#as a sign of goodwill and to prove that he means it about letting you go

[multiiocular-mushroom]

burn what remains of your innocent self

(and come back to me if you wish.)

[suzukiblu]

‘The middle of starting over’ by Sabrina carpenter kind of reminds me of Krypton lives and Kara did not sign up for this

“Do you understand what I mean by that?” Kara asks, suspecting she should dread the answer but knowing she needs to be clear here. “That you belong to our house?”

“Our genetic material is Kal-El’s. Not our own,” Match replies, neutral and by rote. Thirteen’s mouth goes even tighter. 

“We’re not stupid,” he snaps at her, his fists clenching by his sides. 

Kara considers committing a war crime against a backwater planet. Just one war crime. 

“The insult of our continued existence will be tolerated as long as we prove useful to the House of El,” Match says, just as toneless and just as practiced as before. Like it’s something he’s said a thousand times, when he hasn’t even been alive long enough to say a thousand things. Something he just knows to be a foundational fact of life. 

. . . maybe two war crimes, Kara thinks, carefully packing up her seething fury before she can start shouting at the two people in this situation who deserve it the least. There’s two of Thirteen and Match, so that’s fair, isn’t it? Justifiable? 

“No,” she says very, very evenly. “It means you’re part of our family.” 

Thirteen flinches, and looks very briefly hurt before his jaw clenches. Then he just looks angry. Match’s expression is the most perfectly blank it’s been so far and doesn’t change at all. 

They’re very different, for how alike they look. She shouldn’t be surprised by that, but it’s . . . disorienting, a little. 

Mostly because they’re both so different from Kal, she thinks. Neither of them is a thing like him at all. Even at their “age”, he was nothing like either of them. She can’t even imagine how hard a time he must be having understanding them, when they’re both so wildly different from him in such different ways. 

But at Thirteen and Match’s “age”–at both of their ages, both the literal and physiological ones–Kal was an adored only child with a bright future and brilliant prospects and all of Uncle Jor and Aunt Lara’s morals and love instilled in him, not a pair of lab-built “weapons” who must’ve heard their existence called an “insult” somewhere. Who must’ve been told they were stupid time and time again; must’ve been told they weren’t worth anything more than being carriers of the DNA that’d been stolen to make them time and again. Must’ve been told they were possessions and things and at best slaves to–

Kara exhales, very slowly, and pulls the rice out of her pantry. 

“I’m making milk rice,” she informs them shortly. Milk rice sounds like something Earthling children’s palates should appreciate. Mostly children eat it here too, so it makes sense. “What kind do you want?” 

“Milk . . . what?” Thirteen wrinkles his nose in confusion. Has Kal even given these kids dessert before, Kara thinks, trying not to lose her mind. Was there any real information about food or fashion or culture in that “gesture of goodwill” information packet that he presented the Earthling governments with? Because judging by how they’re dressed and the dialects they’re using and the fact that they don’t even know milk rice . . . 

“Milk rice,” she repeats. “It’s a dessert. Milk and rice are involved. Usually it’s made with either bly fruit or katso sauce. Or spygin, but that’s mostly an Argo City thing.” 

Thirteen and Match both stare blankly at her for a moment before their eyes slide to each other instead. Thirteen’s jaw visibly tightens. Match’s eyes just barely narrow. 

“We don’t know what that is,” Thirteen says, glancing back to her warily. “The . . . ‘buh-lye fruit’ and ‘kasso sauce’. Or . . . ‘spy-geen’?” 

Right, Kara thinks, and doesn’t let herself sigh again. They’re going to get the wrong idea if she keeps doing that. 

“Bly fruit is sweet and katso sauce is savory,” she says, carefully enunciating the words without making it completely obvious that she’s correcting Thirteen’s pronunciation. “Spygin’s a spice. Kind of . . . sharp and smoky, I guess, but a little sweet too. It’s hard to describe. Goes good with milk-based things.” 

“. . . you’re asking us what flavor we want?” Match asks incredulously, like the idea’s somehow just occurred to him. 

Maybe three war crimes, Kara thinks. Lantern-level war crimes with a side of unfathomable solar superpowers. No one could blame her for just three, at this point.

[sokkastyles]

Hi,

Hope you are doing well.

Thank you for the answer to the previous query regarding TSR.

I saw some of the asks Azula stans sent you, and they made me laugh. Azula is not a good sister to Zuko. She has manipulated him. Heck, I feel that in the first half of book 3 when she warns Zuko about consequences of interacting with Iroh in prison, it feels manipulative to me, like she was reminding him she has power to stop him.

I feel that Zuko was living in fear till "Day of Black Sun", when he decides to leave and join the Gaang.

I would like your thoughts on this.

I think you already explained it pretty well, but what gets me when Azula stans to try to argue that she was a good sister, and that conversely Zuko was not a good brother, is that Azula absolutely wants Zuko to think he isn't a good brother. Something I said before that I see a lot in Azula and Zuko's relationship that is a telltale sign of an abusive relationship is that although Azula constantly acts like Zuko is so annoying or a burden on her, she absolutely enjoys reminding him of it, and will take every opportunity to tell him how stupid he is, but she absolutely enjoys proving she's smarter. In fact, she needs to reaffirm that she's smarter to maintain her worldview. She needs Zuko to be the failure for her to be the golden child, and is invested in making sure things stay that way. She's not a good sister and she doesn't want a good brother, she wants a scapegoat.

Also the thing about her warning him to stay away from Iroh is that not only is she the reason that Iroh is in prison, not only did she purposefully seperate Zuko from Iroh specifically because she could not get to Zuko as long as Iroh was protecting him, but remember that she went behind Zuko's back to lie to Ozai about him killing the Avatar and left Zuko to find that out from Ozai. This means that she is having conversations with Ozai that do not include Zuko, and she has her father's ear in a way Zuko does not.

When she warns him about talking to Iroh, she is subtly reminding him that she knows things that Ozai does not that might call his loyalty into question. She is reminding him that she controls the narrative that gets filtered back to Ozai, and that the goodwill of Zuko's existence in the Fire Nation is something she has the power to take away if she were to tell Ozai the truth. Just like how her lie is not intended to keep Zuko safe, but to set him up for a fall, she is letting Zuko know that his position is not safe and that one wrong move could result in something bad for him, so he better watch himself. And she does this because it increases the power she has over him, it benefits her that Zuko is confused and fearful because it means she can reaffirm that she is the superior sibling. It also means that she can keep Zuko dependent on her while insulting him for being dependent on her. It's hard to say she's looking out for her brother when she's calling him stupid all the time for a situation she had a hand in engineering.

[love-toxin]

I’m on that big older men bullshit. Big teddy bears! Ugh. Just imagine getting bent over or held down by them as they pound away at you. It’s so warm and soft wherever you grab for dear life.

I’d hope Jim would have a huge breeding kink cause I want him pumping me full of kids. (Or not.) Maybe he’s got a thing for cockwarming while he does his paper work?

IM HERE ANON U ARE MAKING ME FEEL SO SEEN....

(cw: breeding, cockwarming)

big.....dilf.....Hop......he thinks you're a little too cute and a little too innocent to be with him. he likes you of course, who wouldn't? but you're just too lovely for him to think you'd ever be happy with some old grump like him.

but he's soooooo wrong, and it's an understatement to say that he's pleasantly surprised when you prove it to him. when you saunter into the police station one day, a tupperware container full of cookies baked fresh just for him, he thinks it's just an act of goodwill for keeping those rowdy kids out of your garden a couple nights before. when you ask if he can walk you to your car after work the next week, he does it with gratitude that he gets a few minutes to chat with you--damn, did you park your car far away--but he doesn't let himself get carried away, though he does open your door for you like a gentleman. it isn't until he notices you leaving little things in his office after you stop by, like your lipstick or your scarf or your necklace, that he starts to wonder if you're orchestrating these meetings to try and get him to take the hint. and then he feels a bit like an idiot for missing all those obvious signs that you want him, badly.

it's one of those afternoons when he knows you're gonna pop your head in that he vacates the station--gives everyone the day off, gives them assignments way out of the way, or just straight up tells them to do anything but come in. Jim listens quietly as the front door opens, your shoes hit the carpet, and waits until he knows you're coming closer to call out and make you aware of his presence. alone.

that cheeky grin on your face as you step through the door, the "all by your lonesome, chief?" spoken cutely as you bite your lip, is all he needs to confirm his suspicions. you're not as innocent as he pegged you to be, but unbeknownst to you, that's a very, very good thing. you know what you're getting into, and that completely erases any guilt he might have about being rough when he grabs you by the hips and shoves you up against his desk. your squeaky moan as he gropes you through your bottoms and finds you already wet, that just riles him up more--and when you throw your arms around his neck and start nibbling on his ear, your mouth running wild with you begging him to just fuck you already, Hop is more than eager to do exactly that.

it's quite lucky that he had the forethought to evacuate the building beforehand, because the desk legs scraping against the linoleum and the heavy breathing would be pretty hard to explain away. even more so your cries and screams of "more, don't stop" and "fucking cum inside me" and "wan' you to breed me, Hop!" that he just hopes and prays aren't loud enough for any passersby to hear.....at least when Callahan drops by to grab something he left there, you'll have had your guts sufficiently rearranged by then, and you'll just be perched all pretty on Jim's lap while he works at his desk. so smiley and polite that nobody would even think that you've got the Chief's fat cock all nestled up inside you, keeping those loads he shot off one after another nice and warm within you. just gotta make sure it takes--you asked him so sweetly for what you wanted, and it would be so mean of him not to do everything to give it to you.

[rich-and-bitchy-is-my-type]

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Poppy Weekend Day 1: Past

Tags: Coffee shop AU, first meetings, pre-canon AU, Christmas AU, slightly hurt/comfort, ooc as hell (sorry)

Bee Hughes, begrudging barista working in Hoboken, comes across a very particular customer.

Christmas is really overstepping the limit this year.

Maybe it’d be alright, all the decorations and jingling music and strobing lights choking the avenue and the collection of mechanically ho-ho-hoing Santa figurines her boss felt compelled to line up along the counter the moment December hit. Not Bee’s favorite atmosphere, of tacky goodwill. It’s just that the string lights her coworkers put up are too low for her to clear without stooping just slightly. Every time she serves a doughnut, pours a coffee, goes to the door to flip the sign to CLOSED when she takes her break, she has to do this stupid little bob of her knees to duck underneath them. Every time.

Her coworker and friend, Nadia, saunters neatly under the string lights, bags a donut, hands it to a hipster boy with a smile. He smiles back. Leaves a dollar on the counter when he goes and everything. The doorbell tinkles in this frustratingly festive way, rubbing it in.

Noticing Bee’s scowl, Nadia says to her, "You’re a grinch."

"You’re five foot four."

"You could always fix the string lights if they bother you that much."

"Bee!" her boss hollers from some passageway to hell, probably. "Don’t lay a finger on the string lights!"

"Wasn’t gonna, sir!" she calls back.

Nadia already has fifteen dollars in tips neatly stowed in her apron pocket. Nadia is neat about everything.

Bee has zero dollars.

It’s okay, she tells herself. Her shift has just started. Nadia’s been in the shop for longer, so it makes sense.

She takes out the cookie tin and starts arranging them as neatly as she can. "Can you leave some of the sappy boys to me for a change?"

"You won’t get any tips from them, Bee. You’re never nice to boys."

"I’m nice," she says, and Nadia rolls her eyes. Okay, maybe she isn’t nice. "I could try flirting with them if it means I’ll get money."

Living in New York has always been her dream. Yeah, maybe she watched a lot of chick flicks growing up and had the tiniest obsession with Sex and the City, but who can blame her? Bee Hughes is a free spirit. As much as she loves her home town and the people living there… it’s simply not enough. She needs more. She needs to prove herself that she can make it.

And yeah, as cheesy as it sounds, New York seemed like the perfect city to start her perfect new life.

There’s a small problem, of course. There always is.

She has no money.

So when your childhood friend Nadia invites you to live with her in New Jersey (which, let’s face it, is close enough) and work at a café over winter break, you say yes.

A temporary job in Hoboken will do, at least for now. Until she can save enough money to move to New York, that is.

"Really?" Nadia says, bringing her back to reality. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt with a boy before. Kinda thought you were incapable."

Now it’s Bee’s turn to roll her eyes.

"Shut up."

She’s out of cookies to arrange. Bee goes to grab a new batch and nearly gets garroted by those damn string lights.

She’s usually somewhat of a fan of winter, at least, with the power it has to keep people indoors and give the grimy streets a fresh coat of white. Snow days spent at home watching the latest 90 day fiancé episodes. Her and her sisters have their own way of doing things at Christmas. Namely: quietly. Which is good. Except her sisters aren’t in New Jersey with her. They’re back at home, in Farmsville, and she’ll have to spend Christmas away from her family for the first time in… well, ever.

She thought that watching tourists slip on ice patches and spending her evenings with Nadia would hold the same entertainment value as spending Christmas at home, but it doesn’t. It makes her wonder if she’s really suited to live in a big city after all.

"I’ll give you whatever tips I get today if you take the flack for trashing the string lights," she propositions Nadia from her tangle of plastic.

Nadia stares at her, amused. "I’d like to see you make more than five dollars on this shift."

Bee’s out of the string lights. She’d like to tear them down and maybe burn them, but she straightens them instead because she is a slave to the corporate machine and she needs money badly.

"Okay," she pulls at the hair tie in her ponytail, tightening it. It’s no use, some loose curls are blocking her view anyways, "alright, six dollars by 7 pm. Will you do the string lights then?"

“Bee, my shift is literally over. Like, now. And you should go back to work.” Nadia is, in fact, hanging up her apron right now.

"You’re no fun," Bee sighs.

Nadia’s back is turned. She walks past the counter, throwing up her hands as she reaches the exit.

"See you at home, Bee. Try not to murder anyone today," she says, opening the door to leave.

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

The bell tinkles as Nadia steps outside. Fucking tinkles.

Trying not to murder anyone proves to be a much more difficult task than Bee originally thought. Bee smiles at a single mom, three frat bros, at least five businessmen, a businesswoman, two different Karens, a gaggle of trendy teenage girls, and none of them think to slip her an extra dollar. Two hours later, the jar remains empty. And the tinkle of the door every single time someone enters the shop is getting more and more annoying by the second.

Resting the crown of her head against the glass in exhaustion, she pulls at the chain of her necklace to unearth the tiny bee pendant. The rough edges of the wings feel grounding against the pad of her thumb. Maybe it’s a little corny to have a pendant with your namesake, but it was a gift from her parents. It reminds her of home.

The bell tinkles again.

The most wonderful time of the year.

Bee takes in the customer that’s approaching her. She’s a young girl, probably around her same age. One of those pretty looking blonde girls that probably attend Ivy League schools. A girl who takes too much care of her hair. A girl in an expensive-looking winter coat and boots that Bee could never afford, not even if she worked double shifts for the rest of the month. A girl that definitely doesn’t live in Hoboken. A girl who’s been out in the wind for a while, judging by the pink tip of her nose and her reddened cheeks. That’s what Bee gets from her eyes. 

Wait, why is she looking at her eyes?

"Welcome," she greets the new customer, trying to focus her eyes on literally anything else but the girl in front of her.

It’s no use. Her eyes are drawn to her once again, and Bee notices that her face looks anxious, as if she’s looking around to see if someone’s followed her. She definitely doesn’t live in the area.

The girl keeps looking behind her back, not acknowledging Bee at all. She fights back the urge to roll her eyes and waits patiently for the customer to address her.

"Black coffee. No sweetener." she finally says, still not looking at Bee. "The name’s Poppy"

O…kay? This isn’t Starbucks and you’re the only customer here, I don’t need to know your name, it’s what Bee wants to say. She doesn’t.

"Sure," Bee nods.

Turning her back on the mystery blonde girl, she focuses on the coffee pot and waits for the familiar beep that indicates that the beverage is ready. Bee shakes out a cardboard cup from the stack, pours the drink, and presses on the lid.

"Poppy?" she calls, fighting back the urge to chuckle. The name does fit her, somehow.

The other girl looks caught in a dream, staring down the counter.

"Poppy," Bee tries again. Her own voice sounds entertained, "your coffee."

She whips around all at once and darts forward to take it, finding the cup with a flutter of her fingers. "Right. Thanks."

"Is there anything else?"

She takes a while to think about it. But then, quietly says: "No," she fishes out a five, "thanks. I’ll go sit over there."

Okay… this girl is definitely strange. She looks nervous, almost out of place. As if she isn’t used to cafés like this one - and judging by her appearance, she’s not used to middle class neighborhoods at all. She looks… expensive. Yeah, that’s definitely the word.

Bee wonders what she must look like. Probably lower middle class.

The girl keeps looking at her phone and then at the door. Bee stares at her, intrigued.

"Waiting for someone?"

She looks startled at the question, and for a few seconds she stays silent. Pensive. As if she’s considering if she should answer the question at all or ignore it entirely.

And just when Bee thinks that she’s not getting an answer, the girl opens her mouth and says: "Yes."

"I see. Well, I hope they don’t keep you waiting. It looks like it will start snowing soon."

She nods, her eyes focusing on the door one more time. Bee wonders if she’s heard her at all.

Bee takes out the antiseptic spray and cloth and soaks the counter with the spray. The girl is ignoring her, her boss hasn’t shown his face in hours and the shop is otherwise empty. It’s fine. This is fine.

Bee bites with a scrub at the ringed surface. She wants to see her fucking face in it.

Fifteen minutes later, the rag is worn out and there’s no trace of whoever this girl was supposed to meet.

Bee eyes her carefully, setting the discarded rag aside. She goes to wash her hands, all the while keeping her gaze fixed on the girl sitting at the table. Her expression is starting to sour, and Bee feels almost sorry for her.

She gets to the front of the counter, ducking under the string lights successfully. For once, it’s not the first thing on her mind.

"I didn’t order this," the girl frowns when Bee places a cookie on a plate in front of her, looking up from her phone.

"I know," Bee replies. She’ll find a way to explain the missing cookie to her boss later. "You just look like you need it right now."

The girl gets defensive almost immediately. "I’m sorry?"

"Oh! No, I mean–" Bee trails off, trying to come up with a good excuse. She’s definitely not used to giving away pity cookies – especially not to girls as pretty as Poppy here. "We’re giving them away for Christmas. It goes with your coffee, see?"

It’s a complete lie, of course, but she still points at the (now cold) coffee resting on the table.

"Oh. Thanks, then," the girl whispers, going back to looking absolutely dejected.

Bee isn’t sure why, but she feels the urge to cheer her up. Maybe it’s stupid, but she can’t help feeling bad for her. Whoever stood this girl up was clearly someone important to her.

She glances down at her and says, "Are you a student?"

She herself hadn’t expected those words to leave her mouth. This is exceedingly weird. She, out of all people, is making small talk with a customer. She never does that.

The girl looks equally confused, but still opens her mouth to reply. "Uh, yeah. I am."

Bee looks at her awkwardly. This entire situation is so strange. Judging her by her appearance, she doesn’t seem like the type that would talk to baristas (or any kind of minimum wage worker) at all.

What’s going on?

"So am I!" Bee smiles, and immediately regrets it. The girl just looks at her, somewhat interested. What. Is. Happening.

Bee shakes her head, trying to focus. What the hell is she doing, talking to a stranger like that? She gazes at the window instead.

"Oh…" Bee murmurs, the words escaping her mouth before she can stop them once again. "It’s snowing already."

The girl lifts her head and looks outside with nothing but heartbreak in her features. It sends a painful pang down Bee’s stomach.

"So it is," she sighs and stands up after giving her phone screen one last glance. "I should get going, then."

"Are you sure?" Bee asks her with concern in her voice. "Uhm, I don’t think walking in the snow right now is a good idea. You could wait here if you need–"

The girl laughs with amusement. It’s the prettiest smile Bee’s ever seen. Shit, she probably looks stupid right now, staring at her like she’s just fallen in love.

"I have a car waiting for me outside."

Of course. Of course a girl that looks like that has a driver. Bee cringes internally. What is it with her today? Why is she acting dumber than usual?

The girl walks past her, a sad smile adorning her delicate features.

"Thanks for the cookie," she tells her with a little tilt of her head as she turns away. And before she goes, she fishes something out of her purse and shoves it carefully in the tip jar without looking at her. She speed-walks out.

Bee stares at her disappearing silhouette. Then she stares at the tip jar, no longer empty. She fishes out the bills: a ten and a fifty. A ten? And–

Poppy just tipped her sixty dollars.

The bills feel very heavy in her hands all of a sudden. What does this mean? What kind of person tips that insane amount of money after just getting one coffee? Bee hates the things her heart is doing right now. It’s stirring, almost fluttering, in this frivolous and completely un-Bee fashion and she can’t seem to quell it.

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

When she gets home, she immediately barges into Nadia’s room. She sinks onto her bed and waves the sixty dollars between Nadia and her laptop.

"Did you mug someone on your way home?" she asks, half-jokingly.

"This random rich girl tipped me all of this."

"What?!" Nadia gasps, reaching for the bills.

"I know! It’s– it’s weird, right?"

"Yeah, definitely. But it’s also kinda nice? I mean, you’re sixty dollars richer now. You’re totally buying groceries this week!"

"Shut up. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it. We just talked for a bit, and then she suddenly said she had to leave and just… dropped sixty dollars into the tip jar," Bee repeats, still incredulous. "Who does that? Do you think she was flirting with me?

"Maybe. Did you ask her for her number?"

"No…" Bee whimpers. "Pretty stupid of me, huh?"

Nadia rolls her eyes. "So what’s that bring your tip total up to?"

With a sigh, Bee drops her forehead against Nadia’s shoulder. "Sixty dollars."

"Did you try smiling?" she reminds her.

Bee turns her head to the side, squinting up at her. "Of course I did."

"Asking them about their Christmas plans?"

"I forgot. I wasn’t interested."

"Begging on your knees?"

"I did… lightly threaten a Karen," Bee whispers.

That gets Nadia to set her laptop down. "What?"

"I didn’t threaten her. I threatened that I’d cry."

"Oh," Nadia twitches her nose and looks at Bee. "You know, I can’t really picture you crying."

"Well, it didn’t work, so…" Bee groans. "I feel so stupid for not asking for her number."

"Yeah, Bee. That was pretty stupid of you. Who knows, though? Maybe you’ll see her again."

Bee shakes her head. "I don’t think so. She definitely didn’t live in the area, and whoever she was waiting for stood her up, so…" she trails off, suddenly looking at her phone screen.

Her mom’s calling her. For some reason, Bee can tell that it’s not good news.

"Hold on, Nadia, I gotta take this call."

Nadia simply nods and Bee walks to her own room, closing the door behind her.

"Hi, mom? Is everything okay–"

"Bee? Oh, honey…" her mom interrupts her, and Bee can tell that she’s been crying. "I have some bad news."

"What happened?" she goes to sit on the bed, her heart beating like crazy in her chest.

"Your aunt–" her mom sobs a little, and Bee can feel her heart sink into her chest. "She’s died, Bee."

"Oh, mom, I’m so sorry–"

"That’s not all," she continues, "she’s left us a huge inheritance. We’re– we’re debt free."

Her words immediately send a pang into Bee’s stomach. She can feel her head spinning, trying to process all this new information at once. She’ll probably have to go back to Farmsville tomorrow or the day after if she wants to make it in time for the funeral. But her car is at the repair shop and she doesn’t have enough money to rent a new one…

"Bee," her mom says her name again, bringing her back to reality, "you know what this means, right?"

"What…?"

"We finally have enough money to pay for your tuition. You can transfer this next semester to that Ivy League school you kept talking about. What was the name again…?" her mother trails off. Bee doesn’t reply. "Right! Belvoire, was it?"

Bee looks down at her hands and finds she’s been turning her necklace charm round and round between her fingers. She’s still processing everything, her emotions barely giving her any time to think. Her aunt just died. Her family is rich. She can quit her crappy job. She can finally move to New York. She can go back to school. It’s so much and it’s all at once – she feels like she’s going crazy. Nothing that felt certain a few hours ago feels the same now. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

But if there’s one thing she’s sure about is that her life is about to change. Whether it’s for better or for worse remains a mystery.

A few seconds after hanging up the phone, she stays in her place on the bed, unmoving.

"Things are never going to be the same, right?" she whispers to no one in particular.

Deep down, she already knows the answer to that question.

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

Sooo… I always wanted to write a silly little AU where Poppy and Bee meet prior to Bee transferring to Belvoire. It makes me think that maybe, if the circumstances had been any different, they could’ve been friends right from the beginning (yes im delusional)

I know that Poppy leaving any kind of tip is probably ooc as hell but I am deluded enough to tell myself that the power of gay made her do it.

Who is Poppy meeting…? I’ll leave that up to you guys! Even though I’m sure the answer is pretty clear.

The ending probably felt super rushed – and that’s because it *was* rushed 😂 sorry, I was trying to meet the deadline!

Do you think that they’ll recognize each other when they meet again? I think this time it would be easier for Bee to connect the dots and realize the truth about Poppy’s parents. Oh, before i forget! a quick fun fact: Nadia is actually my TFS mc. Crossover incoming…? haha jk… haha unless 😳

Anyways! I hope you enjoyed my super late, kinda christmas-y one shot (despite the fact that it’s literally January)

Happy Poppy weekend, clowns!

[chibinekochan]

The dragon prince - Ft Diavolo part 3

part : 1 I 2 I

Obey me! Monster tales masterlist

"Now I believe that you're not the culprit." I put my sword away as a sign of goodwill but still keep distance between us.

"That's all you are going to say?" He seems surprised.

"What were you expecting?" I have no idea what he wants.

"Well panic? Screaming? No idea to be honest." These are at least normal reactions to dragons.

"I have seen earth dragons before, even when they were smaller. I mean I have never seen one turning into a human before. That changes quite a bit for me personally, but it has nothing to do with my current assignment." I give my words some thought. It's honestly something that will require me to rethink a few things.

"I see that you are indeed quite an interesting human. With someone like you I might be able to figure out how to solve the issues for both of our people." Diavolo suddenly smiles.

"What are you talking about?" I'm clueless.

"You see the fact that you are willing to listen to a dragon and aren't scared, even after seeing my true form, means that humans and dragons might be able to get along after all." Diavolo sounds like he has been looking for something like that for quite some time.

"If a dragon talked before we might have prevented unnecessary deaths on both sides." It certainly would be a start.

"I agree on that, sadly dragons can be very stubborn and stuck in their ways. They refuse to listen or learn." He sighs deeply.

"There are humans like that too." I have seen plenty myself.

Diavolo nods knowingly. "I went through a long and hard process to change my form and to learn what I can about humans. Many of my fellow dragons laughed at the idea of a conversation with a human. But look at us now."

"I'm certain no dragon would listen to me anyway and I honestly doubt that many humans would trust you. I'm not even sure if I can." The blood of dragons is on your hands, regardless of their guilt to them you must be a monster. Especially now that you know that at least some of them have human intelligence.

"I guess we have to prove to everyone that it's indeed possible for us to work together. For that purpose I'd like to accompany you to the fire dragon and bring it to justice." He seems so calm when he says these words.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You would kill a fellow dragon?"

"If I have to, I will." His conviction is clear to me. "I'd like to try it my way first. I want to talk to the dragon and the villagers to find a different way."

"I won't stop you, but if it's attacking the villagers or me, I won't hold back." I carefully observe him. His words move me, his eyes seem so honest. Not a single lie is found.

"That is fair. I want to fully disclose to you that I have killed humans in self-defense before." Diavolo didn't need to add that bit but yet he does.

"If what you say is true I won't fault you. I killed dragons for work when I was hired, but every last one killed humans." We both have sinned in each other's species and yet morally we both were right.

Diavolo nods. "I believe that you had no choice at that moment."

"I still wonder why you chose to reveal yourself to me. A dragon knight seems to be a rather silly choice." I can't help but ponder about this question.

"Haha, I think it was that look in your eyes. So full of fire. I'm glad I was right." Diavolo laughs.

"Seems to be a rather silly reason." I shake my head but smile despite everything.

"Ohhh, what a lovely smile you have." He smiles at me, now I notice that he is standing rather close now.

"T-thank you." I'm rather startled by the compliment. Usually, people are intimidated by me. I guess I had similar experiences to Diavolo in that regard.

"I think we should drink to our partnership. Are you up for it?" Diavolo stretches and smiles at me.

"I definitely need some alcohol after today." A lot of news was just tossed at me for sure.

Diavolo nods. "In that case let's celebrate."

We then head back to his cooking room, where he fills our cups once more to the brim with alcohol.

We both drink some and the mood relaxes.

"Ah, I almost forgot but if you want to bathe I have my own hot springs. I'd ask to go in together, but I already feel like I know your answer." Diavolo chuckles.

"That be a definite no, and I might go after you are asleep." I sigh.

"Too bad. I was kinda curious about what you have under your armor." Diavolo leaves this offhand remark, like it means nothing.

"I wear clothes under my armor." I blush at his obvious trouble meaning. "I could say the same about your armor."

"So you are curious about it? It's all part of my body. Humans seem to be worked up about clothes for whatever reason. I can show you if you want, though." Diavolo is absolutely serious.

"Please don't. Keep that armor on!" My cheeks are on fire by the mere suggestion.

"Hahaha, you have quite the cute side, did you know that?" Diavolo has too much fun with this.

"I will kill you." I playfully reach for my sword.

"Oho, feisty. I was just joking, but tell me when you change your mind." Diavolo takes another long sip of his alcohol and fills his cup right back up.

I'm unsure if he means him or me undressing, but I can't stop myself from getting hotter by the minute.

I need a cold shower at this rate.

We continue to drink and have a bit of playful banter.

Before we both somehow pass out by the time we reach the 3rd bottle.

[pearlsephoni]

ItaFushi Week 2021, Day 1: Sharing a Meal

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: G

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: ItaFushi (Itadori/Fushiguro)

Characters: Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki

Word Count: 1,855

Summary: In the aftermath of the ambush during the Goodwill Event, Yuuji is faced with the grief he left behind when he was in hiding.

A/N: Author’s notes can be read on AO3.

All things considered, Fushiguro had been lucky. He had escaped the curse spirit ambush with bad injuries, sure, but nothing a little time with Ieiri and an afternoon in bed wouldn’t fix. Or at least, that was what Gojo had told Yuuji. 

But Yuuji still couldn’t shake the guilt that had weighed on him since he’d popped out of the cart and been faced by Kugisaki’s angry tears and Fushiguro’s shocked stare. He could ignore it well enough when his focus was needed for his and Todo’s fight against Hanami. Now, though, alone in his room with a silence that was only broken by the occasional shuffles from Fushiguro through the wall...Yuuji felt both leaden and restless, exhausted and buzzing with energy, nervous and excited to see his friend. 

A text from Kugisaki was what finally pulled him out of bed. Against Ieiri’s recommendations, Kugisaki was determined to have a pizza lunch to celebrate their survival of the event’s first day, and Yuuji was only too happy to wire over his share of the delivery price. 

Yuuji: make sure you order meat pizza!  we need meat to recover from today! 

Kugisaki: u need vegetables too, idiot. thx for the money! 

“Don’t use my money for veggies, asshole,” Yuuji mumbled as he made his way next door. 

He’d forgotten his nerves over facing Fushiguro, but they crashed back into him when he faced his door. He knew, logically, Fushiguro wouldn’t be mad at him. He wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge like that. But he also knew, logically, Fushiguro would be well within his rights to still be pissed over Yuuji being alive for weeks without telling him. He’d seen the anger flashing in those blue eyes whenever Yuuji mentioned something that had happened, but it was just as quick to go away as it was to rear its head. 

At the end of the day, though, Yuuji was alive. However Fushiguro felt about the secrets between them, he had to still be happy about that. 

That thought finally let Yuuji’s back straighten and his fist knock against the door. “Come in.” 

“Yo, Fushiguro!” Yuuji called as he opened the door. “Woah! You’re looking good!” 

He really did. Sure, he was wearing pajamas and in bed while the sun was in the sky, something that he would never do in good health. But his back was straight as he sat there, and Yuuji couldn’t see any blood or bandages, and he distinctly remembered how battered he had looked before Panda carried him away. 

Fushiguro apparently didn’t agree. “Please stop saying that when I’m injured.” 

“Hey, I say it other times too!” 

“That’s not the point.” 

Yuuji was too focused on wheeling Fushiguro’s old desk chair over to the bed to notice the intensity in his eyes and the light dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You didn’t eat yet, right? Kugisaki’s grabbing some pizza for us, so we can have a pizza party!” 

“Shouldn’t we be eating something healthier after everything that happened today?” 

“Nah, we should have something tasty! And I told her to make sure to get a pizza with lots of meat, so you can get better fast!” He plopped into the chair, making the old thing creak with his weight, before he caught sight of Fushiguro’s gaze on him. “...What? You feeling alright, man?” 

He reached out to press his hand against Fushiguro’s forehead, falling back on instinct from his days by his grandfather’s bed. He didn’t think about how Fushiguro would respond until it was too late, the other boy’s hand wrapping around his wrist just as his fingertips brushed his forehead. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t-”

His words died on his tongue when Fushiguro didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers found Yuuji’s pulse just as Yuuji’s heart jolted in his chest at the feeling of their skin pressing together. “W-what’s going on, Fushiguro?” 

“Quiet.” Yuuji’s jaw clacked shut automatically, leaving him silent and flushing as he watched Fushiguro. The other boy’s fingers were firm against his wrist, and with each passing second, he slowly, gradually relaxed, until his forehead came to rest gently against Yuuji’s limp hand. “You’re really alive.” 

“Huh? Yeah, of course I am! Didja think I was a zombie out there?” Yuuji winced under the hard stare he received, his cheerful smile faltering at the grief that still tinged that blue gaze. 

“That would make more sense than you suddenly coming back to life,” Fushiguro grumbled. “You were dead, Itadori.” 

“I…I know.” 

“No, listen to me. I saw Sukuna rip your heart out, and I couldn’t do anything to save you. I was useless, and you were dead. I saw you die. And then suddenly you came back, and we didn’t even get to talk before you were risking your stupid life again. You told me not to worry, you said you wouldn’t die, but I couldn’t believe you. How could I?” 

The words left him in a rush, as though they were spilling out faster than he could say them. He was speaking more than Yuuji had ever heard him speak before, and his throat clenched with guilt the more Fushiguro spoke. By the time he fell quiet again, Yuuji could barely choke out the words, “I’m sorry.” 

“…Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you.” 

“Still. I’m so sorry, Fushiguro. I didn’t…I didn’t think…” Fushiguro’s fingers loosened around his wrist, but before he could pull away, Yuuji grabbed at his hand. “I swear, Fushiguro,” his fingers tightened around Fushiguro’s, “I swear I’ll never make you feel like that again. I’ll keep training and I’ll get stronger and I’ll make sure you never go through anything like that again. Or, I mean…not because of me.”

“Okay,” Fushiguro murmured after a moment of searching for something in Yuuji’s eyes. “Then I promise the same.” 

“Okay!” A relieved smile broke across Yuuji’s face, and he distantly noted the dusting of pink that appeared on Fushiguro’s cheeks. “Okay. Good!”

“Ughhhhh, gross.” 

Their hands jerked apart and their gazes jumped from each other to the door, where Kugisaki stood with a pizza box balanced in one hand. “I go get us this delicious pizza, and you repay me by making me a third wheel?” 

“What’re you talking about?” Fushiguro grumbled, barely audible over Yuuji’s excited, “Pizza’s here! What kind did you get?” 

“A kind that you better eat. I’m not gonna grab another one.” 

“Not even for your bedridden friend?” 

“Shut it. You don’t get to guilt trip me, you sneaky liar.” Kugisaki’s voice was flippant, but her eyes flashed with a genuine hurt that Yuuji recognized from Fushiguro’s eyes just moments before. “Still can’t believe Gojo-sensei didn’t let you tell us you weren’t dead.” 

“Yeah, I’m...I’m really sorry, Kugisaki.” 

“You don’t- it’s just-” She let out a huff as she dropped the pizza box onto Fushiguro’s lap and dragged a stool to the other side of his bed. “Can you at least tell us what happened to you? You were gone for weeks, dude.” 

Yuuji was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on fingers that plucked at a stray thread in the blanket while he searched for the right words. “I…I lost a friend. During my first mission after training. Did you hear about that?” 

“Yeah. Gojo told us,” Fushiguro said, his voice soft.

Yuuji's eyes drifted back up to Fushiguro’s as he nodded. “I really thought I could save him. I thought I could bring him here, introduce him to you guys and help him finally have a happier life. But he was turned into a curse and killed before I could even do anything. Just like that, he was gone. I didn’t know I could feel so angry and sad and useless. And I didn’t realize you could’ve felt the same way after…after you saw me die, Fushiguro.” 

His voice caught, forcing him to stop and clear his throat. In the brief silence, Kugisaki solemnly handed him a slice of pizza, a gesture that was so out of place, yet so earnest, that Yuuji couldn’t help cracking a small smile before he continued. “A lot of people died that day, and after all of it, I still couldn’t put up a good enough fight. I still had to rely on Nanamin. I think...I think that’s why I was so reckless today. I saw how badly I hurt you guys by not telling you the truth, and I wanted to prove to you all and to myself that it was worth something. That I at least got a little stronger.” 

There was another moment of silence as the other two watched him, letting him blink away the threat of tears and making sure he was done talking. Then, finally, Fushiguro spoke. “You did. You got a lot stronger. I didn’t think you could pull off that kind of growth, but you proved me wrong.” 

Yuuji squinted at him with a small frown. Those words seemed genuine, and he couldn’t see any sign of mockery on Fushiguro’s face, and yet...“Hey, you trying to call me a slow learner?” 

“You’re fast in many ways, Itadori-kun,” Kugisaki sighed, “but not when you have to use your brain.” 

“What the hell! I spill my heart out to you, and you decide to bully me? What kind of ‘welcome back’ is this?” 

“It’s not a ‘welcome back’ for you, it’s a ‘get well soon’ for Fushiguro.” 

“Please don’t pull me into this,” Fushiguro muttered, “You two just wanted an excuse to get pizza.” 

“Besides,” Kugisaki continued loudly in an attempt to drown out Fushiguro, “you still need to do me a favor before I truly forgive you.” 

“Huh?!” 

“Carry my bags for me on my next shopping trip, and all will be forgiven.” The hand that wasn’t holding pizza reached across the bed for Yuuji to shake, as though they were sealing a business deal. For all her bratty formality, Yuuji could see the “favor” for what it truly was: an invitation, a sign of forgiveness in and of itself. Kugisaki wanted to spend time with him, a far cry from the girl who had sighed at the first sight of him. 

Yuuji’s cheeks ached from how wide his smile stretched as he eagerly took her hand. “Deal!” 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Itadori-san.” 

“And with you, Kugisaki-san.” 

“Are you gonna eat this pizza,” Fushiguro muttered, trying and failing to bite back his small grin, “or are you gonna keep this up until it’s cold?” 

Yuuji obediently bit into his slice as he eyed the other boy. “Hey, Fushiguro,” he mumbled around his mouthful, “you’re gonna come with us right?” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

“I need someone to keep me company when Kugisaki’s stuck in the dressing room.” 

“Itadori, you-” 

“Gojo will probably make me come to babysit you two anyway,” Fushiguro said, cutting off Kugisaki, who glared daggers at Yuuji, “so yeah. I’ll come.” 

Gojo was a flimsy excuse, one that crumpled under the widening grin on Fushiguro’s lips. That grin almost turned into a proper smile when Yuuji beamed back at him. “Good!”

[yandere-society]

The Ultimatum

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day has rolled around once again, and just like last year, you plan on spending it with none other than your emotional support dog. What you don’t know, however, is that you have an unexpected visitor awaiting for you at home.. and not only does he have a loaded gun on his hip, but he also has your beloved pet in his lap.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 6,000

Admin: @tatertotthethot​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, signs/mentioning of mental disorders such as: anxiety, depression, PTSD and dissociation; Mentions of gang violence; Depictions of gore; nonconsentual kissing (nothing sexual); no dogs were harmed in the making of this…

“Here you go, guys.” You said as you handed the couple across the counter their drinks. You returned their smiles and bid them a good day, but as soon as they turned away and linked their fingers together on the way out, your expression settled into one of disdain.

Baley, your manager, noticed it. But like always, she chose to ignore it. She’s very much use to your secretive, albeit bitter distaste towards romance. She’s been working along side you for two years now, and knows that you’re a big advocate for holiday decorations. You’ve decked the place out on Halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas— even fucking Saint Patrick’s day. But for Valentine’s Day, all you did was slap some heart shaped stickers on the window and didn’t even look too happy to be doing that, either. But she’s never been one to push.

“Guess what I’m doing this evening,” She hinted, hanging the ‘closed’ sign on the door.

“Hm?” You asked, having zoned out while rinsing your shot glasses out.

“I’m gonna eat the rest of my edibles and read some alien erotica.”

Not expecting anything less from her, given her personality, you only choked out a laugh and shook your head. It’d be more amusing if you knew she wasn’t kidding. Baley has a weird obsession with aliens and you never took her serious about it until you bought her a tentacle dildo as a gag-gift on her birthday, and instead of laughing about it and going off into a banter like you were anticipating, she started screaming and jumping up and down like you just handed her the last Golden Ticket to the fucking chocolate factory.

“What about your boyfriend?” You asked, forcing yourself to engage in conversation to keep you from spiraling.

“He’s out of town. So I’ll be thinking of him as I read about the alien king abducting me and using my tenta-holes—“

“Never mind.” You cut her off, trying to let that lighten up the mood. You appreciated the effort, but it didn’t work. You just wanted today to be over.

It’d be a whole lot better if only you could tell her the truth and come clean about your past. But it’s not like she’d believe you, even if you had the guts. But in all honesty, her fantasy about alien abduction was more believable.

You’re a barista making $10 an hour, living paycheck to paycheck and inhabiting the house your grandmother left you in her will. You have no car, you rely on public transportation; all your clothes are from goodwill and when you’re not working at this shop, you spending your life in confinement of those walls with your dog, as a recluse.

If you even dared to tell Baley that, just three years ago, you were living in a million-dollar mansion in South Korea, and had a luxurious wardrobe from big-name designers and that you didn’t even own a pair of fucking socks that were under $100.. she’d look at you as if you were the alien. She wouldn’t entertain the bigger half of the story, about how you were engaged to a man who’s now serving a life sentence and could possibly be put on death row for committing a robbery that left one of the international banking systems short 23-million won— which would amount to be approximately 20 million dollars in America... you would’ve lost her at the word Fiancé.

It’d be easy to prove, though. Your associations to the crime may not show up in your background check, being as you’re back here in America and was never detained, and the news isn’t relevant enough to circulate here. However, a simple google search would reveal it all, even with pictures of you two in public.

But not even you wanted to look up his name to know what was going on with his case. You were still ambient to forget about him, in a way. You wanted to ignore his existence. You fucking loath that man.. you swear, you do.

You had fallen back into a brooding silence again without even meaning to, and although you were busily cleaning up off muscle memory, you were detached. He still has that effect on you. And truth be known, the first year you spent in lonesome isolation after leaving Korea was just a change of scenery but not very different from the lifestyle he had subjected you to. But even still, it was so much better than living with him at the estate. And now, with your dog Sweetpea there, you feel safe again. At least you were in the same place you grew up, and felt closer to your grandmother—

Fuck, you missed her so much. He wouldn’t even let you visit her in person before she past. The man owned his own private jet and it never had any maintenance problems until the one fucking night you needed to go back home. You only got to speak with her on the phone, and bawled your fucking eyes out and spewed out an incoherent apology just hours before her heart gave out. That’s when she told you that she left you the house, and how sorry she was for kicking you out of it because you didn’t pursue the career field she wanted you to go for.

If only they would’ve arrested Taehyung a month prior, you could’ve been there for her. You could’ve hugged her and the two of you could given each other the apology you both deserved.

“Hey..” Baley’s voice suddenly came to your left ear, the only one that you could actually hear out of. Your right one, despite being 80% deaf even with a functioning hear aid, was faintly ringing from the emotional tangent you had accidentally drifted into.

You looked over at her, and broke down. Although she could never fully understand, she still gave you an empathetic frown and was pulling you into a hug before you could sputter out an apology— not that there was any use for one.

You had secrets that still haunted you, and will always impair your daily life— much like your botched eardrum and this shitty device you spent way too much money on. That’s another thing you only had Kim Taehyung to thank for, along with your fucked up shoulder.

You had to carefully elevate your arms but eventually returned the hug and cried a little harder, not able to help it. Sweetpea was a great reciprocate for affection and did a swell job with distracting you, but as far as human comfort goes, you haven’t had so much as that in.. well, seven fucking years. Tae was always big on affection, and also comforted you when you needed it. But it was redundant and didn’t have a sincere effect, being as he was the very one that initially caused the hurt it derived from.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, I never do... but I want you to know that I can see how strong you are. You’re doing a great job at making it through each day...” she muttered, rubbing your back as it shook with each silent sob. You felt bad when you heard her own voice beginning to thicken, but that was no surprise. She was a sympathizer and a little bit emo in general. Seeing others cry was enough to jerk a tear out of her, and you loved that about her. She’s a weirdo, but she’s pure, and she’s very good hearted. You could even say that you may have deeper feelings for her as well, and they may even be mutual, but you were no good for her. Hell, you were already putting her in enough danger just by being an employee at her shop. If you were to let your relationship stem past being friendly coworkers, or even hung out with her outside of work, that could pose an actual threat to her safety.

So, even though you wanted to lengthen the embrace, and longed to tighten your arms around her even more, you pulled back and wiped at your face, giving her a weak grin and a nod instead.

She squeezed your shoulders one last time before taking a step back, recollecting herself.

“You go home. I got everything else.”

You sheepishly nodded again, thanking her one last time before collecting your things and booking it out of there. Had you not felt so broken and defeated in that moment, you would’ve refused. But her show of affection triggered a deep, dire need to give and be given more comfort.

Fortunately for you, though, you had a special someone for that. Your dog is the only living creature on this planet that can be trusted with the revelations of your past. She’s the only reliance you have for receiving unconditional love and support without any judgment... probably because she doesn’t even understand what the fuck you’re saying half the time, nor can she repeat the shit you say, but as far as comfort goes, it’s always a guarantee.

— That’s just in her nature, like most pets. Pitbulls, however, are very sensitive and attentive to certain emotions— especially depression and anxiety. They’re just as good with protecting their owners, as well as they are with babysitting them. Everyone knows pitbulls have a notorious and misguided reputation for being aggressive. But little do most know, before dog fighting became a popular thing and defamed their personalities, pitbulls were primarily referred to as ‘Nanny dogs’. They’re great with babies in general, and very domestic and charismatic by nature. But despite being big, loveable goof balls themselves, they can literally sense stressful emotions and will know what type action to take in order to sedate them.

Sweetpea may not have professional training and certification but it is by her true nature and personality that you call her an Emotional Support Dog. When you’re having another one of your episodes— panic attacks, senseless paranoia, nightmares— she’s running to your aid and doing anything she can to distract and get you to play with her. When you’re depressed and spiraling into another breakdown, she licking at your face and sitting in your lap, not even seeing the problem with her being three times bigger than the average lap dog—

“Kneehemplamaforseeking?”

You sucked in a breath and blinked over at the PetsMart employee, smiling a few away from you. You probably looked lost, and in a way you quite literally were. You hardly remember walking in the direction of this store, let alone entering it. But this a common thing for you, so you easily just went on about your way despite the sudden worry of missing your bus... again.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” You had asked, turning your good ear towards her and watching her lips move.

“Do you need help looking for something?” She repeated, carefully annunciating her words this time, now that she could see the device in your ear. In today’s age, most people mistake it as a bluetooth— which has unknowingly saved you from accidentally talking to yourself in public, more than you would know.

You shook your head in response to the lady, and checked the time on your phone. You had 30 minutes left, thank God.

“No thanks. I’m just here to get some treats and waste some time before my bus comes. It’s windy as hell outside.”

“Ah, it certainly is,” she agreed, making her way to the next aisle. “Be safe out there!”

“I’ll try.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing a bag of bacon strips off the shelf— the very thing you had ultimately came for. It should’ve taken you no more than 5 minutes to grab and go. But it wasn’t uncommon for you to take much longer and aimlessly wonder down multiple aisles only to get one or two things from the same aisle, though. You do it at every store you go to, if you can stand to be outside of your home or away from work.

After checking out, you made it a mission to stay present until your bus came. By the time you got home, you were more stable.. up until the bus driver— a sweet elderly man who’s been transporting you on this route for last couple of years, handed you a rose on your way down the stairs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, young lady.”

You had the strength to give him a genuine smile, but as soon as you stepped off and the doors closed, and the bus engine picked back up and left you with a gust of wind, you broke again.

Taehyung always gave you a bouquet of blood red roses for Valentine’s Day. He knew you were a sucker for them. And you still are, but sentiment wasn’t the only emotion to come now. They brought on an ache. A pain. A worry. A twinge of longing, but a fuckton of resentment.

You wanted to throw it on the ground and stomp at it.. better yet, you wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn while smoking a much needed cigarette. But first, you need to see your dog. You know she’s just as anxious to see you.

You trudged up to your door and was quick to unlock it... but frowned when you didn’t see her on the other side. Maybe it was because your ears were ringing again from how worked up you’d just gotten. But usually, the mere sound of your key twisting at the lock would have her running to the and practically beating it down, and you’d opened to see her gleefully wining out and wagging her tail.

But she wasn’t there.

“Sweetpea?” You called out, making it a point to swing the door shut behind you. Still, nothing—

Whimpering. You heard her whimpering and your head snapped over to the hallway. Your heart began to race. Your bed door was open, as always, and you could hear her in there but she wasn’t coming out. Only whimpering for you to come to her.

Fearing the worst, thinking perhaps she’d hurt herself to the extent that she couldn’t move, you barged down the hallway and listened with a sickening sense of uneasiness as her whimpering turned to muffled howls.

“Sweetpea, wha—“

You screamed. Sheer horror and white-hot adrenaline erupted through your veins and scorched your nerve endings, leaving you numb in the limb to the impact of the floor beneath your kneecaps. All you could feel was the volcanic eruption of despair in your chest and the strain in your diaphragm.

Sweetpea was okay, but very much in danger. She had a muzzle on, and her big, canopy-like ears were peeled back and her big, doughy eyes were wildly beading dead at you as she struggled and pawed at the carpet, watching you fall to you fall out. She was so worried to get to you but she couldn’t, do to the death grip of the man who was holding her by a leash. She couldn’t even interpret the lethality of the weapon that was also aimed at the back of her head— a glock you specially recall being the weapon of choice when Taehyung pistol whipped a man’s head open before emptying all twelve rounds in his magazine into his face.

Now, all you could envision was the same being done to that sweet face and big, bulbous head.

You screamed out and wailed even louder, not even looking at the intruder or registering who it was. Because you already fucking knew and in your mind it was too late.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roared, making you and Sweetpea flinch. You stopped screaming but your breath was ragged beyond your control. Your vision was bouncing between his fierce scowl and Sweetpea’s fearsome one. You dove forward, intending to crawl and beg but two pairs of shoes stepped out from where they’d been standing behind the door, and their hands gripped you by the biceps before hauling you up to your feet. You didn’t even try to resist them. You knew better than that. But fear still had you discombobulated and speaking out to yourself, feeling incredibly dizzy and disarrayed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

“You’re not dreaming.” Taehyung snarled, palm itching to slap some sense into you. But even within the three years he’s spent in bitterness, it didn’t change the morality he did have in relations to you. He’d never hit you out of anger.

But then he realized the real reason why you were saying that, when your knees suddenly gave out and the hold his men had on you became the only thing keeping you up right as you fainted out. He didn’t realize you still had that problem, and it hurt him to see that now.

Back when he had you in his possession, you had accidentally witnessed an execution down in the basement of his mansion. It was the first time you fainted, a d your body came toppling down a good ten-or-so steps, which were made of cement, and you were lucky to have only broken your nose and dislocated your shoulder.

Guilt crashed over him, suddenly. He meant to terrorize you in a way that wasted little time to gain submission, but he didn’t mean to trigger your PTSD— although he knew it was likely. Given the resolve, he put the gun back in its holster and stood up, beckoning for Yoongi to take the leash. Jungkook easily held you up by the waste and waited to pass you off to your fiancé before bringing your wrists behind your back. You slowly came to as he did so, and your head lolled back up only for your entire body to snap back into attention all at once, now that you were face to face with the Devil himself.

“Come on, you fucking idiot!”

Your head snapped over and you began to panic again as Yoongi fought with your, trying to drag her over to her cage by the leash. She was putting up one hell of a fight and audibly wheezing from the choke, her eyes now bulging as she looked at you.

You bucked against the both of them, your maternal instincts causing you to go feral as you saw red.

“QUIT! YOU’RE FUCKING CHOKING HER, YOU FUCKING PRICK! PICK HER UP!”

“She’s too squirmy!” He shouted back, the shock of your outburst causing him to lose tension and Sweetpea lunged the both of them forward. Tae was shouting at Jungkook to hurry with the restraints and squeezing you tighter, but you were kicking and flailing like a fish out of water now.

“MAKE HIM STOP!” You cried out, but was forcefully silenced by the gigantic hand that grabbled around the entire bottom half of your face— including your nose. Having been in this situation before, knowing his antics, you knew he wasn’t going to let you breathe again until you did as told. So you were forced to settle down but was still desperately pleading with your eyes, crying as your dog continued to heave against the menstruations.

“Yoongi, for fuck sake, the dog is 50 pounds. Just pick her up and put your in the kennel.” Tae stressed, eyes still locked with yours.

With a grunt, Yoongi tackled your dog and trapped her in a bear hug, snatching her up off the ground. You wanted to scream at him again but you were actually starting to struggle for oxygen, chest jolting with an involuntary attempts to inhale.

“Alright, they’re on. I just gotta link them.”

Tae’s hand finally dropped and you hacked out, swallowing as much air as you could. Now that Sweetpea was safely in her cage, you had time to worry about your own safety, but the look on his face wasn’t giving off such a merciful vibe.

“You do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t fight back... but if you hurt my dog—“

“If I hurt your fucking dog, it’ll just be tough shit for you. I’ll still do whatever the hell I want and unless you need me to prove that, I suggest you stop with ultimatums..” he chuckled, but it sounded so cold and twisted. He was on the verge of snapping, and was fighting to keep as much composure as he could right now, for your sake.

But he was on a heist right now, you readied yourself for the unknown when he punctuated his sentence by grappling your throat with the same, vandalized and accessorized hand he just smothered you with— fingers digging in at the sides. Your breathing was once again constricted and your eyes reddened in strain, your voice dying out.

Tae may not beat you, but he knows your worse fear is dying by suffocation. Hence, why he’s so big in breath play.

“Can you?” He reiterated, snarling his teeth at you and revealing the top and bottom pair of golden, fang-shaped plates framing his pearly white canine teeth. Back in the day, you found them so extravagant and tasteful, but now you found them all the more threatening.

He waited until your eyes began fluttered back before letting go again, and Jungkook’s body was the only thing that saved you from falling back. You never understood why, but for some reason, Jungkook was the only person Tae allowed to be in closer range of you, even when it wasn’t necessary. He even reminded you of that when Yoongi had stepped a little too close and Taehyung shot a glare over to him that had him taking a couple steps back. But Jungkook was apparently free to stand there, holding you up even as you regained your footing. You feared that one day it will all make sense, but for now, you were thankful that he was there to at least to save you from collapsing.

It’d be great if they weren’t even fucking here, at all.

“Go put the kennel in the car— not on the seats, though. Hobi will kill me if I fuck up the interior.”

“Please let me rehouse her.” You begged, cringing as his eyes returned to you. They looked even more colorless than before. “I’ll come with you, but I don’t want her there with us.”

“She’s fine. As long as she doesn’t shit and piss everywhere and doesn’t chew any of my shit, or try to attack me, I’ll let you keep her.”

“You were just holding a fucking gun to her head, Taehyung. Please let me rehouse her. My friend Baley will take her. All I gotta do is leave her in the cafe with a note— I have the keys. I’ll even let you write the fucking note yourself and we can go...” It was significantly getting harder to speak, now that your airways were irritated and your unsteady emotions were only making it worse.

You had already accepted your fate, but had a twinge of hope left that he’d at least hear you out on that request. His features had softened into a crestfallen display of guilt, and remorse. But your faith in him shattered all over again when he stubbornly shook his head and reached for the gun again. You were just about to throw another fit until he pulled the magazine out and showed it to you.

It was empty, until he pocketed it and pulled out a fully-loaded one and clipped it into place, before putting it back in the holster.

He tricked you, and although it was still pretty fucking evil, you were relieved. He never intended to shoot her and wouldn’t have been able to, even if his finger applied enough pressure on the trigger. But you were still very much in the midst of an abduction, and you still hated this man for what he was doing to you now.

“Why are here?” You croaked.

“To come get you and our new pet,” he announced, faking the enthusiasm before reinforcing his glare. “I’m... incredibly pissed about the fact that abandoned me.. but even more so offended by the negligence to stay updated.”

His eyes then caught the flash of a blue light at your ear. Your hearing aid was dying and faintly peeping in your ear. The remembrance had his entire demeanor shift to a sullen one, like a switch.

“But at the same time—“ his voice had fallen into a lower pitch, almost to the point of being a whisper as he stepped closer and easily molded his hands around your face. You suddenly felt fragile, but not in a way that made you giddy, like it use to. Now, you had to swallow down the bile in your throat and fight against the nausea as his suddenly lips came near.

“—It’s really hard take that out on you, when I can’t even blame you for it. But It’s been three fucking years, honey. Three. How could you not even have enough concern for my well being, to not even send a fucking post card? Did you really think you‘d never see me again, and that you had snuck away from me? I knew what you were doing, and where you were going before you even boarded your fucking flight.”

“You’re suppose to be in jail. I thought you were letting me go.”

“First of all, you didn’t even know the original plan to think that it had failed. All my charges have been dropped and the suspicion of my involvement dismissed. Namjoon has been found guilty and is now serving that sentence, like I had initially plotted from the beginning. You never knew shit to fucking assume anything!”

You glared at him despite the jolt that came with his drastic notch in volume, and not your tongue as he went on.

“But I did allow you to leave the country, but only to give you space and to let you touch base with... whatever the fuck it is that you still find valuable here. I didn’t think I’d have to clarify the circumstances of your stay, but for you to not even reach out.. and the fact you got some shitty, minimum wage job on top of it all, when you still have access to the saving account I’ve put in your name.. You really thought we were over? You haven’t even checked the news articles to see any updates on the case. I’ve been out for a week!”

He was still holding your face but his hands were shaking and the pressure was increasing again. He always pulls back and regains control over his temper before inflicting harm, but it’d be foolish to not expect him to one day lose that control. He’s hurt you on ‘accident’ before. He’s slaughtered many people, more than you’ll ever know to keep count. Nothing is sacred.

But now, you are a lot more contempt and able to tolerate the fear of him hurting you on impulse, being as Sweetpea was out of harms way and no longer in the room. You were still shaking though and had closed your eyes, bracing for it. But the jerk of shock only came when his suddenly lips covered your’s, and Jungkook finally backed away.

The kiss only lasted about three solid seconds before he pulled back, and was heavily panting through his nose. You dared to look up and caught a glimpse of the physical pain marring his features. His eyes had gone watery and his jaw began ticking like a time bomb, nostrils flaring and chest rising. He pressed his forehead against your’s and snaked his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, trying to fight off his own sobs and choking on them more and more with each second.

“You hate me.. you haven’t even missed me.” His voice was so thickened by his emotions that it deepened the natural richness he already had, making it sound contorted and almost inhuman. A tear dropped down his nose bridge and hit your quivering lips, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fight back the heart wrenching burn it inflicted on you.

How could you still feel anything for this man? It can’t be. It just fucking can’t be..

But it was. You were so bewildered and petrified by the oncoming sympathy that it stunned you into a froze state of shock. He kissed you again, thinking it was a show of fear for own safety— and he was right to interpret the fear, but it was with different cause. He was steadily conjuring up feelings that you wished you could’ve watched burn, like you had intended to do with the rose your bus driver gave you. But here you were, heart bleeding for him.

You still didn’t reciprocate the kiss but it brought on more involuntary anguish.. you cried harder and so did he, and as he leaned your head back to kiss at your neck, you stared in perplexing awe at the gigantic bouquet of roses sitting on your nightstand.

“It’s okay. I‘ve missed you too fucking much to punish you now.” He calmed, and took a good 30 seconds to regain his composure. There was still a groggy undertone in his next words, but once again, he was back in his domineering mindset. “But I ain’t cutting you that much slack.”

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you back, straight into Jungkook for the nth time. He heatedly wiped at his eyes and stepped back, and it was the first time you took in how much more muscular and rigid he’d become over the years.

Before, he was a lot more slender and you’re certain that the very shirt he’s wearing now use to be at least 2 sizes too big on him before.. however, the black silk was skin-tight and clinging to the humps of his biceps, and straining around the buttons between his pectorals. His skin was more pale than ever before but now you could see a tattoo curving along his temple, arcing aside the edge of his pierced brow. The word that was written in elegant, cursive writing made your heart palpitate and your stomach twist even more.

Honey. That was your signature endearment. That was the name you’d given him in place of your real one the very night he met you, and asked for it.

This crazy motherfucker really is obsessed with you. How he can lie to you, deceive you, punish you and drive you fucking bonkers and stalk you down only in the act of what he calls love.. and for it to actually be a form of true—albeit dangerous love, was beyond you.

The scripture on his handsome, albeit matured face distracted you for a few seconds. You snapped out of it when Jungkook suddenly hauled you up by the midsection and slammed you down on the bed, pinning his hand down between your shoulder blades and rendering you defenseless.

“What are you doing? Taehyung! Please! Get him off of me!”

“If I could trust you to stay still, I would.” His voice was neutral again, despite a offhanded sniff. You struggled to look back, but it was no use as he was standing out of view.

“Stay still for what?”

“Do you still have your ring?” He asked instead, ignoring you.

“It’s in my nightstand drawer. Now tell me—“

“Told you she kept it,” Jungkook finally spoke— and just like it was back then, it was a very rare occurrence for when he did speak on your behalf. That’s another thing nobody else dared to do, unless asked. But knowing that he was the one stalking you for Taehyung made you all the more disturbed with him.

“Fucking creep. You’re hurting me!” you screamed at him, and he had the audacity to increase pressure. Tae said nothing, nor did he stop his friend from retaliating.

“I also know about your little affair with your coworker. Since when did you start swinging both ways?”

“What are you talking about?” You growled, and he only snorted in response.

“She knows you like her. She knows you stare at her ass every time she bends over and that you bend over on purpose to make her look at yours. She knows you like it when she slaps it.”

You, one again, went unmoving.

Jeon Jungkook is her fucking boyfriend.

“What does Jk even stand for?”

“Jackson. But he doesn’t like to be called Jackie, and you know how I am about nicknames. So I call him JK.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt her, Jungkook. You leave her alone. Tae, don’t you let him—“

“Don’t you worry about me.”

“BALEY?!”

Baley walked into view, an unreadable expression on her face. The mere realization of what was happening finally over filled your mental tolerance and you brain suddenly launched you away from reality.

The beach. You were at the beach with your cousins, all of you a little over the age of 18. You were on spring break your senior year in highschool and talking about the future. Graduation. Prom. College~

“She’s zoned out.” Baley said, and Jungkook finally let go. You were indeed paralyzed and had completely dissociated, talking to yourself. Taehyung, with a fully-loaded syringe in his hand, leaned over to look at your face. Your pupils were dilated, eyes stargazing in general, lips softly moving as you babbled nonsense. He hated knowing that it was coming to this, but he swore he’d earn your forgiveness.

“I’m gonna get your ear fixed.. or at least get you a better device. We’re gonna be okay. We’re so fucking rich now, I don’t even know what to do with all our money— only to turn it into more. I won’t have to work as much. We can get married, have the best fucking honey moon we can imagine. We can get started on a family. I’ll win your dog over, too. I promise.”

He sank the needle into your bicep, and you didn’t even flinch. Only blinked in rhythm as a tear fell.

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.” You incoherently muttered, having said that to your friend, Jessica, on the beach.

It was insensitive, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin at that. Whatever memory you were reliving at the moment, was quite sometime before you actually began your classes for such profession. He bent down and kissed your cheek one last time as he injected the entirety sedation serum into your system and pulled it out. But you were oblivious to it all.

“I think I’m smart enough...”

”You’re very book smart, baby. But you’re probably gonna drop out after three semesters and become a bar tender at a strip club, because you’re not fit to be a homicidal investigator. You’re too soft.”

“I’m not..”

“You sure?”

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.”

“Well, you’re gonna become my wife before you become anything else.”

“Ew, don’t even play like that. You’re my cousin.”

“Jeez..” Baley muttered. “You really have driven her a little bat-shit, huh? This is way more disturbing than I anticipated—“

“Babe, lets go sit in the car. Come on,” Jungkook hurried, pulling her out of the room.

Taehyung continued to whisper sweet nothings into your deafened ear, but the last night you heard before it all went blank was the perfect, bittersweet saying that bidded you goodbye for the night.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.”

[diavolodigitale]

Righteous Man's Choice

I just needed a way to rant about this goddamn quest that ruins the vicar’s personality, okay? I could’ve just complained somewhere in the comments but instead I chose to write a story that is 20 pages long. And you know what? It has romance in it just because. I didn’t even like Max that much, but my own fanfic changed my mind (now that I am typing it, I truly reazlize how ridiculous it sounds ). 

The events in the story are happening during and after the quest "The Empty Man".

Genres: romance, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Flirting, Dialogue Heavy, Arguing, One Shot, Philosophy

Pairing: m!Captain/Vicar Max

Characters: m!Captain, vicar Max, Felix Millstone, Parvati Holcomb, Nyoka, Ellie Fenhill

Rating: M for Mexplicit language or something

Time span: SPORADIC MOVEMENT - before finding Reginald Chaney in Fallbrook ONE STEP AHEAD - still before DEVIL IN THE DETAIL - after dealing with Reginald AS THE TABLES TURN - immediately after the Vision Quest in the hermit's meditation chamber BATTLE FOR THE SUN - after you finish the quest TO ALL OF YOU - after you finish the quest

SPORADIC MOVEMENT

“Hey, Max, got a sec?” asked the captain, peeping into vicar’s room.

“Sure, captain. What is it?” said the vicar and put away the book he was perusing.

“In regards to that favor you asked of me…” began the captain awkwardly and stepped inside. “Since we’re almost done with it, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor in return. You know, to be even.”

“Whatever is on your mind.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really. Just a dinner. With you.”

The vicar looked at the captain inquiringly while tapping with his fingers on the book cover.

“Am I to cook something or…?”

“Nope, don’t bother. I just wanted to spend some time together and maybe talk for a while. I like to know who I’m travelling with.”

“Quite a strange thing to ask for. Are all of your companions entitled for a dinner with you, captain?” asked Max with distrust.

“That’s actually the first time it crossed my mind. Consider yourself special,” mysteriously answered the captain of the Unreliable and smiled.

“Let me get this straight, I don’t want any misunderstandings to occur between us. I… am not interested in you, captain. In that way. Does that influence your decision?” said the vicar, remaining composed and calm.

“Not in the slightest. Frankly speaking, I feel like you’re not interested in any human beings, so I can’t say I didn’t expect this. Guess the cloth of yours gets in the way.”

“Your view of religion is quite obsolete. Having relationships has nothing to do with fulfilling the purpose the Grand Architect bestowed upon me. In other words, I can, I just don’t want to.”

“Well then, now I’m intrigued. My offer still stands, and I’ll be seeing you at seven.”

“Then it is set, it seems.”

“I expect you to know where my quarters are.”

  ONE STEP AHEAD

Vicar Max carefully knocked on the door to the captain’s quarters. He was wearing his everyday blue robe and comfortable shoes. Being always weighed down by the armor on the battlefield, aboard the ship he preferred to change into his old comfortable clothing.

A few seconds of silence passed, and he knocked again, this time with more resolve.

“Yes, yes, I can hear you!” rang captain’s voice from the inside of the room.

The vicar slightly opened the door and picked inside.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, be my guest,” said the captain without turning around. “You’re just in time, I’m arranging the drinks. What do you prefer? Lager, whiskey, mockapple cider…

“Whiskey’s fine.”

“Will do,” said the captain of the Unreliable and poured the Iceberg Aged Whiskey into a glass half-filled with ice cubes. “I’ll have some cider, hope you don’t mind. I feel more confident when I’m only tipsy.”

“Sure. I’m used to drinking alone, so at this point any company is alright.”

“Hey, stop standing in the doorway, come in. You can sit on the bed. As you can see, there’s barely any other furniture in here. Try to make yourself at home though.”

“It’s been a long time since I felt that way. Thank you,” said the vicar and sat down on the edge of captain’s bed that in reality didn’t differ much from the one he had in his room. The captain awkwardly rushed to him and offered a glass of whiskey and a plate of food.

“Here, some fried raptidon meat and… whatever that is. You are free to refuse if you feel like, just remember that I did my best.”

“Thank you.” The vicar took the plate and sniffed the food. The smell wasn’t that bad. He moved sideways a bit to let the captain take a seat beside him. “Don’t consider me rude,” he said carefully, poking the meat on the plate with his fork, “but recently I realized I still don’t know your name. That is an awful omission, isn’t it?”

“I’m Alex Hawthorn, remember?” said the captain airily and drank out of his glass.

“I’ve heard of what happened to the person who bore that name previously, so in these circumstances that’s more of a title. What about your real name? You know mine, it’d be only fair if you told me yours.”

“I see, you can’t be fooled that easily. Then it’s Teru.”

Captain offered his hand to the vicar, so he had to put away the plate to shake it.

“That is a strange one, I must admit, Teru.”

“Isn’t your full name Maximillian?” spitefully mentioned the captain.

“Fair point.”

“It almost amazes me how easily you agree with me, but not with anybody else. That’s one of the things I like about you, by the way.”

“You make it sound like there are even more of them,” said the vicar and took a gulp of whiskey.

“Many more, indeed,” agreed the captain.

“Are you always so keen on strangers, young man? You barely know anything about me, and yet use any given occasion to throw compliments at me.”

“Not really. It only applies to you, vicar. Seems like something is drawing me to you, but I can’t yet figure out what.”

The vicar took notice of the distance between them. There was no more room to move away any further.

“Your words confuse me. Seems like we have already discussed the matter of attraction, and I politely declined whatever it is that you have to offer.”

The captain faced the vicar abruptly. Ice cubes in his glass clanked as he turned around.

“Hey, Max, can you take my confession now? There’s something that’s been bothering me for some time. I’d like to talk about it.”

“Why, of course, any time is fine. But only if it’s not your attempt to change the subject,” said Max strictly and shifted his gaze from the muddy liquid in his glass to captain’s face.

“Believe me, I didn’t even try. It’s just… I don’t like men as a rule, Max, but I like you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw myself at you,” —the captain lifted his hand as a sign of protest—“so we can have a few more drinks before you decide to leave.”

“Your sense of humor is tremendously bad,” hissed the vicar, clearly annoyed. He looked at the captain awaiting any reaction, but the latter didn’t say anything. “It sounds like nonsense, but I’ll believe you this time, be it your way. Although I must say, this being the truth, your taste is quite peculiar. Can’t think of anything you would find interesting in a man like me, especially considering the fact that I’m much older than you.”

“Actually, I’m more than 70 years older than all the crew aboard the Unreliable. Don’t forget about that,” jokingly retorted Teru.

“Ah, you talk of that nonsense again, how amusing. Still trying to persuade me you are one of the colonists from Hope? I hoped we were done with these delirious talks.”

“I would be glad if you trusted me, but if you don’t, it’s also fine, I don’t mind that,” said Teru, dramatically raising his hands. “Someday I’ll be able to prove you wrong, and if it’s not today, I’ll wait till the next opportunity.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that. But back to what I wanted to say. I just don’t quite understand your trail of thought. There are plenty of other people here who are more or less your age and who would be a better match. Take your new friend Felix, for instance.”

“What about him?” asked Teru right into the glass as he intended to drink. This made his voice sound distorted.

“He’s young and very, how do I put it… lively. I’m sure he shares a lot of your… views about societal matters.”

“Mhm,” briefly responded the captain, shaking up the pieces of ice left in the glass.

“What I’m trying to say is that Felix, as an example, of course, has a lot more in common with you and looks fairly good too, as far as I can judge. Why don’t you like him instead?” asked the vicar, his voice displaying sincere interest.

“Felix’s alright,” murmured Teru agreeingly after a short pause.

The conversation arrived at a dead end. Max sighed.

“It’s very obvious when you don’t want to talk about something, so I’ll just leave it for now. What about—”

“Why don’t you offer Ellie as an example?” interrupted Teru.

“Excuse me?”

“Ellie. I believe she’s also quite young and attractive. You don’t bring her up because she annoys the hell out of you, right?”

“Come to think of it… Maybe so,” agreed Max after considering it and made another big sip of whiskey.

“Then you’re not so goodwilled after all, vicar. You pretend to be the foul option and point fingers at those who are more “suitable”, nonetheless judging them by your own taste and not by how good it would be for me. You’re just turning it all around.”

Max furrowed his eyebrows and looked away, feeling the tension.

“You made your point clear, captain. Now we better stop discussing other crew members.”

“As you wish.”

“Only I have one more question before we completely abandon the topic of human relations if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah, why not.”

Teru put one leg on the bed beneath him, laid his head on his knee, and turned to face Max. The vicar felt quite uncomfortable being so openly stared at.

“Since we’ve established that you’re somehow interested in me, I can’t help myself but wonder… What is it that you like about me?”

“I like it when you lose your temper,” said captain and hid his smile behind the glass, sipping on the cider.

“Seriously? Out of all things?”

“Take it or leave it, vicar.”

“You have my skills, my knowledge and my experience at your disposal, and you pick this? Disappointing,” retorted the vicar and curled his lip.

“What can I say, call me a freak, but a day isn’t a day if I haven’t seen you being pissed off by something.”

“There is not a single thing about you that I understand.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways, Max.”

“So, you do listen to what I say after all,” sighed the vicar, thinking how not all hope was lost.

“Occasionally. Your voice is soothing enough when you’re not yelling.”

“Of that I haven’t heard.”

“Hey, Max, since I’ve answered your questions till now in all honesty, can I expect the same from you?” asked Teru suddenly twitching.

“I’m always honest, there’s no need to ask for that. What is it that you want?”

“Tell me, what do you like about me?”

“Argh…” The vicar rolled his eyes. “Look, I told you already, I have no interest whatsoever in you and alike. Your attempts are pointless and you’re wasting our time with this.”

“Relax, you made yourself quite clear. I just want you to give it a thought, maybe something will come up eventually,” light-heartedly said the captain, swinging the bottle of cider he intended to continue drinking from. “Just for fun. I know you find it infinitely hard, complimenting someone’s personality or decision making, so let’s just stop at appearance.”

“I don’t see what’s so fun about that, but alright. I still owe you, and it won’t be too much of a chore, so...”

“Watching you being obliging really is the best.”

“Can’t believe I’m still listening to this. It must be solely because I’m intrigued by your demeanor,” mumbled Max, irritated. “Being you must feel strange,” he added more calmly.

“Not particularly. Not stranger than being a renegade vicar, I’m sure.”

“I am not a renegade!” yelled the vicar, getting agitated.

“Not yet, not until we’ve translated your little book. Till then you’re just a grumpy middle-aged preacher.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, I told you,” cursed the vicar and drank all the whiskey left in his glass to deal with his resentment. “Never say that fucking word. I would be glad if I could educate your stupid little bunch, only seems you all here are quite far from the point of rescuing, so bearing that name makes no sense to me.”

“Remembering what you told me about your flock in Edgewater, I’m not surprised. You don’t seem like the type of guy who would go to any length to bring enlightenment to the masses. What’s your part in the Grand Plan then?”

“That is yet to be uncovered. If solving the Universal Equation was that easy, I wouldn’t be here travelling with annoying callow youth to find someone who can translate me a damn book that can easily get me in jail. Again.”

“So, now you finally admit that it’s totally illegal and previously you also served your sentence for being involved with heresy?”

“No, I do not,” snapped Max.

“As expected. You can deny it all you want, I’ve already cracked you, vicar. You were a tough cookie, but I’ve beaten worse. Both figuratively and literally.”

“It’s curious how you claim to read people well, and yet have the worst crew possible, assembled by non-other than yourself. A compulsive drinker, an immature idiot, a rusty bucket of circuits and nails, a vexatious space pirate, an empty-headed engineer and, last but not least, me. What on Earth made you take me aboard, captain?”

“Oh, the first time I heard you swear, I immediately knew we would get along well. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Besides, how could I refuse when you were the one asking to join me.”

“There’s no way for me to understand you, captain, but it’s probably for the best,” said Max thoughtfully. “I like this change of decorations. I think, it’ll help me after a few years of dragging my existence in that shithole people call a colony. I’m glad to be here, with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

The vicar smirked and filled his now empty glass from a bottle helpfully put beside the bed by the captain some time ago.

Their talk continued till the early morning. The food was left untouched and cold.

        DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

“Captain, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you. It’s about Fallbrook,” said the vicar decisively, stumbling into the captain in the corridor.

“Oh, go on, I’m so anxious to hear what you have to say about it.”

“I wanted to apologize,” said Max and looked away. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just… really wanted to get this over with and was ready to do whatever it would take. I thought that only by using you I could get to Reginald.”

“I’m not offended or anything, you use or you’re being used, yadda yadda. I just can’t wrap my head around why you wouldn’t explain everything to me later. I mean, I offered you my help even before knowing about Chaney. I learned everything later anyway,” said Teru at a loss.

“I wasn’t considering it would go this far. Frankly speaking, I didn’t even believe we would find him, but you surpassed my expectations,” said the vicar and smiled bitterly.

“Would you look at that, you can say that, too. I only had to let you murder your former inmate.”

“About that… Seems like I got a bit carried away, captain. I appreciate you not intervening, but something tells me I shouldn’t have given in to that rage.”

“I must disagree. You always hold back, but how do you know it’s the right thing to do?”

“My teaching values patience and striving for self-improvement. The goal of our whole existence is to reach enlightenment and realization of how the Universe works, to solve the Equation that sets it into motion. I don’t think it’s possible to achieve that by eradicating all the people you can’t stand. Just can’t help myself.”

“But you have doubts about your teaching, you look for answers beyond the scope of its knowledge, that’s exactly why we’re doing this whole thing. According to your religion, if your choice was incorrect, the Universe would bring you back to where you belong. The lesson the life would teach you might be harsh, but it’s whatever,” said the captain and vaguely waved his hand. “You were angry and did what you thought was right, I’d do the same if I were you.”

“You merely don’t understand how important it is for me, captain. I was hoping I’d finally found my way. I made enough mistakes in my life, so now every one of them counts. That’s why this situation gets on my nerves.”

“Then I’ll share the burden of your blame,” said the captain, as if it was nothing special for him, “after all, it was me who didn’t stop you. In addition, if your Architect came up with a plan for your life and didn’t even bother to inform you about what you should do, then mistakes are inevitable.”

The vicar hemmed and crossed his arms on his chest.

“I’ve noticed some time ago that you’ve got a habit of saying what people want to hear. Do you even have your own opinion, captain?”

“What makes you think it’s not my opinion?” asked the captain, surprised.

Parvati walked past them and greeted them uncertainly, scared by sudden silence that filled the place with her arrival. The vicar waited for her to disappear behind the corner before answering.

“From time to time I hear bits and pieces of your conversations with other crew members. No matter the circumstances, you always have something consolatory to say. The explanation that I find the most plausible is that you chose bouncing from one opinion to the other as your primary tactics. Speaking with the member of the Board, you tend to agree with their regime, speaking with the iconoclast, you support their ignorance... But what do you have in mind? It always interested me.”

“How did I manage to take such a sly-boots aboard my ship?” wondered the captain with a slight note of approval in his voice. “But, on the other hand, I find it pleasant that now you pay more attention to me.”

“Don’t change the subject, captain, I know it’s also a means of manipulation you enjoy resorting to.”

“There’s simply not much to say here. I go for the better outcome, but if something is against my principles, there’s no way I’m going to do or say that. Is that a good answer?”

“As good as any,” nodded the vicar agreeingly, satisfied with rare display of captain’s sincerity.

“Great to hear that. Did you mull over the thing we discussed?”

“Yes,” nodded Max again, now becoming more tense.

“What’s you answer then? Just don’t tell me you didn’t come up with anything, ‘cause there’s no way I’ll believe that, vicar.”

The vicar dithered a bit before forcing the sounds to come out of his throat.

“Perhaps, I could say that I like… I like your hands. Let it be so.”

Teru’s eyes flickered and he clapped in awe.

“Really? How did you realize that?”

The vicar rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, annoyed that he had to elaborate on the subject.

“I was just watching you, as always. You were picking a door lock and I happened to notice that your hands were extremely elegant and dexterous. For a brigand.”

“Oh, yeah, I had the feeling you like it when I do that,” said Teru complacently. “Are you bewitched by me already?”

Parvati wanted to return to her room, but seeing the captain and the vicar still standing in the corridor made her reconsider. She thought that her business could wait and decided to make her way back to where she came from.

“I wouldn’t say so. It’s just… hard not to pay attention when you use the lockpick so skillfully. I never succeeded in it,” said Max with detachment in his tone.

“Despite that, I still like your hands as well.”

The vicar spread the fingers on his right hand out in a fan and carefully examined them.

“But there’s nothing special about them.”

“They are strong, stronger than mine. Enough of a reason for me.”

“I used to play tossball when I se… was assigned as a vicar to a prison,” said Max, a little confused and not knowing how to react to captain’s words.

“I remember you mentioning that. Did you know that I used to be the token of the team? What a coincidence, right?”

“Yes, what were the odds…”

“I like holding on to your hand when you’re helping me get up after I fall down as I tend to do sometimes,” said the captain in a soft voice, squinting a bit. A sly smirk slowly appeared on his lips. “Actually, I like it so much, that at times I have to be even more clumsy than usual, just to experience it once more.”

“Are you being serious, captain?” asked the vicar, perplexed.

“Do I look like I’m joking? You know what I’m capable of, what’s with all the amazement,” said the captain and hemmed. “And don’t you worry, right now I’m saying exactly what I wanted to say,” he added with the same sly smirk.

“You are so persistent, even though I already told you I have no interest in close relations,” said Max, pretentiously irritated. “I wouldn’t want you to waste your time on some old vicar.”

“Well, you noticed me, that’s a good start. You observed me so closely, in fact, that you already know me better than any other person on the Unreliable, so I’m definitely not the one wasting my time here. And you’re not as old as you want me to think, I know that for a fact. Do you have any other objections?”

“…No, captain, I don’t,” said Max to mitigate further arguments.

“And stop calling me captain, I don’t even navigate the ship. Did you ask my name never to use it after that? That would be typical of you, Max.”

  AS THE TABLES TURN

“What… what happened? I feel like my brains are leaking out…”

Teru scratched the back of his head and looked around. They were still in hermit’s closet and the air was stiff from incenses.  

“You passed out, captain,” said the vicar worriedly while squatting down beside him. “Felix and I here were really worried. Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, of course, everything went just as I planned, under my control.” The captain of the Unreliable stood up and leaned on the wall to keep his balance. “And how are you? The things they said… I can’t imagine what’s going through your head after that.”

“I feel like a new man, actually. Now, thanks to their exhortations, everything makes sense to me,” stated the vicar, being unbelievably calm. Teru looked at him distrustfully. For him, it wasn’t a healthy reaction of a person whose whole life was called pretentious and illusory.

“And you got the answers to your questions? You look kinda weird,” he said, not quite sure of what to make of vicar’s state of mind.

“I don’t need those answers anymore,” confessed Max. “Instead, I finally realized that the questions I asked were wrong to begin with.”

Teru had never seen his face being so peaceful. In any other circumstances vicar’s words would make him happy, but his current behavior seemed too unnatural and at times even intimidating.

“Wait, are you saying… that you now agree with them? But that’s just bullshit!” retorted Teru.

“Captain, you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” said Max and smiled encouragingly in an attempt to make the captain calm down. “I know, I gave you all a hard time, but from now on it’s going to be different. My behavior was unacceptable, and you are the first one whom I want to ask for forgiveness for that.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? What hard time?”

“My inclination to “violent enthusiasm” made me look like a madman quite a few times. I was foolish enough to consider everyone around me responsible for my sorrows, and it made me even angrier. But now I can see quite clearly, that there was no destination from the start. The world does not obey any laws at all, so what I did my whole life was pointless. Realizing that… brought me peace of mind,” said Max unhurriedly and smiled softly.

“I don’t even know what makes me feel worse, these terrible drugs or your delirious rambling. Stop it,” snarled the captain, not wanting to accept the changes in his companion’s worldview.

“That’s exactly what I said. Now he’s even weirder than he used to be, it freaks me out,” added Felix from the corner he was resting in. “It’s good that you’re back with us, cap, ‘cause being here with him was just… ugh.”

“You’ll need some time to get used to it,” said the vicar, still smiling tranquilly. “I’m sure, you’ll be much better off without my lectures about the Universal Equation and other religious dogmas.”

“What do you mean by that? Are you leaving or what?” asked the captain with apprehension. His eyes bugged out as he was staring at the vicar.

“Only if you want me to. Right now, I’m only saying that I’m no longer a vicar of the Order of Scientific Inquiry. Luckily, that time in my life came to an end.”

“Because you smoked weed and your hallucination lectured you for living your life in a wrong way?” yelled captain instead of asking.

“That’s not what I…”

“It is, Max. I’m in no mood to continue listening to this. See you outside.”

Teru made an effort to push himself away from the wall, and, declining the hand the vicar offered to help, left the room. Without saying anything, Felix followed him, leaving Max alone in the grip of his contemplations.

BATTLE FOR THE SUN

Carrying a bottle of mockapple cider in one hand and all his courage in the other, vicar Max approached the door to captain’s quarters. He took a deep breath and knocked.

There was silence.

He knocked again. Silence once more.

“Captain, may I come in?” he asked, drawing his face closer to the door crack for his voice to reach Teru.

There was no answer.

The vicar tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle. A tiny bit of light could be seen under the door.

“I’m entering,” he said briefly and opened the door.

The captain was sitting at his table, right in front of the huge window with a view over the vast abyss of space. He was wearing his reading glasses and holding a newly found datapad with the information about the Board’s plans.

“Am I interfering?” asked the vicar, closing the door behind him.

“Huh?” The captain turned around and looked at him inquiringly, but almost immediately after that returned to examining the datapad. “No, it’s fine. Is it something urgent?”

“I wouldn’t say so. I just wanted to thank you for your help,” said the vicar, not yet venturing further into the room.

“No need for that,” snapped back Teru.

“I disagree. You went through a lot of trouble to fulfil my selfish wish, so gratitude is the least you deserve after that,” pushed the vicar. His hand was still holding tight onto the bottle.

“Don’t mind it. You weren’t a burden for me or anything… I helped because I wanted to, so you don’t owe me anything. Since your search is over now, you can leave the ship whenever you feel necessary. After all, you got what you joined us for,” slowly said the captain, not averting his attention from reading.

Something snapped in vicar’s head. For him it turned out to be the last straw.

“Right,” he muttered and slammed the bottle onto the tray with other spirits, “Grand Architect knows, that’s not how I hoped it would go. But you want it the hard way, don’t you.”

“What are you—” The captain made an attempt to ask a question, but Max was already behind his chair. Gripping tight to the collar of his dressing gown, the vicar pulled him closer, forcing him to get up from the chair. The moment the captain of the Unreliable stood up, Max pushed him to the table, still holding him by the collar and now blocking his way out.

“You piss me off so fucking much, captain, I can’t stand it. I’m trying to become a better person, and you sit here in your quarters all offended and resentful and ignore my presence,” he hissed.

“So why did you come here in the first place if I piss you off so much?” maliciously asked the captain, leaning on the table behind him.

“I thought you’d want another favor for helping me. So, I decided to take the lead.”

“I don’t need anything, vicar, thank you for worrying,” reluctantly said the captain and turned away.

Having a hard time holding back, Max shook the captain by his collar and gritted his teeth. The leg he moved forward wasn’t letting Teru move an inch.

“On the second thought though, I’d really like to know where these sudden changes in behavior came from,” said the captain, looking up at the vicar. “I could swear you were a new man, and there was no way I’d see these fits of rage again.”

“And what’s your take on this?” angrily asked Max, with no intention to wait for an answer. “I thought it was obvious that a regular trip couldn’t change a person so drastically. I wanted to grow, but, as you can see, I failed. And it’s your fault, Teru.”

“Is it my fault because I told you to embrace yourself and not look for excuses? Or because I wanted to support you in your endeavors? Go on”—the captain shook his head with the air of defiance—“I’m listening.”

“It’s your fault because you…”—the vicar tightened his grip on captain’s collar and tried to gather his thoughts—“diminished my confidence. I thought, my place in the Universe was predetermined, but you made me doubt it. And I fucking hate having doubts. My whole life consists of doubting, and instead of making some of them go away, you just made it worse. What I heard in that room made me think, what if I was wrong all along? That was the only adequate reason why I was in such a state. Perhaps, my destiny is simply my fantasy. In your opinion, captain, what’s then?”

“Then you’re here ‘cause you wanted to be here, vicar. If it wasn’t the Universe that put this damn robe on you, then you did yourself. You didn’t want to be an average worker, and neither did I and many others, so you chose what you saw best. Is it really so hard to realize?”

“But if there’s no Grand Plan, what’s the point? Why would I be who I am if I’m not doing it for some greater good? If the world is just chaos, and not order, as I assumed… Simply agreeing that I was wrong wasn’t the hard part. It spared me from my eternal tormenting. Realizing how it all works, however…”

“You’re making me go insane. Let go of me, my back hurts from standing like this,” said the captain, and the vicar released him from his grip. Teru jumped up on the table behind him and made himself comfortable. “If you want to know my opinion, I don’t think that our complex world could appear from chaos out of sheer luck, I think there’s more to it than that. If you Equation does exist then it’s obvious that the Universe doesn’t do anything to snap you out of the place you’re in now, so let’s assume that you really are a vicar and you’re aim is to carry the “light of truth”. Who cares if your order is a tool of corporate supremacy, we’ve seen worse, that’s not the point here. It’s not what they tell you to think that is important, but how you interpret your teaching. Maybe this religion is far from perfect, but do the words about survival of the fittest or science being the moving force of progress sound nonsensical to you? It gets something right, but getting to the bottom of everything else is your job. If you stop doubting everything you know, rummaging in heretical works so selflessly and adapting it all to your vision, then who’s gonna do it?” The captain adjusted the glasses on his nose and paused for a few seconds. “Do you even get what I’m saying? I already feel confused by my own words.”

“It all sounds much simpler when you put it that way,” said the vicar broodingly.

“There’s nothing complicated about it. If the world were just chaos, our existence would be meaningless, and that’s the last thing I would want. There’s nothing wrong with finding the meaning in not in pointless wandering but in reaching some better purpose. You’re the one who always goes on about how the Plan includes numerous possibilities and ways, so sooner or later you’ll arrive at your destination point. Who even cares, Max. You’re not in the house of your laborer parents, not in Edgewater, not in prison, you’re on my ship so you can do whatever you want, just, for Universe’s sake, stop being a creep. Curse and resent like you used to do or, I swear, I’ll kick you out. I want to see adequate human emotions, not an android with a circuit for a brain.”

The vicar let out a chuckle, but then immediately asserted himself under captain’s gaze. Having his reading glasses on, he looked almost serious.

“And what better purpose does the captain have?” asked Max.

“Right now, my better purpose is finding a better purpose,” said the captain proudly. The vicar still looked to him as though something troubled him and it made the captain feel uneasy. “There’s something else that’s bothering you, isn’t it? What I told you. What’s on your mind? This time I’ll take your confession. Come on, I swear not to let anybody in on what you say, etc., etc.”

“I’ll be honest, when you told me you liked me, I was flattered,” answered the vicar.

“…and then you realized that you loved me all along?” giggled the captain.

“No, thanks the Grand Architect, that’s not what happened,” said the vicar, rolling his eyes.

“Good. It would be extremely boring. So, what about now? I bet you’re scared that I’d want something from you for my help.”

“Don’t say it like you’re in the position to make me do something I don’t want to. We’re all grownups here, and we all know who’s stronger.”

“Oh, seems like you weren’t being bitter about our age difference right now. Missed opportunity.”

The vicar pursed his lips and disapprovingly glanced upon the captain sitting in front of him.

“To cut the long story short, I didn’t intend to react to your words in any way. But your idiotic strategy worked after all,” said the vicar and sighed tiredly.

“I don’t remember having any strategy. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t need to do anything special. I just did what you told me to – looked closer. And it was enough for me to realize… that there’s no place for you in my life.”

Vicar’s last words sounded a bit threateningly. It made Teru fidget on the table.

“Eh, seems like we’re straying further and further away from the topic, don’t you think?” he mumbled uncertainly.

“Shut up and listen,” said the vicar forcefully, “I hate being interrupted. I knew immediately, my destination did not allow for you to be a part of my life. My problems could not be solved and it drove me mad, especially when you were sticking out like a sore thumb all the time.”

“What a shame,” mumbled Teru quietly.

“And now you have also become an obstruction on my way to self-improvement. Because of you I’m getting angry all the time, and the Universe is once again full of enigmas I was so close to solving. The only conclusion that can be drawn from all this is that you have to be punished for what you did.”

Carefully yet confidently the vicar laid his hand on captain’s knee. His eyes were closely observing the facial expression of that one in front of him.

“I feel like this talk dragged on for too long. At which point of the confession is it already considered acceptable to move on to drinking?” asked the captain carelessly, casting a sidelong look at the cider bottle and intentionally ignoring what was happening.

“How fucking annoying can you be,” retorted the vicar spitefully, violently grabbed the captain by his chin and pulled his face closer. “It would be only fair if you had to tolerate the way you made me be.”

“Hey, you were already like this when we met,” chortled Teru a few millimeters away from Max’s face. “It’s not fa—”

The vicar knew exactly what he wanted to say so considered letting him finish the phrase a waste of time. Not trying to hold back, he moved closer and kissed the captain, gripping his thigh tightly. Even applying all the strength he had, the captain wouldn’t be able to resists Max’s drive. Instead, relieved to know that the vicar remained the person he wanted him to be, he gave in to the opportunity, locked his hands behind his back and let out a loud breath.

The vicar heard the pulsation in his ears and felt it was hard for him to think straight. He opened his eyes a bit in an attempt to regain the composure. Right in front of him the captain was squeezing his eyes shut behind the barrier of his reading glasses. Smirking, Max stroked his thigh lightly before reaching out and taking the glasses off. They already left red markings on the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve noticed that after you claimed to be interested in me,” started the vicar, moving away from Teru’s face, “you stopped flirting with every other stranger.”

“Did I do that?”

“You have the courage to look me in the eyes and ask such a question? Don’t try to provoke me, young man. In every colony there was at least a dozen people you would flirt with.”

“Did that irritate you?”

“It didn’t. But now if I think of it, I get the urge to put a leash on you,” said the vicar, perhaps, more seriously than he should’ve.

“Like on an animal?”

“Indeed.”

“You know, Max, it’s ironical how the only animal here is you. Look,”—Teru gripped his lower lip and turned it inside out—“you were so brutal that now my lip’s bleeding. What are you going to do about that?”

“You can always ask Ellie for help. She’s a medic after all,” mused Max, pressing on the wounded lip with his finger.

“Something tells me that if I do that, I’ll get in a more serious trouble than this.”

“You’re quite a fast learner, captain. Don’t do anything to enrage the beast and you’ll be fine,” said Max and smirked.

The captain grinned and leaned back on his elbows.

“So… got any plans for tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I was… thinking about moving somewhere more comfortable. The bed would do nicely.”

Teru raised his eyebrows in surprise and sent a long glance at the vicar.

“My weak knee is at it again.”

“You really are o—”

“Don’t you even dare.”

  TO ALL OF YOU

Felix entered the kitchen in search of some lager left and forgotten in the fridge. Most of the crew gathered there, looking for some ways to spend their free time, but the atmosphere seemed different from usual. At the table in the center of the room the vicar and the captain were sitting and discussing something.

“Max, I got a little problem, just don’t get all riled up. This thing… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the captain and pouted.

“Are you fucking pulling my leg right now? We’ve been on it for half an hour and I’ve already explained it to you twice,” growled the vicar at him and landed his hand on the open book laying between them.

“Yeah, well, would you be so kind as to do it again? I promise to try harder.”

Everybody in the room held their breath, awaiting the catastrophe. The vicar sighed.

“Okay, listen here. When we speak about…”

Everybody remained still.

“Oh, wow,” mumbled Parvati.

“Oh, wow,” echoed Felix, having forgotten the reason he came here for.  

“I didn’t even know there was such an option,” went on Parvati with an upset expression on her face.  

“Does this mean he’s finally sane and I can persuade him that Backers are better than Darlings?” asked Felix anticipatingly. The question was most likely not directed at anybody in particular.  

“No, honey, I believe this new privilege is unlocked only by our captain,” said Nyoka and thrusted a bottle of lager upon him.

“You know what they say,” said Ellie, strolling past them, “if a man’s being a dick all the time, he just needs to get…”

“Ellie!” yelled Nyoka, covering Parvati’s ears with her hands.

“Oh, no… now the mental picture of it will haunt me forever,” complained Felix and drank out of his bottle while staring blankly in front of himself.

[bramblepeltao3]

Oh hey part 2 of ? of this AU of an AU of an AU because I’m an adult and there is no one to stop me.

---

“The chronic fatigue isn’t going anywhere any time soon, but that’s okay. There are plenty of accommodations that can be made for him. I’m putting in a requisition to make the palace grounds wheelchair accessible, and if it doesn’t go through immediately I’ll just be an annoying bitch until it does. They’re getting rather sick of me up there.” Del tapped her pen on the desk, swiping on the tablet through her most recent notes. She didn’t need them, but they made her look more important and organized. “Otherwise, his physique is finally catching up to that of an average, healthy teenage boy. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d lighten up a bit on the strength training, it’s taking energy from his academics.”

Aranea stared at her from the other side of the desk, looking far off into space.

“Aaaand, you didn’t hear any of that, did you?” Del huffed.

“I did. I was just thinking….sorry about how I’ve been acting.” She crossed her arms, looking Del in the eye. “I didn’t trust you, kinda still don’t, but it’s nice to see Prompto happy again. He’s always been like a little brother to me, so, guess I got a little overprotective.”

Del felt a stab in her chest, and forced a quick smile to hide it. “I mean, isn’t ‘overprotective’ in your job description?”

“True.” Aranea relaxed into her seat. “I still don’t get your motives, but you seem like your concern is genuine. So, at least we both have that.”

“My motivations are to treat my patient until he doesn’t need me anymore.” And who knows where she’d go after that? Maybe a long vacation feet first into a volcano. “Call me idealistic, but I’m a doctor. I want to cure the sick and heal the wounded. It’s not much more complicated than that.” It was way, way more complicated than that.

And the shield could tell.

She stood up, leaned over the desk until her face was inches away from Del’s.

“Trust me, Doc, I wanna believe you.” Aranea smirked, noticing the deep red rushing over Del’s cheeks. “But I’ve been around the block here too many times. And this time, I’m not letting anyone get the jump on me.” She stood back up with a knowing glare before turning and leaving.

“Wait-” Del shot up, knocking her own chair back. 

“Oh, and the strength training was Shortcake’s idea. He insisted, actually. You want him to study ancient Altissian history instead, take it up with him and his tutor.” And she was gone, the door closing right behind her.

Del leaned a little more heavily against her desk. Maybe...maybe Aranea should know. Maybe she could help, really it couldn’t hurt could it? 

But what if she told Prompto, or what if it changed how she looked at him? What if Verstael found out? She remembered the first and only time she crossed her father so blatantly. 

No. No one needed to know. She’d just take the suspicion and blame in stride and continue her work. She already had one confidant, stressful as he was, and that would just have to be enough.

---

“A treaty?” Cor asked, looking at the young and panicked delegate’s assistant. “You can’t be serious.”

He nodded. “Marshal, Sir, the ambassador was very direct. Niflheim wishes to broker peace with Lucis.”

Bullshit.

“He wasn’t clear on the terms yet, he only said he wished for His Majesty to speak to their Emperor. And they’d like to send their prince to Insomnia as part of a goodwill tour.”

Cor felt his stomach drop. “They want to send their sixteen year old recluse over here?”

“Sir.” Monica spoke up. “I was listening on the call. It would seem they want to forge diplomatic relations between our future monarchs. I couldn’t say if it’s genuine but…”

It made sense. Noctis and Prompto were both sixteen, both royalty, and both set to inherit a generations’ old war. It was in both country's interests for the two to meet and start some sort of friendship now, if they were ever going to see peace within the next century. But inviting Imperials right into their own homes, just waltzing right through the wall like it wasn’t made specifically to keep them out. 

The risk and reward were both intense.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to inform His Majesty of this development.”

The prince of Niflheim walking through the doors of the city; Mors was surely rolling in his grave at the thought. But then, the latest intel on the boy stated he was still having health troubles despite obvious improvements. So it stood to reason that any delegation that came with the prince would have to include…

“And discuss negotiation tactics.”

---

“No way. No fucking way.” Del yelled before colliding her fist into the punching bag. She didn’t often engage in physical training, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed to be at her best both mentally and physically if she was going to see her work through. She couldn’t keep relying on the chancellor to protect her forever.

“You’re not being asked, you’re being ordered.” The man who couldn’t be more than an intern on the chain of importance said, unflinching as she continued to pummel the bag swinging from the ceiling.

“He’s not fit to travel that far. I’m not signing off on those orders, it would be a breach of ethics. And you can take that back to your Emperor. I don’t give a shit.” 

“Refusing to sign will be noted as an admission of failure in your duty to tend to the prince’s health.” He stated flatly.

She gave one last hard punch before turning to face the man.

“Excuse me?” Del seethed. “Letting him travel for days on end on a train, a boat, over a desert and into a city full of people who want him dead would be a failure of my duty.” 

“I don’t pretend to know what it is you do, Doctor, I am merely stating a fact. So once again, please sign this release form.” The man was unnervingly lacking in emotion.

“You can shove that form right up yo-”

“How dare you speak to a lady of the nobility with such impunity!” A voice from behind cut her off. A voice she knew. 

Oh Gods. Not this guy.

“Do you have even the slightest idea in your thick skull who this woman is? Because if you did, you would surely show more respect.” The kid, dressed in his dorky high school gym clothes with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, intruded into the adult conversation.

“I am speaking to the prince’s personal physician, Doctor Besithia, and she is refusing to comply with the Emperor’s orders.” The man replied as if this was a completely normal thing to happen. 

“Loqi, I swear to the fucking Gods, what are you doing?” Del rubbed her hands between her eyes. It was only a matter of time before she’d run into this guy again but she really hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.

“There is no need for the doctor to sign a release, she’s going with the prince to Insomnia.”

“Ha! Okay, wow, this is certainly not the correct venue for either of you to be making these decisions for me.” She said, standing there in her gym shorts and sports bra, sweaty and red. 

“His Imperial Highness put me in charge of the delegation, I’ve already made arrangements for you to be part of it.” Loqi said with unearned confidence. “You have nothing to fear from the Lucians, my lady, Highwind and I will be there to protect you.”

“I’ll have to draft a new form then.” The man muttered before leaving.

“Yeah, whatever, okay, what delegation? What the fuck is even going on and why out of everyone possible were you put in charge of it?” What she really wanted to scream was why was this guy put in charge of anything involving her?

“The Emperor wishes to broker a peace treaty with the Lucians, and plans to send his highness prince Prompto to act as ambassador.” Loqi said, making a show of averting his eyes from her.

“Oh, okay. So the prince who has no experience with foreign relations or, well, being around more than three people at a time is going to go into the heart of the country we’ve been at war with for decades, and you’re in charge of the whole thing?” Del asked.

“That is correct, my lady.”

Del sighed. “So it’s a death trap.”

“My lady I can assure you no Lucian will even so much as touch you during this tour. Not even their Immortal. And I welcome him to try.”

“Oh Gods you’re still on about that, fucking shit, dude.”

Ten years ago Delphia made the biggest mistake of her life. She’d been sent away to a strict private academy after her father discovered the second biggest mistake of her life. And there, she met Loqi Tummelt. A boy one year below her who was creepily obsessed with Cor Leonis. And one day, in an attempt to make him shut the fuck up for just one gods damned minute, she’d made the mistake of telling the kid she’d met The Immortal.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot and not that impressive like at all, so can you please cool it with this weird obsession?” She remembered telling him.

She’d been extra mean on purpose, as she did with everyone she met during that time, to make sure he’d never want to speak to her ever again.

But this kid, this freaking kid, all he heard was ‘I’ve met your weird rival hero’. And that was it. He refused to leave her alone since.

Medical school was nice specifically because he wasn’t there.

But now he was here.

Great.

He made a show of looking around, seemingly to make sure they were alone.

“I know your secret, my lady, and though I cannot begin to understand I will protect it with my life.”

Her what?

“I didn’t mean to overhear, but whatever reason you must hide the truth of your birth, it doesn’t change who you are.”

Her WHAT?

“I’ll show you, Princess Delphia.” He whispered. “Soon, I’ll prove to you and everyone else once and for all my true strength. And then, I’ll finally be worthy of taking your hand.”

HER

WHAT

Del instinctively pulled both hands up to the sides of her face. “Okay, first off all it's Doctor. I am Doctor Besithia to you. I did not bust my ass in school to not be called Doctor. And whatever it is you think you overheard, you didn’t. I’m not a-”

...Loqi was the one who eavesdropped on them all those months ago. He heard her call Prompto her brother. And that was his takeaway. 

Fuck.

FUCK!

“You little shit, you were eavesdropping on me.” 

“Your secret is safe, I swear it. Now. Please be packed and prepared to depart for Lucis by this coming Sunday. The journey will be long, and we’ll require your expertise to ensure the prince’s safety.” He bowed. 

And he left.

And after a moment, finally alone in the quiet walls of the gym, Delphia screamed.

---

Prompto could scream. A whole week spent preparing himself mentally for this trip wasn’t enough. He just could not account for the absolute rush of emotion he would feel stepping onto a train for the first time.

It hadn’t even begun to move yet. 

But it’s what the train represented that mattered. His second chance. His more certain future. His tiny little taste of freedom. It was all here, packed and loaded on to this train. This was something he knew he could never, ever forget.

But just to be on the safe side…

“Hey Nea, say cheese!” He chirped before taking a perfectly terribly timed selfie.

Aranea blinked before frowning at him. “Alright, whose bright idea was it to give Shortcake a camera?”

“Uncle Ardyn!” Prompto said, full of joy. He rarely got to see the chancellor but when he did the man was always bringing him the best gifts.

Doctor Del looked at him with surprise from across the train car.

“Ooh, Del, gotta get one with you too!” He slid over next to her, lifting his camera. “Smile!” Prompto said before clicking the shutter.

“You’re in high spirits today.” Aranea looked at him with a smile.

He shot back up, standing between the two of them. “Yeah, I’m just...I’m really optimistic. I know this trip is gonna be great.” The destination, well...that was left to be seen. He felt a rush of embarrassment wash over him, like everyone in the train car was staring at him. Probably because they were. 

“I’m glad you’re well enough to enjoy this, Prompto.” Del said, also smiling.

Okay, now he was super embarrassed.”Couldn’t of done it without you girls!” He said, pointing at his doctor and his shield.

...the much older than him doctor and shield who were full grown women he just called girls.

“I-I mean…”

“Sit down, Shortcake, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

He did so, and took some time to look out the window as the sound of steam releasing hissed and the train began to move with a jolt. The scenery began to move past him, faster and faster, until he thought they couldn’t possibly go any faster.

And then somehow they did.

It wasn’t long before the motion began to sit wrong in his stomach, and he thought perhaps he should spend some time going through the enormous notebook of intel that was handed to him just this morning.

He opened it and looked at the first page. A dossier on Lucis’ prince. Noctis Lucis Caelum. He was only a couple of months older than Prompto, which was a relief. If he was way older or younger this would’ve been a weird visit. He turned the page and suddenly, he was face to face with him. A photograph of prince Noctis: dark hair, mysterious eyes, an obvious build of muscle and good health.

Prompto felt himself begin to sweat even on this air conditioned train. Who was he fooling? While he’d spent the last eight years bed ridden and alone, this prince was surely doing what princes are supposed to do. Training, studying, a perfect skincare routine, maybe he was even good at art and dancing! Noctis just looked like the perfect model of nobility.

And here was Prompto. Pale skin, droopy hair, red dots all over his face, weak, talentless, and far behind in anything academic a prince should be skilled in by sixteen. He frowned at his reflection in the window. This was a mistake. Surely, it had to be. He couldn’t even compare to Noctis. The Insomnian court would take one look at him, laugh, and send the delegation back. Then they’d just wait for him to take the throne one day so they could easily overthrow him.

That’s exactly what was going to happen.

His downward thought spiral was interrupted by the sound of the train car door slamming open. The leader of this mission, General Loqi Tummelt, stepped in. He was still dressed in his military finery even though they weren’t due in Lucis for a long while yet. He seemed like that kinda guy though, the sort who took a lot of pride in his heritage and rank. No wonder his father trusted him with such a precarious mission!

“Your Imperial highness, ladies, or journey has-”

“Doctor.”

Prompto looked over at Del, who had interrupted the man with little regard for his status.

“We’ve been over this. Address me as doctor before my gender, please and thank you.” She frowned.

“Yeah, actually. You’ll address me as Commodore, Tummelt. Unlike Lemon Tart over there, I’m not even a noblewoman. So get your shit together before you open your mouth again.”

Prompto felt like he might just shrink from the awkwardness taking place around him.

“Just Prompto is fine!” He blurted out before realizing how stupid that was.

Loqi took a long breath before continuing. “Doctor. Commodore. Just Prompto. Our journey has begun. In due time we will be upon our enemy’s doorstep. And then a true battle of wits will begin. Be sure you’re prepared for anything.”

“Oh, is that all?” Aranea asked.

“Wow dude, very helpful.” Del sneered.

“Like we didn’t already know that.”

“Fucking useless, this guy.”

“I cannot believe you addressed the prince like that.”

“Get it together, Loqi.”

“Yeah get your shit together Loqi.”

The two women shot insult after insult at the general with no regard whatsoever for his rank of station. It was...terrifying.

Loqi cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the first cabin should you require my assistance.” He said before leaving back from where he came from.

A tense silence settled in the air that threatened to choke him out. Prompto felt that familiar tingle of anxiety creeping up his spine, about to reach out and burst through in tears until he heard Aranea begin to laugh.

And then Del started laughing.

And then both of them were laughing harder.

“Can you believe that guy?” Del asked, rubbing at her eye.

“Gods, he is such a pain in the ass.” Aranea smirked.

“You’re telling me, I went to high school with him. Cannot believe he somehow made it this far.”

“Oh you’ve never heard of failing up? Pretty common around here.”

These women were brutal. They were mean, and sharp, and cut right through whoever was in their path without remorse. 

“Hey, Prom, you doing alright?” Aranea asked. “You’re looking a little pale there.”

“Oh!” Del jumped from her seat and sat next to him, putting a hand on his forehead. “Are you nauseous? Motion sickness is common on trains. I packed some dramamine in my bag, let me just-”

These women took no one’s shit and demanded respect where it was due. They were ruthless.

And they were both like older sisters fussing over him with care and…

Huh.

“I’m okay, really.” Prompto said. And he was.

---

Cor steeled his nerves one last time. The delegation was on their doorstep. They were either about to usher in a new era of peace, or make the biggest mistake in Lucis’ entire history.

But also the little kid who was really mean and shitty was all grown up and part of it. 

Cor had to figure she wasn’t that much different from her younger self. From what little intel they could scrape, she’d pissed off her father at one point. In retaliation she’d been banished away to private school in Gralea, got her act together, and got into medical school easily as a legacy applicant (Though her grades were part of the intel. She didn’t need that family name to get into whatever school she wanted.)

The most surprising thing in that whole file, however, was that she’d applied to the Insomnian Medical Institute. There were only so many foreign students accepted every year, and she was most likely disqualified because of her name. The irony was immense.

“Everything’s in order here. Status, Drautos?” Cor asked through the mic on his ear piece. The glaive had their orders, the crownsguard theres. The need for hospitality was great, and security even greater.

Everyone was playing their part. And that included Insomnia’s own civilians. It appeared the population was split in half in their opinions: one side embracing the idea of peace, one calling it a hoax and threatening violence upon the visitors.

Regis had made it quite clear they intended to greet the prince of Niflheim as a guest. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Free and clear, standing by.” Cor’s colleague reported into his ear. 

He crossed his arms behind his back, standing by his king’s side. On the other, the prince was reluctantly in his own royal regalia which did not quite fit him as well as his father had hoped.

Scientia had done his best.

Their intel on the prince was lacking, of course. Hard to get much information on someone who rarely left his heavily guarded room. But Cor knew enough. He knew where that kid came from. And he knew the woman who had been photographed again and again at his side.There was hope. Just a little.

There was always the chance Prompto was nothing more than a puppet, an unwilling actor in a show meant to destroy everything Cor held dear.

So vigilant he stayed, with a small layer of hope on top.

He hoped that little kid was still the rebellious little shithead who denounced everything her parents stood for and was ready to burn everything down.

That would work out quite well.

[inyournightmares97]

All I Want For Christmas Is: Money [Bambam]

Bambam is running the Christmas Raffle for “charity”, but you’re not convinced of his motives. Can someone as selfish as him ever understand the true spirit of Christmas? 

Word Count: 5k

Part of : All I Want For Christmas Is: A GOT7 Collab

One Month Ago

“You know what I love most about Christmas?”

Yugyeom raised an eyebrow. He and Bambam were sitting in a cozy little coffee shop, drinking sugary mugs of hot chocolate to ward off the cold. Christmas decorations filled nearby stores and the holiday season was seeping into the atmosphere. 

“Presents?” Yugyeom guessed. “I’m assuming you like the presents.”

Bambam made a face. “No, man. Let’s be real. People are shit at giving Christmas presents. I think the last time I got a present I actually wanted was when I was ten years old.”

“I bought you a designer jacket last year.”

“Which I loved.”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. He knew when Bambam was being insincere and he had ceased to care. “Sure you did. You loved it so much that you never wore it. Anyway, I’ll bite. What do you love most about Christmas?”

Bambam grinned. “The spirit of giving.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I mean, not exactly the fact that I have to give,” Bambam clarified quickly. “But that everyone else is in a giving mood. People save up for Christmas-time. Workplaces give holiday bonuses. Wallets are full and purse-strings are loose, Yugyeom. Do you know what that means?”

Yugyeom took a sip of his hot chocolate. “Tell me.”

“When everyone wants to give, there needs to be somebody to take. And I selflessly volunteer to be that person. I intend to be the lucky recipient of all the goodwill that fills people’s hearts during this fine holiday season.”

“How?”

Bambam leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face. “Where do people go to spend time and money during Christmas?”

“The White Miracle Market.”

“And what’s the best way to convince people to part with their money without promising anything in return?”

“... I don’t know.”

Bambam held up two fingers. “Number one, charity. Number two, the lottery. These are the ways you convince people to hand over cold, hard cash for nothing in exchange. It requires no investment but I will rake in the profits. Get ready, Yugyeom. I’m going to be rich by the end of Christmas; season of giving be damned.”

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

Present Day

You had a knack for sniffing out bullshit. 

The White Miracle Market was a beautiful place to be during Christmas-time. The enormous Christmas tree, the twinkling lights, the creative stalls and shops and little eateries filled it's visitors with warmth and the true spirit of the holiday season. The streets echoed with laughter, pleasant chatter and screams of delight. 

So why did that clumsy-looking raffle ticket counter give you bad vibes? 

“Let’s go get some chocolate!” your friend suggested. “I heard that there are some awesome homemade chocolate stalls around the corner.”

“Just a second,” you insisted as you made a beeline for the raffle ticket counter. Your friend followed you, confused when  you stopped a few feet away from the counter and squinted at it. The big colorful sign above the stall was handwritten. Standing behind the counter was a painfully familiar face. 

Bambam. 

“Hey. Isn’t that Bambam?” your friend asked with a giggle. “That guy you went on a date with that one time who stuck you with his bill?”

You flinched. There could not be a more unpleasant memory to recollect during the lovely holiday season. You had gone on exactly one date with Bambam; arguably the worst date of your life. The handsome young man had picked you up in his fancy car, driven you to one of the most expensive restaurants in town and nearly charmed your pants off with his smooth talk while he ordered all the priciest things on the menu. 

And then he’d had the gall to ask you to pay half the bill. 

It wasn’t the splitting of the bill that you had a problem with. You would have offered to share the cost even if he hadn’t asked. The problem was that Bambam had ordered three extra servings of the most expensive seafood dish on the menu, and two glass of the most expensive wine, while you’d had a salad and a coke. 

His food had cost four times more than yours but he wanted to split the bill in half. 

For shame. 

Understandably, you’d politely turned down his offer of a second date and then ghosted him afterwards. Part of you wondered if he’d only asked Jackson to set the two of you up because you worked as a veterinary doctor and presumably earned a lot of money. 

So what if Bambam was devastatingly handsome and tall and looked like a male supermodel? 

He was a gold-digger. 

“What is he doing here?” you grumbled. 

Bambam was wearing a dark maroon Christmas sweater that hung off his slim frame and telling some wide-eyed kids about all the cool prizes they could win if they bought a raffle ticket. It seemed extremely unnatural for the man. He looked like a sleazy addition to the colorful, fun environment. 

“Selling raffle tickets?” your friend asked with a chuckle. 

“That’s weird.”

“Why is it weird? Lots of people organize events at the White Miracle Market. I set up a stall to sell handmade scarves last year, remember? Maybe Bambam wanted to organize the raffle. It’s probably for charity.”

You laughed. “Charity? Bambam? I’m not buying it.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t suit his image, okay?”

“You mean it doesn’t suit the image you have of him,” she corrected. “Which, to be fair, is based on only one date that didn’t go very well. You can’t judge his personality based on that. Maybe he’s really a nice person and you caught him on a bad day? Now come on. I want chocolates and I’m not willing to wait!”

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

“What can I offer you ladies? A sweet, sugary delicacy? Or perhaps-something more dark and sinful?”

Your friend giggled. Jackson Wang was charming and flirtatious when it suited him. He had a cheerful smile on his face, but you couldn’t concentrate on the festive-shaped chocolates he was showing your friend. 

“What’s Bambam up to?” you demanded abruptly. 

Jackson blinked. “Sorry?”

“Your friend Bambam. He can’t be serious about that raffle ticket stall, right?” 

“Oh now you’re curious about him?” Jackson raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest with a smug smirk. “Sorry, darling, no can do. You can’t come around here and suddenly show interest after ghosting him. You had your chance.”

You flushed. “I’m not interested in Bambam.”

“Then why are you worried about his raffle?”

“I just-well-”

“If it’s really the raffle you’re curious about, go ask him yourself,”  Jackson told you. 

“Maybe I will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!” you stormed away, barely listening to Jackson calling for you to buy a chocolate first and help him make some money. 

You couldn’t be mistaken about Bambam. It simply wasn’t possible. 

He was a greedy, selfish, conniving little brat and you would prove it no matter what.  

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

Bambam’s dark eyes widened in surprise when he recognized you. You reminded yourself miserably that whatever else the man lacked, he was undeniably handsome. His Christmas-themed sweater was as stylish as it could get, his long legs cushioned in expensive jeans and a silver watch adorned his wrist. Bambam was…

Classy. 

“Hi,” you greeted him. 

“Hey,” he responded with a sheepish smile. The curve of Bambam’s lips was almost shy; uncharacteristic for a man that was shameless enough to dump more than your share of an expensive bill on you. Looks could be deceiving. “I didn’t expect to see you around here. Are you here to check out the market?” he asked. 

“Evidently,” you replied coldly. 

“Oh. Nice.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Selling raffle tickets,” Bambam informed you cheerfully. He pointed to the board behind him that listed out all the prizes in bubbly red and green font. “First place wins a flat screen TV, second wins a new laptop and third an iphone. The next four people win gift hampers. What do you say? Want to try your luck? The proceeds go to charity!”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Charity,” you repeated.

“Sure.”

“Which charity?”

“It’s… a charity for abused animals.”

 “Fascinating. Tell me more.”

“Uh…” Bambam laughed awkwardly but he was saved from having to answer your question by a pair of 7-year old girls that interrupted you. One of them was dragging another by the hand and she pushed past you to the front of the counter. 

“Can you show us the picture of the cat again?” the girl asked Bambam with a pout. “My friend wants to see them.”

“Uh-sure, kids-”

Bambam pulled out his cellphone and handed it to the girls. The other girl gasped as soon as she saw the picture; her hands went to cover her mouth in horror. “Oh no! It looks so thin and starved! What happened to all its hair?”

“The raffle ticket man told me some evil people pulled out her hair before she was rescued! We have to buy raffle tickets so that they can save the poor cats from those evil people!” the other girl insisted. You watched in disbelief as the two girls gave Bambam his phone back, along with fistfuls of coins to pay for their raffle tickets.  

You waited until the kids left before you stared at Bambam. 

“That’s a sphynx cat. It’s not supposed to have any hair,” you stated. 

Bambam laughed awkwardly. “I mean, yeah, but you know kids. They have wild imaginations, and who are we to reign in their creativity, huh?” Bambam noticed the unimpressed look on your face and his smile dropped. “I know how this looks, and I’ll admit the cat was a white lie. But the raffle is really for charity! And you might win something!”

“I highly doubt that,” you replied dryly. 

“But-”

“Because not only is that a sphynx cat, it’s your sphynx cat. Or did you forget that you showed me pictures of all your cats on our first date?”

Bambam bit his plump lips and sighed, shoulders slumping. He was painfully reminded that your first date had been your last date. 

And not by his choice. 

“Yeah, most girls are impressed by cute pets. I guess you’re used to them since you’re a vet? Or are you just not a fan of men who have cats?”

“I’m not a fan of men who take money from little girls on false pretences,” you quipped. 

“But-”

“Hou can be better than this, Bambam. I hope someday you realize that money isn’t everything and there are more precious things in the world.”

Bambam was silent for a moment before he gave you a soft, sad smile. 

“Me too.”

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

Bambam wasn’t sure why he found you so alluring. 

Maybe it was your no-nonsense attitude and the way you never seemed to take any bullshit from anyone. Maybe it was that you were really kind and beautiful and you had this aura about you, one that had captivated him from the very first time he heard you speak. 

Bambam had the biggest fucking crush on you. 

But it didn’t matter, because he’d already had his chance and blew it. 

“I just don’t get it,” he complained miserably. “Most women love me. I’m handsome and charming. How was she so put off by me on our first date?”

Jinyoung sighed. “Come on, man.”

“What? I genuinely don’t understand.”

“Let me put it this way.” Jinyoung reached into his pocket and pulled out an expired ticket, along with a pen. He flipped the ticket over and drew a line on it. “This line is the group of women that are interested in you. And this line right underneath is the group of women that you’re interested in.”

Bambam blinked at the two lines. 

“I don’t get it.”

“They’re parallel lines, Bambam. They never meet.”

“So?”

“So you’re fucked,” Jinyoung replied simply. “Now go away.”

Bambam walked through the market miserably. His raffle ticket stall was doing great and he should have been delighted at the amount of money he was raking in. A little lack of ethics went a long way. 

But he felt uncomfortable. Not because he was doing something wrong, but because of that weird, queasy feeling that you thought less of him. 

Maybe Jinyoung was right. Maybe he was shooting for women that would never like him. 

Women like you weren't easily impressed. 

“Do you want to come play with our kittens?” a small voice asked. 

Bambam stopped in his tracks, realizing he had nearly run over a young boy that was looking at him hopefully. The kid was wearing a vest with a paw print on it and Bambam couldn’t resist the urge to follow the boy over to a stall where a number of little kittens were running around in a small play pen. 

“Wow,” he mumbled. 

“You can play with them!” the kid prompted. 

Bambam chuckled, bending over to reach into the pen as a pair of soft grey kittens instantly leapt onto his hand and tried to nibble on his fingers. They were adorable and fluffy and squishy. 

"Fuck, you guys are adorable," Bambam mumbled. 

"Will you donate to our animal shelter?" the kid asked hopefully. 

Bambam hesitated, one kitten still nibbling harmlessly on his finger. "Uh… I'm sorry, kid. I don't really have any money on me right now."

The kid nodded sadly.. "That's okay. We're just trying to take care of the kittens because we're not sure if we can find them new homes by Christmas and nobody wants to adopt them right now."

"Really?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, damn."

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

Less than four hours after you'd first spotted the raffle ticket stall, you came across Bambam once more. 

He was sitting gloomily on the curb with a box of kittens in his lap. 

You wanted, so badly, to just simply past this man without stopping to ask him what he was doing, but your curiosity wouldn't let you do that. Despite not particularly liking Bambam, you had to admit that he was one of the most unpredictable and unique people that you’d ever met. 

Ah, fuck. 

You just had to ask. 

“What are you doing with those?” you asked. 

Bambam looked up at you, eyes wide and plump lips falling open for a moment. Then he collected himself and cleared his throat. “These?” he asked, gesturing towards the kittens. 

“Yes, those.”

“I… may have adopted them?”

You stared at him. He didn’t offer any more information and you started to wonder if perhaps Bambam was really all right in the head. You took a deep breath and decided that your curiosity was unhealthy. Why did you care so much about the weird guy you’d been on a date with one time? You needed to find something else to think about. 

“I see. Cool,” you replied before walking away. 

You would leave Bambam to his eccentric exploits.

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

Except the curiosity was insatiable. 

You went back to the market the next day to get some presents for your nieces and nephews and inevitably, the path to the wooden toy-shop required you to walk past Bambam’s raffle stall. 

It was closed. 

Why was it closed? It was a Sunday, shouldn’t Bambam know that Sundays were the days when most people came to the market? It was also a great day for his target audience- gullible and helpless little kids who were either convinced they would win an iphone or thought they were rescuing the helpless cats. 

But Bambam wasn’t there. 

“So, uh… how come the raffle stall is closed?” you asked Jaebum casually. He was extremely busy working on something that looked like a dollhouse and he barely looked up at you. The man was the exact opposite of Bambam, you noted. Passionate and dedicated to his craft. 

“The raffle stall?” Jaebum asked absent-mindedly. “No clue. Why?”

You bit your lip. “No reason.”

He finally tore his eyes away from the dollhouse and turned to you with a more friendly smile. “Hey, so I think I’m going to need until tomorrow to complete your order. There’s still some finishing touches that I need to give the toys although I can show you what they look like so far-”

“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks.”

You left the wooden toy-shop and strolled down the market street, looking at all the pretty shops and stalls that were bursting with life during the winter season. 

And then there was the clumsy, deserted raffle ticket stall. 

A small group of kids walked up to the stall, noticed that it was shut and sadly walked away. You frowned. 

Where was Bambam? 

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

He didn’t turn up the next day, either. 

The raffle ticket stall was conspicuously shut while you went to buy some chocolates from Jackson and some pretty handmade Christmas cards for your family and friends. By the time you finally reached the wooden toy stall to pick up the toys you had ordered, you couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Where is Bambam?” you demanded as Jaebum packed up your toys for you. 

Jaebum blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe you can ask Yugyeom.”

“Is he here?”

“Sure. Hold on. Yugyeom! Come out here for a second!” Jaebum yelled. A tall, broad-shouldered young man emerged from the back with a friendly smile. “Do you know where Bambam is? People have been wondering why his raffle ticket stall is shut.”

Yugyeom blinked. “Oh, him? He’s too busy with the kittens.”

“Kittens?” you demanded. 

“Yeah. He adopted them from the shelter but it turns out that they were sick. All of them. He’s been running over to the veterinary center at the hospital for the last two days. I guess they don’t have many vets on duty since it’s the holiday season so he keeps making appointments to meet different doctors.”

“Oh.”

“It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have adopted a whole litter of kittens at once. But what can you do? Bambam’s not the type to give up on anyone.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You mean he has redeeming qualities too?”

Yugyeom folded his arms across his chest and frowned at you. “Look. I’m only telling you this because he likes you. Bambam had a difficult childhood growing up and maybe life taught him to love money more than his pride. But he also knows what it’s like to suffer. Bambam always helps people in distress, and he never gives up on them.”

Your throat felt dry. “Oh.”

He grabbed the bag with the toys you had ordered and handed them to you. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“Uh, no.”

“Great. Thanks for your business. Merry Christmas.”

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

You walked into the hospital the next day to see one of the receptionists waiting for you nervously. 

“Oh great, you’re here!” she greeted. 

You blinked. “Is everything okay?”

“This guy brought in a box of kittens. They’re suffering from a genetic disease and they’re not likely to live long; we’ve already had two other doctors look at them but he keeps asking to see a different doctor every day because he doesn’t believe them. I told him that you’re the best we have and that if you couldn’t do something then nobody could. Can you take a look at them?”

You bit your lip. “A box of kittens, you say?”

“Yeah.”

That sounded familiar. 

“... Send him in.”

You were not surprised when five minutes later, Bambam entered your office with a small carrier full of grey, fluffy kittens. He looked both surprised and relieved to see you. He plopped down into the chair opposite your desk and gave you a sheepish smile. 

“Hi,” he greeted. “I thought the next vet they sent me to would be you. Apparently you’re the best.”

“I’m pretty sure my colleagues’ diagnosis was accurate, Bambam.”

“No, don’t say that!” he insisted desperately. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done. It’s okay. I don’t care how much money it costs. I just couldn’t stand it if anything happened to these kittens. I took responsibility for these little guys when I adopted them and I’m going to see it through to the end.”

You sighed. 

“I hear blood tests and scans were done? Let me pull up the reports.”

“Okay.”

You pulled up the reports on your computer and instantly noticed the problem. It was evident from the reports that the entire litter of kittens suffered from a genetic illness; one that veterinary sciences had yet to find a cure for and one that would ensure that these kittens lived a short and painful life. Your face fell and consequently, so did Bambam’s. 

“Bambam….”

“Please don’t say there’s nothing you can do,” he pleaded. 

You couldn’t help it. You felt bad for him. The man had clearly formed an attachment to these kittens and he was clutching the carrier tightly as he looked at you with wide, horrified eyes. You hadn’t imagined that the cool, classy and suave Bambam would have such a soft corner for such a helpless group of kittens. 

“Bambam, I’m sorry. I think all we can do is make it so they don’t go through any pain.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well that’s a shitty-ass way to start the holiday season, isn’t it? Isn’t there some treatment? Surgery or something? It’s okay even if it costs a lot-”

“It’s not something you can solve with money, Bambam. Veterinary science hasn’t found a cure for genetic diseases like this yet. You could put them in some kind of experimental treatment but it would only prolong the pain and the chances of finding a cure are next to nothing.”

Bambam blinked at you. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault. I’m an idiot for thinking I could help them, I just…” his eyes were shining with the hint of tears and he cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t know what I would have done with them even if they had been healthy. I don’t have enough room at home for eight more cats. I just didn’t think they should be alone at the shelter over Christmas.”

“That’s… kind of you.”

“Nah, it’s hypocritical of me, maybe I just wanted to feel like I was doing something good to make up for all the shit I do.”

You bit your lip. “Hmm.”

“So can I just…” he cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “I’m sure the hospital has ways to um… I don’t think I could do it myself, you know?”

“How about you keep them with you over Christmas?”

Bambam blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can give them a warm home and keep them comfortable for the holidays. And then afterwards you can drop them off at the hospital and um, we’ll find a way to make it painless for them. I promise,” you suggested. 

“Okay. That… that sounds nice.”

“Great.”

“Thanks for your help,” he muttered. He stood up to leave, picking up the carrier full of mewling kittens and walking towards the door. Your throat felt tight as you watched him walk away and you couldn’t control yourself from calling. 

“Bambam?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Are you going to re-open the raffle ticket stall?”

His lips curled into a pained smile. “Ah. That. I don’t know if I can. I spent all the money I made so far on the medical tests and scans for these little guys. I don’t think I can afford to keep it running. I’ll have to find some way to make some money and refund people who bought tickets.”

You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “I’ll get the hospital to waive the fees for you on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You reopen the raffle ticket stall. And this time you really give your proceeds to an animal abuse charity, instead of conning people into thinking that you will.”

Bambam bit his lip and then gave you a small smile. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled back. “Great.”

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

Christmas Eve

It was late evening when you walked past the stalls at the Christmas Market. Being a vet, you’d had to work through most of the holidays but you’d managed to escape early just on Christmas Eve in time to make it to the market before it closed. 

Bambam was just closing up. 

“Hey,” you greeted him lightly. “Am I too late to buy some raffle tickets?”

Bambam’s eyes widened cheerfully when he saw you, and he waved a gloved hand in greeting. His neck was cushioned in a fancy scarf. 

“Hi! I didn’t expect to see you here! Of course you can buy some raffle tickets. How many do you want?” he asked. 

You shrugged. “Ten?”

“That’s a lot,” he smiled and reached down to rip the tickets out of his little book. “You sure you want to spend that much money here?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“I guess it is,” he mused as he handed you a bunch of tickets and you gave him the cash in return.  “You made it just in time. I was about to close up and go home to the kittens. They’ve become incredibly naughty. I don’t know how I’m going to let go of them.”

You smiled sadly. “Don’t get too attached.”

“I know,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s okay. I think I’m coming to terms with it. Sometimes that’s how life is. The innocent are the ones to get hurt. But I’m glad I could give them a warm home for the holidays.”

“I’m glad too.”

Bambam nodded before he turned the lights off and closed the shutter of his stall. The street was emptying out; most people were headed towards the huge Christmas tree and the dazzling lights but you’d had a long day and planned to go home. You walked towards the exit with Bambam. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bambam asked hesitantly. 

“Sure.”

“I know… you dodn’t want to go out with me again after that first time,” Bambam explained with a nervous smile. “And that’s fine! I mean, that’s totally your choice. But… can I ask  what went wrong during that date? Did we just not click? Did you not enjoy yourself? Or did I say something to upset you?”

You stared at him. “No. I had a great time during the date. It was a lot of fun.”

“Then what was it?”

“You mean you don’t know?” 

He shook his head innocently. “I’ve been wondering what could have gone wrong but to be honest, I tried my best to make sure you enjoyed yourself. I figured you just didn’t like me.” 

“Bambam. You made me pay for way more than my fair share of the meal. It was a really dick move to pull considering that we were at a really expensive restaurant. If I had known I would be paying for your food too, I would have chosen a cheaper place. The fact that you so coolly asked me to pay was a huge red flag!” 

Bambam blinked at you in confusion. “What? But Jackson told me to!” 

“Jackson?” 

“I was going to pay for the date myself. But Jackson texted me right before the bill came saying that independent women like you were probably feminists and that I should treat you like an equal and that ask to split the bill in half so that you didn’t feel awkward about me paying.” 

You stared at him. “Bambam.” 

“What?”

“That’s a nice thought, but you ordered all the most expensive things on the menu and I had a salad and coke. Don’t you think going halfsies wasn’t a fair split?” 

His cheeks flushed red and he quickly averted his eyes from you. “Okay, yeah. I see it now. I swear it didn’t even occur to me then. I was just following Jackson’s suggestions.”

“Jackson didn’t know what we ordered.” 

“I guess not.” 

“So you weren’t a gold-digger. You were just an idiot.” 

Bambam chuckled awkwardly. “There’s a statement I can’t dispute. I was nervous about messing it up. I really liked you. I still do, I mean. Really like you. But I understand why you’re not interested in me so I won’t push it.” 

You sighed and shoved your hands in your pockets. You couldn’t deny that you had seen a different side to Bambam. A more endearing and innocent side. A side that maybe, just maybe, made up for his faux pas at the restaurant and his failure of an attempt to defraud the general public by misappropriating the proceeds of his  raffle tickets. 

“Do you have any plans tonight?” you asked him. 

“Nope. Just going home to watch the cats.” 

“Can we pick up a bottle of wine and watch the cats together?” you suggested lightly. “It’s Christmas Eve and I don’t have anywhere else to be either.”

Bambam grinned. “Yeah. We could do that.” 

“Then let’s do it.” 

Bambam’s dark eyes were fixed on you as you both continued to walk, and you found your heart fluttering a little. He was a sweet guy; perhaps a little stupid, and perhaps his moral compass was a few degrees off, but deep down you had the feeling that Bambam was a nice guy. 

“Hey,” he suddenly said with a grin. “How about this? How about I give the charity the exact amount of money you waived from the hospital fee, and keep the rest?”

“How about you keep nothing?” you retorted. 

Bambam’s smile fell. “Ok, that’s an issue.”

“Why is that an issue?”

“I don’t have enough money to buy a nice bottle of wine.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to smack yourself in the forehead. “Fine. I’ll buy the fucking bottle of wine.”

Bambam pouted. “You don’t have to get mad, it was only an idea-”

“Here’s an idea. How about once we get to your apartment, we talk about finding you a nice, honest job that you can work at to make money?” you asked. 

“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” he pointed out. 

“What does sound like fun?”

“Being rich.”

You sighed. Maybe it would take some time getting used to Bambam. 

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

[queenaboleyna]

Hi, I hope I'm not annoying you. Is it ok to ask what you think happened to the princes in the tower?

you’re not annoying me at all, i love getting asks :))

well my opinion isn’t very popular on here so this may open a can of worms but... personally, the only theory that truly makes sense to me is that richard iii did them in.

before i continue i just want to clarify that i do not think r3 was a cartoon villain, i don’t think he was evil or that he enjoyed killing children, and i do find him to be an interesting person. there’s a few different reasons as to why i think it was him.

let’s examine the first reason: the motive. richard has just succesfully deposed of edward v, yes, but this didn’t mean that he or his brother were no longer threats - there were still many who thought the titulus regius was bullshit and that richard was an usurper. throughout history there have been many monarchs who had far more support or more acceptable reasons for taking the throne than richard did, and their predecesors still did not stop being a threat until they were dead. richard himself saw how much trouble keeping henry vi alive caused his brother. he also probably knew that henry’s death was in fact an assasination on his brother’s orders - which, tbh, this is speculation territory now but i always wondered whether this event may be what influenced richard to do away with the princes in the way that it happened. there was also a failed attempt to free the princes from the tower shortly before their disappearance - which i imagine was probably what sealed their fate (if richard hadn’t already decided on getting rid of them). out of anyone, richard had the strongest motive for wanting the princes gone.

now let’s discuss the second reason: the means. richard was the king of england, he had complete control of the tower. he’s the one whose orders were being followed, and i imagine he made sure that the people in charge of the princes were utterly loyal to him. not only did he have the best postion out of anyone if he wanted to carry out a secret assasination of his wards, i’d argue he was the only one who could do it succesfully. i’m sorry but to me the idea that somebody, irrelevant on whose orders, could just waltz into the tower, kill its two most guarded prisoners, carry out their bodies without anyone noticing and bury them somewhere, and walk away unharmed with no one having any clue as to what the hell happened??? is extremly unrealistic. the only other possibilty i could see is the assasination being ordered by buckingham due to his closeness to the king; but if so, if he had been acting on his own, why did richard not expose that before his execution? it would have likely stopped many of the accusations of him murdering his nephews.

i’d also like to point out that this is the man who, after being accused of poisoning his wife, very publicly denied this. as far as i know not only did he not deny murdering the princes, he never spoke of them at all after their disappearance. if he was truly innocent, it seems to me that he would have done all he could to prove his innocence.

finally, there is the behaviour of the princes’ maternal family, the woodvilles. a few months after the princes’ disappearance, plans were made for elizabeth of york to be married to henry tudor once he took the throne. if the woodvilles had thought there was even the slightest chance that the princes were are alive, or that richard had nothing to do with their disappearance... i highly doubt that it would have come to this. people argue that elizabeth coming out of sanctuary with her daughters in early 1484 was a sign of goodwill towards richard, which it very well may have been, but it’s a huge leap from that to “elizabeth woodville was now certain richard had nothing to do with her sons’ deaths and was now his huge supporter”. don’t forget that even if she believed he hadn’t done it, he still executed her brother and her son richard grey, which people like to forget about. it was also in response to the woodvilles trying to excercise power through the young edward v that this whole mess started, so i don’t think that everything was all fine and dandy and water under the bridge between elizabeth and richard.

there are still things i don’t understand - why frame it as a disappearance? why not say they died of an illness? - but overall, yeah, i believe richard iii ordered them killed.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Induratize | 01

Genre: Smut, PwP

Pairing: Sugar Daddy/Creative Writing Professor!Namjoon x Student!Reader

Warnings: Male masturbation, public rutting, swearing/cussing, dirty talk

Summary: It is near impossible to guard one’s heart against love, especially during the prime years of youth. Slowly but surely, resistance is harder to keep up when affection is shown on a daily basis from a forbidden side. 

However, forbidden does not always necessarily mean wrong.

Such is the argument of a wolf longing for a little doe.

Author’s Note: Induratize (v.); to make one’s own heart hardened or resistant to someone’s pleas or advances, or to the idea of love.

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Writing brings a certain liberty with it for it can transport an individual anywhere in this world or an existence entirely stemming from a person’s fancy.

The reader can go anywhere.

Between the sheets.

With anyone.

With him.

Perhaps find what they are looking for.

Happiness.

Feel anything.

Slender fingers trail up the thigh before gently albeit forcefully pushing them apart, claiming what is craved as foreheads rest against each other. As locks the colour of wet sand are run through while basking in the grunts of union. As he and I are finally one.

Such are the fancies written down in the story which has been handed in this week, once again stirring hands into motion to relieve the strain in the sweatpants which replace the formal yet casual attire required of a professor. However, at home, there is the freedom to wear baggy clothes that make for comfortable and easier judging of student assignments.

And let personal imagination run wild thanks to the desired girl who every thought has belonged to since the matching day for the study well over a year ago.

‘Do you like that, little doe? Like seeing how I stroke my big cock, thinking of you?’ A dark chuckle cannot be suppressed at seeing the true manifestation of the character somehow miraculously standing a few steps away, the upper lip supported by a shy curled index finger. ‘You really don’t know what you want, do you? First you want me to fuck you against the wall.’

Last week’s story.

‘And now you want me to take it slow.’

‘Pro- Professor, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to walk in like this-’ Flustered like when being called upon in the classroom, eyes briefly avert before daring to look up again with innocent rosy cheeks.

The same look as when trying to deny the payment of the coffee offered out of goodwill or the quick lunch foods when coming across one another in the nearby supermarket. Always the well-meant proposal is refuted by insisting on paying for whatever it is herself. Besides, personnel should not have to provide for students.

Or so is the little doe’s argument.

But what a beautiful mind fails to see is the wish to take care of her, to allow a well-meaning wolf enraptured by tales clearly meant for him to act as wanted.

To be what she wants.

What she needs.

Guidance, encouragement, care.

Love.

And be loved in return. 

To mean more than the title of professor. 

‘Shh, Y/N, it’s alright. But how about you come over here and appropriately tell me you’re sorry instead of just standing there.’ An unoccupied kind hand stretches outward to beckon the timid pretty girl, smiling kindheartedly to insist on good intentions. Slowly, shuffling steps come forward and reach out hesitantly to entwine fingers instead of hiding behind them. ‘Good girl.’ 

Eyes widen in an instant, immediately looking away but brought back by a caress of the cheek. The grip on Y/N’s hand tightens, tugging a little to breach the last of the distance and press wanton craving left alone ignited by stories against the thigh clad in today’s dusk-shaded legging. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I know how much you like being called that. Now, on your knees and properly say you’re sorry.’

Digits let go of all contact to feel small palms wrap around the knees for support while sinking to the floor. However, soon they reach for the grey waistband and tug the loose sweatpants alongside equally stone-hued boxers down to the ankles, in the meanwhile locking gazes and constantly silently asking with doe eyes if what is being done is to a wolf’s satisfaction. To ensure the little beauty that what she is doing is to much more than mere delight, the left cheek is lovingly cupped and carefully brought closer to make lips brush over leaking desire. 

But swiftly the palm takes flight to the back of the head to entangle in smooth locks once the seemingly not so innocent mistress fully shows how apologetic she is, evoking a smug grin at the memory of another tale that resurfaces once pushing further into wet warmth and holding an adorable nose pressed against the abdomen for a bit. Notwithstanding, hips relentlessly come into unrelenting motion leading to almost suffocating choking. ‘Reminds me of the story wherein I’m your stepbrother. Breathe through your nose, little doe. Good girl, like that.’

After a brief repose to adjust breathing, the advances resume in the same fast pace as a teared-up face is held close. Admiring with the bottom lip caught between teeth, the tongue cannot help but fall into the language of the recalled tale as the mind of the ego takes over that of the professor. ‘You were right when you wrote about me being rough. You don’t- fuck, keep licking like that. Good girl. You don’t want a man, you need a beast.’ A hard thrust makes Y/N gag, watery lashes blinking rapidly as they try to pull away for air yet are pinned in place by a firm grip on velvet strands. ‘An animal to roundhouse you whenever. You want a fucking wolf and still, you don’t notice you already have one. You have me.’

Almost laughably, a contrasting sweet thumb wipes away the drool dribbling out of the corner of the mouth after forcing a lock of gazes by grabbing the chin. ‘You’ve had me since the first time I saw you on the matching day last year. I jerked off to you after you first took my proof poetry class, you simply looked too gorgeous. Did so again when I saw you on the first day and I was assigned as your tutor.’

The pretty face is pressed against bared lower skin again, grunting when hitting the back of the throat. ‘I love you. Am what’s good for you. I want us to be more, little doe. And I know you want it as well, behaving like such a slut around me.’ An appreciative hum accompanies thighs rubbing together to find relieving friction, enjoying the degradation but also content in being pleasurable.

As she always will be.

‘Do you know how much fucking restraint it took not to call you back after class? To put you on one of the tables and rip those leggings off of you?’ Each advance is rougher than the one preceding it, the frustration of unrequited love manifesting itself in the covenants of flesh. 

‘God, I’d have forced you down and made you milk me for what I’m worth after making you cry. Fucked that pussy open like a wolf and let it drip with cum. My cum. You’re mine.’ Breathing becomes shallow as random chaotic thoughts portraying the promises uttered to a phantom arise, vividly painting the picture of what could have been had Reason not barged in at the last second. ‘Mine to put my thick throbbing cock into. To be pounded into submission for being such a brat, leading me on. Denying me.’

Velvety locks are harshly pulled back, the most sensitive part remaining between the swollen lips of a beautiful ruin. ‘That’s right, little doe, keep sucking the tip. Shit, you’re so eager for this cock. I’ll make you mine, show you the wolf within. Make. You. See!’

With a final shout, consciousness completely empties of the fanciful ideas and imagined phantom as it is kicked into glad oblivious nothingness. Warmth spreads throughout body and soul, heating up the last of the chill from the September rain ticking heavily against the window.

Of a lonely apartment.

Wherein there is merely a wolf with stained hands.

And the stories of a little doe.

Chronicles take time to tell yet have to be in order to not let them get lost in the echo, even if it comes at the cost of a good night’s sleep. After all, it is a small price to pay to write in a genre that is not fully accepted in the academic environment lest the works stem from earlier times. Fortunately, tawny short locks came to the creative rescue at noticing the lack of heart in the first few pieces that were submitted during the first two weeks of the course, calling back an aspiring author when class was dismissed to talk about the seemingly emotionless stories. Fairly directly after a timidly uttered explanation offered with burning cheeks, the ones that actually shape the genre of personal expertise were accepted. Of course, with the promise of not publicly discussing them, simply glad to allow a student to do what she is good at.

To erase boundaries.

Namjoon…

Professor Kim tends to do so regardless of the situation, offering to pay for the cheap coffee served in the cafeteria or offering to go out for brunch at the end of the morning lecture when not suggesting to pay for the last-minute picked-up ready-to-go lunch foods at the supermarket. While surely meant as a sign of goodwill and the man being more than easy on the eyes, it would have been highly improper to accept the proposals in spite of how tempting they are. After all, they are the manifestation of the fantasies oft written about. 

Albeit with a sensual turn.

Which proves to be very distracting every time even when not actively writing, resulting in zoning off while drinking coffee after sleeping in and thus almost not making it in time for the train. Luckily, sneakers jump aboard a split second before the whistle sounds and the doors close.

Walk down the few steps to the lower compartment.

And come to a halt at spotting familiar tawny locks fast asleep.

Only to approach them with a flustered face for the seat next to professor Kim is the sole unoccupied one and standing for an hour and a half has never formed an option nor will it ever. Furthermore, it is preferable to sit next to a known face than a complete stranger, even if their friendly gestures stretch beyond the bounds of appropriate behaviour.

On academic grounds.

Not here.

Outside the academy, there are no prying eyes to spot the entwined fingers on the thigh upon awakening from a shallow additional nap or think anything of a great mind resting his head on that of a pupil. 

Nobody is there to exact judgement. 

Nobody but us.

A glance outside the window tells of being one station removed from the final destination, the name on the board barely visible through the storm of shoes and trolleys yet enough so to pinpoint the current location.

‘Nam- Professor?’ Entirely improperly, for there will never be more than a student-teacher relationship, the free thumb reaches out to wipe the bit of drool threatening to fall from plush parted lips. It is more of a service than anything, exactly like waking the man imagined and reimagined over and over in a storyline. ‘Professor, wake up. We’re almost there.’

It has to be a favour because there is nothing else.

‘Hm?’ Drowsily, yawning earthen eyes open to reality and clearly have trouble adjusting as they turn to the voice of an unrequited heart. ‘Y/N? How... how’d you mean? Or what? What did you say?’

‘We’re almost at the central station, sir. The next stop-’

‘Call me Namjoon.’

‘Sir, I-’ The sudden remark confuses due to its suddenness, head tilting to the side while swiftly throwing a slightly uncomfortable look outside to the storm of feet. Apparently, the passengers of the train will be like fish in a barrel until the next stop. 

‘Or Joon. You don’t have to be formal with me. I said you didn’t have to at our first meeting, didn’t I? So, please, speak informally. Although,’ the fresh scent of a forest after rain fills the nose as tawny strands lean forward to whisper lowly although the baritone timbre makes it sound more like purring, ‘it does sound good when you say it.’

The intimacy is wrong in any aspect even though it has been dreamed of time and again, secretly wishing to be the lucky woman to actually experience it. Nevertheless, in spite of actually not wanting to do the right thing, distance is soft-spokenly put between the two seats in the halted train. ‘Namjoon, I- We- This is wrong.’

‘And yet you’re the one holding on to my hand.’ A low chuckle rolls from full maroon lips as fingers shamefully slip from the warmth of the palm perfectly enveloping them.

I need to do the right thing. I couldn’t let him hold my hand. I shouldn’t have let him nor have been happy about it. It’s wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

The urgency of thought flows over in rambling speech, hands tucked between the thighs of heated panicked cheeks bravely facing a humoured wolf… man. ‘I never meant to! I woke up and it was like this. So, not to be disrespectful, but it would appear you grabbed mine instead of the other way around.’

The whistle sounds just as an elderly couple enters the compartment. As naturally expected from people with good manners, we get up from our places to offer them to the newcomers and move to the stuffy section between carriages. 

‘Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.’ Mouth formed into a smug smile, the topic comes to a self-satisfied close. ‘But I’ll take the blame and, to apologize, treat you to coffee.’

Withal, a whole new subject to argue about arises as the stomach growls due to skipping breakfast in favour of throwing on a fairly alright-looking outfit and rush out the door. 

Neatly trimmed eyebrows raise at the noise, sternness slipping into demeanour. And while the concerned undertone is wonderful to hear, a voice in the back of the mind stresses it is merely imagined to be truly solely preserved for a girl perversely fallen in love with her professor. ‘You haven’t eaten?’

Because, in reality, she has only herself. ‘N- No. It’s fine, though. I’ll pay for my own food.’

‘You don’t have to, ba- Y/N.’ Abruptly, the end of the sentence is altered awkwardly. 

Ba... Babe? Was he really just about to call me that? I must be imagining things. Surely.

‘And drink.’ Determined in persevering through the inner war fueled by the great joy of desire seemingly turned real and logic nullifying every argument that arises proving the creative writer harbours genuine feelings, the back is turned towards forbidden love in the smothering crowd.

‘Y/N, you really don’t need to. I just said I’d pay.’ Desperation underlines the statement, weirdly mixing with the mature severity of care put towards any other.

I mean nothing to you. Stop talking, stop promising. Just stop.

A bump in the tracks causes a split second of imbalance, everyone holding on to the nearest point of support. And just like in the recent story, Namjoon’s is found by grabbing the hip while the other wraps around the nearest pole, thus also accidentally bumping more intimate parts against the behind.

Pressing them against it.

Until the hot presence cannot possibly be denied. 

‘And I just said you... you don’t need to. Furthermore, don’t you think it’s- mhm, shit, it’s highly inappropriate to ask-’ teeth bite down on the bottom lip as the big tawny wolf continues to distractingly move against a body gradually losing muscle strength, ‘ask a student out li- fuck~ like this?’

‘It’s just a coffee before going to the university where, may I remind you, we both need to be. Might as well go together then.’ Harshness fades from tone as the cheek is gently compelled to turn and caressed, contrasting starkly with harsh hips. ‘I mean you no harm so what are you so afraid of?’

That this is nothing but a quick affair. My trust in you. That I’ll fall deeper in love while I essentially mean nothing to you. Too many things hold me back.

‘Is there anything I can do to make you change your mind, little doe?’ Lips scented by a fresh forest brush over hapless ones, seducing them with a wolffish promise sung by a pied-piper. 

Show me this means something. That you’re not just trying to get in my pants.

‘No, you can’t.’ With a shock, the train comes to a halt as the intercom announces this is the final station. However, all attention is still paid to the dominant writer rutting like a beast against the dark leggings beneath an oversized sweater. Pressing hotly against increasing wetness, turning speech into whimpering. ‘We should g-’

To be cut off with a surprisingly tender kiss that is stupidly answered without hesitation. For a moment, the world is perfect as every tale ever born from a mad mind comes alive and every female protagonist moulds into the manifestation of a girl not believing her luck. 

Wishing dearly to consent to the proposal muttered during what would have been a swift reprieve to regain breath from the perfect cushiony movements of mouths. ‘I could try. Let me try, Y/N.’

But is cut short as reason violently makes consciousness aware of reality and what could be the consequences of entering into a relationship with Namjoon. The grounds between student and professor need to remain professional. Henceforth, this cannot be. 

There is nothing for us.

‘I need to go. I- I’ll see you at uni.’ 

Refuge is sought in the mass of anonymous bodies, moving with their flow. Slowly, within the bubble of the public, ears turn deaf to the baritone shouts of my name.

Nevertheless, there is only so long one can run from a wolf. 

[whump-it]

Callum and Rory; A Meta Analysis on Love and Soulmates.

I want to say a big thank you to @pepperonyscience for helping to sign post me for this one.  I was busy talking myself in circles one day about the way in which Callum and Rory love one another when she drew my attention to the seven Greek types of love.  It proved to be a very good focal point.  I am not an expert at all, so any mistakes are my own and my research probably should have been better. I hope I've not talked myself in circles again. So without further ado may I present Callum and Rory; Soulmates.

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @iaminamoodymoodtoday @kawaiiloverofanimu @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @saphemme @slaintetowhump @whump-tr0pes

When Alyaa introduces her future husband to them for the first time he asks her when they leave.  “So are they together?”  And Alyaa thinks about this for a moment before telling him that “they’re not NOT together.  Think of them as all the facets of one person, so much so that they had to spill out into two bodies.  They can’t be apart. They exist for each other.”

Rory described it Alyaa during a rather heated exchange when she thought that he might be abusing Callum before she got to really know him.  She had plucked up all her courage and left Callum in her apartment and gone to talk to Rory.  He tried to explain it to her through a state of utter panic that she was trying to take Callum away from him.  He told her that “it was like the universe said ‘hey is this yours?  You should have it back’ when he came to donate.  Like I have an elastic band attached to me and it’s pulled to almost breaking point. Then Cal appears and it’s relaxed.  It’s easy.  It’s perfect.  I didn’t even know how much it hurt until it didn’t anymore.  Then I let him go and all it’s done is hurt ever since.  Please don’t take him away again.”

The first type of Greek love is Eros.  This is a passionate and sexual love, which doesn’t fit with Callum and Rory at all. Whilst they are head over heels for one another, theirs is a deep and calm river, not the love addled passion that comes from one of Cupids arrows.  It’s a slow and sparkling stream, not white water rapids.  They don’t experience a sexual form of love or passion for each other. They do hug.  They hold one another close, play with each other’s hair.  They hold hands and they will kiss.  They gravitate around one another like planets, universally in each other’s orbit forever.

The second type is Philia. This can be described as friendship with shared goodwill.  They certainly have a wonderful friendship and their goodwill to one another knows no bounds. They both carry a huge amount of regret. They both followed rules for their own deeply personal reasons.  It led to problems for them both.  They will happily blame themselves all day long but they have NEVER blamed each other for anything that happened.  The goodwill means that their friendship has strong elements of companionship, trust and dependability.  They are each other’s best companion.  Their trust in one another goes to the moon and back.  Rory will never let Callum down.  Callum will never let Rory down, and that makes them very easy to depend upon. They have everything they need from this friendship.  I would also state here that Alyaa, once she gets on good terms with Rory, is also drawn into this type of love with them.  The third part of them.  Of companionship, trust and dependability.  

The third type is Storge, and this is often seen between a parent and a child.  Or if a relationship begins with the passion and extreme nature of Eros is can burn itself down to storge.  It’s not something that Rory and Callum will experience in their feelings for one another.

The fourth type of love is Agape which constitutes the love that can be felt for nature, for strangers, or for God.  I have previously discussed both Callum and Rory’s relationship with God.  They both believe in their own ways and it is through the deep love that Callum shares with Rory, and the deep friendship that he has with Alyaa that allows him to lean on Gods love in his own way. Without the love of the people in his life, and thanks to Hayden’s rules and shocking treatment of him, he wouldn’t have been able to access God the way that he can now.  And Rory will be able to do the same through watching his Callum grow and develop and change.  How he moves into a state of comfort within himself.  It changes them both.  It reinforces every kind of love that they have for each other, for Alyaa, for nature, for everything.  Rory was lonely and sad before he got Callum back.  He didn’t realise how much he was just existing instead of living.  Now it’s like the ache is gone.  The world is technicolour again.  Rory always wanted to help others, right from his childhood dreams of being a firefighter right through to his work within the Collection Programme.  He just didn’t realise that that was what he was doing.  His loss of Callum, and the years of misery that it brought became normal to him, so much so that he stopped noticing.  He stopped living and just existed.  Now he can give even more back than he ever realised he was capable of. And it’s Callum’s unending love and support for him that has enabled this.

The fifth type is Ludos which is a playful sort of love, often considered to be uncommitted.  Rory and Callum definitely develop a playful sense of relationship over time but their commitment to each other is total and unyielding.  They do certainly develop the teasing nature of this type of love, although it takes time. Callum is nervous and frightened that he will alienate his soulmate if he pushes him too far, and Rory is afraid of upsetting Callum.  So they grow together.  And it works, as evidenced in one of Callum’s favourite pranks on Rory.  When Rory is working in his office Callum likes to sneak up behind him and silently tap the lever that makes his office chair drop right down.  Rory gets his own back one day with the use of a water gun and a strategically placed mirror.  Ludos often descends into sexual activity, but again, this part of this type of love is rejected by both Callum and Rory.  Not through any discussion or forethought, but just naturally this is how their relationship works and develops.  

The sixth type is Pragma, which is almost business-like in its love.  The relationship works to achieve shared goals, or out of duty. Callum and Rory’s relationship is in opposition to this though as they share a deep and abiding sense of love. Not a sense of duty to be together out of what they went through with the Collection Programme.  They are together despite it, not because of it.  

The seventh and final type is Philautia which focusses on self-love.  A sense of high self-esteem is considered to be a healthy form of Philautia.  Hayden, however, had hubris, the unhealthy form of it. He placed himself above all authorities and even God.  He played at being in charge.  Master of all he surveyed.  Together, both Callum and Rory can work to bolster one another’s self-esteem which gives them certainty in each other.  They know beyond any doubt that they are committed entirely to each other. Neither of them is going anywhere. And as such they can immerse themselves in projects and in friendships with other people fearlessly.  It makes them into the best versions of themselves. They don’t require the props that Hayden did in order to feel good about themselves because the love that they share does this for them without needing any external crutches.  It takes time to reach this point because of everything that has damaged them in the past, but together they can reach a point in their lives where they don’t have to fear setbacks when they happen.  They are strong and resilient people.  

Callum and Rory are soulmates.  They really do exist for each other.

[sometimesrosy]

please abbreviate name and ship

Anonymous said:I’m not trying to be rude as I know you ship Bellarke, but can you explain why you think L/xa was manipulative towards Clarke and why you disliked their relationship? I just don’t see it that way and I would like to hear a different perspective.

Am I ready to go into this? Ok. First, I’m not taking offense. I don’t have a problem discussing different interpretations, however, fandom has a problem with me doing so, which is why I ask everyone to abbreviate Lxa and CL, so that I don’t show up in their ship or stan tags, not because I am disrespecting the character or ship, but because I honestly don’t want the harassment to start up all over again. The history of me and the cl shippers is ugly, with me mostly trying to stay out of it and them coming after me like I was trying to poison their puppy. All the puppies. The CL fandom had a name for me. It was “The Devil.” So you should know that.

Let me begin by telling you that I am the survivor of domestic abuse, and stared watching this show after finally kicking my emotionally, psychologically and economically abusive ex husband out of the house, and what I saw in CL was a reflection of my own relationship, aka, not healthy. I resonated with it as a woman with PTSD recovering from abuse. I tried to explain this in fandom but was ignored and erased and called a lesbophobe instead. I am not. I am an abuse survivor who cares about understanding and unpacking abusive relationships and empowering victims. Abuse is not limited to m/f relationships.

I need to make it clear that my interpretation of CL does not invalidate the interpretation of CL as an epic romance, fantasy story, or wlw empowerment tale. Those are all valid and I recognize the need for the wlw community to have the same kind of stories that straight people have always had, and CL within The 100 was SO CLOSE to being the epic fantasy that was needed. But the canon proved that it never was a romance genre story that allows... DEMANDS the happy ever after ending. So The 100 was a great disappointment to the fans. It failed to give them what they were looking for. CL was a LOT like a very traditional M/F romantic trope that does end up with a HEA lovestory ending, the captive princess and heroic warrior king story. So it’s no wonder they read it as an epic romance just like the ones they’ve been seeing for m/f romances for centuries... MILLENNIA. 

That said, I’m going to put my analysis under the jump, because I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want to hear it have it appear on their dash. This is an entirely opt-in meta, and if reading something critical of a ship you love or like is not what you want to do, then please be a responsible consumer of media and do not opt in.

okay, so op, I GET why you see nothing wrong with this romantic dynamic. I was like you once, and I thought the warrior/princess dynamic was sexy and romantic and the fantasy of being taken away from all your problems so you didn’t have to deal is A+. But ever since I was IN a relationship like that, and realized it wasn’t about love or romance, but rather about power and control, I cannot, AT ALL, find it attractive. It’s painful and harmful to be in. And it’s not great for the dominant lover, either, tbh.

Please note: I do not have a problem with them being wlw. NOT the problem. I’ve been involved with the lgbt community since 1988. I am bisexual, demiace and androgynous myself and my sister was in a long term relationship with a woman and I like other wlw ships just not this one--because for me, it reproduces a harmful m/f romantic trope. When I find m/f ships like this I don’t love them EITHER. (reylo is just as filtered out of my dash as cl is.) So that’s a lot of explaining why I disliked their relationship and it has to do with my experience in an abusive relationship that was about power and domination and how I learned that that is NOT love. So now I’m just gonna make some points about where there was manipulation in the the relationship, some of which came before romance, some of which was the ‘courtship.’

when they first met, L posed on the throne and blamed her for killing the army she’d sent to destroy the delinquents. Clarke WON the battle that L started, and she acted like that was murder. no.

When L told Clarke that Finn would die for HER. although her actions had nothing to do with his massacre.

When L told her that Finn’s mercy killing would haunt Clarke forever.

When L told Clarke that love was a weakness. That is the WORST advice ever and anyone who still stanned L after that nonsense... i just don’t understand why y’all have no sense. I knew from the start that was a sign that L was “in the wrong.” it is CLEARLY a bad life philosophy. (made much worse that she began a courtship with Clarke after using her philosophy to cut Clarke off from her people, thus leaving only HER love as worthy? IDK. But that’s after this timeline.)

When Clarke came running to save TonDC and Lxa from the bombs, and Lxa COERCED Clarke into letting them bomb the village. This was the first REAL sign to me that this relationship was manipulative and abusive and it wasn’t a relationship yet. They weren’t even friends yet. And Lxa used Clarke’s guilt over Finn and LOVE for Bellamy to rush her into a decision that benefitted LXA’s political agenda, to get rid of the troublesome rivals on the coalition. She used methods with Clarke that were the same exact thing that my ex used to do to me. She told her that she had no time to argue, although there was time for L’s argument, and there were no other solutions although Clarke offered like three separate ones (setting a fire as the probable most effective.) That was NEVER Clarke’s decision. Lxa COERCED her. And MANIPULATED her.

WORSE after it was done, LXA BLAMED HER FOR IT. Said it was her action. Forced her to keep it a secret (which only benefitted LXA.) Then tried to kill Octavia. 

Look I totally understand why Lxa was besotted with Clarke. She’s amazing. But she started pursuing her when Clarke was dependent upon Lxa’s army and goodwill. 

She started pushing her about her FEELINGS for Bellamy when they were military allies, AFTER telling her about how her political enemies used her love for Costia to control her, and KILLED her for it. So here she is, a political...associate, questioning her about someone she thinks she loves, after telling her that love is a weakness. Pushing her feelings for Bellamy as a what? Vulnerability? Way to control her? RIVAL FOR HER ROMANTIC ATTENTIONS? 

Then Lxa KISSES HER. IN the MIDDLE OF A CAMPAIGN? Can you freaking imagine? The woman with all the power, who Clarke depends upon for the life of her loved ones, essentially her “boss,” in a way. She makes a move on her. Think about this. “I like you, oh by the way, i hold your people’s life in my hand, so you should come live with me.” Dude. That’s not a sweet romance, it’s sexual harassment. 

Just to bring it to a point. Clarke rejects her advances and then THE NEXT WORDS are “he did it,” because Bellamy has sent up the signal, victorious warrior (rival) and get’s all Clarke’s attention. What happens then? Oh yeah. 

ON the verge of WINNING the freaking mountain completely, Lxa SELLS HER ROMANTIC RIVAL (bellamy) and Clarke’s people, who proved far more formidable and successful than she expected and so are a politcal threat to her, to her GENERATIONAL ENEMIES.  and then. get this.

AND THEN SHE INVITES HER TO COME LIVE WITH HER AGAIN. Oh hey babe, since your people are destroyed and your boyfriend is dead, wanna come to my place? ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?

And no, despite all the people who tried to argue that was a WISE political move, no the hell it wasn’t. It was the path to her demise. She broke faith with her allies, not just sky crew but also the coalition and they took her down for it. 

In addition, Lxa herself admitted that was her biggest regret. That was her biggest mistake. WRONG DECISION. Weak leader. And a betrayal.

THEN 3 months later, she kidnaps her and imprisons her. This is not romance. This is not protection. If it WERE protection, she would have sent her back to her people. She was a prisoner. This is not a romantic situation. 

Oh when she told her how PATIENT she’d been for ALLOWING her to not talk to her for two weeks. Bitch. You have her in prison. You aren’t patient. You aren’t kind. You kidnapped her. After your betrayal. YOU’RE the one who should be begging for her forgiveness. Instead you’re acting like she’s an immature child. What? 

She then gaslighted her and told her she didn’t do anything wrong when she betrayed her and she did the same thing anyone would do, in fact, LXA wasn’t the betrayer, CLARKE was the betrayer. She turned her OWN sins around and blamed them on Clarke. She did it. We saw her did it. We saw how she forced Clarke’s hand and made her choose between TERRIBLE choices. 

Then she FORCES her to bend the knee so she doesn’t murder all of sky crew. That was not romantic. That was force. 

And she offers her own private bent knee ceremony with no witnesses and promises we all know she won’t keep because she has no honor and no one there to make sure she does what she promises.

WHICH IS WHY Clarke can’t leave. Because no one else will make sure she keeps her promises.

AND THEN we get to the carrot part of the carrot and stick part of manipulation. You can leave and I’ll kill all your people, or you can STAY and get nice clothes and a safe room and good food and music and be treated like a pampered bird in a golden cage. Do what I say? Get nice things. Just because you are being given nice things and treated nicely doesn’t mean it’s not manipulation and you aren’t being dominated.

I might also add that during this time, L often mentioned her own death. As if it would happen. Now Clarke had to stay not only to save her people from death, but also to save LXA from death. Just so you know, this is a classic psychological abuse technique. The abuser threatens/implies suicide if the abusee ever leaves them. “Oh when you go I will die, that’s the way it is.”  

Reminder, when Clarke wanted to go to Arkadia and fix the massacre, Lxa REFUSED. When Clarke said, “so I’m a prisoner now?” Lxa said straight out in canon. “Yes you are a prisoner.” She had ALWAYS been a prisoner. She was not a guest. She had no freedom to leave. Making her feel like she had to or wanted to stay does not mean she actually had a choice. She did not. (compare this to when Bellamy told Octavia, i understand if you need to go, but you’ll always have a place with me.” O had the FREEDOM to stay or go, and B NEVER gave or withheld permission. She was free. Clarke was not.)

Oh and Clarke is not innocent in the manipulation, either. After the hakeldama massacre, Clarke used her evaluation of Lxa as being proud and concerned with her “legacy” to manipulate her into betraying her OWN people and their beliefs and saying “blood must NOT have blood.” And yes that led to L’s downfall, but to be fair, she already did it by sparing MW. L is vain, and Clarke worked that. To sky crew’s advantage, but she did. 

After they get back from Hakeldama Clarke has given up on Bellamy and their relationship starts being less manipulative. Oh wait. the whole “so wait, you want me to not take vengeance for your people’s crimes by wiping out the village, but you’re going to punish this actual murderer who just tried to kill you, huh? wow hypocrite much?” 

And then when Lxa decides to *surprise surprise* go back on her promise to treat sky crew like her own people and WIPE OUT THE ENTIRE POPULATION, she’s like, okay, I give you permission to leave now and be with your people. Aren’t I kind and merciful to let you go? NO YOU ARE NOT. It isn’t kind and it isn’t merciful and it isn’t loving to ALLOW your beloved to be with her people. before you wipe them out. Or even if you’re not. It shouldn’t be up to you whether she goes or stays. It should be up to HER. But it never was. 

Tbh it wasn’t until Lxa “let her go” after she’d already committed to murdering all Clarke’s people and Clarke couldn’t do anything to stop it anymore that the relationship stopped being manipulative. Their ENTIRE relationship was finding way to work each other. I do not like that kind of relationship. The only wholesome part of their relationship was their time with Pauna (no manipulaton it was a fine story) and the sex, (also a perfectly lovely story. )

Okay. go ahead and hate me now. A couple years after, I rewatched the show to see if I could see that stirring, epic love story in CL that the fans love, and even when I’d worked through my personal abuse issues and was no longer literally triggered by it, I found it to be a thin romance, far too political in nature. Just didn’t do it for me. Was it passionate? Yes. Did they like each other? D: No. I don’t think they were ever intimate enough with each other (except for with Pauna) to actually get to know each other. It was very pretty and glamourous. I am not a fan of glamour. It tends to be all show, little depth. 

all in all, I do NOT think CL is the love story that wlw deserve. I dont’ think it was intended to be. And I think people hungry for a canon fantasy love story believed they were getting their HEA that romances promise. But it wasn’t a romance. (I cannot make excuses for The 100′s social media presence at that time. they fucked up.) I think it was CLARKE’S story of darkness and trauma and recovery, and L was her shadow. She needed to fall n love with her to embrace her own dark side. And she needed to die to push forward both Clarke’s trauma and the plot. Lxa was a tragic hero like Macbeth. Doomed. I don’t like Macbeth as a character, either.

[forestwater87]

A big box o’Gwenvid AU ideas: A is for "Aww” and “Angst” and “AAAH”

This post is fucking rad as balls, and I started thinking of fun AU ideas . . . until I remembered that I already have approximately 2 billion WIPs already and don’t necessarily know if any of these have legs as actual fics. But it was fun to think about, so here we are! This is the first of . . . presumably 26 of these? Who knows, but this post we have:

Accidental Marriage AU

In which Campbell convinces incredibly wealthy investors known for their focus on “family values” that the Camp is a sweet family business run by a husband-and-wife team of counselors. The problem, of course, is that it isn’t sweet and its head counselors aren’t married. Campbell only has enough booze to fix one of those situations. 

He’ll figure the rest out in the morning. He thinks better with a hangover, anyway.

(Yes I think this one would be awesome in Campbell’s POV. You cannot change my mind on this.)

Actor AU

Okay, real talk this would just be @whiskyarts​‘s gameshow AU. Because I kinda love the idea of Jerk!David who just pretends to be a sweetheart for the cameras. Except I would cover it with my filthy Gwenvid hands and make it shippy in that antagonistic-hatemance-eventually-turns-into-something-resembling-feelings. There would be lots of angst and snark and sparkly clothes and I would love it and probably no one else would.

Alien AU

An Interplanetary Anthropologist, Gwen, manages to land a position on the Campbell after years of education and networking and plain old hard work. She is an employee of the most impressive warship in the galaxy -- sure, it’s gone to seed a little bit in the last few decades, but it still has its shine if you look at it sideways and squint a little -- and more importantly, it’s work experience! Paid work experience . . . as a janitor.

When the Campbell picks up a POW that the ship’s commander plans to (illegally) sell to the highest bidder, Gwen decides to treat it as an opportunity to build a real-life case study on one of the universe’s rarer life forms while it’s within arm’s reach. But the more she learns about the strange, sunny alien who was his platoon’s only survivor, the more uncomfortable she is with letting him disappear into her captain’s nefarious dealings and -- 

Oh fuck, this is The Shape of Water, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never seen The Shape of Water but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. Fuck. Goddamn it. Fuck.

Amnesia AU

David takes a rogue bus to the . . . well, everything -- something that’s more or less routine by now -- and hits his head hard enough to knock him out for almost a full day. When he wakes up, he’s the same cheerful David the camp is used to . . . except for three strange new things:

He doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing -- doesn’t, in fact, remember anything after some vague memories of childhood.

He’s completely terrified of the forest, and especially of Spooky Island.

He has no idea who Cameron Campbell is, but he’s quite positive he hates him.

Android AU

Actually @ciphernetics​ and I put this idea together a little while ago! Basically Camp Campbell has a state-of-the-art off-brand helper android named David, who is a perfect camp counselor, childcare provider, and comes equipped with the finest Forest Survival software Cameron Campbell could find for free online in half an hour.

Gwen, the new (requisite human) hire, hasn’t ever really interacted with androids, and doesn’t especially want to now. David is used to the distrust, even outright hostility -- very few of the campers seem to like him, and he knows that his presence can be unsettling to humans, and look, it isn’t a D:BH AU okay? It just looks like one, and acts like one. And is one.

Angel/Demon AU

Um the perfect Angel/Demon AU literally already exists, but they only wrote one chapter back in 2017 and never updated, and that makes me absurdly sad. Regardless, David being very bad at being a demon and Gwen being very bad at being an angel is the ideal setup for this kind of AU, in my humble opinion. 

However, David being an angel trying to reform his fallen ABFEL (angel buddy for eternal life!), who probably became a demon over something stupid and probably horny, also sounds extremely cute. They’re still friends, even though that is against literally all of the rules, and they secretly meet and hang out. David is convinced he can bring her around, and Gwen insists that she hates having him hanging off her nonexistent wings all the time. 

Honestly, probably neither of those things are true. Gwen wasn’t cut out for heaven -- and probably, neither is David.

Apocalypse AU

Cameron Campbell was probably doing something dangerously stupid in the hopes it could make him money. That, or the Quartermaster was doing something dangerous for reasons only he could ever understand. Hell, maybe that’s what that weird Daniel guy’s cult was trying to do. Whoever was doing what, they ripped a hole in their dimension at the bottom of Lake Lilac, and all sorts of awful things start creeping through.

There were signs, of course -- that weird fish-monster certainly didn’t come in through customs -- but an inopportune explosion, or wayward firework, or the rumblings of Sleepy Peak Peak, or something ripped a hole in the fabric of reality big enough for Lovecraftian monsters to start crawling through. There’s no stopping it. Really, there’s no chance of even fighting it. 

The second the rift opens, the story becomes one of just trying to stay out from under the Elder Gods’ feet.

Arranged Marriage AU

I think the easiest way to make this one work is by making either David or Gwen Campbell’s actual biological child -- maybe an heir, albeit to a highly illegal fortune and a mountain of credit card debt. But Campbell gets in trouble, the kind of trouble where he’s gambled everything and the only collateral he has left is a kid he got saddled with because their mother had better lawyers. A kid he’s been more than happy to put to work for the last 20-something years, who happens to have caught the eye of a ludicrously wealthy magnate -- not for her own sake (though Campbell would’ve been open to that too) -- but for her child, one she loves more than anything and keeps carefully shut away until the Right Person comes along.

His kid isn’t necessarily the right person, but for the first time in his life Cameron Campbell has a genuine treasure on his hands.

And, like all the fake treasures he’s passed off over the years, he just has to find a way to shine them up and make him a fortune.

Artist AU

Gwen is a starving artist living in a rat-infested hovel in the city, scraping by on a series of uninspired landscapes she paints on postcards and the goodwill of friends, family, and significant others. One day, a bright young man bounces up to her “studio” (it’s a cardboard box outside the park) and tells her excitedly that he’s been looking for her for weeks; he thinks her postcards are the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and he would like to know if she’d be interested in moving down to a cabin by the lake. He runs a summer camp, he explains, and he knows they’d all be honored if she would teach them art lessons -- and of course paint in her spare time! The views are indescribable, and he’s sure she’ll have no shortage of inspiration.

She weighs the cost of what little artistic dignity she has remaining against room, board, and a steady paycheck for three months, and takes the job immediately.

Art Student AU

Put them in an art college -- maybe condense the ages so that the campers are like, younger students? -- and have Gwen as the Serious Art Student who cares a lot about theory and form and doing things right, and she’s constantly irritated by her classmate David, who sits at the same table as her and has declared them art buddies, and is convinced that the point of art is just to have fun and do your best! Maybe force them to do a group project together and really see them clash.

(Alternatively, there is the infinitely more shameless route of one being an art student and the other being a newd model for figure drawing. I am obviously much too classy to ever insinuate such a thing, but if someone was really looking for a way to write smuht . . . it’s sitting right there. On a table. nekkid. I HAVE TO CHANGE THE SPELLING TO MAKE THIS GO IN THE TAGS ARE YOU KIDDING ME)

Athlete AU

There are 4 major ways this one can go, I feel like:

Basically HSM: Gwen is a small part in her school’s musical (techie, maybe, or the orchestra) and lanky jock David -- which is the most hilarious phrase ever but he’s probably a runner or tennis player, something light on muscles and heavy on speed and springiness -- who’s well-mannered and cheerful but not the brightest, is put into the show as an extra-credit way to bump up his GPA so he can keep sporting his sports, and it turns out he’s both very good at and super enthusiastic about it.

A little like HSM, but as grown-ups: Gwen is the head of the drama/art department, which has just faced heavy cuts to support the superstar sports program, and she furiously storms over to the head coach’s office to let him know exactly what she thinks about him and his stupid meathead jocks. Of course, when the man who opens the door is a sweetheart beanpole with big eyes who already knows her name, she finds it hard to keep up her righteous indignation. And when it turns out that he was completely ignorant of the hit her department took from the budget cuts (or maybe not ignorant, just terminally oblivious) and is almost as upset as she is to hear about it, she’s forced to reconsider everything she’d assumed about Coach Greenwood; maybe he’s not the enemy after all, but someone with whom she can formulate a new battle plan.

Reporter/Famous Athlete AU: Either Gwen is a professional sportsball person and David is the shy, bumbling photographer eager to prove himself, or she’s the plucky, intrepid reporter and David is a good-natured professional athlete who she’s determined to interview.

Teammates AU: Professional or amateur sports team, and they’re just trying to scrape their way out of the bottom of the league without killing each other. 

Author AU

There are a lot of potential interpretations of this AU, but my personal favorite is Gwen as a novelist with two distinctly differing careers: as G. E. Santos, the high-concept writer whose books are critical darlings in the maybe 3 publications that care about such things but whose sales can’t quite crack the triple digits; and as Annabelle Elizabeth, whose steamy erotica regularly tops the bestseller lists and is reviled by all of G. E.’s colleagues as “populist genre trash.” 

The only person alive who knows about her Jekyll-and-Hyde author personas (besides her older sister Audree, who plays the part of charismatic and sensual Annabelle flawlessly) is her editor, David. He’s an odd choice, as her colleagues in both fields have pointed out -- reading her romance novels with his pen in one hand and the other covering his eyes, peeking through his fingers to write tremulous notes in the margins; stumbling through her ponderous literary works with a dictionary in his lap and his tongue between his teeth, poring through them like he’s learning a new language -- but he’s the only person Gwen will allow to touch her writing. 

Maybe it’s because he always seems like her biggest fan. Maybe it’s because she’s known him since they were at a summer camp together years ago. Maybe it’s because he believes in her in a way no one else does -- in a way she absolutely doesn’t believe in herself.

David is, for reasons she’s not entirely sure how to explain even to herself, the only person she trusts.

Avian (Bird People) AU

Centuries ago, it was said, avians were a rarity, an aberrant mutation to be locked up and intently studied but never trusted. Some people thought they were antichrists, a sign of the end times, when all normal humans would be destroyed and only the strange bird-people would remain.

In a way, maybe they were. Because when the earth’s crust ripped open and flooded the planet with magma and boiling water miles deep, avians were the only ones who could take to the sky.

Not all of them, certainly. In fact, most were locked up in detention centers and laboratories when the Swamp formed, and were unable to escape in time. Considering the people who could get to high enough elevations to escape the deluge, there were decades afterwards where the decimated human population outnumbered the avian one. Those were periods of tension, outright war and tentative alliances -- even romances, the kinds of great love stories that dragged both avian and human populations a few generations along when one or both of them should’ve died out.

That was over two hundred years ago, however. Now the Swamp is a murky expanse of scalding water and the boiled remains of civilization transformed into unrecognizable muck, with islands of “land” cobbled out of what remains. This is where the avians live, now. And humans don’t live anywhere, not anymore.

At least . . . that was what they thought.