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gigabyte-flare · 1 year

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Hybrid

(A Gigabyte Flare One Shot)

Summary: The year is 2123. The latest craze to hit the market are Hybrids, humans genetically engineered to have animalistic traits, born and raised to be the perfect companion. Your mom convinces you to get one since you live alone in a big city, however you get way more than you bargained for

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: puppy!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Pet play, dubcon, oral (f receiving), somnophilia, sex [p in v], mommy kink, breeding kink

A/N: Finally hopping on the puppy!Leon band wagon! Huge shoutout to @nexysworld for creating the adorable puppy!Leon for this fic's banner and for her and @elfven-blog for enabling me to write a puppy!Leon fic. Also lightly inspired by the puppy!Leon POV series by Nekrophil/ABP0RNS on Twitter (go check them out, their artwork is *chef's kiss*) Enjoy!

“Hybrids, the latest craze in New Los Angeles for human companionship. Humans spliced with animal DNA and raised to be your best friend! Hybrids are the perfect addition to any household! Adopt your Hybrid today at your nearest--”

You abruptly change the channel, sitting in a living room with your mom at her condo.

“Those things freak me the fuck out…” you say, mindlessly scrolling through channels.

“Hybrids? Aw, really? I think they’re cute!”

You turn to your mom, giving her a disgusted look, “really? You don’t see anything wrong with those things?”

She shakes her head, “no worse than the cyber augmentations people get, sweetie”

You watch your mom ponder for a moment, her eyes suddenly widening, “you should get one!”

“What-- Mom, no!”

“You’re in that apartment all away across town all by yourself, it’ll be good for you!”

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How you got dragged out to adopt a Hybrid is beyond you. Your mom somehow convinced you to at least go and look at what they have available for adoption. You lean your head against the passenger window and watch the sights of the city. You mindlessly listen to your mom rattle on about how excited she is to look at the Hybrids and you picking out one, which finally draws your attention.

“Whoa hold on, Mom, I never said I was buying one! I just said I would look, that’s all!” you draw your attention back out the passenger window, “besides, I can’t afford one, you know that. I’d never have enough credits in my lifetime for something like that.”

“Hun, I’m going to help you with that, don’t worry. This is for your wellbeing, after all!”

“Great…”

The large neon sign proclaiming that it was the location of a Hybrid adoption center made your stomach sink. Your mom pulls the car into the parking lot, getting out and practically dragging you out of the passenger’s side to go into the building. The reception area is a blinding white, a stark contrast to the neon grunge of the city outside. The woman behind the desk greets both of you both with a smile.

“Welcome to the Hybrid adoption center! How can I help you ladies today?”

Your mom grasps you by your shoulders, pushing you forward, “my daughter wants to see the Hybrids available for adoption today!”

“Oh that’s fantastic!” the receptionist says, her smile still plastered on her face, “what kind of Hybrid are you looking for?”

You look at the receptionist with a confused look, “what do you mean what kind?”

“Well, we have different kinds that are spliced with different animals! However, our dog and cat Hybrids are our most popular, would you like to start with one of those?”

You look at your mom for a moment before shifting your attention back to the receptionist, “um… I guess the dog ones…?”

“Great choice! Now then, I’ll notify our active adoption coordinator and have her come out to take you to see what we have for dog Hybrids, have a seat!”

You and your mom take a seat in the waiting area. You lean forward, fiddling with your fingers as you both wait. Your mom was more excited to see the Hybrids than anyone. You just wanted to please your Mom and move on. You had no intention of adopting a Hybrid. The sound of a door sliding open makes you jump as a woman with a clipboard comes out to you and your Mom.

“Are you the two ladies here to see our dog Hybrids?” she asks enthusiastically.

“Yes we are!” your mom immediately answers, practically jumping out of her seat.

The woman motions for you both to follow her, you do so reluctantly. She leads you down a set of pure white corridors before coming upon another door that slides open. Both sides of the room were lined what you could only describe as cells and you see them, the Hybrids. You expected to hear barking for some reason, but that’s not the case here. They all are saying hello and grabbing the bars that keep them in their cells.

“They can talk…?” I ask.

“Yes! Hybrids are perfectly capable of human speech! Did you have something in particular in mind for a dog Hybrid?”

“You should get a male--” Mom interjects.

“Mom!”

The coordinator just laughs, “we have plenty of males to choose from, let’s take a look!”

The first thing you notice is all of them are naked, making this whole situation even more awkward. Hybrids were quite literally people with animal parts grafted onto them; it was quite unsettling to you.

“How is this even ethical?” you whisper to your Mom.

“Stop it!” your Mom scolds you.

Most of the Hybrids were much too… eager and hyper for you, making you a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t until you got to one of the last cells when a Hybrid actually caught your attention. He, of course, was nude like the rest, but he wasn’t jumping all over the place trying to get your attention. He was laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and, admittedly, he was quite gorgeous; you were bummed he was a Hybrid and not a human. He finally notices you, rolling over and smiling as he grasps the bars on his cell.

His voice is gentle, “hi there! I’m Leon!” his matching blonde tail wagging back and forth.

Something you hadn’t noticed before was that all the Hybrids had two sets of ears, their human ears and their animal ears, “do they all have two sets of ears?” you ask.

“So their animal ears aren’t actually ears, they’re simply appendages meant for cosmetics. Their human looking ears are their actual ears.” the coordinator replies, “this is Leon, he just turned 21; he’s a very calm boy, very loyal and friendly, but protective, too.”

“Oh sweetie he’s perfect for you! Look at him! He’s adorable!” your mom exclaims before speaking to the coordinator, “she lives in an apartment all by herself.”

“Oh! Leon would be perfect for you! What do you say?”

Your gaze shifts to Leon, his pretty blue eyes practically pleading at you, his tail still wagging.

You let out a heavy sigh, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this, “I’ll take him.”

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The next few days were a blur, consisting of filling out paperwork and buying things Leon would need for when he comes home. Thankfully Hybrids eat the same things humans do, so you just have to make sure you buy for two instead of just for yourself. The day came for Leon to come home to your apartment and your first order of business was getting clothes on him, having him naked all the time was just way too weird. That was proving harder than you anticipated.

“No! It’s itchy!” Leon whines, kicking off the pants and underwear you had put on him for the fifth time before curling up on the floor.

At that point you conceded defeat, you were just going to have to deal with him being naked for now. You guessed it made sense, he’s probably been naked his entire life. You watch him as he plays with a rubber bone you had bought him, immediately noticing his canine teeth were much sharper than a normal human’s would be. You look over in the corner where you had a large crate set up, it was actually at the coordinators recommendation that you get a crate for him even though the idea of putting him in it made you really uncomfortable. You’d hope you wouldn’t have to use it.

Your attention returns to Leon, who’s still playing with his bone happily, sporting this new collar you got him. It was a blue leather collar to match his eyes and had a bone shaped tag that had his name on the front and your contact info on the back.

“Leon,” you suddenly call to him, holding your hand out, “wanna play fetch?”

Leon immediately perks up onto his haunches before crawling over to you with the toy in his mouth.

You tried your damned hardest not to focus on his very large dick, even flaccid it was quite large. Again, you curse that he’s not a human internally. He drops the toy from his mouth into your hand and you reach out, giving him a scratch behind one of his dog ears. His cheeks turn red, leaning his head into your touch.

“Aren’t you a sweet boy…” you say before tossing the toy gently.

Leon chases after the toy, picking it up in his mouth and bringing it back over to you for you to throw again. You do this a few more times before Leon decides he’s had enough, he climbs up onto the couch next to you, laying his head in your lap as he stretches out across the rest of the couch, his tail making a rhythmic thumping sound as he wags his tail. You run your fingers through his hair, looking down at him.

His blue eyes look up at you and he smiles, “I love you, Mommy!”

You feel your breath hitch at his words, but you quickly recover and smile back, “love you too, Leon.”

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“Leon, get back here right now!”

You never thought you’d be starting your day chasing Leon around the living room with a pair of boxers in your hands.

“Leon, come on! My best friend is coming over and I can’t have you running around naked, at least wear these boxers for god’s sake! I even cut a hole in the back for your tail, just get over here so I can put them on!”

“No! It itches!” Leon protests, somehow managing to stay one step ahead of you as he darts around the living room on all fours.

After a while, you manage to corner him on the couch, quickly slipping on the boxers, making sure to pull his tail through the makeshift hole you had made. He starts to pull them off when you scold him.

“Leon, no! Do you want to go in the crate?”

Leon stops, pulling the boxers back up and giving you the most pathetic puppy eyes, “no, Mommy…”

“Then they stay on at least until my best friend leaves, ok?”

Leon nods, climbing off the couch, grabbing his rubber bone before climbing back onto the couch to chew on it.

“Thank you… good boy…” you say before you work on cleaning up your apartment for your best friend to arrive.

About a half hour goes by when you hear your phone go off, a notification displaying that there is someone at the door. With a couple of taps on your phone, your best friend’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey there, I’m here!” she says, giving you a big smile.

“Hang on Hailey, I’ll be right there!”

You go up to your apartment door, push a few buttons on the key panel next to the door and the door slides open. Hailey, your best friend since you were kids, comes in and gives you a hug.

“It’s been too long! What is it that you wanted to show me?” Hailey asks.

You motion for Hailey to follow you into the living room, where you find Leon still contently chewing on his bone, the boxers thankfully still on.

“Is… is that one of those Hybrids?!” the shock is evident in Hailey’s voice.

“Y-Yeah… mom convinced me to get him; his name is--”

“Hi there!” Leon sits up, his tail wagging in full circles as he looks to your friend, “I’m Leon!”

Hailey leans over to whisper into your ear, “are all Hybrids that hot?”

You elbow her, “shut up! It’s hard enough to deal with as it is without you mentioning it!”

Leon looks between the two of you, cocking his head in confusion, his tail still wagging, now hitting against the couch.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure most people fuck their Hybrids, like, look at him, how could you not?”

“Hailey, no! That’s fucking weird.”

“You’re telling me that you haven’t at least thought about it?”

“We’re not talking about this, not in front of Leon.”

Leon, meanwhile, has returned his attention to his rubber bone, chewing it aggressively when he suddenly picks up an unusual scent, one he’s never smelled before. He stops chewing, flaring his nostrils as he sniffs the air. Whatever it was, it smells sweet, almost like a wildflower. He quickly realizes that it’s you that smells like this, even though it was so faint. He wanted to get up and stuff his nose into you to take in more of this sweet smell, however, he knew he’d get in trouble, especially with your friend being here. To his dismay, you and your friend went back into the kitchen to hang out, bringing that irresistible smell with you.

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In the dead of night, Leon is restless, tossing and turning in his plush bed that sat at the foot of your bed. The smell from the other day has only become stronger over time and it was getting to Leon’s head. The smell was making his cock hard, something he hadn’t really experienced until now. It is almost painful; just him simply running his fingers along his cock made him flinch. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, he sat up, carefully climbing onto your bed. You were laying on your back, sound asleep with your legs spread open.

Leon gently crawls his way between your legs, the intoxicating smell emanating from the spot between your legs; he notices a dark spot on your panties. Gently, he presses his nose against the wet spot, inhaling deeply as his tail wags back and forth.

That’s it… that’s where that smell is coming from…

He glances up at you, you’re still sound asleep. He gently hooks a finger on your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening cunt to him; it practically makes him salivate. He hesitantly runs his tongue over your slit, his eyes fluttering closed as he savors the taste of you. You suddenly stir, your hips shifting slightly as a soft moan comes out of you. Your eyes flutter open and you look down to find, to your horror, Leon between your legs, eating you out.

You blink a few times before shouting, “LEON!”

Taking his mouth off of you, Leon’s eyes widen as he pushes himself off the bed, letting out a soft whimper as you sit up and cover yourself with your blanket.

“In your crate!” you point to the bedroom door, your face beet red, “now!”

“Mommy… I’m sorry… I just--”

“GET. OUT!”

Leon’s puppy ears droop and his tail tucks itself between his legs as he crawls out into the living room. You follow behind him, making sure he puts himself in his crate before shutting the crate door behind him. Looking up and whining at you, his fingers grip the bars of the crate as he stares up at you, pleading to you with his blue eyes. Unfortunately, you simply shake your head at him and walk back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Leon feels tears well up in his eyes as he grips the bars on the crate.

What did he do wrong? He was only doing what his instincts told him to do, why was that bad? Releasing his grip on the crate bars, he makes himself as comfortable as he possibly can in his situation, crying himself to sleep, your sweet scent still lingering in the air.

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You didn’t sleep a wink the rest of the night, between the sounds of Leon’s cries echoing through your bedroom door to just the thought of waking up to Leon eating you out disturbed you to your core. You finally get yourself out of bed, throwing on your pajama bottoms before walking out of your bedroom. You find Leon awake in his crate, his eyes red and puffy from crying all night. Upon seeing you, he immediately sits up, gripping the crate bars, his tail wagging so hard it was a blonde blur. Against your better judgment, you walk up to the crate, unlocking it to let him out.

As soon as you open the crate door, Leon bolts out, wrapping his arms around your legs, holding you tight. The fact that he buries his nose into you and deeply inhales doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Thank you for letting me out, Mommy! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll be a good boy, I swear!”

You pry his arms off you and push him away, “Just… just go play with your toys Leon…” you say before walking into the kitchen to make yourself coffee and breakfast.

Once you have your coffee and breakfast, you practically collapse at the small dining table, rubbing your face with your hands. What are you going to do? You could start crating him at night, but something about that didn’t sit right with you. Suddenly, you feel something rest on your lap and the sound of something thumping against the floor. You move your hands away from your face to find Leon’s head resting in your lap, his tail wagging against the floor.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you, his puppy ears erect and alert.

“Nothing, Leon…” you say with a sigh, “you must be hungry. I’ll make you something to eat…”

You get up from the table and over to the stove where you make him some eggs and bacon. Once finished, you put them on a plate and set it on the floor in front of him and watch as he scarfs it down. You sit back down at the table and slowly pick away at your breakfast and take sips out of your coffee mug. You feel Leon rest his head onto your lap again. You look back down, finding him looking up at you longingly, his tail wagging insistently.

“What is it, Leon?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

Leon doesn’t say a word, however, as he climbs up until he’s face to face with you, staring directly into your eyes, his tail still wagging. He lets out a soft whimper as he grinds his hips into the side of your thigh. You happen to glance down, greeted with his painfully hard member rubbing against you. Looking back up at him, Leon whimpers again, his hands softly caressing your arms.

“Leon… are you ok…?”

You watch as Leon swallows hard before he continues rutting himself against your thigh, his breath trembling.

“I need… to mate with you…” Leon finally replies, his grip on your arms tightening as he continues to grind into your thigh.

Your heart begins to race as very conflicting feelings begin to overtake you.

This is so wrong, you think to yourself.

That thought doesn’t stop you as you lean forward, giving Leon a gentle kiss on the lips, cupping his face in your hands. Leon deepens your kiss, his tongue dancing with yours before playfully biting your bottom lip. You stand up from the table, leading him back into the bedroom, shutting the door before you begin to undress. As soon as you're naked, Leon stands up on two feet, pushing you into the bed face first so that your backside is propped up. You feel yourself tremble in anticipation as you feel Leon climb onto the bed behind you. You flinch when you feel his cock caress your soaked slit, coating itself in your arousal before he pushes himself inside you.

“Oh… Oh god--!” you cry out as Leon’s length fills you completely, pushing into your g-spot almost immediately, your fingers gripping your sheets.

You hear Leon whimper as his hips begin to move into you. He starts out slow, but he quickly gains confidence and begins to thrust into you harder and faster, his hands gripping your hips so hard that you’re bound to have bruises later.

“Yes… oh yes, Mommy… you feel so good…” Leon moans as he pounds into you harder, “am I a good boy…?”

“Yes…” you reply in a breathy moan as your eyes roll back into your head, “you’re such a good boy, Leon… you fuck Mommy so good…”

You feel his hands grip your hips even tighter as he pulls your body to him, thrusting into you even harder, his loud moans and whimpers filling the room along with the wet sounds of your needy cunt taking him.

“Aaaaahhh… f-fill me up with your puppies Leon--!” you suddenly cry out, your pussy walls squeezing around his cock as he continues to thrust into you.

Leon growls in response, placing one of his hands onto your back to push you into the mattress as he fucks you relentlessly. His instincts are in overdrive, his thoughts completely overtaken by his burning desire to breed you.

“Oh my god… you’re such a good boy, Leon!” you praise him, completely drunk off his cock, your legs trembling as you’re filled with complete ecstasy.

You suddenly feel his cock start to swell inside you and you quickly realize he is knotting. It feels surprisingly good, making you feel full. You sit up on your knees, pressing your back against his chest as he continues to thrust into you. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, nuzzling your cheek against his as his hands find their way to the front of your body, caressing your breasts as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“I can’t wait…” Leon starts, his voice rough, “to see your belly full of my puppies.”

You repeatedly moan his name, the word fuck and good boy as he pounds his cock into you, your legs starting to feel weak as they violently tremble. Before they give way, a sudden warmth fills your pussy as he pushes himself inside you as hard and deep as he possibly can, his hands gripping both your breasts tightly as he bites into your shoulder. You let out an animalistic moan as you also cum on his cock, your greedy cunt milking his seed deep inside your womb.

Both of you collapse onto the bed in exhaustion with his length still buried inside you, ensuring that not a single drop of his cum is wasted. His arms and legs wrap around you as his face nuzzles into the back of your neck. Your whole body is trembling, completely overwhelmed by how good Leon was for you. You reach back, running your hand through his hair and caressing one of his puppy ears, whispering softly to him that he is a good boy.

You’re going to get used to this.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #puppy!leon kennedy #gigabyte writes

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writerblue275 · 9 months

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What to get each Heartsteel member for the holidays

Aphelios: 1. Stuff to decorate his studio with. 2. Moon-themed things. 3. Why do I feel like he’s similar to me and collects SOMETHING. For me it’s owl things (I fucking love owls.) and cool enamel pins! I could see Phel collecting really cool enamel pins or some sort of trinket. 4. To go with #3. A place to put said trinkets (for example a cork board/pin banner to hang pins on). [I should take a photo of my cork board that has all my pins and stuff on it so you can see what I mean!]

Ezreal: 1. Book discussing an ancient civilization he’s been interested in. 2. A book going over works of an artist/artistic period/movement he really likes. (I did that for my dad this year about an artist he likes and he almost started crying he was so excited. It was so fucking cute. I’ve been waiting to give him that book since JULY. 🥹)

Kayn: 1. Accessories for a guitar (like a custom embroidered guitar strap or picks). 2. I feel like he’d primarily play electric, but I definitely think he’d play/have an acoustic guitar. You can find some really cool wood-burned acoustic guitars for (relatively) cheap. (A good instrument is expensive (I know this from playing viola) but compared to electric guitars, acoustics are definitely more affordable.) 3. I have a fun embroidery hoop hanging on my wall and it’s all fancy and shit and it says “DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO” and I think something like that fits Kayn so perfectly. (I need to take a photo and post it for y’all. It’s one of my favorite things lmao.)

K’Sante: 1. A really fancy set of colored pencils and a really nice sketch pad that he can use for sketching out his designs. 2. A new sewing machine/sewing kit. 3. FABRIC. Get this man nice fabric so he can bring his designs to life! Especially if he’s shown you a design he really loves, or that you really love, get fabric for that specific design.

Sett: 1. Brand new fancy sewing kit he’s been talking about. (I absolutely love that he’s canonically a sewing expert. I fucking love it so much). 2. If not a full kit then a really nice seam ripper or specific tool he maybe needs an upgrade on. Could be customized to him. I think he’d love that! 3. Really nice set of pots/pans/kitchen utensils. (I’m thinking like the hex clad pans I keep hearing about.)

Sett Extra: You better get something for his mama!!! As someone who has a mother who is a knitting machine, I know exactly what to get. 1. Some really really lovely and fancy yarn. 2. Knitting pattern books that she doesn’t have. 3. A yarn bowl (it’s literally a bowl that the yarn sits in, and there’s a little hole or design that allows the end to come out so you don’t have to keep unwinding the yarn or anything. And it’s easy to keep your space neat while knitting. My mother LOVES HERS. My dad accidentally broke her first one and she was devastated! [A new/nicer one was her Christmas present from my dad last year.])

Yone: 1. Some god damn peace and quiet and sleep. This man needs a break lmao. 2. But actually, stuff to decorate his studio with (for example a funny little do not disturb sign that he can put on the door, some posters or something. 3. Maybe some small framed photos of the two of you that he can put on his desk. You’re his muse after all (and you help him not go insane during late nights.)

EXTRA-

Alune: She deserves some gifts toooooooo!! 1. This woman deserves a damn spa day. Do I even have to explain myself? Like she deserves some serious pampering. 2. Another one who I could see collecting something fun. Probably moon related lol.

#writerblue275 gremlin hours #heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #headcanon #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel k'sante #heartsteel sett #heartsteel yone #heartsteel alune #league of legends #heartsteel fluff #happy holidays

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mediumgayitalian · 7 months

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prev chapter

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“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”

“Uh, five.”

“Good choice, good choice.”

He opens the centre console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.

“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.

“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”

Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.

“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.

(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he truly likes music of every genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)

The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him.

“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN.

Ah, Florida. Please one day change.

“Do I need to exit?”

“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”

He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.

“Hm. 98 is a better number.”

“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”

“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”

“You take that back –”

Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.

He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison.

“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”

“No.”

“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”

“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”

“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”

“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”

“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”

Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same colour.

“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”

“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.

“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”

Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”

They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods.

He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.

Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.

Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon.

But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.

Easy decision, really.

He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts.

The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move, maybe. He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch.

Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly.

“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn centre of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.

“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles that mistook you for a mouse.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.

Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”

Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him.

“Foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –

“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Damn.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”

“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. He and Will have their differences, sure, but if there’s one thing they can agree on it’s their sense of humour.

He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.

“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”

And behold, Nico does.

Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.

“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.

Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s…something.”

“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”

Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? How long has this creature existed? How long will it persist? Who created it? Why is it in Will’s dorky book? Does it house a soul?

“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”

The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”

“Geriatric.”

Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.

Nico’s brain goes static.

“Say cheese!”

“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.

Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida.

“You look like a dork!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”

Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism.

Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”

“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”

He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place.

“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”

“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a concert up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.

“Nah, just memorised the map.”

Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”

It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.

Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.

“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”

“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile.

Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down.

Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope.

———

next chapter

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calirph · 14 hours

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𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒.

all sentences were taken from various scenarios related to arranged marriages mostly in the historical, fantasy or medieval setting. you can use them as base for starters or change place, pronouns as you see fit.

1. Arranged Marriages:

"You’ll be wed to him by sunset, whether you like it or not. The banners are already being stitched."

"Your union will bring peace to the realms. That’s all that matters now."

"I don't know him, Father. How am I to trust a man I've never met?"

"This marriage is a treaty, not a love match. Smile and seal the fate of our kingdom."

"The King has decreed it, and his word is law. You will marry the lord from the north."

2. Civil Marriages:

"It’s been agreed that we will marry, but it doesn’t mean we have to care for one another."

"Our union will be one of duty, not affection. I expect you to know your role."

"There will be no grand feast. Let us sign the papers, exchange vows, and be done with it."

"Marriage is a bond of power, not of the heart. We shall be civil, nothing more."

"Our marriage may not be one of love, but it will be a prosperous one."

3. Animosity Marriages:

"You think this marriage will bring me to heel? You’ll find I am not so easily tamed."

"Marry you? I would sooner take a blade to the throat than suffer beside you."

"I hate you as much as you hate me, but if it secures the throne, I’ll say the vows."

"This is no marriage, it's a prison, and you're the jailer."

"Forced to marry my enemy? I'd rather fight him on the battlefield than share his bed."

4. Marriages of Convenience:

"We both know what this is—a transaction. I expect no less than what we agreed upon."

"Our marriage will benefit us both. We need not speak of love, only power."

"Convenience. That’s all it is. We’ll play our roles and nothing more."

"It may not be what either of us wanted, but it is what we both need."

"A marriage of convenience is still a marriage. We shall gain what we desire and go our separate ways."

5. Secret Marriages:

"No one must know of this union. We can’t afford to let our enemies find out."

"By dawn, we’ll be wed in secret, and none will suspect what we've done."

"The gods have witnessed our vows, but no one else must."

"This marriage must remain hidden until the time is right."

"Our love must be kept in shadows. We cannot risk the kingdom’s wrath."

1. Shock:

"You’re marrying who? Surely, this must be some jest."

"No, I refuse to believe it! They wouldn't force me into this!"

"They have announced our marriage without even consulting me?"

"You mean to tell me my life has been decided with a mere letter?"

"Marriage? To him? I would rather be banished."

2. Calm Acceptance:

"I knew this day would come. There is no use fighting it now."

"So, this is to be my fate? Very well, I shall prepare for the wedding."

"It seems the council has made their choice. I suppose I’ll have to make mine."

"I always knew I wouldn’t marry for love. I’ll wear the crown, if that is what they wish."

"The marriage has been decided? Then let us move forward."

3. Dread:

"This can’t be happening. How could they bind me to someone so cruel?"

"I cannot—will not—marry them. Not after everything they've done."

"Marriage? To him? He’ll ruin me. He’ll ruin everything."

"How could they arrange this without my consent? I can’t do this."

"They cannot force me into this union. I will find a way out."

4. Surprise:

"A marriage? But I wasn’t even aware there were negotiations!"

"Married? To him? I thought they would never agree to it."

"Well, that was… unexpected. When is the ceremony?"

"The marriage has been arranged? I didn’t think anyone would ever want to wed me."

"I hadn’t anticipated a proposal, much less a marriage contract. How long have they been planning this?"

5. Reluctant Acceptance:

"If this is what must be done to keep the peace, then so be it."

"I never wanted this, but I’ll do my duty for the sake of the realm."

"Marriage was never my choice, but I will fulfill my obligations."

"It seems I have no say in the matter. I’ll prepare for the wedding."

"This is not the life I wanted, but if it is what the kingdom demands, I will marry."

6. Demaning the Marriage:

"You will marry him, or you’ll have no place in this house any longer." "I demand you fulfill your duty and marry the prince. It is for the good of the realm." "Your father’s last wish was for you to marry. You will honor it." "You’ll marry me, or I’ll see you cast out of every noble house in this kingdom." "The treaty demands this marriage, and so do I. You will not defy the crown." "I expect you to stand beside him at the altar. There is no other option." "Your marriage to her is the only thing that can save this alliance. You will do as you’re told." "Marry him, or the war will continue. This is your chance to stop the bloodshed." "You’ve been betrothed since childhood. Now, it’s time to fulfill that promise." "I demand you take her hand in marriage, or you will lose everything." "Marry me, or your family’s lands will be forfeit to the crown." "You have no choice. This marriage will happen, with or without your blessing." "The fate of your house depends on this marriage. You will not refuse." "You’ll marry him, or your title will be stripped from you." "Marry her, or the crown will consider it an act of treason." "This marriage is not a request—it’s a command." "You owe it to the family to marry her. The survival of our name depends on it." "There will be no further debate. You will marry him." "The council has decided, and you will marry. There is no escaping this." "This marriage has been arranged, and you will see it through." "You will wed her, or your family’s debts will never be forgiven." "Marry him, or you’ll be cast out of every noble circle in this land." "The marriage is necessary for the alliance. You will go through with it." "You’ll marry, or the consequences will be dire for your entire family." "This marriage isn’t just for you. It’s for the realm. You will marry."

7. Refusing the Marriage.

"I refuse to marry him. You can send me to the gallows, but I won’t say the vows." "You may have my life, but you will never have my hand in marriage." "I will not marry her. Not today, not ever." "I will die before I am bound to a man I despise." "I refuse to be a pawn in this marriage game." "This marriage is a mistake, and I will not be a part of it." "I cannot marry him. My heart belongs to another." "I will not be forced into a marriage I did not choose." "The crown may demand it, but I will not be forced into this union." "I will not marry her, no matter the consequences." "I’ll run away before I let them marry me to him." "You can’t force me into this. I refuse to marry him!" "The answer is no. I will not marry someone I do not love." "I cannot and will not marry him. No one can make me." "I will not be sold into a marriage like a piece of livestock." "My answer is final—I will not marry her." "This is not the life I wanted, and I will not marry him." "No amount of persuasion will force me into this marriage." "I will not be tied to a man who sees me as nothing more than a prize." "I refuse to be part of this political game. I won’t marry her." "You can threaten me all you like, but I will not marry him." "I will not marry for duty. I will marry for love, or not at all." "The marriage contract is torn. I will not wed him." "No force on earth will make me stand before an altar with him." "I will not be bound by chains of a marriage I did not choose."

8. Accepting or Warming up to Marriage:

"Perhaps this marriage isn’t such a terrible idea after all. It could bring more than just peace." "I’ve had time to think, and maybe… just maybe, this could work." "I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to see the value in our union." "At first, I resisted, but now… the idea of marriage doesn’t seem so unbearable." "It may not have been my choice, but I’m starting to understand why it has to be this way." "The more I think on it, the more I realize that this marriage might actually be good for both of us." "I can’t deny that there’s strength in unity. Perhaps marriage is the best path forward." "I didn’t expect to say this, but I’m willing to give this marriage a chance." "I’ve come to terms with it. This marriage could bring something more than I first imagined." "I’ve fought it for so long, but maybe… it’s time to accept my fate." "You know, I think we could make this marriage work, if we’re both willing." "Strange, isn’t it? How the idea of marriage once repelled me, but now… it feels like the right course." "I used to hate the thought of it, but now I see there might be a future in this marriage." "I’m starting to believe that we can find happiness in this arrangement, even if it wasn’t love at first." "At first, I feared this union, but now… now I think we could build something real." "It wasn’t my first choice, but I’ve realized we might find more than just duty in this marriage." "I never thought I’d come around to the idea, but this marriage could bring more than just titles and lands." "I’ve had my doubts, but perhaps we can make this more than just an alliance." "If we’re both committed to this marriage, I believe we could find peace—and maybe something more." "I once thought I’d be miserable, but now I see… perhaps there’s hope for us after all." "We might not have chosen each other, but I think there’s a way forward in this marriage." "I didn’t expect to ever feel this way, but I’m beginning to look forward to our wedding." "Maybe this marriage was meant to be. There’s potential for more here than either of us anticipated." "I used to dread the idea of being married, but with you… maybe it won’t be so bad." "It seems strange to say, but I’m actually beginning to warm to the idea of being your spouse."

9. The wedding night.

"So… this is it, then? Our wedding night. Are you as nervous as I am?" "I know we’re bound by duty, but tonight… let’s forget everything else and just be ourselves." "Do you think we’ll remember this night with fondness? Or as just another part of our duty?" "I won’t pretend this isn’t strange, but… we’ve made it this far. Let’s take the rest one step at a time." "You don’t need to worry. Tonight will be whatever we choose it to be." "This is the part of marriage no one really talks about, isn’t it?" "There’s no rush. We’ve just the night and the rest of our lives ahead of us." "Are you sure you're comfortable with this? We can go slow if that’s what you prefer." "I’ve waited for this moment for so long, but now that it’s here… I don’t know where to begin." "There’s no need for fear. We’re in this together now, for better or worse." "I know you didn’t choose this marriage, but tonight… I hope we can find some common ground." "I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually looking forward to this part of the wedding." "This night doesn’t have to be perfect. Just… ours." "I’ve been told what’s expected of us, but I’d rather we create our own expectations." "We’re alone now. No court, no family, just us. What do you want tonight to be?" "You look… beautiful. I know this isn’t easy, but I want you to know I’m here for you." "We’ve gone through the ceremony. Now comes the real challenge, doesn’t it?" "I hope you don’t expect too much from me tonight. I’ve never done this before." "No one ever told me how awkward a wedding night might be. Shall we just talk for a while?" "Tonight is about more than just obligation. I want this to mean something for both of us." "I’m not sure what happens next, but I’d like to figure it out together." "It’s just you and me now. No expectations, no pressure—just us." "Shall we make this night one to remember for something other than just duty?" "I know this is part of the marriage, but… I want you to know you have a choice in how it goes." "We can take our time. This night is ours, and no one else’s."

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #◟ ⋆ memes › roleplay sources.

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melsie-sims · 6 months

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Hey everyone! Okay so I'm really excited about this! ✨✨

I've been asked a few times how I make my banners, so I've decided to open up commissions in case anybody would like one in my style.

Donations only, which means there's no set price. Pay what you can afford or feel the work is worth. You can donate a dollar or ten, what I do will be the same.

All of the info you need is under the cut. I know it's a lot of info, but please read carefully before requesting! This is all very important so you know what you're signing up for!

COMMISSIONS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN! 💚💚💚

A few things to note:

This is for Sims 2 AND Sims 4 players! I don't play Sims 3 so I apologize, I won't be taking requests for that game. Let me know which game you need banners for in your Ko-Fi message so I know which set of icons to use (if you want icons).

I will try to finish the banner(s) within 3 days of your payment. I have absolutely no idea how many of you will be into this so depending on the demand, the time-frame may vary slightly. I will let you know if I need extra days!

I will be sending you png files only. You will not be getting access to the template, I hope you understand. If you don't like the end result, I'm open to making slight modifications upon request. If you ever need a different household name, a different year/rotation, color scheme, or anything like that, I will gladly do it for you free of charge, no matter how much time has gone by.

All donations should be sent to my Ko-Fi. Again, it doesn't matter if you donate a dollar or ten, I will give you a similar result! Please don't donate more expecting better!

Along with your donation, please give me a detailed message of what you need to be done, including Simblr account username, color scheme, general vibe (cottagecore, minimalistic, bright and colorful, etc), any text (and a few fonts you like), any Sims 2 or Sims 4 icons you'd like, etc. The more details you give me, the more I have to work with! If you run out of room in the Ko-Fi message just hit me up in Tumblr DM's with the rest.

Messages sent on Tumblr don't count! We can certainly discuss what you want to be done via DM on Tumblr beforehand, but I'm only going to work on the banners requested in the Ko-Fi donation message. Make sure you include your Simblr username so I know who you are!

I know a lot of my followers are also rotational players, so I will make you up to 10 banners for a single donation, that way you can have them for your multiple households! Let me know if you want different color schemes, different icons, etc.

I won't be putting any branding/watermark so it'll look nice and clean, don't worry. I would never do that to you. 💙

Now here are some examples of my work! You can reference the banner in your message if you'd like yours to look similar to that particular one. I won't be doing anything very different from these, so you know what to expect.

#sims 4 #sims 2 #banner commissions #commissions open #digital art #graphic design

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glimmeringtwilight · 2 years

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Forgive Me, Forgive Me | Vampire!Diluc x Reader

i'll add a pretty banner in the morning but here's the halloween diluc piece! vampire diluc because I'm basic (it just Works! It just Works!!! I believe in vampire diluc supremacy). Reader is a monster hunter :]

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: AFAB READER, NSFT, noncon, blood, violence, injury, kidnapping, yandere themes, biting, aphrodisiacs (kinda), blood loss. Use of the word "lovely" as a descriptor for the reader.

Sometimes you wonder what would have become of you, if monsters didn’t exist.

On long, quiet nights like this one, you entertain the idea: what would you do? Where would you work? Would you travel?

Sometimes you see yourself adventuring; traveling the world and helping others along the way. And though you do travel now, you’re sure it would be much, much different, without monsters to hunt and beasts to kill.

You’d travel during the day, for a start– not hidden under the cover of nightfall, chasing down something with claws and horns and sharp teeth through the outskirts of a small, tormented town and into the forest. You’re sure many of the places you’ve traveled to in this line of work are beautiful in the daylight, but you’ll never know.

You’d be able to sleep at night, too. Rather than sleeping during the day, in the scarce hours of sunlight that winter affords, and rising as the sun dips below the horizon.

Life would be simpler. Safer. You wouldn’t need to bandage quite so many cuts and suck the venom out of quite so many bites.

But it’s wishful thinking; an impossible fantasy, just out of reach. A neverending “what if.”

So your nights are spent like this: on snow-dusted rooftops, cracked shingles and shifting bricks threatening to collapse under you as you look out onto the dark alley below.

Tonight is especially cold; frost nipping your fingers through the thick gloves and a cold wind cutting through the seams in your coat to raise gooseflesh along your skin.

Worse, though, is the silence. Usually in towns like this, there’s at least one or two drunkards stumbling home from the tavern, singing some disjointed, slurred tune. Or there’s the chirp of crickets, the distant call of an owl– something to fill the empty air.

Tonight, there’s nothing. Just silence, stretching on for miles– as dead as the winter.

That is, until-

Crunch.

You duck low against the rooftop, peering over the edge and ignoring the cold bite of snow seeping into your jacket. It’s hard to see in the darkness– there’s not much snow to help reflect the waning moonlight– but you catch a glimpse of red hair as the figure of a man darts quickly through the alley.

Vampire, they’d told you when you’d taken up this commission. Look for red hair.

There’s your monster, then.

You jump over the ledge, into the alley, bending your knees as you land. You’re not sure if it heard you, but you don’t have the time to dwell on it, instead giving chase after the retreating figure. They turn a corner, you turn it a second later, and they’re gone.

The shallow footprints in the snow stop a few feet in front of you, but there’s no sign of them. You turn your gaze up towards the rooftops overhead and there’s nothing still.

Sighing, you do a quick sweep of the surrounding area, finding no trace that there’s anyone here but you. Whatever it is, is already long gone. Those Knights better pay you double for this, you think, as you clamber back up onto another rooftop and wait.

The night is spent watching from rooftops and seeing no other signs of life except for your own. When the sun starts to peek over the horizon again, you cut your losses and head for the inn.

The next night, you swap your boots for something lighter, less noisy. It won’t keep out the cold, but you’ll live. You do the same with your jacket, swapping it for a darker and quieter material, hoping that tonight you’ll be able to sneak up on it before it slips away again.

You can see why the knights that supposedly protect this city can’t seem to kill the thing themselves– the skittish ones are always the hardest to catch. But you won’t let it deter you; you’re going to kill it, get paid, and then move on to the next town.

There is one thing that bothers you about this whole ordeal: the Knights insisted, when they commissioned you for this job, that the most it’s ever done was bite people. A few of the townsfolk tell you that it watches over the city, protecting them from worse things.

You’d scoffed. Yeah, right. All vampires ever know how to do, in your experience, is kill. They drink their victims dry; leave their corpses out to cool for some unfortunate soul to find in the morning.

You feel bad for the poor, delusional townspeople who believe that. You know better– the only good vampire is a dead one.

…Still. You wonder why it didn’t attack you, if it heard you coming last night.

Tonight, you perch on a different rooftop, closer to the side gate of the city and hidden behind the cover of a smoking chimney. You tuck your nose into the collar of your coat to keep from breathing in too much smoke and to keep warm against the winter chill.

It’s silent again tonight, too. You wonder if the vampire attacks have successfully spooked the drunkards into sobering up until it blows over. Maybe the Knights instated a curfew.

It’s for the better, you think. At least there’s less worry of civilians getting hurt while you hunt it.

Much like the night before, you sit in silence on the cold rooftop, straining your ears for a sound. And much like last night, you hear the crunch of footsteps in the snow, see a glimpse of red hair.

Unlike last night, however, the figure doesn’t make it past the alley– instead, you hear a grunt of surprise, the shriek of wires pulling taut. Unlike last night, you also set a trap. As you jump to your feet and land in the alley, you see that it worked.

A ways down, you see him struggling, tangled in a mess of wires. You quickly close the distance, drawing your sword.

Vermillion eyes meet your own and you freeze.

…You know him. From the first day you came here– you know him.

When you’d first arrived, you’d stumbled onto his estate– he’d given you directions to the city. At the time you were surprised he was awake, so late in the night, but you get it now. The winery heir– what was his name–

“...Diluc.” Something like despair paints his features as you mutter his name, as though the dim recognition on your face wasn’t damning enough. “That’s what you said your name was, right?”

He doesn’t say anything– just shifts his weight, gets a knee under him. You raise your sword, realizing too late that the trap must not have triggered properly; he shouldn’t have his hands free like that–

Diluc stands, rushes towards you, and you hardly have the time to take in a stuttered breath before you’re being slammed against the wall on the opposite side of the alleyway. Your head cracks against brick, vision scattering with stars for a brief moment, but you force your sword upward, driving it just below his shoulder.

The man hisses, grabbing you by the jaw just as you yank your sword free to attack him again, and slams your head against the brick a second time.

You black out. It’s only for a few seconds, but when you come to, you’re already on the ground, sword kicked out of your reach.

He flips you over onto your stomach, taking ahold of one of your wrists. You feel nauseous. Your head swims as you strain to focus on the polished boots in your vision, to regain your senses. Sluggishly, you blink, feeling a tug on your other wrist.

“I’m sorry,” He tells you after a beat. He sounds far away.

Gloved hands hook underneath you and you thrash, trying to bring your arms in front of you and realizing he must have tied them together.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, hauling you over his shoulder as you squirm and hiss, “I don’t want to do this.”

“Fuck you,” You spit, “Monster.”

“I know,” He says, solemn. “I don’t want to hurt anyone-” You stiffen and he rushes to clarify– “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Your vision is well and truly swimming by now, blurring sharply at the edges. It’s hard to get the words out, “And what– what of the townspeople… you attacked?”

His grip on you tightens, but he doesn’t reply, carrying you past the city gate now. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, but you fight to stay awake, if only to say your piece before he kills you.

“You’re a threat. As long as you live, you’re a threat to these innocent people-”

You hear him shudder in a breath through clenched teeth. “I know.”

Do you? You want to say. You want to argue, to thrash and scream and make him regret not gagging you, since there’s nothing else you can do, but… You cannot fight off the exhaustion sinking in as the adrenaline dulls, as a throbbing, aching headache sets in; as the darkness fuzzing your vision overtakes the shrinking view of the city– of polished boots treading through snow.

Before unconsciousness takes you, you realize something.

…Where are the Knights?

When you come to, you’re surprised to still be alive.

What’s unsurprising, however, is the rope around your wrists and ankles, the gag forced between your teeth, knotted so tight you can feel a pressure headache building beneath the throbbing pain of what is already surely a concussion.

You’ve been placed awkwardly on your side in what is undoubtedly a wine cellar, the smell of wine thick in the air. There’s barrels stacked on either side of you, reaching to the ceiling.

Through the slats in the shelves you can see rows and rows of barrels to your left, brick wall to your right. You think you must be in the back of the room, then, farthest from the door. To prevent you from escaping or to ensure nobody hears you down here, you don’t know.

Nobody comes for you when you kick at the barrels, making as much noise as you can. Nobody hears you as you kick and kick and kick, praying that a shelf will slip, a barrel will fall and make a mess, a sound– but nobody comes. The ropes hold firm, unyielding to your struggling. There’s nothing to do but wait.

So you wait.

You try to come up with a plan– something to get yourself out of this, but what do you do? In your line of work, the smallest mistakes can mean life or death. Ordinarily, the fact that you’re still breathing would be a victory in itself, but is it, anymore?

You’re locked in a vampire’s wine cellar. Nobody is coming for you. Nobody knows you’re down here, you’re sure, except for him. There’s not many reasons a vampire might keep you alive– the most glaring one makes your stomach churn with unease.

You need to get out of here.

But with nothing left to do, you settle back down uncomfortably on your side and close your eyes. Sleep is a welcome reprieve from the heavy ache behind your eyes, in your jaw, and the stiffness of your joints. You dream of nothing.

The next time you wake, you’re being coaxed into an upright position by gloved hands.

“I’m sorry,” A voice says. You blink the sleep from your eyes, recognizing the vampire from last night. “I know this seems bad, but I swear I don’t intend to hurt you.”

He hesitates, a scrap of fabric clenched tight in one of his hands. Blearily, you wonder what it’s for, but you get your answer when he sets it over your eyes, tying a tight knot behind your head to keep it fastened there.

Cold fingers replace the gloves, running tentatively over your scalp until they brush something raw and painful. You hiss through the gag and he pulls away, muttering another quiet apology.

“I’m going to clean your wound.” He says. You don’t bother acknowledging him, biting down on the gag instead at the first touch of the damp rag against the injury.

“This isn’t permanent,” He explains as he dabs gingerly at your injury with the cloth- “I… just need some time to convince you to keep this secret.”

And if I don’t? You want to ask. You suspect you know the answer, anyway. The room lapses into silence, interrupted by the occasional hiss of pain that slips through your gag.

He’s gentle about it, for what little it’s worth to you given the circumstances. Gentle, but you don’t miss the shaky inhale as the rag’s pulled away, the flex in his fingers of waning self-restraint as he turns you around to get a better look at your wound.

Nothing happens, for a beat. You can practically feel him shudder behind you–

“Forgive me,” He’s starting to sound like a broken record at this point, “I shouldn’t… but you smell so good.”

Immediately you jerk against the grip on your biceps, fervently shaking your head no, no, no.

“It won’t hurt,” He promises, voice hoarse, hushing you when you muffle out a protest through the gag, “I’m sorry. You don’t know what it’s like–” Fingers card through your hair, tilting your head back while his other arm winds around you, crushing you against his chest and knocking the air from your lungs– “this hunger. Forgive me–”

You struggle as much as you can manage; you can’t let him, you can’t–

Cold breath against your throat, chased by searing hot pain. You scream around the gag, try to pull away, but he just holds you tighter. Blood drips down your neck, staining the collar of your shirt. You feel dizzy.

After a few moments, the pain fades. It’s still quietly there– still the sense of something horribly wrong, the foreign sensation of fangs cleaving through skin, but it’s chased away by an unbearable heat spreading from where Diluc’s mouth latches onto your throat.

You go lax against him. Against your better judgement, you tilt your head back further, thoughts fuzzing with the way he groans into your throat. …Why were you so worried, again?

He pulls back just enough to rasp, “See? That wasn’t so bad,” against your neck. He sounds just as lost as you feel.

You feel light. There’s a chill sinking in as he drinks from you, overtaking the heat as pins and needles start to spread through your limbs.

Diluc seems remiss to pull away when you slump forward, lashes fluttering against your cheeks beneath the blindfold. The sensations are disjointed; faraway and distant.

Maybe he’s apologizing again, with the soft brush of lips you distantly feel against the weeping injury. It hurts again, raw and sore, but you can’t find the energy to care. There’s still a deep-seated ache under your skin, brighter than the pain of your injuries.

Hands smooth over your sides and you arch against him, choking out a whine. It’s both too much and not enough, that low burning ember from his bite swallowed by the maelstrom his touch brings.

The air is heady with the scent of your blood and wine, so thick you can almost taste it on your tongue through the gag.

“It’s okay,” The monster holding you murmurs, breathing heavy against your nape, “I know it hurts. I’ll help you through it.”

Were you in a more sober state of mind, you’d thrash and spit and curse him to the Abyss– shatter the faux concern he slips on like a glove. Instead, you lean into the hand that combs through your hair, shuddering at the curl of fingers against your hip.

There’s a pause– cold breath and a mouth hot with your blood pressing against your neck as you feel his lips forming another apology, but it dies on his lips with your drying blood.

Diluc slides a hand underneath your shirt, cool digits sending electric shocks across fevered, clammy skin. His other remains at your hip, gripping it nearly tight enough to bruise while he mouths lazily at the blood weeping from his bite.

The sound that rips from your throat when those fingers find a nipple is obscene, but you’re too lost to care. The sensation of calloused fingers pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff peaks sends a bolt of heat straight to your core, almost unbearable in its intensity.

He’s not apologizing anymore, either– no hoarse apologies against your ear as he pinches and tugs harshly on your aching buds. Perhaps he was never sorry.

A rough hand finds its way beneath your waistband, cupping the heat of your sex. There’s a shuddering breath behind you, sucked in through gritted teeth. You can smell the blood on his breath still, stinging your nose.

“Gods, you’re…” Diluc exhales heavily through his nose, raising gooseflesh along the back of your neck. The hand on your chest clenches again, fingers curling achingly into sensitive flesh.

Your pants are tugged unceremoniously down your legs, stopped only by the rope still around your ankles. The action has the vampire curling around your further, blood and wine and the faint smell of smoke overwhelming your senses briefly.

Diluc moves out from behind you, bracing a hand against your spine to gently ease you to lie back on the floor. The position is awkward– your bound arms ache from the position, your back forced into an arch.

His touch leaves you and you’re left cold for a few torturous moments before you feel calloused hands digging into the meat of your thighs, nudging them apart as much as the rope will allow. He’s warm now, and you think it’s just from your own body heat for a moment– but his touch is almost searing; abnormally hot.

Thumbs rub circles on the inside of your thighs as you feel Diluc settle overtop your legs, hooking one of his own under your knee to keep them spread.

You hold your breath as his hand inches closer to your sex, stopping to fumble with the thin fabric of your underwear before that’s pulled down too– not as far, but enough to bare your dripping entrance.

He leans over you, shielding you from the worst of the room’s chill, as a calloused finger slides easily inside you. Immediately you clench down around him, gasping around the gag.

“You’re so very warm,” He breathes, leaning down to scrape fangs dangerously against the unmarred skin on the other side of your throat. Another finger joins the first and you groan, arching up into him.

Pleasure builds, sharp and hot, in your core– you nearly sob when he thumbs over your clit. Diluc’s mouth latches onto the crux between your throat and your shoulder, laving hot kisses against the sensitive skin there.

Another half-hearted apology spills from his lips before those fangs sink into your skin once more. His pleasured groan matches your own, the hand still clamped around your thigh tightening to a bruising degree.

When he presses a third finger inside you, your head lolls back, breath catching in your chest. Diluc curls his fingers inside you in time with the thumb rolling over your clit, and you tip right over the cresting heat that’s been building in your gut.

Euphoria washes over you, intense and bright and suffocating– you arch sharply into him, the gag muffling the pleasured sob that cracks from your throat.

He eases you through it, pumping his fingers into your heat until you’re whimpering and trying to squirm away with oversensitivity.

Diluc pulls his fingers from you, curling his other arm around you and turning you around to lie on your front. His coat is shrugged off and tucked under you, cushioning you from the hard floor.

The heat cooling in your gut starts to sour as you come back down from the high, exhaustion and pain readily taking its place. The bites on your throat sting fiercely, the throbbing pain behind your eyes returning with a fury.

Distantly, you’re aware of the vampire hiking up your hips, the motion jostling you and exacerbating the dull agony taking hold.

You must make a pained noise, because Diluc hushes you, breath shuddering as you feel something blunt nestle between your thighs. “You’re okay– it’s okay.”

One arm coils around your thighs, pressing them together, and he groans against your ear. His hips cant forward, cock dragging over your sex with the movement and jostling you in turn. Pain throbs anew at the motion, drawing a pained whine from your throat.

“Lovely.” Hair tickles the back of your neck as he leans over you, panting. He sets a desperate pace, hips snapping against your own so hard it stings. “You’re so– nnh– so lovely.”

He’s uncomfortably hot against your skin. You realize you can’t feel your fingers, numbness creeping up your arms. You’re so, so tired. Each motion of his hips drags you back from the release of sleep that threatens to overtake you. You feel your blood seeping into his coat, the fabric turning tacky against your skin.

Diluc’s hips stutter, something warm and wet splattering against your thighs. You hear him groan lowly, feel his weight slump against you after a moment. Why is he so warm?

“...I’m sorry.” His voice breaks you out of the light doze you’ve slipped into, but it feels like his voice slips right through you, like sand through a sieve. “It will ache, for a while. You get used to the cold.”

…What? Blearily, you try to focus– to shake the exhaustion sinking in like poison. It doesn’t work. As your consciousness fades, you hear him say:

“You’ll hate me for this–” He sounds exhausted, resigned as he says this– “but you can’t go to the Knights if you’re a monster, too.”

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daechwitatamic · 2 years

Text

VI. Don't Think About Him || KNJ

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

You try - and fail - to figure out who and what you want.

Section Warnings: excessive drinking, bar scenes, language, kissing, groping, maybe grinding idk

WC: 6k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sunday October 28th

Fire burns low in the hearth, but my feet itch and beg to go, into the night where the wolfpack hunts, into the storm of wind and snow.

I can hear only their hunting song. The blizzard steals from me my sight. I have no map to traverse this land, But I peer wistfully into the night.

The wolves, the storm, the wild land, Even still I must decide. I know despite the dangers, I can’t afford to stay inside.

“That’s fucking terrible,” you mutter, closing your book and scooting it away from you in disgust. “Wolves? Am I fourteen? For fuck’s sake.”

Still, it does touch on how you feel: like proceeding forward will result in you getting ripped to metaphorical shreds - but staying here, stuck in the familiar just because you’ve deemed it safe, would somehow be worse.

“Talking to yourself?” someone asks, and you jump with a shriek.

“Namjoon!” you scold, as you register that it’s him in the doorway. “I thought you weren’t home for a few more hours!”

He crosses the room and tosses his bag onto his bed. “Yoongi has a lead foot.”

“How was it?” you ask mildly.

Namjoon wiggles his head, indicating both good and bad. “The brewery was really fun,” he says. “And it was nice for us all to hang out and talk at the house. We all used to dorm together… it’s been weird not living in the same place as them. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

This makes you smile. You’d been to that dorm once or twice, but you’d refused to hang out with Taehyung there because… well, dudes are stinky. And you’re not a clean freak by any means, but it was a little gross over there.

“Well it was lonely and boring here,” you report. “I’m glad you’re back.”

You’re instantly unsure if that was too forward, too much. Namjoon going away the literal day after you’d kissed him had given you plenty of time to think in private, but it had also given you room to sow doubts in your own mind. But Namjoon smiles shyly, pleased, so cute it makes your toes wiggle.

“I’m glad to be back too,” he says. “I’m gonna go shower and unpack. Have you made plans for dinner yet? We could order later?”

You hadn’t, but you have a feeling Taehyung will want to hang out after two days away. “I have plans,” you lie, figuring it will end up being true.

“Ah, no problem then,” Namjoon says easily, and heads into his room, closing the door behind him with a little wave.

You text Taehyung - “welcome home!! dinner later?” - and get up to start some laundry. By the time it’s done washing, and drying, and you’ve folded it, he still hasn’t answered.

You try again - “hello??? this is y/n, looking for signs of life???”

This time, the response is almost immediate.

[4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: sorry [4:56 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: can’t tonight

In the end, you walk to campus alone, eating by yourself in the far corner of the cafeteria. You’ve splurged on ordering too much lately when these meals are built into your tuition. Besides, you don’t want Namjoon to know that your “plans” fell through.

Friday November 2nd

Angel on the right… Devil on the left…

You look side to side, conflicted. Such a strong case for each.

“Are those for tonight?”

You jump, spinning away from the two Halloween costumes you’ve laid out on your bed. It’s not like Namjoon to come over to your side of the apartment; in fact, you’re not sure he’s ever talked to you while you’re in your own room. It’s usually you going over to his door to bother him, if you aren't both in the living room or kitchen.

“Yeah,” you say. “I can’t decide. You’re coming?”

“I think we all are, except Yoongi,” Namjoon tells you. “I’m going as a detective. I have a magnifying glass and everything.”

You laugh. “I can’t wait to see that. Any thoughts on which way I should go tonight?” You mean the costumes. You’d texted Taehyung for his opinion and he’d returned with, “flip a coin”. You’re not sure why you expected anything else from him.

“I think that’s going to depend on your mood,” Namjoon teases. “How are we feeling today? Naughty or nice?”

You raise your eyebrows. Was that… outright flirtation? “What if I’m feeling both?” you ask.

He laughs. “You need one of those half-and-half costumes. I’ve seen them in the stores.”

You have too, but you think they’re cheesy. “I think I’ll go devil,” you muse, a finger on your lips as you consider. “The angel wings are pretty cumbersome. And the bars are going to be slammed.”

“Naughty it is.” Namjoon flashes you a grin and disappears from your doorway, throwing over his shoulder, “No complaints from me!”

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the giggle. Well this is new, and damn, you want to keep playing.

You Uber together to the first bar of the town’s Halloween pub crawl, the guys waiting for you outside. Taehyung howls in laughter at Namjoon’s long coat, fedora, and magnifying glass.

“I see the devil won the coin toss,” he says to you, grinning.

You roll your eyes, still a little peeved that he couldn’t take anything seriously, even when you needed him to. This was a trivial thing, but still. It wasn’t a lot to ask.

Jungkook hands you and Namjoon a flyer with a QR code - it listed the locations of each bar and what time the group would move, in case you got lost or missed the exodus. Inside, you have to pay to get wristbanded, but the wristband earns you special prices at each of the stops.

“This does not go with my costume,” you pretend to pout, the bright yellow wristband glaring against your short, red dress.

“I think everyone will understand,” Namjoon teases. Taehyung appears on your other side, pointing out the little laminated sign that advertises this bar’s drink specials.

“You two need to catch up,” he insists.

Three hours and two bars later, you think you’ve achieved this. You and Taehyung cling to each other’s arms, holding each other up, somehow taking turns being the one who needs help staying upright. The first two bars had offered specials on shots, but this one only has special offers for mixed drinks and beer.

“Do we pay full price for shots, or do we let The Man tell us it’s time to settle down?” you muse loudly into Taehyung’s ear.

“Don’t start with that shit,” he tells you. “This is Halloween, not a hippie convention.”

“I see at least four hippies,” you sniff indignantly.

“I think you’re seeing double,” he counters. “No more shots for you.”

“You aren’t in charge of me!” you yell, and head for the bar at a clip, ankles crying for mercy in your heels. You grasp the bar in both hands when you get there, steady yourself, and then reach up to fix your horn headband, which had been starting to slide. You thought Taehyung was right behind you, but when you turn to look, he’s talking to a girl in a mermaid costume.

Of course.

It’s fine.

The bartender finally catches your eye and you flash your wristband, indicating you’ll take the special. He nods, turns and picks up a bottle. A body settles beside you; you turn, expecting that Taehyung caught up, or maybe Jungkook stopped by for a beer. Instead, a guy you’ve never seen before smiles at you.

He’s in scrubs, complete with a fake stethoscope (you think it’s fake, anyway) slung around his neck. His nametag reads Dr. Love. You laugh out loud. “That’s so corny,” you say, your filter well and gone for the night.

Luckily, he laughs too. “It’s sewed on!” he protests. “I honestly almost Sharpied it out, but I thought that would look even stupider.”

He’s really cute, you notice. He looks… clean. Older.

“You look…” he trails off, letting his eyes roam to your feet and back appreciatively, “phenomenal. Is there an angel wandering around here looking for you?”

You grin. “Just me.”

If Kim Taehyung can find a hookup everywhere he goes, why can’t you?

But as you lean against the bar and take a sip of your drink, your eyes scan the bar before you. In the mirrored wall behind the team of bartenders, you can see a slightly distorted view of the patrons and all of their costumes.

Your eye catches on a detective.

Namjoon’s eyes hold yours through the mirror, though he’s about six seats down from you. There’s a tiny smile on his lips as he sips at what looks like a beer. A smile that says maybe he should have expected this. It’s the same face he’s seen on you when Taehyung does exactly what he did tonight.

Beside you, Dr. Love is asking you something, but you don’t hear him at all. You don’t want to be here, in this spot, anymore. You want to be six seats over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, interrupting him, plastering a sickly-sweet smile on your face. “I just found one of my friends, and I’d lost them. Enjoy your night, though!”

You slip away before he can protest more than a syllable, before you can really register the disappointment on his face and feel guilty about it. Better luck next time, Doctor, you think, as you make your way to Namjoon.

As soon as you’re close enough he extends an arm, making a space for you right next to him. His arm tucks you closer, protective. He walks with you towards the far end of the bar, where it’s marginally less crowded. Once you settle into a spot there, he doesn’t remove his arm. His fingers rest on your bare, body-glittered shoulder, moving imperceptibly now and then, as if they have their own agenda.

“Are you having fun?” you ask him.

“Loud bars aren’t usually my thing,” he answers. “But the costumes are great.”

There’s a lot of alcohol in your system; your filter’s taken a hit. “I like this,” you sigh happily, closing your eyes for a second. You think you sway on your feet a little. The arm around your shoulders tightens.

“Like what?” His voice has gone deep, and you shiver a little. You want to kiss him again; you’d blame the shots but you’ve been thinking about it since it happened. The drinks just make it louder.

“Your arm around me,” you tell him honestly, and he ducks his head, dimples appearing along with a blush.

He shakes his head, still smiling. “You’re drunk,” he accuses playfully.

“It’s a Halloween pub crawl,” you point out flatly. “I’m supposed to be drunk.”

“That’s a fair point,” he allows. Then, he peers at you through squinted eyes. “Are you okay, though? How drunk are you?”

You consider this. “Drunk enough that I want to kiss you again, to hell with the consequences. Not too drunk to remember that there would be consequences.”

The playfulness leaves his face; it’s too obvious not to notice. “Consequences like what?”

It’s a challenge. He knows you know it.

“Namjoon,” you say, a little pleading. Don’t.

“Consequences like Taehyung would see?” he presses. His voice has gone hard. He’s tiptoed around this issue before, but it’s the first time either of you have ever really given it life.

You feel like you want to cry. “Are you mad? About Taehyung?”

He softens. His fingers brush your shoulder again, absently. “No,” he admits, deflated. “No, I guess I’m not. But we both know that’s what you meant.” He removes his arm from your shoulders. It hangs listlessly at his side. You feel its absence painfully, like it had kept you tethered and now you might float away.

“Hey,” you say sharply, and reach for his hand. You miss and get his wrist, but you hold it like your life depends on it. He looks at you curiously. “I like you,” you tell him firmly. “A lot. I’m trying not to mess everything up - with anyone. But he’s my family, and if I lose him…” You take a deep gulp of air, trying to will your pulse to calm, your stomach to settle, your eyes to clear of stupid tears. “I have no one left. It feels… delicate,” you finish finally. You need him to understand. You wish you were better at explaining.

Namjoon twists his wrist from your grasp gently, but takes your fingers in his. “What about me?” he asks, voice a little pouty. “We aren’t delicate?”

You smile at him, relief giving you more of a high than anything else could right now. “No,” you say, and touch his chest lightly, just over his beating heart. You brush your hand down his chest, drop it to your side, and turn to stare out at the crowd. “No,” you say again, finishing the thought. “You aren’t delicate at all. You’re steady. That’s something I really like about you.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between you, tension building like a bassline, and then he gives a tug to the hand he’s holding. You turn back to look at him.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asks plaintively.

You open your mouth immediately to answer, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t think about him when you answer that,” he commands seriously, fingers clutching yours so tightly it almost hurts. “Don’t think about anything else but you and me. What do you want?”

What do you want?

“I…” you start feebly, unsure how you’ll even finish the sentence. “I want…”

Jimin rushes up to you, breathless, grabbing both of your arms. Namjoon drops your hand like it’s burned him. If Jimin notices, he doesn’t let on.

“We have to go,” he pants. “Literally right now. Jungkook hit on some huge guy’s girlfriend, it’s about to be a thing. Help me find everybody?”

“Where are they?” Namjoon asks, quickly setting his beer glass on the bar and reaching for your drink too. You let him take it, eyes wide.

“Taehyung grabbed Jungkook and ran - I think they’re outside. Have you seen Hobi? Or Jin?”

“Jin left with a girl two bars ago,” you supply, glad to be able to help.

“I see Hobi,” Namjoon says, craning his neck to scan the crowd. “I’ll go get him. Y/N, go with Jimin, we’ll meet up outside.”

He moves without waiting for an answer, wading through the crowd in what must be Hobi’s direction. Jimin takes you by the hand - it feels much different than it had felt a minute ago with Namjoon - and leads you through the crowd hurriedly, dodging people left and right. You look over your shoulder as he pulls you, trying to find Namjoon in the sea of people, but you can’t.

Outside, Jungkook seems to be arguing heatedly with the bouncer.

“Come on,” Taehyung is telling him, looking honestly pissed. “Let’s just go. The night’s already ruined, let’s just leave.”

You pull away from Jimin and head for Taehyung.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting a hand on his arm. He turns on you, still furious, but you don’t waver. “Take a breath,” you tell him softly.

His temper gets the best of him sometimes.

He shakes his head, angry, but you see his chest move as he obeys anyway. A second later he says, more calmly, “Come on, Jungkook, we can even go somewhere else if you want. We won’t have fun here, that guy’s friends are all worked up in there.”

Jungkook relents as Hobi and Namjoon join you on the sidewalk. You slide your hand off of Taehyung’s arm, feeling weirdly guilty.

“We rallying?” Hobi asks hopefully. “Or did we kill the buzz?”

“Rally!” Jimin cheers, going over and shaking a sullen Jungkook’s shoulder. “Come on! The night prevails!”

“I’ll go somewhere else,” Taehyung says.

“I think I’m done,” Namjoon says, glancing at his phone for the time. “I’ll Uber from here.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung asks, looking to you. For a second, you’re not sure why. Then you realize - you either have to Uber home with Namjoon, or opt to continue on with the rest of the guys.

The angel whispers that you haven’t hung out with Taehyung as much lately.

The devil whispers that you and Namjoon could be all alone.

0-2 for the angels tonight.

“I’m tired,” you say. “I’ll Uber with Namjoon. You guys have fun though. JK, try to keep it in your pants.”

He flips you off wordlessly, still sulking.

They all tell you goodbye, Taehyung giving you an extra-tight squeeze with his hug, and they walk down the block to find another bar. You turn to Namjoon, who’s tapping at his phone to order a ride.

What do you want? His question floats in your head.

You don’t know. You want too much, too many things, too many contradictions.

It seems like Namjoon knows, and forgives you. He silently holds out a hand, waiting. You take it, keeping it tight in yours, not letting go even as you slide into the backseat of the Uber, as it weaves through the neighborhoods until it stops in front of your building, as it drives away, leaving you lit in red taillights before vanishing around the corner.

You’re standing on the sidewalk in front of your building’s front door, Namjoon’s hand in yours, your eyes sleepy but your pulse racing.

He tugs you towards the stairs, and you think he’s going to lead you inside. Instead he spins you and presses you back against the stone balustrade, one hand splayed across the middle of your spine, the other cupping your jaw as he kisses you insistently.

You open immediately for him, giving a happy noise low in your throat. His spare hand, the one not holding you up off the rough stone below, grips the back of your neck for the barest of seconds before continuing down - rubbing patterns past your shoulder blade, the middle of your back, down to the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip, the meat of your ass. He’d better appreciate every curve, you squeezed into spanx for this dress.

You grip at the lapels of his ridiculous detective coat, the earth spinning in circles around you in a blur. You’re aware of only where your hands bunch the fabric, of only where his teeth and lips and tongue clash with yours, of only the fiery path his hand traces up and down your body. You melt into his touch, wanting more, trying to pull him closer, trying to get lost in each sensation.

He breaks the kiss to nip a line of sharp nibbles down your neck. You whine, trying to give him more room. His hands come to rest on your ribcage, thumbs not quite reaching your chest, which has to be a conscious decision on his part. You can feel the cold night air on your thighs; your dress has ridden up. This snaps you out of the moment a little.

“Namjoon,” you murmur, but it comes out a little whiny as he continues to nibble down near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “We should go inside.”

He stills, then pulls away, eyes seeking yours for any signs of discontent. “Yeah,” he says finally, one syllable all he can handle. “Come on.”

He releases your body gently, letting you find your balance on the pavement. Then, he leads you up the stairs and inside. In the threshold of the apartment, you look at him, a question on your face.

“We’re both really drunk,” he says apologetically, reaching out to brush some stray hairs away from your face. “We should probably cool down a little.”

He’s right - you know he’s right.

“Yeah,” you say, letting the front door close behind you. “Okay.”

You press one palm against the wall for balance as you fight with your shoes, sliding them off one at a time.

Namjoon’s in his room, but the door hangs open. You pause in the doorway of your bedroom, realizing you have a problem.

“Um, hey,” you call across the living room, and he takes a few steps to come look at you. He’s lost the hat and the long coat, and his button-down is undone, revealing a tight, white undershirt beneath. “I promise this isn’t a come-on,” you say, biting back a smile. “But I legitimately can’t reach the zipper on this. Can you-?”

“Of course,” he says, crossing the living room. You turn your back to him, presenting the zipper. He gently sweeps your hair off of your nape and places it over your shoulder. You shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms, and you hear him hum a pleased noise at your reaction. You feel him fumble with the hook-and-eye at the top, and then the zipper sounds. He pauses halfway down your back.

“That good?” he checks. “You can reach that?”

“Yes,” you say, turning back to face him. He’s still got a bit of your lipstick on his mouth, and it makes you have to fight off a smirk. Down, girl. “Goodnight, Namjoon.”

He looks at you for a long minute, expression unreadable. Finally, he says, “Goodnight,” and steps back out into the darkness of the living room. When he gets to his room this time, he closes the door behind him with a soft click. You stare at the inch of light that comes from under his door for a minute before hurrying to close your own door against the dark.

Sunday November 4th

You spend most of Saturday in bed, heart and head both pounding, which means you have a lot of homework to cram in on Sunday.

After you shower and eat, you set up in the living room to get some work done. Namjoon’s door is halfway open, and you can hear the clacking and bass thumps that mean he’s writing in there.

Midafternoon, he appears in his doorway, stretching widely. Your eyes skim the inch of stomach exposed with the stretch and then flick back to your page before he can catch you.

“How’s it going?” he asks, heading into the kitchen.

You twist your mouth, eyeing your laptop and the text spread open on your lap. “I guess it’s going. Sort of.”

“What are you working on?” he asks.

“A paper for one of the bullshit general classes,” you tell him. “Which makes it more challenging, because I deeply do not care.”

He laughs at this, then plops onto the couch a few feet away from you, a water bottle in his hands.

“How about you?” you ask. “It sounded like it was going well.”

“It was going okay,” he agrees. “I reached the end of a scene, so now I need to like… process, look at what’s coming next. I might take a short walk and let it marinate in my brain a little.”

You smile. “How come you never work out here?” you ask him, just curious.

He gives a quick, self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t get anything done. I’d just talk to you.”

You flush, feeling your face heat up, and bite back a smile. “What if I refused to answer?” you offer. “I could just sit here like -.” You mime zipping your lips, still fighting a smile. For good measure, you lock it up and throw the key over your shoulder.

His smile grows. “Wouldn’t help. I’d still be able to look at you.”

Your blush intensifies; you’re tempted to go stick your head in the freezer to cool your cheeks down. “I’ll turn around, then,” you tell him.

His grin turns wolfish. “I assure you, that will not solve the problem.”

Your jaw drops. “Kim Namjoon!” you scold, but you’re giggling.

“I’m just being honest!” he defends, laughing deeply, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Anyway, why? Does it bother you that I stay in there?”

“No,” you say immediately. “You can do what you want.”

He gives you a knowing look, like he’s used to your bullshit and isn’t falling for it. When did that happen? “Don’t get prickly,” he warns.

“Don’t compare me to plants,” you grumble.

“Do you want me to work out here instead?” he asks gently, smiling at you like you’re adorable, which just sets your prickliness off even more.

“I don’t know what I want,” you retort.

There’s a long, stretchy silence as you both consider just how true those words are, on several different levels.

Finally, Namjoon gives you a nod in goodbye and heads back to his room.

This time, he closes the door gently behind him.

–

Taehyung invites you out that night, to see a movie you’d been talking about. You tell him yes, as long as you can go to the earlier showing. But then you start to feel… guilty. Unsure.

You want to ask Namjoon if he cares if you hang out with Taehyung still. He’s bothered by some aspect of your friendship, obviously, but you don’t know what it is. Is it only the fact that Taehyung is a bit of a barrier for you two? Or is he threatened by the whole friendship?

You lay sideways across your bed in the fading late afternoon light, considering this. You imagine asking Namjoon. You think his answer would probably be, do what you want, I’m not your boyfriend.

Which, fair. That conversation needs to come first. Are you together, do either of you even really want that?

In the end, you don’t bring it up. When it’s time, you do your best to sneak out of the apartment, hoping to avoid any conversation about it at all.

Taehyung’s car idles on the street below, and you let yourself in the passenger side and buckle up. You’re anxious, you realize, as Taehyung starts complaining about an argument he had with Jimin back at their place. You’re afraid he’ll ask something that will lead the conversation to Namjoon, afraid that he’ll catch you tripping up, clue in that there’s something worth his attention there.

You can’t lie to him. He knows this as well as you do.

That’s why he never asks you questions he doesn’t really want the answers to.

You’re anxious for nothing, because Taehyung talks about his own shit for the whole drive to the movies, and the whole time you’re in line for snacks, and for the whole time before the movie starts as you sit in the back row of the theater munching on overpriced popcorn.

But the movie is good, and you get pulled into the fictional world, and when the lights come on you find Taehyung’s arm casually over the back of your seat. You hadn’t even noticed it was there.

“I can’t believe Jimin wouldn’t come see this,” Taehyung scoffs as you file out of the theater and back to the lobby. “That was so good! Just because he doesn’t like that one actor?”

You’re curious if Taehyung would have still asked you to join him tonight if Jimin hadn’t turned him down first.

But, like Taehyung, you don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared to hear the truth. So you don’t ask. What would be the point?

You wonder during the drive home if you’d feel better talking to Taehyung about what was going on with you if the guy in question wasn’t his friend.

Maybe.

But only a little better.

Monday November 5th

Unlike the Monday before, Namjoon leaves for campus without you on Monday morning. You aren’t sure if he’s upset with you, or if he just needed to be there early. You’re too cowardly to ask.

You need some support.

If it’s not coming from your “best friend”, you’ll have to outsource.

You trudge through your morning class, eat as fast as you can - alone - in the cafeteria, and head to the student center. You get to the store well before your shift starts.

You aren’t allowed to clock in yet, so you kill some time doing reading for class in the stock room. The second your shift starts, you’re at the front registers, uncomfortably close to Kris’s personal bubble.

“Yes?” they ask you archly, eyeing your proximity suspiciously.

“I… have a confession to make,” you say, your voice as quiet as you can make it. You’re barely moving your mouth, you’re trying so hard to not actually say these words. “There… has been… perhaps… some kissing.”

Kris is stunned into silence for the first time since you’ve known them. Eyes wide and jaw slack, they stare at you. Then, they clarify loudly, “By you?”

You growl in exasperation. “Don’t be cute.”

Kris beams. “Can’t help it, it’s ingrained in my DNA.”

“I need you to be just a tiny bit serious,” you tell them, “because I am having a full-blown crisis.”

Kris sobers instantly. “Wait,” they whisper. “Crisis? Explain.”

“I kissed…” you cast your eyes around the bookstore, making sure no one’s lurking, “...the one I live with.”

Kris gasps. “You did not! You kissed him? Not the other way around?”

“I did,” you admit, feeling yourself flush again. “Twice. Well, the second time he started it, if you want to get technical.”

“I do want to get technical,” Kris whispers, voice almost reverent. “I can’t fucking believe this. So, why the crisis?”

You take a deep breath. Which factor to start with? Because you don’t want to give up on Taehyung yet? Because you don’t want to risk altering that friendship beyond repair? Because you don’t know if Namjoon will be able to handle your best friend being a guy - a guy that you’ve had feelings for?

“Because I don’t know what I want,” you say, the simplest truth. “I can’t get my head straight.”

Kris cocks their head. “If you didn’t know Taehyung - if you removed him completely from the situation -.”

“Impossible,” you protest.

They hold up a finger to silence you. “If you removed him from the situation,” they continue over you, “would you want to pursue things with Namjoon?”

Guilt hits you like an ocean wave, tugging you down, down, down. “Yes,” you whisper, because that part is just true. There’s no wiggle room, no if’s. You like him. You want to see where it will go. If there were no chance of losing Taehyung in the mix, it wouldn’t be a question at all.

“Y/N,” Kris says insistently, leaning towards you. “You are not doing anything wrong here. Taehyung is your friend. Nothing else - and that’s his fault. You aren’t, like, betraying him by catching feelings for someone else. He can’t expect you to sit around waiting for him until you die!”

“He doesn’t expect that,” you say, still in a whisper, because suddenly your throat is tight in that way it gets when you’re upset.

“You need to talk to Taehyung,” Kris tells you gently. You groan. “And the conversation should not be you asking for permission, either!” they continue, impassioned. “You need to tell him I’m seeing someone and you need to be okay with it.”

“But they’re friends,” you protest. “It’s so messy. I’ve never had messy before.”

“You’ve never had anything before,” Kris points out.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble. “Yes I have.”

“Nothing that mattered,” they correct. “Nothing with feelings.”

You slump onto the counter. “I hate this.”

“I’m telling you,” Kris says airily. “If you don’t talk to them, this is all going to blow up in your face. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“Why do you have to be right all the time,” you complain. Kris smiles beatifically.

When your shifts ends, your feet take you not towards home, but towards the academic building where Namjoon’s “office” is.

You’re thinking about your conversation about Kris; you’re thinking about the idea of fairness.

It isn’t fair, as Kris said, for Taehyung to expect you to wait indefinitely for something that was probably never coming, to hold you emotionally hostage.

It isn’t fair for you to do the same thing to Namjoon - to keep him waiting, wondering, unsure if you’ll ever be completely in it. You know that’s the reason things have kept progressing so slowly between you. You’ve felt guilty letting it get any further, felt afraid of those damn consequences. And if you had to bet, Namjoon has been trying to wait for you to sort it out, to make the choice - to choose him.

You can hear the low tones of his voice as you approach down the quiet hallway. Only the staff are normally back here, sometimes one or two students who need to speak to a professor, so there’s not a lot of foot traffic.

You linger in the hallway, leaning against the wall and messing around on your phone, far enough away to not be able to tell what Namjoon and the student are discussing. When the student - a young guy who looks absolutely dejected as he passes by you - exits, you slip past him and lean against the doorway. Namjoon doesn’t notice you right away. It’s clear that his hours have ended and he’s packing up his stuff. When he does notice a body in the doorway, he jumps, inhaling sharply in alarm.

He slumps against the back of the chair when he registers that it’s you.

“I’m usually the jumpy one,” you giggle.

He gives you a sideways smile as he leaves over his bag on the floor, messing with the clasp. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else. What are you - I mean, what’s up?”

“What am I doing here?” you tease, catching his slip. You feel a little nervous, but you’re determined to do this correctly, to treat him better. “I came to see if you wanted to walk back together.”

Namjoon goes a little still, and you hurry to add, “It’s okay if you don’t! It didn’t make my walk longer or anything to come here first. I just thought I’d check.”

He lets you babble. He does as he’s been doing since the beginning - he waits you out with a patient smile.

“So…” you finally finish, the nerves fluttering and hopping around your stomach. “Do you? Want to walk back with me?”

He stands, lifting his bag from the ground and hoisting it onto his shoulder. “Yes,” he says simply, giving you a tiny smile.

You follow him down the narrow hallway, back down the stairs you’d climbed a minute ago, and outside. It’s a nice day - bright and sunny, chilly but not freezing. Campus is busy, and you have to people-dodge a little as you cross the main section, the crossroads of the two main paths.

The second you cross through the front gate and step onto the city sidewalk on the other side, Namjoon silently reaches for your hand. It’s different from last time, in the rain - not urgent, not pulling. It’s gentle and tentative and, weirdly, somehow sensual the way his thumb runs over your knuckles as he glances sideways at you to see if you’re okay with this.

You give his fingers a tiny squeeze.

You walk together in silence for a few minutes, and then Namjoon asks you quietly. “How was your day? You had class this morning? Was it for Thesis?”

You smile up at him, happy to have someone to talk to about this. Kris would listen, you’re sure, because Kris is a good human, but they would much rather talk about romance. And Taehyung… it’s November, and Taehyung has asked you about your classes or your thesis exactly zero times.

“No, not for my thesis,” you tell him. “Just a regular lit class. It was okay! I was so tired, I could barely stay awake… I think I’m still recovering from the weekend.”

He laughs. “Can’t imagine why,” he teases, voice going a little deeper. “I’m sure you were a perfect angel all weekend long.”

The joke - that you’d dressed as a devil - is not lost on you, and you grin up at him. “Clever,” you say.

He beams back, proud. “Sometimes,” he allows.

“How about you?” you ask. “Did you have class before your TA hours?”

“Yep,” he says, nodding. “Unfortunately, it was a research-based class.”

You groan in sympathy. “First thing on a Monday morning? Fucking ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m not much of a napper, but damn, I could use a nap.”

At the apartment, you decide to watch a show you’re in the middle of, and you settle on the couch with a throw-blanket over your legs. Namjoon appears in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at you a little balefully.

“Can I… do you mind if I read out here?” he asks.

You scramble to sit up a little making room on the other side of the couch. “You don’t need to ask,” you say, a little appalled that he’d felt the need. “You live here! I never mind, I promise.”

Appeased, he makes his way over and gets comfortable on the other side of the couch. It occurs to you that this is how you and Taehyung usually spend your time - on opposite ends of the couch - but you shove the thought away.

You glance at him now and then as your show plays, and a few times you think you catch him watching more than reading. In between episodes, you notice his book face-down on his chest, rising and falling in deep, even motions. His head leans back against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids flutter as he dreams.

Smiling a tiny smile, you fluff your blanket to cover his legs, and press play for the next episode.

<- Prev || Next ->

Thank you so much for being here!!!!! What did we think of what I lovingly call "the Halloween Pub Crawl Fiasco"?!

Section VII will drop on Friday, February 24th! I hope to see you there!!

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affordablesignandgraphics · 2 years

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banner123 · 3 months

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scotianostra · 6 months

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On 22nd March 1421, Scottish army. under the Earl of Buchan defeated English forces at Bauge in Anjou, France.

Not heard of it? That’s because the history we were taught in school was all anglicized, oh we did get a wee bit about the 100 year war, mainly Agincourt, because the English won that day, or possibly Crecy, another victory for them, Bauge and many other times the English were gubbed are ignored.

Ok you might be wondering why I say a Scottish army, historians all say that the majority of the troops were Scottish soldiers, aye there was a few Frenchmen fighting on “our” side, but this was very much a Scottish victory over an English army.

This all goes down as part of the Auld Alliance, which was signed in 1295 by King John Balliol and Philip IV of France. The Alliance was renewed periodically after that date and by the 1410s it was very much “in play” as Henry V of England initiated the third phase of the Hundred Years War, often known to historians as the Lancastrian War.

In 1418, it was the French Dauphin who called on his Scottish allies for assistance in his efforts to curtail Henry’s depredations after the great battle of Agincourt in 1415. It had to be the Dauphin, or Crown Prince, who sought help from Scotland because the French king, Charles VI, was already showing signs of the mental illness that would eventually see him nicknamed Charles the Mad.

The French aristocracy had split into two factions with many supporting the Duke of Burgundy in his aspirations to take the throne, while many others stayed loyal to the King and the House of Valois, known as the Armagnacs. Increasingly it was the teenaged Dauphin, the future Charles VII, who made all the major decisions for the Valois regime and, faced with the Burgundy alliance with Henry V and the surrender of many of his own forces, he sent for help from Scotland.

The complicating factor at the time was that King James I of Scotland was still a prisoner of the English, albeit that he was part of the royal household of Henry, whom he greatly admired, and he would actually fight with the English army against the French in France in 1420. In charge of Scotland was the Duke of Albany, Robert Stewart, who had become regent when James was first captured by the English in 1406 while en route to France.

There had been no large battles between the Scots and the English since the Battle of Homildon Hill, or Humbleton Hill, in 1402 won by the English, but with England preoccupied with France, Albany no doubt felt it safe to respond positively to Scotland’s oldest ally. By 1419, there was also peace of a sort along the border with England so the Scots could afford to send an army of around 6000 men including men at arms, spearman and archers to serve alongside the remaining French royal army.

Henry V’s of England’s brother, Thomas the Duke of Clarence led 10,000 men south towards the Loire. They set about besieging the castle at Bauge when the Scots were garrisoned, they made contact with them the day before Good Friday. A truce was reached, lasting until Monday, so that the combatants could properly observe the religious occasion of Easter.

The English lifted their siege and withdrew to nearby Beaufort, while the Scots camped at La Lude. However, early in the afternoon of Saturday Scottish scouts reported that the English had broken the truce and were advancing upon them hoping to take them by surprise. The Scots rallied hastily and battle was joined at a bridge which the Duke of Clarence, with banner unfurled for battle, sought to cross. A detachment of a few hundred men under Sir Robert Stewart of Ralston, reinforced by the retinue of Hugh Kennedy, held the bridge and prevented passage long enough for the Earl of Buchan to rally the rest of his army, whereupon they made a fighting retreat to the town where the English archers would be ineffective.

Both armies now joined in a bitter melee that lasted until nightfall. During this time Sir John Carmichael of Douglasdale broke his lance unhorsing the Duke of Clarence; since that day the Carmichael coat of arms displays an armoured hand holding aloft a broken lance in commemoration of the victory. Once on the ground, the Duke was killed by Sir Alexander Buchanan. The English dead included the Lord Roos, Sir John Grey and Gilbert de Umfraville, whose death directly led to the extinction of the male line of that illustrious family, well known to the Scots since the Wars of Independence. The Earl of Somerset and his brother were captured by Laurence Vernon (later elevated to the rank of knight for his conduct), the Earl of Huntingdon was captured by Sir John Sibbald, and Lord Fitz Walter was taken by Henry Cunningham.

On hearing of the Scottish victory, Pope Martin V passed comment by reiterating a common mediaeval saying, that the Scots are well-known as an antidote to the English.

#scotland #scottish #france #england #100 year war

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pixiecactus · 3 months

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my disclaimer for this is that as i've said before i don't like gendrya modern aus, but i couldn't get this idea out of my head so...

i want to preface this with, my initial idea was: imagine arya having to balance attending a family gala (or whatever rich people do) with her first date with gendry and she ends up assisting to this prestigious event in the date outfit she choose while her mother and sister are wearing designer dresses that probably cost more than a house. also imagine catelyn trying to sabotage her daughter's relationship with this nobody-with-no-future, always planning these events exactly the days where said daughter meets with her boyfriend... but then, said boyfriend always carries a backpack with a change of clothes for his girlfriend that hates using those expensive designer clothes… and that idea evolved into this monstrosity of a post.

so the lannisters ordered a hit on ned stark after he discovered cersei's children secret, the plans for a future engagement between joffrey baratheon and sansa stark fell through after that, arya escaped from the baratheon manor and spend a long time living in the streets (somehow similar to the books) meanwhile the police investigated her father's death. i would say that arya and gendry met in a youth center (time to explain some things, okay so in the books, it is mentioned that their age difference is 5 years... but that doesn't make any sense if we follow the events before gendry's birth. so i do think that their age difference in the books is actually three years, in agot gendry 12 arya 9 and in affc gendry 14 arya 11... and well here's just a two year difference because any larger difference while one of them has their adult brain fully developed and the other doesn't makes me feel weird)

so... yes catelyn is alive in this universe, i do think that ned's death impulsed robb to follow his father's steps in a politician career a lot sooner than what was expected. i think that the idea of how the starks can't talk about the baratheons/lannisters due to have signed a nda in exchange for having the starks daughters back is funny (i do think that ndas become null and void if the information has to do with crimes actually being committed, but don't quote me in that, because i honestly don't know... like i have never signed one in my life so if that fact is real, let's just ignore it) the starks get played too in this because what they get back is sansa and jeyne poole, no arya in sight.

i do see arya and gendry getting sporadic jobs to be able to afford somewhere to sleep, gendry is able to get a job as a mechanic that pays him under the table meanwhile arya is pretty much unlucky in getting a job for a long period of time (gendry won't hear a thought of her becoming a sex worker even when they are running short on money) when they meet the brotherhood without banners, arya is distrusting of them, even more when she realizes harwin, the son of one of the stark's workers has joined this ragtag group, and his loyalty no longer lays with her family. after learning that they have valiant ned's precious little girl in their hands the bwb decide they will bring arya back to her family to be able to claim the money the starks are offering for her safe return.

arya notices how now it seems that all of gendry's free time is spent with different members of the brotherhood instead of with her, she misses the time when they were the only ones the other could rely on. when she hears how the bwb is desperate for the money her name offers, she just wants to escape, they could never understand that her family would never want her back after having to live in the streets, all dirty and without caring for her appearance, and having to steal food to eat. her mother would be deeply ashamed of her, same as her father if he was still alive. she feels betrayed by gendry, when he doesn't see anything wrong with the brotherhood without banners plans and later letting her know that he plans to stay with the brotherhood when she gets back to her family. so she escapes the abandoned house in the woods that the bwb uses as a shelter for their members, to never be seen again by them.

time to clarify here that arya and gendry met when she was 12 and he was 14 and by the time they got separated arya was 16 and gendry was 18.

no, arya does not make it to braavos (my girl does not have a passport in her hands) she lays low for a long while staying in the riverlands, doing her best to avoid any town she remembers the brotherhood having contacts on it, trying to get pay under the table once again. she is able to stay in a girls and women only shelter, and without the need to pay for a roof to sleep under, the money she gets in her sporadic jobs is shared with the community that stays in the same shelter with her. getting the trust of the woman who's in charge of the shelter: ravella smallwood.

one day arya is put in charge of the operation while ravella has to go away for a while, trying to get more funds for the shelter from private donors, when she has to receive a group of individuals looking forward to help in the shelter as volunteers: two girls and a boy... yeah you guessed it, it's reunion time. i do imagine that willow has to fiercely hold gendry in place by tugging his arm (after thinking her dead, the boy just wanted to hug her and never let go). arya gives the group the forms to apply as volunteers, while deciding to ignore gendry's strange reaction to seeing her again for completely. she imagines now that he knows she is in here, even if his background check is approved he will not want to spend his time working in this shelter with arya being around. (oh boy, she's very wrong...)

look, i'm going to attribute this to me being aromantic, but i can't ever get a romance build up right, i like seeing it develop and reading about it, but i just can't understand it. but you get it, they start working together again, arya's strictly professional, she was so hurt after gendry chose the brotherhood over her after everything they went through together, that she simply won't let him get close to her and give him the opportunity to hurt her again.

i forgot to say that now they are reunited. the ages go like this: arya is 21, gendry is 23, jeyne is 28 and willow is 20.

the heddle sisters obviously are able to see the unfinished business between them from miles away, so they take every chance they get to leave the two of them alone, so they can talk things out, sadly both sisters soon discover that arya is the only one who can compete with gendry’s stubbornness with her very own.

this brings me to… arya wants to befriend the heddle sisters so badly, jeyne is hardworking, stern but motherly in the same way that ravella is, and willow, she is so willful and caring of others that arya is reminded of herself. the only thing that bothers arya about them is they always try to put gendry across her path, and it doesn’t make sense at all. so arya doesn’t have any other option than take things into her own hands and confront the heddles about it and if she has to be vulnerable and tell them about how hurt she was when gendry abandoned her… so be it, she wants to be at peace again.

well… arya played herself; their conversation ends up with willow telling her about how gendry has always had a crush on her, but both sisters believe that his feelings for her go even deeper than that and they tell her about how when they met him not so long after arya escaped the brotherhood and he seemed to be heartbroken too.

and pretty much arya.exe stopped working after that. because gendry liking her in a romantic way seems almost like a cruel joke. this is the boy that saw her as a dirty child who always got mistaken for a boy, she's still the same girl that had him cutting almost all of her hair off in an effort to stop her from getting lice in her hair, and he's still the same boy that saw her eating dirt and worms once when she was desperate for food they didn't have. and... even if gendry was able to forget all of those moments, she still was ugly "arya horseface" and no time passing between them would erase that.

a few days after arya had that realization, gendry is the one who searches for the opportunity to talk to her. arya is definitely surprised when the first words she hears him speak to her in weeks is: "i'm sorry" and then, gendry is equally as surprised when arya answers with: “why did you lie to them?”

of course arya's brain wouldn't let her believe she could be liked that way... that was always sansa and never her.

cue *sappy love confession* coming from gendry... i can imagine ending with something along the lines of: "... because i just do... alright? i think i was gone for you even before i was able to understand what those feelings were. i never stood a chance to fight them."

i think arya is in shock after hearing this coming from his mouth, but i guess it helps that gendry has always been easy in the eyes, she remembers the sex workers she befriended when living in the streets talking about him and how handsome he was... she didn't understand back then, he was just gendry, her stupid and most loyal friend. so arya feels like she's getting hit by a train with her feelings for him...

and he he, their first kiss gets interrupted by ravella arriving at the shelter alongside... catelyn stark? who is presented as their most important private donor the shelter has seen from now on... so more reunions coming along the way.

if i remember correctly: a parent can't legally oblige their child to come back to live with them at their house when found after being missing if said child is over the majority of age (again don't quote me on that, i heard about this watching a true crime video) so at catelyn's displeasure arya decides to stay living at the shelter, but agrees to visit her family once again. arya will always love her family but she's proud of the life she has built for herself in this community.

it feels wrong to come back to the stark manor in winterfell knowing her father won't be there to smile at her dirty face and willful spirit, and it hurts so much to have the knowledge that jon won't be there waiting for her either. even when coming back home, her family is incomplete and sadly it will remain like that... but arya is grateful to see bran again moving around the place using his wheelchair, the last time she saw him he was still in a coma after his fall and even rickon, the youngest of the bunch remembers her no matter if he was just a baby when arya left for king's landings with her father and sister.

so coming back to what i wrote in the beginning of this post, catelyn starts to organize fundraiser galas for the shelter arya lives/works at, hoping that once arya is introduced back into this lifestyle, she will come back to her family and leave behind the man catelyn saw arya holding hands with.

arya and gendry decide to go in a date since they got interrupted when they tried to kiss and mostly they want to keep things professional between them when they are helping at the shelter and arya can't fathom why or how but her mother sets the date of the fundraiser gala on the same day she did agree to meet with gendry. arya thinks she will be able to make it in time to change her outfit between the date and assisting her family gala, but how does the old saying goes? "time flies when you're having fun" and arya is left with no other option than to go in the same clothes she was wearing during the day, catelyn and sansa are appalled when they see her. from what i remember, at least in my country, the socialites always have reporters and photographers at the ready in any kind of event they participate in, besides this is the first event where the lost stark daughter is going to make a public appearance.

catelyn seeing arya mingling with reporters is starting to make her regret her decision, what was she even thinking? arya has always been unpredictable and is the only member of the family that is not pr trained. arya could cost robb the next election result with any word coming from her mouth. this was a grave mistake.

what catelyn often forgets is that arya is naturally charming as well. everytime she is asked about her outfit she plainly tells the truth and then she is the one to change the theme of the conversation to what’s actually important here: ravella smallwood’s shelter for girls and women.

the internet slowly begins to love arya, because i imagine that people first reaction when learning arya’s existence pretty much is: “the starks are launching another nepo baby” add a few more fundraisers appearances to get “she’s real and pretty funny” to finally end up with “arya stark is our very own people’s princess”

arya only accepts interviews with the press if the subject matter is the shelter she lives/works at rather than herself. when asked why she dresses down when attending galas, arya answers that it wouldn’t feel right to wear an item of clothing that can cost the same as an apartment.

and suddenly we have a massive group of people across the country criticizing the richest families in all westeros and gendry has never been more proud of arya.

to end this post, i want to say: can we think about cersei lannister for a minute…? she was just living her best widowed life and then someday she sees in the press the ghosts of lyanna stark and robert baratheon… give it a few hours… and then cersei comes to the realization that the little brat who hurt joffrey is still alive and back with her family… and that’s not all… she’s in a romantic relationship with one of her dead husband’s bastards. the poor woman just girlbossed too close to the sun.

(as a bonus i added some other outfits arya used in her dates with gendry and later the fundraiser galas... i just see arya using a lot of muted colors in her wardrobe... if i had to describe her sense of style in a concept it would be "still life" like the paintings, i just want to add that this type of painting is called "naturaleza muerta" in spanish and the direct translation would be "dead nature" which in my opinion sounds a lot better. oh and have a lil gendry, who always uses the same suit, afterall is the only one he has... and sansa wants to die everytime she sees him wearing that thing because the jacket and the pants are two differents shades of black)

#like i'm not even lying when i say this post is five pages long in google docs #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house stark #arya stark #catelyn tully #catelyn stark #sansa stark #gendry #gendrya #arya x gendry #gendry x arya

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