, or they would have seen you pressing a tied up and passed out man against the wall with your body while desperately trying to open the door. Hardly something you want to be remembered by.

You plop the unconscious man on the couch unceremoniously, forgetting for a second his wound. You wince when you realise your mistake, but thankfully the man is too out of it to make one of his snarky comments. You retrieve your first aid kit from the bathroom and take advantage of his state to treat his wound. It is not too deep so you are able to patch it up without having to stitch him up. You’ve never been so happy to have a nurse as a mother, having learned most of your healing skills from her. You conclude, relieved, that his passing out is mostly due to the shock rather than excessive blood loss, since he didn’t seem to have a concussion when he talked to you. Adrenaline must have kept him in a conscious state of mind until he realized you didn’t mean any harm.

You cut through the rope with a kitchen knife, taking the opportunity to inspect him for any more injuries. You treat his wrists with an antiseptic cream before bandaging them. He is not otherwise severely harmed, though he does sport some nasty bruises on his --surprisingly toned-- chest. What the fuck happened to him?

You sit back on the ground, facing him, when you finally finish your check-up. His breathing is steady and he seems to have regained a splash of color on his face. You take the opportunity to take a better look at him. His features are sharp though he does have a cute button nose and cute pink lips. You shake your head to chase those thoughts. What is wrong with you, checking out a passed out man?

You check for his temperature before sighing. You are incredibly tired, the day was already exhausting as it is, nevermind with this sudden encounter. You decide against putting away the kitchen knife, instead taking it with you to your room. You are nice, not stupid, and though you don’t feel in danger anymore, you are not the one to take unnecessary risks.

It’s already well past midnight when you go to sleep, knife under your pillow. You hope your guest on the couch will wake up early as you need to be up early tomorrow for your job. You’d like him to be gone as soon as possible, men like this only mean trouble. Sure you’d like to know a bit more about him, like how did he wind up in your parking lot at 11pm tied up and injured. But you know the saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’, and you value your comfortable life too much to put it in jeopardy for a man’s backstory. Who knows what could happen?

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You wake up late the next morning. After a quick shower and almost falling flat on your ass trying to get dressed as fast as possible, you sprint out your room into the living room. The couch is empty and you smile to yourself. He’s gone. Good. It’s one less thing for you to worry about so you dart through the door, trying to make it in time before getting chewed out by your boss for arriving 3 minutes late.

You manage to sit at your desk one minute before the start of your shift and you sigh. Here we go again, another day of having to deal with dumbasses. Despite the fact that you woke up late, the rest of the day proves to be quite good. Instead of being his usual manipulative asshole self, your boss decides to ask you in his office to talk about your well deserved promotion, and tells you that an interview is set for you tomorrow in order to decide whether or not you should get the job. You spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, excastic to finally see your hard work rewarded.

You rush home after another hard day of work, sleep deprived and craving the comfort of your covers. It seems however that fate has other plans for you, you realise when you open the door to fall on last night’s guest. He was still here. Shit. He is comfortably seated on your couch, feet on the table while he’s watching TV. Eyes wide, you drop your bag on the floor.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! I thought you were gone!” you shout at him. He nonchalantly eyes you up and down, smirking at your crestfallen expression.

“You locked me in this morning,” he answers simply. “I couldn’t open the door to get out.”

The way he pronounces these words without a care in the world leads you to believe he mustn't have tried really hard to get out. You bring your hands to rub your face, feeling anger building up within you. Who does he think he is?

“You have a nice place,” he says gesturing around him with his hand. “Also, you shouldn’t keep a knife under your pillow, it’s dangerous,” he adds, brows furrowed in fake concern.

“You went in my room?!” you ask, clearly fuming. The nerve of this guy!

“Of course, I had to make sure I couldn’t find another exit”, he says, as if it was obvious. This guy is seriously getting on your last nerve, and you grit your teeth, trying to avoid exploding in his face. He seems to pick up on your aggravated state and his face becomes serious. He lifts his feet from the table, standing up to move closer to face you.

“Thank you for last night. I owe you a lot”

He bows slightly and it’s like your anger evaporates, making way for your curiosity to take over.

“Yeah about that… What happened to you last night?” His face hardens instantly and his whole body stiffens. He seems to ponder what to say for a while, obviously not quite ready to let you in on the situation.

“I can’t tell you--”

“I think you owe me that much” you retort, interrupting his refusal. He huffs and thinks for a bit more time.

“You’re right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I had... uh...  Some troubles... With a gang”

By the way he forces the words out of his mouth, you figure this is the most you’ll get out of him right now. It does make sense in a way, and you are now glad you could help him. You hum in acknowledgment and he seems relieved to know you won’t ask anymore questions. It’s his business anyway, and you already know enough.

“I figure that you need to lay low for a while, wrong?” you sigh, passing by him to go to the kitchen. He looks surprised but quickly regains his composure. He hums positively, still not quite sure where this is going. “It’s late, you can stay tonight as well if you want.” 

You don’t know why you are saying this. Inviting a stranger to stay for one more night? Are you going nuts? Are you really that lonely that you would invite someone --whom you met in sketchy circumstances, let’s not forget-- to spend the night with you? His response cuts the little voice in your head nagging at you.

“That’d be good, yes” and you turn to meet his eyes. His face is still serious but you can discern a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m Y/l/n Y/n by the way”

“Min Yoongi”

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi. Tonight’s menu is take out,” you say, turning to face him completely, leaning on the counter behind you.

“I’m fine with that,” he says with a playful smile and you don’t fail to notice the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Did you say something funny?

You brush it off, instead focusing on ordering chicken fried rice and dumplings from your favorite chinese place in the neighborhood on your phone. Yoongi returns to focus on the TV while you order, and you take advantage of this to observe him. At first glance, he looks fairly nonchalant, without a care in the world, but the more you examine him, you notice the slight movements of his eyes whenever you make a sound. He doesn’t look uneasy, more like generally careful of you. In fact, it looks like he chose to sit where he could monitor you without you catching him, sitting at a certain angle so he doesn’t have to turn his head to watch you.

You gulp, suddenly feeling more on edge than before. Now that you see it, he seems more controlled than you would think, as though the very way he sits is meticulous; as if to convey that he is non-threatening to you, while still being able to act if need be. You can’t help but feel he might have downplayed his troubles, that type of behaviour does not match with a small lowlife’s who would just have “some troubles with a gang”. No, he knows what he’s doing, and has known from the very beginning, purposefully using sarcasm to break the tension and get you to help him. You don’t think he manipulated you into bringing him home though, that man was too passed out to manage that feat.

You grab the counter to ground you. Realising you just welcomed someone that appears to be dangerous and manipulative into your own home is not a great feeling. If Yoongi has noticed your sudden tenseness, he doesn’t let it show. He’ll be gone by tomorrow, you remind yourself, trying to calm your pounding heart. You feel like a prey stuck with a wolf in sheep’s disguise. But you are no damsel in distress, you’ll be just fine if you stay wary. Keep your guard up while not letting him know you figured him out. Guess you’ll be sleeping with a knife under your pillow tonight as well.

The rest of the night continues on fairly pleasantly. You do most of the talking during the night, telling him stories about your awful boss and your dream job. Yoongi is actually good company, listening to you with a smile, though you still feel that he contains himself. You purposefully avoid talking about his past or his job, not wanting to make a wrong move and anger him. The less you know the better. The atmosphere between the two of you is still somewhat tense, and you all but jump when the doorbell rings, announcing your dinner’s arrival.

He does seem to relax once his stomach full, even going as far to flash you a gummy smile when you lose balance and the empty take out boxes come crashing onto the ground. Granted, he was laughing at your clumsiness but you had a good time nonetheless.

“I need to be up early tomorrow, I should hit the sack,” you say while throwing out the take out boxes. “I’ll leave at 7:30 so you’ll have to leave at that time too”, you add and he hums in understanding.

You bid him goodnight before entering your room and as you are pushing the door a small “Thank you, Y/n” escapes his lips. You turn around and return his small smile. Is it just you or did this one seem sincere?

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You don’t wake up sleep deprived this time around. In fact, you feel better than you have in a while. Is this the effect of having company for once? You scoff at your own thoughts before preparing yourself for the day. No, it’s of course because of your near new job interview. Yoongi is up and ready when you step out of your room to get your coffee, his wet hair sticking to his face.

“You want one?”, you ask him, pointing at the coffee machine. He nods and thanks you when you hand him a coffee. This morning feels a little awkward, you note. You are not quite sure what to say in this situation, and apparently neither is he because the both of you are just staring at each other while sipping your coffees, waiting for the other to say something. You also note the contrast between you too; him, wearing worn out grey jeans and an oversized khaki bomber jacket, and you, wearing a tight black skirt, an assorted suit jacket and an ironed white blouse. Once done with your coffee, you slip your uncomfortable heels and the both of you step out into the elevator.

It is finally time for you to separate when you step out on the street. You turn to face him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What to say? You are relieved when he starts talking first.

“Thank you for letting me stay, Y/n, I owe you one”, he says with a small smile.

“Well, two if we’re honest”, you answer with a smirk. He looks at you amused. You take a glance at your watch. “Alright, I should go, or I’ll be late for my interview. Goodbye, Min Yoongi”. You wave at him. You fail to notice the men coming up from behind him. You should have, you have never seen them before, and them sporting black clothes and heavy gold chains would have stuck with you. Yoongi does notice the ones coming from behind you though, his eyes widening. It’s far too late however, and he cannot reach you before he is grabbed from the back. You scream when you feel two pairs of hands on each side of you, maintaining you in place. Yoongi is trying to fight off his assailants but he is quickly overpowered, knocked out by a nasty blow to his temple. For your credit, your struggling gave them a hard time trying to contain you as well, scratching and kicking in every direction, but a hit in the face is enough to finally calm you, rendering you unconscious.

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You wake up face down in the trunk of a car. You can tell by the sound of the engine as well as the smell of gasoline. Your head hurts and you are disoriented. Everything is dark and you are cramped up in a tiny space, something soft under you. The haze surrounding your mind lifts instantaneously when you remember what happened before you blacked out. You struggle when you find out your hands and feet are tied up, but still at once when the soft thing under you releases an ‘ooomph’ sound.

“Yoongi?!”, you shriek. You immediately regret speaking so loud, cursing under your breath. Just because you can’t hear them in the car doesn’t mean they can’t hear you.

“Yeah..” he responds, voice strained, obviously in pain from the elbow you lodged in his ribs as you tried to move around.

“What the fuck is going on?”, you whisper-shout, anger boiling in your veins. You knew that man was trouble but you invited him in anyway. This is what you get when you don’t listen to your instincts. You hear him sigh above your head.

“Remember the gang I told you about?” he says tentatively, knowing you are only inches away from exploding. “Well, I killed their leader and they are not very happy with me right now.”

You can’t believe what you are hearing.

“And that’s ‘some troubles’ for you?! What the fuck, Yoongi?!”

“That’s really all that you take away from what I just said?”, he retorts in disbelief.

No, it’s really not. But right now, the fact that you are acquaintances with a murderer is the least of your worries. “Fuck”, you utter, hitting your head softly on his chest. The fear mixing with anger inside you makes it difficult for you to think. How are you going to get out of this mess?

“You seem awfully calm for someone who’s just been kidnapped, Yoongi”, you say against his chest, your head still a bit dizzy from the hit you’ve received from your kidnappers.

“This is not my first rodeo, sweetheart”

You scoff at his nonchalant response, but it somehow reassures you a bit. At least you are not alone.

“So, what’s your fucking plan to get us out of here then, cowboy?”, you ask, expecting a brilliant plan to get the both of you out of harm’s way unscathed and-

“I don’t know yet”

Were you drinking anything, you would’ve spat your drink in his face in disbelief. But you are not, so you decide to head butt him in the chest instead. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?”, he whisper-shouts, obviously surprised by your sudden violence.

“You got me in this mess dude, now you get me out of it!”

You are seeing red. Even in this kind of situation he isn’t serious, driving you crazy with his nonchalant responses. He is going to get me killed, you think to yourself.

“I’ve escaped once from them, I can do it again. They are not exactly the brightest bunch”, he says, and you feel him shift under you. “The sole fact that they took you with me is proof. Would you turn on your back please, darling?”

Though you don’t understand why, you comply without a complaint. The man is supposed to be used to this, now’s not the time to ask questions. You twist on your back with difficulty, not without purposefully elbowing him in the stomach once again, disguising it as an accident when he starts to curse you out. As soon as you are in position, you feel his hands feeling around their way to yours, reaching your binds in no time. You can’t help but shriek when the cold blade of what you guess is a knife touches your forearm.

“First rule of kidnapping, darling, always check the belt”, he explains while cutting through the rope attaching your wrists together with dexterity. You are free in less time that you need to say it, rubbing your chafed wrists in disbelief. You are impressed to say the least, and quite relieved to have underestimated your kidnappee buddy. He hands you the knife.

“Alright, now I need you to free our feet. With you on top of me like that I can’t do it”

You start to shift in the small space trying to bend in order to reach your feet, feeling as you go. You’ve never been the most flexible but you don’t pay mind to the pain in your lower back as you start to cut through the rope around his feet, a weird feeling of deja vu settling in the back of your mind.

“Wait… Is that MY kitchen knife?!”, you ask in an ushered yet still incredulous voice, recognizing the grip of the knife in your hands.

“Of course it is”, he says as if it was obvious. “Did you seriously think that I, a hit-man searched for by the most dangerous gang of the country, would leave anywhere unarmed?”, he adds after hearing your disbelieving scoff. His feet are free now and you start to cut through your binds.

“The most dangerous- What?! I thought you said they weren’t the brightest bunch?!”, you reply, incredulous, stopping to cut for a second.

“Well yes, I killed the brains of the gang”, he says matter-of-factly. “You done with the knife? Give it to me.”

You hand him back the knife, your ankles now free of the restraints. The car is still moving, and you start to wonder what Yoongi is planning to do. Best course of action would probably be to wait for the car to stop and the kidnappers to open the trunk, taking them by surprise.

This doesn’t seem to be what Yoongi has in mind however, as you feel him start to rip off the carpet on the floor of the trunk. Your eyes widen but you try to move over to the front part of the trunk, letting him space to go on his rampage on the carpet. Has he gone mad? Is this how you die?

“What the fuck are you doing?”, you ask him through gritted teeth. Now’s not the time to attract attention.

“I’m looking for the trunk release cable” he says flatly, obviously focused on his task.

“Huh?”

“It should be… Right about... Here!” He pulls on something at once and the trunk suddenly opens. Your eyes hurt from the abrupt surge of light and you shield your eyes. The car starts to sway dangerously, the kidnappers obviously as surprised as you are to see the trunk pop open. Your eyes don’t have the time to accommodate before Yoongi yanks you by your hand, making you crash in his chest, before jumping, effectively throwing the both of you out of the trunk onto the road. Thankfully, Yoongi had the presence of mind to jump at an angle, making you tumble into the sidewalk instead of underneath the wheels of the car behind yours.

You barely have time to register what just happened before Yoongi pulls you by the hand again. Everything hurts and you are not quite sure what just happened, but you follow suit, running after him. You discard the only heel left on your feet after your little acrobatic feat in order to be able to run properly on the sidewalk. You don’t even pay mind to the incredulous glares the two of you gather. Oh what a sight you must be, running barefoot in the streets, cheeks, hands and knees wounded, your clothes a mess and your previously done up hair flowing in the wind. There are not many people around, making it easy for you to run, but easy for your kidnappers to find you. The car must have stopped a few moments after the trunk popped open because men are running after you, screaming.

Yoongi makes a sudden turn in a narrow and dark alleyway. You want to ask him where he is leading you but you are too breathless to even say a word. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to keep going like that, especially since your feet are starting to hurt from the gravel and the shards of glass covering the alleyway. You keep on running anyway, somehow convinced that the man running in front of you knows what he’s doing.

The sound of a gunshot rings right next to your ears, the bullet embedding itself on the wall alongside you. You shriek as the sound brings you back to earth, and you start to run even faster, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, continuing to run, brows furrowed and eyes trained in front of him. You make a second abrupt turn, leading even deeper in the maze of alleyways of your city. This part of the town is known to be the headquarters of the criminal activity, so it’s no wonder you are completely lost here whereas Yoongi expertly proceeds through, leading you to an unknown place.

The deeper you sink in the maze, the more people you meet, and the more scared you become. Everything is so foreign and dangerous to you, and you grip tighter on Yoongi’s hand as he pushes through the mob. It might be a bit stereotypical but these people all look too intimidating to you, especially since you are running away from men who just tried to kill you. You should thank them really, since they help you escape, unbeknownst to them. The alleys are larger now, though still very dark, and your nose catches whiffs of grilled meat and other delicacies as you run past the shady food stands. You are a bit overwhelmed as you progress through the crowd; Your heart is beating in your ears and your mind is racing, unable to entirely make sense of what you are experiencing.

Yoongi yanks on your hand once again, beckoning you to turn in yet another alley. This one is distinctly smaller and emptier than the former, and Yoongi stops abruptly in front of a back door, letting go of your hand to pound on the dirty metal door. His pounding is insistent and for the first time he looks nervous, eyeing where you just came from warily. The door doesn’t seem to want to open despite his persistence and he starts to curse. Behind him, you are quite literally trembling with anxiety. Your heart is throbbing in your chest and you only just realise your cheeks are wet with tears. Have you been crying the whole time?

“Fuck Jin, open the god damn door!”, Yoongi shouts, fist thumping against the metal, startling you from your thoughts. The door finally rattles and opens to reveal a tall yawning man. His brows are furrowed in discontent and you can tell he is going to chew Yoongi out before stopping crestfallen upon seeing his state. He doesn’t even notice you at first, too preoccupied for his friend to cast you a glance.

“Took you long enough” Yoongi grumbles, quickly grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside after him, pushing past his friend who is still staring at him, mouth open wide. The latter sighs before closing the door without a word and following you. The doorway leads to a small living room with a kitchen in the corner lit up by a yellow light bulb. Yoongi lets go of your hand to sink on the couch, and you stay still, not quite sure what to do while Jin settles on the armchair on the opposite side.

Jin looks fairly angry, his eyebrows furrowed and his tired brown eyes shooting daggers at Yoongi. He passes a hand through his black hair, exposing his forehead. He is obviously waiting for Yoongi to explain, his plump lips pressed in a tight line when he realises his friend isn’t going to say anything.

“What the hell are you doing here and what happened to you?” is the first thing he says, concern not well hidden under the apparent annoyance in his tone. He turns his head to you and he shoots you a concerned look. “And who is she?”

Normally, you would have clapped back that she has a name and that if he wanted to know anything about you he could ask directly, but you are too shocked to say anything, still unable to register what is happening right now. He must sense what state you are in because he walks to the kitchen and offers you a drink. You accept it wordlessly, staring blankly at him and then at the glass.

“Well apparently, Wolf’s Fang did not appreciate me killing their leader and tried to kidnap me. Twice”, Yoongi replies with his usual nonchalance. You are happy to note that you are not the only one it drives crazy, judging by the look on Jin’s face.

“Wolf’s Fa- Yoongi, I told you not to approach them, they are trouble,” he says, jaws clenched in obvious annoyance as his friend shrugs. He sighs and turns to you. You can tell he is trying hard to conceal his anger, though the furiousness of his eyes betrays him. “You don’t look so good, sweetheart, you should go to the bathroom”, he tells you, pointing at a corridor. He doesn’t need to pry, you are happy to get away from the tension in the room, making your way towards said corridor.

The bathroom is small, covered in tile. You lock yourself in, slashing your face with cold water, eager for the haze surrounding your mind to leave. You might have a small concussion from your earlier acrobatic feat, along with the mild marks of road burns on the side of your head. You can still hear the argument in the living room between the two men, and you cut the flow of water to listen to the ushered voices.

“-I told you it was the worst idea you’ve ever had, I can’t believe you did it anyway”

“What was I supposed to do, Jin, let them get away with it?”

“It was twenty years ago Yoongi-”

“They killed my parents, I don’t really think there’s a ‘best before’ date on revenge.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. Just because you are used to killing people doesn’t mean you can take on everyone, Yoongi. They were too dangerous for you but you still went away and killed their leader. I told you to wait and build a team but no, you couldn’t fucking wait, could you? I shouldn’t have told you.”

“It was MY revenge Hyung-”

“That’s why you involved the girl?” Your brows furrow, and you sit on the toilet seat, eager to know what they are going to say about you. Yoongi takes a second before answering, his voice calmer and you have to strain your ears to hear him.

“No. That- That was a mistake. She found me the first time I escaped and she helped me.”

“And that’s how you repay her, by implicating her in your shit?”

“No, I- I just wasn’t careful enough. I didn’t mean for her to get caught up in this.”

“Awww, little Black Crow didn’t want her to get caught in this” Jin retorts sarcastically. “Well guess what, fucker, because of you she’s going to have to hide from one of the biggest gangs in the damn city! I don’t even care that you bring ME into this mess, but you just had to involve an innocent person. I thought you despised that.”

“I fucking hate it!”, Yoongi shouts. “But it’s too late to change anything about that, isn’t it Hyung?”

You rise from your seat, having heard enough. You don’t want them to fight because of you, and you’re afraid you’ve spent much more time in the bathroom than appropriate. Having finally regained your senses, you feel the strain your chase has on your body; your muscles ache and your feet are bloody, shards of glass and tiny pieces of gravel embedded in your skin. You tiptoe back into the living, jaw clenched from the pain, trying to avoid putting too much weight on your feet as well as bloodying the floor. They both fall quiet when you appear through the opening of the corridor, eyeing you with concern.

You can easily guess what is going on in their heads. You are still very pale, and you seem weak, eyes still a bit unfocused as you lean on the wall for support. they must wonder how much you’ve heard, and how much of a problem you are going to be to them. You are a witness and you know what Yoongi does for a living - ha, puns- and though it hasn’t crossed your mind to call the police on them, they don’t know that. Finally, you still have a gang trying to snag you, and you don’t know just how much information your kidnappers have on you. They could try to use you as bait, thinking Yoongi must be attached to you in some way.

In conclusion, this is a mess. You’ve missed both work and your interview this morning and people are bound to ask questions about your whereabouts. You’ve always been the most diligent in terms of work, never taking a day off or arriving more than 10 minutes late. You obviously don’t have your phone or your wallet on you right now, having lost everything when you were kidnapped, and trying to go back to your apartment right now, without your keys on top of that, seems fruitless.

“How are you feeling?”, Jin asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence that settled in the room.

“Still a bit light-headed. I might have a minor concussion… I think. Also I need a first aid kit, if you have one please?”

“Sure, I’ll get you that. Sit down.”

You settle on the other side of the couch as Jin exits the room from the corridor. Yoongi hasn’t said anything yet but you can see hints of concern in his eyes. Similarly to you, his already scarred cheek and his hands are bruised because of the fall from the car, though he doesn’t seem to have hit his head -which isn’t surprising since, unlike you, he was expecting the impact. He moves closer to you on the couch to take your hands in his, observing the wounds on the back of your hands.

You are slightly taken aback but don’t say anything, an unexpected blush creeping on your cheeks. He seems too focused on your hands to notice your tenseness, and you are glad. What the hell is wrong with you? It must be the concussion, making your cheeks heat up, because it certainly can’t be the way his soft hands delicately hold yours- No! What is going on in this brain of yours?

“Are your feet okay?” he asks suddenly, and you squeak in surprise as his grey eyes find yours. He doesn’t comment on your reaction, and you are happy to not receive one of his snarky remarks.

“Not really, that’s why I asked for the first aid ki- Whoa, what are you doing?!”, you shriek when he grabs your legs to prop them on the couch. He sits at the end of the couch, grimacing as he takes in the poor state of the bottom of your feet.

“There’s gravel in there, I’ll have to clean it up--”, he starts.

“No- No, you don’t have to do that, I’ll do it myself,” you interrupt, slightly panicked. To be completely honest, you don’t really trust him to do any good. The man doesn’t exactly save lives, he takes them, and he doesn’t really strike you as the healer type. You think you are saved when Jin comes back and hands you the first aid kit, one of his eyebrows raising in a silent question as he reads the anxiousness on your face. Unfortunately for you, Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind your nervousness, simply snatching the kit from your hands and putting himself to work.

Turns out you were nervous for -mostly- nothing. Yoongi actually has a steady hand, and he removes all gravel and shards of glass in an instant and rather unpainfully. He does however make the mistake of spraying antiseptic directly in your wounds, which hurts like hell. He apologizes profusely, obviously distraught by your unexpected blood curdling scream while Jin laughs freely at his startled face. As he finishes bandaging your feet and Jin brings you hotel slippers to wear for the night. They are way too big for your feet but actually quite comfortable so you accept them with a smile.

You are set to stay low in Jin’s place for the day. It would be too dangerous to leave today according to both Yoongi and Jin, and the both of them decide that you would leave during the night.

“It’s at that time that the alleys are the more crowded,” explained Jin, “the less attention you draw, the better”. That is a kind of logic you can get behind, especially since you can barely walk - let alone run if anything goes wrong.

Yoongi advises you to sleep when he notices your eyes getting droopy, and he leads you to a bedroom. You sink on the bed in exhaustion, your body suddenly refusing to carry you anymore. You feel sleep enveloping you as Yoongi starts to leave the bedroom.

“What’s going to happen after we leave?” you ask sleepily, barely keeping your eyes open. The question stops him dead in his tracks, and he turns to face you, a serious look on his face. He ponders for a little while before answering you.

“I’ll bring you to my place and we’ll find a way for you to go back to your life,” he responds, eyes earnest and you hum sleepily in acknowledgement. Satisfied with the answer, you let yourself slip into an easy sleep.

-----------------------------------------------

You wake up a few hours later, with an empty stomach but an already clearer head. It takes you a minute to remember exactly what happened to you and where you are, feeling dejected when you realise it wasn’t just a very realistic nightmare. It’s all his fault, you realize. Your life was going well before you decided to help Yoongi - well, before you were manipulated into helping him is more correct. Even if you despise your job because of your boss, you still enjoy your little routine. Working during the week to pay off your loan, writing during the weekend or enjoying your free time. Sure you were alone most of the time and you longed to meet new people, you still liked your quiet life. It was all supposed to come together today once you’d get that promotion, but no, that had to be ruined for you. One thing is certain: once all of this is over, you don’t want to ever hear from Min Yoongi again.

You decide to limp to the living room, the rumbling of your stomach prompting you to seek sustenance. Both Jin and Yoongi are in the living room, Yoongi sleeping on the couch while Jin is busy on the phone looking out the window near the kitchen. His brows are furrowed and he looks deep in thought, making you reconsider asking him for food right now. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you entering the room and sitting on the armchair, and you take advantage of this to stare at him in tranquillity.

It makes no doubt for you now that Jin is also a very dangerous man. If his earlier behaviour wasn’t particularly intimidating in any way, the man barking at the phone in front of you  exudes a deadly aura. He is quite obviously trying to resolve the mess his younger friend put himself -and you- into, calling multiple people and furiously scribbling on a notepad on the counter in between calls. He seems to know exactly who to contact, calling people back to back, until he slams his phone on the table, sighing in exasperation. He takes his head in his hands and sighs again.

“Jin?” you ask tentatively, and Jin’s head snaps in your direction. His dark eyes immediately find yours, and you gulp, intimidated by his intense glare. When he realises it’s just you, his features soften and you feel yourself being able to breathe again.

“Do you have something I could eat?” you ask after he beckons you to speak with a hum. He nods, making his way to the cupboards. He rummages through them and you settle on a stool behind the counter. Jin doesn’t look satisfied as he pulls out a cup of instant ramen and he shoots you an apologetic smile. “Ramen is fine,” you assure him, feeling too hungry to fuss over the quality of the meal. It actually reminds you of your student days, living off ramen, coffee and the sheer will of escaping your parent’s house. Granted this is not how you envisioned your future, running away from a gang with your new friend Yoongi the murderer, but you longed for adventure, right?

Well it’s not like you have much of a choice anyway, you remind yourself as Jin sets the meager meal in front of you. You must pull a crestfallen grimace because Jin laughs at you and you dive in, eager to hide the embarrassment creeping on your cheeks at his windshield wiper laugh.

“Who were you calling?” you ask with a mouth full, keen to change the focus on him rather than you. He rests his elbows on the counter across from you and he tries to find his words.

“People who could help resolve the situation,” he answers simply.

“Right… ‘Resolve’” you say with a sarcastic smile. The only way to ‘resolve’ the situation, as Jin says, is surely to take out the gang altogether. It is obviously weak at the moment because of the loss of their boss, and it’s the best time to strike.

“We need to ensure your security - that is, unless you believe you can do it alone?” he retorts, raising one of his eyebrows in defiance. You scoff at his smirk.

“Of course not.” You pause. “Thank you for helping me,” you add earnestly after a second.

“Don’t thank me, thank Yoongi. He’s the one who asked me to help you. Apparently he owes you”, he says dismissively, returning to the kitchen to throw away your no empty ramen cup. You swallow with difficulty. Of course he’s only doing that because he owes you, what did you expect? Both of those men are hardened criminals, though you don’t exactly know what Jin dwelves in. It would be foolish of you to think that neither of them is protecting you out of the goodness of their hearts. They are not as naive and generous as you are, and Yoongi could easily have left you to die had you not saved him earlier.

No wait… This is because of him that you are in this mess, of course he has to fix this situation!

“Anyways,” Jin adds as he comes back to face you, “Yoongi is going to bring you to a safer location and then he - along with my team - is going to sort this mess out. And then you’ll be good to go, as if this never happened.”

He emphasizes his last words with a dark fixed gaze on you. You gulp at his sudden change of demeanor from casual to threatening. You know exactly what he means by that; You’ll have to keep quiet about what happened, or else. You nod a bit too eagerly, suddenly intimidated by him. This seems to please him however, and he smiles at you, obviously content that you understand the true meaning of his words.

You spend the next hour or so abstently watching TV from the armchair while waiting, Yoongi still happily slumbering on the couch. There isn’t much more to do than wait, and you are bored out of your wits by the time Jin decides Yoongi slept too much and hits him with a rolled up magazine to wake him up.

“What the- What was that for?!” Yoongi indignantly asks, rubbing his head, his still sleepy eyes shooting daggers at the elder.

“It’s time for you to move” is all he says before he leaves the room, not even paying attention to the string of curses Yoongi sends flying his way. You chuckle at his indignation and he shoots you a dark look, amusing you even further. He sighs before chuckling too and he rises from the couch to stretch his limbs. Jin comes back to the living room with a backpack he chucks at Yoongi. The latter catches it effortlessly before sitting back on the couch to rummage through it, taking out a gun and observing it, checking the magazine in a swift motion.

“You might need that,” Jin says, leaning back against the kitchen counter and Yoongi thanks him. You eye warrily the weapon; You can’t say you feel particularly reassured with this. You’ve never been one to like firearms, and the sole fact that you were shot at earlier today reinforces your apprehension. Yoongi seems to sense your tenseness and he hands you your kitchen knife. You look at him questioningly.

“It might be too early for you to use a gun, let’s stick with things you know for now,” he explains with a knowing smile. For now. You can see Jin’s eyebrows furrow in the corner of your eyes but you don’t comment on his choice of words, merely nodding in understanding. There’s also a pair of grey sneakers in the bag, which Yoongi throws your way. They are too big for your feet but this is the best you are going to get so you don’t complain. You are now set to leave and Yoongi beckons you to follow him through the corridor. There’s a back door that you hadn’t noticed after the door leading to the bedroom.

Yoongi reaches to open the door and stops, taking a look at you. You are opening your mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he suddenly removes his jacket to throw it around your shoulders.

“You’ll attract too much attention otherwise” he says, and he slips through the door. You follow him into the alleyways, clutching his jacket to cover you more, hiding the knife in your hands under it.

The alleys, much like Jin explained, are more crowded than when you arrived. You are significantly less scared than before, focusing on following the man in front of you instead of observing the people around you. Yoongi is leading you through the crowd, eyes scanning the mob looking for potential threats. Jin had advised you to leave separately but it just wasn’t possible for you to navigate through this maze alone, and you are grateful to be with Yoongi right now.

People don’t seem to pay much attention to either of you and you are able to reach an underground parking lot safely. Yoongi had made sure you weren’t followed before reaching for keys in the bag. He presses the button and the lights of a car a few rows from where you are flare up. Yoongi grabs your hand and leads the both of you to the black car, letting you get seated on the passenger side before unceremoniously throwing the bag on the back seat.

The car is surprisingly nice, a black Mercedes with tan leather seats. You squeak in surprise when Yoongi makes the engine roar as you are attaching your seat belt. You don’t even have the time to say anything before he slams the acceleration pedal, leaving the parking spot like a mad man. You grip the armrest in a futile attempt to feel safer, not quite at ease with Yoongi’s aggressive driving.

You can tell he is a good driver, expertly avoiding the few other cars as he speeds down the highway, but you can’t help your heart from pounding in your chest. You’ve never been this fast on the road, and the happy glimmer in Yoongi’s eyes everytime he goes faster doesn’t exactly reassure you.

The only positive aspect with him driving this fast is that you quickly arrive at the destination. You are surrounded by tall glass buildings, and you furrow your brows. This can’t be where Yoongi lives, can it? It doesn’t make sense. Yoongi parks the car in another underground parking structure, and you step out of the car with wobbly legs and a confused expression plastered on your face. You don’t even have time to ask the first of the thousands of questions swarming your mind right now before Yoongi makes his way towards an elevator.

Unlike you, he seems perfectly at ease as he waits for the elevator, even smirking at your bemused face. The ding of the elevator makes you step out of your thoughts and you start to stammer as you follow Yoongi inside. He presses the button going to the 37th level.

“You- You live here?!” you ask, incredulous as the elevator starts its ascension. He shoots you another smirk, his eyes playful.

“What, you think I kill for the sole pleasure of it? Of course not, I’m not a monster, Y/n.”

“I- I don’t--”

“Hitman is a relatively high paying job, I’ll have you know,” Yoongi explains in fake seriousness, obviously reveling on your confused state of mind. You raise one of your eyebrows in defiance at his words, eyeing him up and down as if to prove a point. He isn’t exactly dressed as someone who makes a lot of money. He scoffs at your attitude, and he crosses his arms on his chest.

“Hey! I like these clothes!” he says in indignation and you roll your eyes at him. The elevator stops and the both of you step out of it. “Anyway, nobody knows about this place so we’ll be safe here,” he says while walking to a door at the end of a corridor.

“Nobody?” you ask as he opens the door.

“Not even Jin. It’s a safe measure. I don’t know where he lives either. No one in the gang does. That way, if someone gets caught, they won’t be able to tell where the others are.”

He opens the door and enters his apartment. You take a second to look around you. His apartment is big and modern. The walls are painted white, contrasting with his dark furniture. In the back of the apartment is a huge window, providing an incredible view of the city. But the view is unable to distract you from the many questions swirling in your mind; How many people has he had to kill in order to pay for a place like this? The place you were at just earlier wasn’t Jin’s home? The gang? What is going on? Yoongi must notice your confusion -- maybe because you are still on the doorstep, staring around with a gaping mouth -- because he sighs and starts to explain further.

“We were not at Jin’s. It’s one of our safe places all over the city. There’s always at least one member there, and this time it was Jin’s shift and I knew he was going to be there,” he starts explaining.

“Wait wait- You are in a gang?!” you exclaim, eyes wide. The more you think you know about Yoongi the more lost you get. It wasn’t bad enough that he is an assassin, he’s also part of a gang?

“Would you please come in before shouting those kinds of things?” he retorts through gritted teeth, ushering you inside and closing the door. You sink down on the leather couch and stare in the void, still not quite able to process everything. You should have seen it coming if you are really honest, but it seems that you find yourself to be in an even bigger mess than you thought everytime Yoongi tries to explain himself.

“Yes, I’m in a gang. I’m an assassin. Jin is the leader’s right-hand man. More than that he is my friend,” he says, eyeing you warrily and holding his hands up in a defensive stance, as if scared you’ll explode. If anything, you should be the one to be scared, you think to yourself, especially since you can’t understand why he would say that. Perhaps it’s because you are aware of what would happen to you, would you ever try to say anything to anyone. Not that anyone would believe your story anyway, or that you would risk telling anything to anyone. You shudder when you remember Jin’s hidden warning. Yoongi lowers his hands as you seem to have calmed down and he sits across from you on a leather armchair.

“I talked with Jin about taking down Wolf’s Fang. I’ll leave tomorrow to deal with that with other members of the gang. Then you’ll go back to your life”, he explains nonchalantly. For some unknown reason, his last words set you ablaze with rage.

“What life, Yoongi? You ruined that, remember?” you spit at him harshly, rising from your seat. He looks completely taken aback by your sudden outburst. You had made sure not to let show how much you resent him for dragging you in this situation; You needed him to fix everything, and shouting at him that it’s all his fault surely wouldn’t help your plans at all. But you snap because of his nonchalant attitude. He destroyed your chances at getting your promotion, having to go no-contact. He put you at risk of getting kidnapped and then shot, even though he knew he was himself in danger.

“Aren’t you an assassin, aren’t you part of a gang? Didn’t you know you would put me in danger with you?” you shout at him, pointing at him aggressively to emphasize your words.

“I didn’t mean--” he starts, but you interrupt him. Anger is bubbling inside you and you can’t contain it anymore.

“You knew you were putting me in danger but you stayed anyway!”

“You were the one who said I could lay low at yours!” he retorts, rising from his seat. You scoff at his irrelevant argument and he immediately cringes at his poor wording.

“I didn’t know you were an assassin and a gang member! I would’ve thought twice about letting you come into my life if I knew I’d get kidnapped!” you spit, your jaw clenched in anger.

“I didn’t want this!”

“Well I sure hope so!”, you scoff, hands rising in the air in disbelief. “But what did you seriously expect, huh?” You try to chase away the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Now is not the time to cry.

“I know I should’ve left you!” he starts in anger but his voice breaks and he looks away. You look at him in confusion. You are not used to seeing vulnerability in him. Granted you don’t really know him but this feels out of character for him. “I just- I didn’t want to be alone,” he says, voice pregnant with emotion. You are taken aback by his sudden openness, brows furrowed and mouth gaping in confusion. He still doesn’t look at you, and you don’t manage to say anything, too lost to be able to utter a word.

He passes a hand through his black hair and sighs loudly. The both of you are standing awkwardly, you staring at him and him making a point of avoiding your eyes. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, but you are left utterly speechless. He scoffs darkly before walking towards the back of the room to a kitchen.

“Anyway, you’ll be safe tomorrow, and you’ll be able to leave.”

Yoongi exits the room and you are left alone with your thoughts.

---------------------------------------------------

You decide to sit on the floor in front of the big windows, enjoying the unending view. It must be one in the morning, and the streets are empty, apart from the odd car driving down the road every once in a while. The sight is calming, as you see the few lights still lit up in the night. Your apartment is not exactly downtown so you don’t have a view as nice as this one. Everything is so silent, so still. You know exactly why you are staring so intensely at the view, trying to chase any thought of Yoongi.

You are definitely calmer now but you don’t want to think about him, trying to bottle up any emotion deep down. You’ve never been one to have a healthy relationship with your feelings, and you are not going to start now. Most of your resentment is gone now that you finally confronted him about it, but your last exchange only left confusion. Confusion on what he was talking about, but also on why your heart squeezed so painfully when you saw him so vulnerable or when he walked away from you. You bring your knees to your chest.

In a way, you can understand where he is coming from. You let him stay and threw all care in the wind also because you were feeling lonely. Perhaps both of you were weak at that moment. Surely he should have been more careful, but you don’t blame him as much as you did before.

You hear a door open and close but you don’t move from your spot, keeping your eyes trained on the view. From the corner of your eyes, you see Yoongi sit cross legged next to you. The both of you stay in silence like that for a bit of time, watching the horizon before you decide to break the silence.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you like that,” you say softly, turning your head to look at him. His grey eyes meet yours. They are definitively warmer than before, and you feel reassured.

“Hmm. I just hope the neighbors didn’t hear you scream,” he answers with his usual snarky grin. You shoot him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, that might be a problem in the future.”

He doesn’t look too concerned, shrugging and leaning back on his arms, stretching his legs as he takes in the view in front of him. One question still plagues your mind, and you can’t stop it from spilling from your lips.

“When you said you didn’t want to be alone earlier, what did you mean?”

He doesn’t look taken aback by your question, and he turns his head back to you, sitting up straight.

“You ever wonder where I got that from?” he says, pointing to his scar across his right side. You nod positively. “When I was six, my parents were attacked by a man and his small gang. My father was a rich accountant who refused to work for them, and the leader of the small gang took offence. One night, they raided my house, torturing and killing my mother in front of his eyes, and they planned to do the same to me.”

Yoongi pauses, staring at his trembling hands, and you regret asking him such a personal question. It is obviously a very difficult subject for him, but he resumes talking before you can say anything.

“Apparently, the neighbors heard the commotion and called the police as the leader carved a line across my eye, so he decided to kill my father and to flee. I was placed in an orphanage for boys. During that time, I met with Jin and 5 other boys. We all grew up without being adopted, and one of the other boys, Namjoon, decided that we needed revenge on life. We started partaking in some pretty illegal stuff, and our little group grew. We were seven at first, and now we are the most powerful gang” he says, a hint of pride in his voice at the last sentence.

“For more than twenty years I searched for the people that killed my parents, and Jin is the one who finally found them. It was the leader of Wolf’s Fang, a rival gang, and I decided that I waited enough for revenge. I made sure he felt tenfold the pain he inflicted my parents.”

Yoongi’s eyes are dark as the night now, contrasting with the paleness of his skin under the moonlight. An aura of dangerousness is radiating from him, and you can’t help but feel intimidated.

“But when I finally killed him I felt so empty. What was there anymore?” he adds with furrowed brows and he stares at his open hands. “I got what I wanted. I lost my edge that day. I had nothing left to fight for, or at least I was convinced of it. They found me easily, I wasn’t even trying to hide. But I remembered that they already caused my family too much pain, I wasn’t going to let them cause more. If I were to die, it wouldn’t be by their hand. So I escaped. And that’s when you found me”

He turns to face you, his eyes back to their warmth, making your cheeks heat up.

“I guess I just needed a stranger to take care of me a little,” he concludes, smiling awkwardly at you.

A comfortable silence settles between you while the two of you enjoy the view. Something seems to have lifted from Yoongi’s shoulders, he looks much more relaxed than when you entered his appartement. Maybe because he told you everything, the whole truth, and that he doesn’t need to hide anything from you.

You don’t know how much time you spent in silence together, enjoying each other’s presence before you start to feel tired again. You haven’t really slept that much yesterday and all the tension from the day vanishes, leaving tiredness in its wake. A yawn escapes your lips. You don’t even know why you lean your head on his shoulder but you do, perhaps too sleepy to even realise what you are doing. Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind thankfully, and he leans his head on top of yours. You fall asleep like that, and you don’t even stir when Yoongi lifts you up to place you on his bed before joining you.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s well into the morning when you wake up. It takes you a minute before understanding where you are, your heart racing a bit when you realise you are alone in an unknown bed. Yoongi must already be gone, you realise when you walk into the empty living room. It’s already 12 am so you decide to head to the kitchen in search of something to eat. After your meal, you take a shower, taking some clothes Yoongi left for you this morning. You can’t help the blush creep on your skin as you realise he thought to leave you clothes just before leaving to take down a gang. The clothes he left are too big for you, an oversized t-shirt, a sweatshirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, but you enjoy the cozyness --and his smell on the clothes-- too much to complain.

The rest of your day is spent waiting. You start by exploring every inch of the apartment, trying to discover more of Yoongi. Unfortunately for you, you don’t find anything except one photo, hidden between two books. You found it by error, accidentally knocking a row of books on the desk. You instantly recognize two people in the photo, Yoongi and Jin. They seem much younger, barely adults. The others seem much younger, and your heart twists. These boys are too young to be in a gang... You turn the photo to inspect the back and you find an inscription.

“Birds of prey - 2013

Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook”

The seven of them are looking in defiance at the camera, as if they have something to prove. You sigh before placing back the photo.

By the time seven rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bit worried. Is it normal that he’s been gone for so long? What if something has happened to him? What are you supposed to do then? You decide against pacing, choosing to sit on the armchair across the door instead, knees to your chest as you wait for his return.

When the door finally opens, you spring from your seat. Yoongi comes in while limping but as soon as his eyes fall on you, a warm smile erupts on his bruised face. You are too preoccupied by his disheveled state to return his smile, instead coming to his side to help him walk to the couch. He stops you in your tracks with a raise of his hands.

“Don’t worry, someone already took care of me. I’m all patched up,” he reassures you, and a bit of tension eases from your shoulders. You sit on the armchair as he settles on the couch. He can tell that you are dying to know what happened, seeing as you are practically buzzing across the edge of your seat across him.

“It’s over,” he states simply at first and you let out a sigh of relief. It’s finally over? It almost doesn’t feel real, as if these past days were just a dream. “We took care of most of the members, and Namjoon ordered some of our men to make sure the rest join them soon”

“That means I can go home?” you ask excitedly. You could have sworn you saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes but it left as soon as it came.

“Yes, of course,” he says, “I could drive-”

“But first, we need to celebrate our freedom,” you interrupt him with a smirk. He is surprised at first, but soon returns your smile.

“You’re right, let’s order some takeout for tonight”

You spend the evening eating and laughing. You are happy to finally see Yoongi relax completely with you, able to tell you stories about his life. You now would like to meet the rest of the boys in the photo, first and foremost to thank them since they were part of the team that took out the gang, but also because they sound funny in Yoongi’s stories. They all seem closer to a family than most of the conventional ones, and the fact that they are gang members doesn’t really scare you anymore. They are Yoongi’s friends, after all.

By the time you finish your meal and a movie, it’s ‘unfortunately’ too late for you to go home, and Yoongi advises you to stay just one night more. Seeing that you’ve done the same for him, he has to return the favor, he explained, and you happily oblige, perhaps a bit too ecstatic to be able to spend more time with him. It’s funny how fast you’ve come to trust this man and enjoy his company, even though you are aware of his profession.

This time, it’s him who falls asleep first, head leaning on your shoulder while watching a movie on the couch, and you decide to put him to bed. You chuckle at the feeling of deja vu when you lead him to the bedroom, supporting him as he limps his way to the bed. You pause for a moment after he sinks on the mattress; Where are you supposed to sleep? On the bed with him? On the couch? You are about to step out of the room when a hand catches your wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asks groggily, eyes barely open to look at you. You smile at him.

“Nowhere” you answer, and he closes his eyes back, his hands slipping from around your wrist as a reassured smile creeps across his lips.

You settle on the other side of the bed, careful to still put distance between you. You turn on your side to be able to face him. He is peaceful like that, and you smile to yourself as you brush away the stray strands of black hair covering his eyes.

The next morning passes rather quickly, mostly due to the fact that you sleep off most of it in Yoongi’s arms. After a rather flustered waking up, and an awkward breakfast, the both of you decide to get you back to your apartment. You need to swing by your office first, as you need to retrieve your spare apartment keys in your locker. If you were previously warry to go back there and face your boss, you don’t even care anymore. You’ve almost died for fuck’s sake, what can he possibly do that will scare you. If anything, he will be the one to be scared if he dares to say anything, Yoongi assured you, making you smile.

This time, he drives rather calmly and you are grateful for that. First of all because you don’t want to die in a car crash, and secondly because the longer the ride, the more time you can still spend with Yoongi. He is more silent than usual, a sullen look on his face. You can understand him, for some reason you aren’t exactly the happiest at the prospect of going back to your previous life, to your stupid job and your stupid boss, and more importantly to your empty and lonely apartment.

Maybe some of Yoongi’s nonchalance rubbed off on you, you think to yourself as you stroll inside your office building, wearing oversized sweats and followed by a scary looking man with a scar across his face. You don’t even stop to answer the questions the office bitch sends your way, shutting her up with a dark glare. You’ve never liked her, she always took credit for other’s work, so you don’t feel guilty for scaring her. You go straight to your locker, Yoongi still following behind you. You are thankful for him being with you, you are sure you wouldn’t have the same confidence without him.

You are rummaging through your locker and retrieving your things when a furious voice interrupts you.

“Y/l/n! Where were you? You’ve missed almost a week of work! It’s unacceptable-”

A week? What a joke, it’s only the third day you’ve missed. Anger starts to bubble inside you. You’ve never missed a day of work before, and this asshole makes it as though it was a regular occurrence, not an ounce of concern in his annoying voice as he shouts. You tune him out as you continue to search for your stuff, and you ignoring him only seems to infuriate him more - and you love this. You’ve suffered his abuse too much to pay anymore attention to him, and when you finally find your keys, you slam your locker door, shutting him up instantly.

You turn around to face him, reveling on the look of absolute shock written on his face. The once so soft spoken and respectful employee is so disrespectful now. You notice Yoongi glaring daggers at him, jaw clenched, and you are thankful that he doesn’t say anything. This is your moment.

“Listen asshole, I’ve had enough of your shit. So stop harassing me or I’ll make sure you won’t ever be able to open that mouth of yours again,” you spit coldly. He stammers, trying in vain to say anything. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Also, don’t even dare try to complain about me to HR or the police, I have enough proof of workplace abuse to get you fired in a second. I’ll be back to take the rest of my stuff,” you add, glancing around in the office to find every pair of eyes on you. Satisfied with your little outburst, you leave, prompting a smirking Yoongi to follow after you.

It’s only in the car that the frown on your face lifts instantly and you burst in laughter with Yoongi.

“That felt good,” you confide with a playful grin. He returns your smile, his eyes twinkling with something that looks like awe and pride. The car ride to your apartment is already more cheery, the both of you laughing at the looks on their faces when you exited dramatically. You’ve dreamed of doing that more than once, and it seems that Yoongi gave you enough confidence to stand up for yourself this time.

The realisation that it’s goodbye seems to dawn the both of you when you enter the elevator. Your heart squeezes in your chest as the elevator gets closer to your floor. This can’t be it. You have to do something. The door opens on your floor and you step out after Yoongi.

He follows you to the door and waits as you turn your key in the lock. Thoughts are swirling in your brain; Will you be able to see each other after this? Does he even want to? You turn around when the door is finally open. You don’t know what to say, and your racing mind isn’t helping you trying to figure out a way for him to stay with you. He seems nervous as well, biting his bottom lip as his eyes avoid yours.

“Thank you… For keeping me safe,” you say meekly, cheeks heating up. His smoke colored eyes meet yours.

“Of course Y/n, you saved me first,” he responds softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He does have pretty lips. So pink, and they look so soft. You don’t even realise you are staring at them until they come closer. Wait what? You snap your eyes to Yoongi and you meet his gaze. His face stops only inches away from yours and you feel your whole face burn, and your heart beats at a thousand miles an hour. He is right there in front of you, so close that you can feel his hot breath tingling against your skin, yet he is not close enough for you.

You crash your lips against his in impatience. It feels as though you’ve been waiting for this for your whole life, feeling so right to be in his arms. The kiss is full of passion, his tongue sneaking past your lips to find yours. His hands grip on your hips to get you closer and you practically melt in his arms. Everything feels so hot, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, your hands entangled in his hair. You breathlessly pull away from his kiss to grab him closer to you, flushing his body against yours. He hastily closes the door behind you and his lips resume their assault on yours. Let’s just say that you stayed together in more ways than one that day.

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Meeting Min Yoongi was maybe the best mistake of your life. Sure, you got kidnapped and shot at, you lost your job and had to hide from a powerful gang with an assassin, but you’d do it all over again just for him.

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Thank you @minty-joonie​ and @wwilloww​ for helping me proofread!

I hope you liked it!! Please tell me what you thought of Black Crow!!

💜

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

Hardhome in TWOW

I've seen a lot of takes that we won't see Hardhome in TWOW and that whatever happens there will remain offpage. I was in this camp for a while too; it'd be very creepy to not have a view of what happens there and only learn later on. However, I'm more convinced that we actually will see it in TWOW, and that it's a far more important location than we give it credit for.

In ADWD, Hardhome is first mentioned in Jon VIII, and is mentioned by name 23 times. A woods witch named Mother Mole has witnessed a vision promising ships that will carry the free folk to salvation across the narrow sea from Hardhome, and so they settle there. Of course, prophecies are a pain in the ass, and while it comes true it's... not as advertised. There are ships coming to Hardhome to rescue them, sent by Jon Snow, but they are beat by slavers from the Free Cities who captured the free folk. Of course, a storm makes one ship drift off course and land in Braavos, where they immediately free the free folk who were enslaved. But it remains a very important location for Jon.

Expedition to Hardhome

When Jon mentions this location and Mother Mole, his officers say it is a cursed and unholy place, and Jon recounts the story of what happened there centuries prior.

Hardhome had been halfway toward becoming a town, the only true town north of the Wall, until the night six hundred years ago when hell had swallowed it. Its people had been carried off into slavery or slaughtered for meat, depending on which version of the tale you believed, their homes and halls consumed in a conflagration that burned so hot that watchers on the Wall far to the south had thought the sun was rising in the north. Afterward ashes rained down on haunted forest and Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year. Traders reported finding only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses, blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pocked the great cliff that loomed above the settlement. Six centuries had come and gone since that night, but Hardhome was still shunned. The wild had reclaimed the site, Jon had been told, but rangers claimed that the overgrown ruins were haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood.

Something happened that caused the free folk to shun it forever, and a lot of theories have sprung on what happened there; perhaps it was slavers raiding, or it was the Faceless Men doing their own mini-Doom as a precursor to the true Doom of Valyria. I have my own idea of what happened there, but first, set dressing (like salad dressing, but for settings).

Jon does not want for the free folk to succumb to a nasty fate at the hands of the Others. He doesn't want them to die and be added to the ever growing army of wights at their call. The free folk deserve to be rescued and given a better life. So Jon sends Cotter Pyke with 11 ships (3 Braavosi, 4 Lyseni, and 4 Night's Watch) to provide relief. However, since the slavers already came, when they arrive, the free folk are untrusting, and believe that the ships are slaver ships. The situation is also incredibly bad there, as Cotter notes in the infamous letter he sends to Jon from Hardhome.

At Hardhome, with six ships. Wild seas. Blackbird lost with all hands, two Lyseni ships driven aground on Skane, Talon taking water. Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead. Dead things in the woods. Braavosi captains will only take women, children on their ships. Witch women call us slavers. Attempt to take Storm Crow defeated, six crew dead, many wildlings. Eight ravens left. Dead things in the water. Send help by land, seas wracked by storms. From Talon, by hand of Maester Harmune.

So Jon decides to lead another great ranging to Hardhome to provide overland relief. The Night's Watch is really against it, as is Melisandre (more below), but Jon finds it important enough to try to do anyways. He makes plans with Tormund, before he gets the pink letter. After that, he decides instead to have Tormund lead the Night's Watch to Hardhome while he marches south with the free folk to murder the fuck out of Ramsay. And then he's stabbenated.

After that, it's unsure exactly if this expedition will still occur. However, I think that because Hardhome is mentioned so often, and because of an SSM, that we will at the least see Hardhome, and that the expedition will still occur, albeit maybe not exactly as planned.

The Doom of Hardhome

Melisandre says Hardhome is doomed and that nobody will return from it. She also has visions that fit well with Hardhome.

Snowflakes swirled from a dark sky and ashes rose to meet them, the grey and the white whirling around each other as flaming arrows arced above a wooden wall and dead things shambled silent through the cold, beneath a great grey cliff where fires burned inside a hundred caves. Then the wind rose and the white mist came sweeping in, impossibly cold, and one by one the fires went out. Afterward only the skulls remained. Death, thought Melisandre. The skulls are death.

The most interesting part of this quote is the flaming arrows arcing above a wooden wall. The rest is pretty obviously Hardhome, but this implies something more happening. Not necessarily a battle, but a glimpse at the confrontation to come? Thus far the wights are just nibbling at the edges, but according to the visions, it won't be long until the Others sweep in and put an end to everything there.

But there is one thing that to me confirms that Hardhome will appear onpage and it won't be something mentioned after the fact. In this post by nobodysuspectsthebutterfly, an SSM is brought up about GRRM visiting Rotorua park in New Zealand as inspiration for a future location in the books that hasn't appeared yet but eventually will. OP had previously noted similarities between Hardhome and Rotorua, specifically with the shrieking caves that both possess. They also mention that the aftermath of the initial destruction at Hardhome sounds a lot like a geothermic eruption (which I agree with), and Rotorua has thermal pools and geysers and bubbling mud and the like.

All this put together, I think that Rotorua is the inspiration for Hardhome, and that since it is the basis of a location that will eventually appear, Hardhome will appear onpage. To me, this makes a lot more sense than Hardhome being something that is merely mentioned offscreen. For one, while we have seen the wights in action before, we haven't exactly seen the Others come out in full force and seen what they are truly capable of. The closest was the Fist of the First Men, but that is mostly relayed in a flashback after the fact, and as far as we know, the Others themselves didn't make an appearance, just the wights.

In this way, Hardhome is an important place to see. In Mel's vision, she mentions the winds rising and an impossibly cold white mist sweeping in to kill all the fires in the cave. White mist and extreme (supernatural) cold are specific elements that appear when the Others approach, which implies to me the Others themselves are going to arrive at Hardhome. Essentially, Hardhome is a precursor to the truly horrible apocalyptic stuff that will happen once they breach the Wall. This will be the first time we see the Others truly in action and not just the wights, to give us a mere taste of just how bad things will get when the Long Night finally falls. Also it fits thematically. Hardhome was once destroyed by fire (volcanic events), and now it will be destroyed again by ice (the Others).

The big question of course is who will be there to witness it? While Jon Snow led the expedition in the show, I don't see this as very likely. His last thought was rushing south to deal with Ramsay, and I don't think he's going to suddenly change his mind to stay at the Wall after that. If anything, that's just going to harden him against Ramsay. So Jon as the POV there seems unlikely. That leaves only three more people, in my mind; Bran, Melisandre, or Davos.

Bran is a strong possibility, but if we are to really get a good look at the Others doing their thing, I think it's better and more powerful if we get an actual first person perspective. Bran could show us via skinchanging, but that lacks the personal intimacy of a very apocalyptic event. Melisandre meanwhile would have no interest in going to Hardhome. She believes it's doomed and there is nothing to be done about that.

That leaves Davos. While he is not connected to Hardhome in any way right now, Skagos is rather close to Hardhome. It's possible he gets Rickon and leaves for White Harbor, but since the seas are said to be very stormy right now, they wind up in Hardhome, or at Eastwatch, where you would want to leave for Hardhome instead of Castle Black. Davos is sort of the anti-Melisandre; the two are opposites in a lot of ways, and their influence on Stannis keeps him from steering too far into Melisandre's direction. She has no qualms with burning a child if it means a stone dragon will wake. Davos is vehemently opposed to such an act under any circumstances.

So if Davos learns that Stannis is dead (allegedly) and hears that Melisandre says Hardhome is hopeless and should be left alone, what would he do? I think he would want to help the free folk there, even under the bad circumstances. It may be a hopeless mission, but to Davos, I think trying to do something about it is better than not doing anything at all. I'm not entirely sure what is left for Davos if Stannis is dead. Perhaps he might not go to Hardhome at all, but it's just a possibility in my mind.

Another reason Davos at Hardhome might work well is that if this is a precursor to the Long Night in Westeros, someone like Davos as our POV there would be fitting. Most people in Westeros will be extremely unfamiliar with the Others, or not even think they are real. Davos has no real connection with the Others, never saw them. It would be completely unreal for someone like him, a former smuggler from King's Landing, to see something so powerful, supernatural, and inhuman at the Others. But if he does go to Hardhome... I worry he might not get back.

The problem is that it might not entirely be fitting of an end for him. Davos is one of those characters where I have literally no idea what or where his story is leading to, and that I think the show didn't spoil much about. Bran is another strong contender, but I feel like someone should be there physically to really drive home the horror of everything happening.

The point being, Hardhome is important to show. I get the argument that it's scarier not seeing everything, and that can work. But we know almost nothing about the Others, and despite being the main antagonist force of the series, we've seen them literally only twice in all five books. If we are to build them up as this big threat, and give us a glimpse as to how serious of a threat they are, then Hardhome should be shown onpage. Show, don't tell. That's storytelling 101.

Regardless, we will be seeing the Others a lot more in TWOW I'm sure. Winter is here, and the Long Night is not far from taking centre stage.