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alexiroflife · 7 months ago

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"my duty to you"

fluff, pining, suggestive themes, kingdom au, (i was inspired by the dynamic in the movie "Epic" w/ queen tara & ronin or this one if yall know what i'm referencing)

bodyguard!toji fushiguro x royalty!reader

Synopsis: toji, a man raised in poverty who has been forced to turn to violence for the sake of survival, finds himself at the princess' side as her personal bodyguard

to sum it up: toji has never been fond of royalty, yet he submits to his responsibility to protect you with passion he has not shown to anything else

WC: 14,242

Warning(s): mentions of trauma, violence, assault, vaguely suggestive themes

Toji knows he was never cut out for an uppity lifestyle.

He’s a gruff man, rough around the edges with an air of dark mystery radiating about him. He has never believed himself to be an attractive man, at least in the realm of those who make women drop to their knees and swoon with romance. He’s more fermented, well-aged, well experienced, and he has the looks of someone who has endured hell and more, not those of a freshly groomed prince blooming in his wake.

Toji, though a man of difficult upbringing, having undergone more of reality’s harsh lessons than almost anyone in this world, has a specific set of skills that comes in handy no matter the setting. He is not a man of incredible wealth, prowess, or poise, but he can associate himself with the likes of those who are by means of what he does, and what he does remarkably well. His talents are the only reason, he believes, why he has been in your service, smack in the middle of your world for teetering into two years now.

Raised in the slums, orphaned by his absent parents, Toji taught himself a way to live. He thinks that he was born hard, when he looks back, for no one else could have survived the way he had after those years of scrounging around for food, desperately searching for change and a decently comfortable pile of grass he could sleep in. As the world grew harsher, pushing against his growing mind and body, Toji pushed back harder, angrier, more solid and more grounded. He was blessed from the moment he entered this earth with unique physical qualities that gave him an advantage when fighting to live, his internal and external mold serving as an inhuman benefit, as though he was meant to struggle the way he had all of his life. As though fighting was his destiny.

The dark haired man had encountered many different means of keeping himself afloat over the years too, some more grim than others that he refused to look back on. Nevertheless, after the will of the merciless wind had tossed him around feverishly for far longer than he realized would have been normal for anybody else, he understood that his place in this world was to stand proudly as a man capable of unspeakable violence, inept at the art of killing for the sake of his own gain.

It’s a dog eat dog world. Toji learned this before he even hit puberty, and therefore, he learned what it meant to transition himself into one - a far more gnarly beast than any of the world’s nastiest entities of evil could conjure. If he only had the choice of eating or being eaten, Toji was going to devour before another dog could get the chance to bare his teeth at him.

Well into his familiarity with his own brutality, his craft honed in and sharpened to perfection and his years of youth having flown by with the snap of his fingers, Toji is recognized by a crowd that he’s despised for as long as he can remember.

He is in the middle of a boxing match, one of many he participates in for the hell of it and the cash rather than as a profession, when a representative from the palace ogles him from the crowd, standing out as a sore thumb amidst the screaming patrons clinging to the velvet ropes of the ring, drunk off stinking liquors and spit flying excitedly from their mouths in awe as Toji, undefeated, lands a particularly gruesome blow to the face of his opponent. His foe collapses, blood smearing from his crooked nose, and the jade eyed man filled with years of pent up rage and stress, straddles the nearly unconscious man’s torso and plows his fist into his face repeatedly with wild, shrunken eyes and tight lips.

Toji only takes notice of his visitor in the midst of his abuse, eyes flickering up quickly to mull over the crowd when he finds a terrified face masked in a black cloak, attempting to shrink into the rest of the room. But Toji sees him clearly, a palace ambassador with no place in an underground ring so far from home.

The dark haired man refuses to even look at him as the owner tells him that he has a guest. He unravels the wrap from his stained fists, back tensing. Toji tells him to fuck off, not even having to whip his head around to see who it is. He can tell by his boss’ tone and the silence of the said visitor that he is exactly who he believes him to be. That, and Toji never receives visitors, for the people who are well aware of his reputation stray far away, fearing the worst from his seemingly deadly lust for blood.

His owner, however, does not turn the man away. Toji understands that he must have been paid a good deal in jewels by this cloaked man to allow him to stay back here, not leaving until he asks for some kind of favor. An agitated exhalation rises in Toji’s chest, heavy eyes tossing over his shoulder to glare at the ambassador. He gulps, trembling hands reaching up to lower his hood.

“The fuck do y’want?” Toji spits.

The ambassador’s hesitant gaze scatters over his bare back, his fists, the scars littering his skin and lip, and the murderous glow in his venomous eyes. He looks terrified for his life, face dotted in beads of sweat and eyes still full of innocent light quivering. “I-I’m here on- on behalf of the King and Queen.”

Toji stills, brows drawing together. The man’s words seem to have an impact on his boss, normally an uncaring man, for he leaves with a swiftness once royalty is mentioned, sworn to silence by hush money.

Toji scoffs, shaking his head and turning back around to refocus on his task. “You got the wrong guy,” he dismisses. “Now beat it before I kill ya.”

But he doesn’t, standing his ground rather poorly, clearly shaken by the fact that his life has been threatened for what Toji can only assume to be the very first time. He rolls his eyes at the sentiment, at how weak, fragile, and perfectly stupid palace folk are. “S-Sir, please-”

“Sir?” Toji raises a brow, crouching to sit down heavily on his bench, tossing his bloodied bandages onto the ground before him. His abdominals, bulky and intensely defined, ripple with his movements as he slides his towel from his shoulders, swiping it over his skin roughly. “I ain’t no sir, pal.”

The ambassador stiffens, lips pursing together. “Um- Mr. Toji…?”

Toji twists up his mouth at him unimpressed. “Fushiguro.”

“Yes! Y-Yes, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Christ, it’s just Fushiguro.”

“Oh,” he nods erratically. “Yes, then. Fushiguro,” he clears his throat. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of great importance.”

“Clearly it is to you lot, or else your dumbass wouldn’t be here,” Toji grumbles, settling a hand on his thigh. “I don’t have time for bullshit. You either get to the point, or the King and Queen are gonna be down one messenger.”

Toji is a violent man. He has had to be violent in order to live, in order to eat, in order to sleep, and now in his late thirties, it has become embedded in who he is. Violence is his first response to every circumstance, to every person who approaches him, to every dirty look that he is thrown, to every unknown within this world that has been nothing but greedy, cruel, and selfish to him.

Even so, he is not always keen on his word when he threatens such things. He knows that if he were to lay a hand on this toothpick, he would be hanged and quartered within the hour, and Toji isn’t too keen on allowing the kingdom dickheads be the reason his life comes to an end after he fought so desperately to even reach past his twenties. This ambassador knows this, and yet, he is still shaking like a leaf as though Toji has any authority over him, because in truth, he does here in his territory, only temporarily. Toji can use the fear he inspires and the intimidation of his capabilities and large frame to attempt to shake a palace ambassador off of his ass, but there is nothing more to his stern words other than a desire to be left alone.

“You must listen,” the little man continues to press. “The King and Queen- t-they send me for the sake of their daughter!”

Toji groans. “I don’t give a shit who they sent you for, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“I fear they are fully aware of who they sent me to speak with,” the ambassador’s brows angle with a sense of urgency. Toji, having been bored by the conversation, rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose and tilts his head tiredly. “N-Not many of us know about the things you do, but I was told to seek out the strongest, and you are… him.”

“What the hell do they want me for? I ain’t got shit for you pricks. Just leave me be.”

“Fushiguro,” he calls again before Toji can stand and turn away. “I understand you may not care about what the kingdom needs, but you are being offered a great deal of money. A generous salary.”

Toji’s ears perk up at this. He rises slowly, sauntering over to the man with slim, suspicious eyes and a taut jaw. Sweat glistens his bare torso, rolled up sweats hanging low on his waist. As he grows closer, the ambassador takes notice of his great size up close, and his eyes widen as he cowers away slightly from the man that casts a shadow over him completely.

Toji stares down over his nose and tilted chin with a frown. “A salary? From the King and Queen themselves?” he repeats, and the man whimpers a hum in affirmation. “The hell is going on? What could possibly be turning their panties in a bunch to offer a job to someone like me?”

“It’s their daughter,” the man re-emphasizes.

“Who?”

“The princess!” he says as though it is obvious, a desperate expression taking his features. “She needs security.”

“From what?”

“The King and Queen grow old, and so does the princess. Their reign is coming to an end, and with that, the princess’s life is often endangered by those seeking to take her right to the crown while her parent’s grow less capable of ruling. There’s already been two assassination attempts and one assault attempt within the past few months,” the ambassador explains, severely. “The princess needs someone to look after her, to be by her side as she prepares to rule as queen and as she looks for a husband.”

“And you want me to be her bodyguard?” Toji raises his brows.

“In a sense… yes.”

The dark haired man snorts in the ambassador’s face, the latter deflating at his reaction. “Of all people, you want me?”

“...Yes. That is correct.”

“What, the brat doesn’t have knights or something?”

“None that are capable of what you do.”

“And how the hell do you know what I do? You come to one match and think you're an expert on my life?” Toji grits his teeth, leering down at the poor man. The ambassador raises his hands in defense, stepping back anxiously. “I see everyone and everything that crosses my path. I’ve never seen you before in my life, and all of a sudden now you show up with a job offer from the fucking King and Queen. Gimme a break.”

He walks off, irritatedly throwing his towel in the corner and ripping open his locker on the other side of the room. “You’re right. I haven’t been watching you, but I’ve been asking around town about someone who could fit the role for weeks, and everyone was too afraid to mention you until a few days ago. Since then, I’ve heard stories.”

“People here like to gossip,” Toji murmurs.

“But your name scares people, right?”

“I don’t care what my name does.”

“Fushiguro, please,” he begs. “I don’t believe you are a man who cares about what happens in the palace-”

“I’m not.”

“But you must care about a sense of duty? Of justice? Of compensation, at least?”

“Obviously I care about money more than I do any of the other shit you just mentioned. But you tell me one thing,” his face hardens. “What the hell has the kingdom done for sorry asses like me, huh? Why should I be the one to help them when they haven’t helped me a day in my life? They’re all a bunch ‘a stuck up, frilly airheads stuck in their own bubble of what they think is urgent. So what if the princess gets a little spooked here and there? Maybe it’ll teach her a life lesson about what the world is really like. ‘Cause I’ll tell ya this, the girls where I come from don’t get to have a bodyguard before bad shit happens to them.”

Toji isn’t entirely sure why he is making a point to shame the people at the top when in the end, he knows he is going to take the job. Money, Toji finds, is incredibly valuable where he is from, and considering the hands he has dirtied in the past to get it, this proposal is practically nothing. Still, that doesn’t mean he likes the kingdom any more for their lack of involvement with the lower classes. His morals, which remain very few, go against this proposal he already knows he is going to accept - slaving away for those who made him a slave to gruesome fates, but hell, what can a man really do when he’s at his wits end and unfathomable riches are being presented to him on a silver platter?

He can complain, yes, but nothing can rank higher than the money the palace is practically drowning in. Besides, he doesn’t have to stay, he thinks. He can entertain this little charade for as long as he has enough funds to set him up for life, and then he’ll be out of there. In and out, quick and easy, and this place would never see his face again.

A grim look befalls the ambassador’s face while Toji rummages through his belongings for his clothes. He is clearly discomforted by Toji’s words, which was the goal the man aimed to achieve in the first place.

“We can not force you to do anything you do not desire to do yourself,” the ambassador starts, and somehow, Toji senses that the man is lying for the sake of making it appear as though Toji has a choice. “But I implore you to consider. The princess is unlike her parents. She is younger, eager. There is a legacy she must carry and people she must lead. Without her, the entire kingdom collapses. Including your village.”

Toji’s nose twitches. “Maybe that’ll do this shithole some good,” he grumbles.

The ambassador sighs, shoulders slumping. “Please… think about it.”

Toji rolls his eyes, turning and knuckling a hand to his hip. “How much money ‘we talking here, buddy?”

And oh, is the pay fucking obscene.

Toji doesn’t think he’s ever fathomed such grand numbers and jewels in his head, having been restricted by his village’s limitations, but once he hears his pay manifested into reality by a simple verbalization, his guilt trip seizes and he is signing his life away almost happily.

From then on, Toji is bound to the likes of you, his signature scribbled messily over a royal contract and securing him to you from now until your death… at least, that is what the fine print says. His plans, however, differ, and when he has fled from you, he will be hundreds of miles out of the kingdom’s reach.

That is his plan. To run away, but you unfortunately do not make this a very plausible task for him.

After days of training that Toji does not at all listen to, of watching elder royalty turn their nose up in disgust at the way he speaks and carries himself, of hearing murmurs of disapproval as he saunters down red carpeting with the head guard to meet yet another person that he will not remember the name or importance of, of being sworn to secrecy - to only serve as a protective, lethal air of silence and nothing more - to refuse any and all physical or verbal interaction with the woman in his protection, and of being fitted into a stuffy black uniform clad with gold detailing that serves only for show since he would have hardly bothered to lift an arm in that uncomfortable ass thing, let alone kill someone, Toji finally meets you.

And he has to admit that you are not at all what he expects.

Adorned in a regal soft pink gown that crowds from your waist and pools down to the floor, cuffing delicately at your wrists through sheer sleeves and tugging over your torso snugly with a corset, you stand before him in your chambers like an angel gracing earth. Your bejeweled gold crown sits upon your head with complementarity and your ringed fingers clasp each other before your lap. You're decked in what Toji can only assume to be century old gems, necklaces, and chains which he has to physically fight himself from reaching to pluck from your body and run off with. Standing before him, he decides that you are worth at least twenty times more than the almost forty years of life he has spent picking around for specs of funds.

The thought agitates him.

While he wishes he can say that he is the only one agitated, he notices a flick of fire in your (e/c) eyes as you size him up, trace your gaze over him with judgment and a pout on your glossed lips. Your presence is almost frightening with power as the two of you stare at each other, him with blank indifference and you with very apparent disappointment.

When the head guard eventually takes his leave now that you are in the hands of your newly bestowed bodyguard, the door closing behind the two of you as you enter the hall in preparation to go handle your duties, you stop in your tracks, dress ruffling along with you. Toji, who has been told to remain ten feet behind you at all times, freezes like a statue, eying you when you whip your head around to glare at him.

Toji’s heard of elegant aestheticism, of the otherworldly beauty that the royal family carries, but he hadn’t believed it until he sees you face to face - though he’ll admit, he imagined you to appear less… aggravated and more peachy? Light. Dimwittedly sugary.

“Listen up,” you demand, a shocking bass carrying in your tone. You’re dominant, he noticed, or at least you are attempting to be. You stand proud, tall, chin lifted and eyes narrow. This certainly isn’t the picture of spoiled naivety that he imagined you to be previously. “I don’t know whatever the royal guard told you, but I’m not a damsel in need of protecting. I didn’t agree to whatever this is or whoever the hell you are invading my life.”

Toji’s brow lifts in intrigue. You certainly are not what he expected. Not at all.

Encouraged by your tone, his lips quirk up into a subtle smirk. You drag your brows together in confusion, eyes catching the scar that stretches over the right side of his lips. “Do you find me amusing?” you frown.

“A little bit,” the dark haired man responds quickly, leading you to reel slightly in shock. He appears so unaffected by you, and you’ve never encountered a person who hasn’t scrambled to kneel in your presence or nervously abide by any and everything you say. The gaul of this stranger, you think, to stand before you so casually and smile as though your position of authority is some sort of joke.

“I beg your pardon?” you scoff. “You should mind yourself when you speak to me.”

“I’m not paid to speak to you, doll, let alone be sweet on you,” Toji scratches under his jaw, his posture slipping into something resembling his nature rather than that of a rigid guard. His hands find the pockets of his uniform slacks, hardly caring at all how disrespectful the stature appears to you. “In fact, I think you’re bein’ a little rude by tryin’ to strike a conversation with me in the first place.”

“Well, I did not advise you to answer me. I expected you to simply listen,” you state firmly. “Clearly, you are incapable of doing so without having something to say.”

Your comment is snarky, judgmental, and Toji at least finds that you match the idea of snobbiness that all royalty withhold. “If I got somethin’ to say,” he starts. “I’ll say it. You don’t gotta worry about me being untruthful with ya, I’ll tell you that. I’ll give it to ya straight.”

“And how do you think the royal guard would feel about such a thing?” you posed. “If they were to hear even a second of what you are saying to me now, you’d be booted from my side and this palace immediately.”

“And what exactly makes you think that I care about that?” he chuckles, watching you shift with sudden uncertainty. This man does not appear to be swayed by you in the slightest, and it is a bit off putting to you as a woman accustomed to your every beck and call being honored. “I thought you weren’t happy about what the ‘royal guard’ had me doin’. Besides, if you wanted me out, you’re the princess, yeah? You could kick me out yourself. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

Your lips tighten, eyes digging further together. His attitude is strange to you as well as his dialect, the manner in which he speaks. Even his appearance is strange, for while he is dressed in your palace’s fabrics, he is drabber than everything around you. And even with this royal clothing, his face and build do not match his suit.

He has tired bags under his poisonous haze of ivy hues. Dark tendrils of inky hair sprout over his forehead, his ears, and into his sharp gaze. His facial structure is hard, mature with hints of stubble sprouting over his chin, remnants of what you assume to be the guard forcing him to shave. He’s bulky as well, remarkably so. He’s an unnaturally large man, and his muscles bulge against his clothing as though it is going to burst with the raise of his arm.

His eyes, however, are pools of green you have never seen before - not once in all your twenty seven years of living. While the people that you surround yourself with carry a light in their twinkling gazes sparked by a passion for protecting your throne and the privilege of the lives they lead, your new bodyguard’s eyes are a stark contrast. Even from afar, you can see the exhaustion swirling about them as he looks at you slyly. He’s weary somehow, the windows of his soul revealing a glimpse into his world, into the things he has seen, and that is how you deduce that he is not the same as you. Not at all.

This observation of yours only gives you more reason to question him.

“Who are you?” you command. “You’re not from here.”

“You must be a smart one,” he quips sarcastically.

You grit your teeth. “Answer me, now.”

“You know my name, darlin’. That’s all you need from me.”

“Not if your princess demands to know your identity.”

“You ain’t my princess, girlie,” he stops you. “You’re my job. And I don’t do a lot of talkin’ on the job.”

You make a noise of displeasure, something between a grunt and a gasp, and Toji only revels in the way he has thrown you off. You sputter, taking a step forward with emotion. “Now you wait just a minute-“

“Princess!” a voice calls for you from around the corner, down at the end of the long narrow hallway by your bedroom door. You quickly swish yourself around into the direction of the address, and Toji watches how your dainty fabrics dance along with you, even long after you have stopped moving. Seconds later, an ambassador appears, peeking his head around the wall. “Are you well? You are needed in the second floor den to review some papers regarding your upcoming coronation.”

Frazzled, you nod unceremoniously. “Yes. Yes, my apologies,” you breathe out. “I am coming. My guard and I were just… I was merely informing him of my expectations here on out.”

Toji would have rolled his eyes at the way you all speak, the sound of it on his ears rather exhausting. He can hardly keep up with the properness of it all.

“I see,” the ambassador nods. “I shall inform everyone that you are on your way.”

The man leaves, and you take a moment to breathe in and dust yourself off. You murmur under your breath to yourself what Toji can only deduce as assurances and affirmations, little words you tell yourself to keep your rather striking confidence instilled. You clasp your hands once more, bracelets clinking as you regain your composure. Toji stands in silence, watching boredly.

“Whoever you are,” you begin, turning your head to your shoulder so that your voice is audible. “I don’t need you. Despite what my parents say, I manage fine on my own. Keep your distance.”

The green eyed man watches you walk off, forcing himself to begin following at a reasonable pace. His eyes train on the back of you as you trek ahead, and he finds himself lost in his thoughts, formulating his opinion of you.

You do not take to him easily over the course of your adjustment to each other, and neither does he. You find his presence to be a burden as he trails after you everywhere you go, far more invasive and persistent than your knights have ever been. He becomes your second shadow, and while you are accustomed to having been followed around all your life, Toji’s approach is impossible to ignore.

Even from ten feet away, you feel him there, watching, and it drives you mad.

He’s light on his feet, for if it weren’t for his obvious mass trekking in your footsteps, at times you would have forgotten that he was even nearby. How someone as big as him could travel so quietly, you did not understand.

And worse than his hovering is how foreign he still is to you. You know absolutely nothing about him, and your parents, who you find to be useless in their aging stupors these days, will not bother to tell you anything about where he is from. It isn’t the fact that he frightens you, per say, despite the rather frightening energy that he emits. You notice the way people stare as he follows your path, how they internally conjure their own ideas about who this ominous figure is and what he is doing in a place so very clearly unfit for his type, but you are not scared. You believe him to be a nuisance more than anything, and if he is there to protect you, you feel you have nothing to necessarily worry about in regard to your own safety.

In fact, you feel unfathomably secure, though irritated more often than not.

What you seek from Toji are answers. He abruptly appears out of nowhere under the vow that he will be stuck to you like paste to parchment for the rest of your life, and you are expected not to question his arrival? To question his place of origin? To question what he has done to secure a place as the Princess’ bodyguard with no experience in this field? To question what he has done to be trusted by royalty with your life?

It doesn’t make any sense to you, and you feel that it is unfair to be kept in the dark as the future queen in place of your parents. And every time you try to go to him about it, he either ignores you or gives you that cunning smile, scar stretching and lips spreading.

Toji himself is itching to get out of here the second he’s nestled in. He despises the atmosphere, the sneering looks, the air of shrewdness that envelopes him everywhere he turns. You’re an ungrateful thing, and that only makes his job all the more aggravating. You don’t know how good you have it, and yet you look at him like he’s doing more harm to your life than good when he is literally ensuring that you are out of danger’s path.

He studies you from his position ten feet away, watching how you take on tasks and prepare for the day of your coronation, communicating with villagers surrounding the palace walls with a generous grin and a glowing energy about your presence, and how you patiently sit with your parents at breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day as they practically wither away in their seats. You are always so poised and polite in the presence of other people, authoritative and strong, yet when he is alone with you, you’re wallowing in displeasure, throwing him heated glances and clenching your jaw tightly. You find it hard to behave elegantly in his company, and that fact alone gives him some hint of satisfaction.

But what Toji truly can’t stand above all the waiting that he has to do on you with no sign of action are the meetings you have with princes from far away, seeking to take your hand as their bride and fulfill the role as king. Toji’s found himself biting his tongue more times than he can count when he’s standing with his back pressed to the wall in one of your many tea rooms, the umpteenth shiny haired, pearly teethed virgin bowing his head before you and pompously chanting about all the wonderful things he would bring to your life if you were to allow him to wed you. Toji finds the whole thing ridiculous, for obviously you don’t want to share your crown with another man, especially not a husband, but the unspoken law of your reign requires that you must find someone to stand by your side. And of course after that is done, Toji is still expected to follow you around day in and day out.

And for what? What purpose does this bring him aside from money? He hasn’t even been given his first stipend a month into this little endeavor, and he’s beginning to think that the whole ordeal is a scam, that he had been tricked into a false agreement. He should have known when the guard outright refused to pay him up front beforehand due to their lack of trust in his goals, which in truth was fair, because the Fushiguro would have run for the hills the second he got his hands on those riches. Nevertheless, he’s growing tired of the repetitive tiredness of his routine. He was promised a chance to at least defend your honor by fighting, but despite the King and Queen’s concerns, he has not seen a single threat to your life yet.

At night, a weight drags down on his chest as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, how he even came across such a thing. Back home, if the townfolk were to hear about where he had run off to, they’d all laugh. Toji Fushiguro, the man hungry for blood now at the will of the government that destroyed his childhood, his life. What a fucking joke.

And you’re so perfect, it destroys him. To be serving such a deplorable image of sovereignty, to see your angelic face decorated in breathtaking clothes and to follow you around like a damn puppy with nothing to show for it. In your company, he is reminded of his place, of how much higher you are than he is. Though Toji is a man who has never cared what the higher class thought of him, in your wake, he feels helpless. He wants to say that he is holding out for a better future, that he is doing this for himself, but it doesn’t feel that way. He knows it’s not for him anymore, but for you, and what could you possibly bring him other than crisis after crisis, heart clench after heart clench, and more bubbling, searing aggravation over his place in society?

You are terribly beautiful, and Toji is not. He sees that the more he’s at your side, taking in the way everyone looks at you in comparison to how everyone looks at him. These palace walls are stuffy. They suffocate him, turn him against himself and almost make him forget who he is, and he can not stand it.

He is convinced he needs to leave in the dead of night, to flee away without a trace left behind, off to a new world with no money and no plan. He believes that it would be a better fate than being stuck here… that is, until he is finally paid.

A monthly salary of a thousand gold and silver pennies combined. He is handed the sack of funds while he is off duty, hours after you have gone to sleep as though the exchange is illegal, and in the privacy of his cabin, his eyes glimmer with the reflection of the money in his grasp. His brow twitches, eyes still and jaw tightening.

He hadn’t believed it to be real before he got his hands on it.

He stares into the bag, into the past years he has spent on his knees crawling for barely even a scrap of this, into the future of tranquility where he can turn to rest without having to bloody his hands for the right to buy a sandwich, into everything he has ever done amounted into far less than one bag of this payment. He’s stupefied with disbelief, with greed, and hurries to escape that very night.

Toji is stripping himself of the bullshit pajamas the guard has sent for him to wear, tucking away the bullshit uniform he’s been snug in for weeks, and stuffing his pay into his beaten bag that he had tossed under his barracks. He changes back into his old clothes, the black shirt that hugs him comfortably and the sweats that pool over his calves, and he sneaks to the door when he pauses.

A glass window breaks just above him, and he whips his head up above. It’s coming from where your room is.

The dark haired man hangs his head low, conflicted. He could go, abandon you and pretend that none of this ever happened. He could go back on his promise to the kingdom, sentence himself to death by hand of royalty if he were to ever be discovered in his new home. He could flee from you, risking the chance of you dying under his protection and run off to live the life he has always dreamed of living, far from home, swimming in gold and silver.

Or he could stay. He could conquer whatever imposing danger he has detected within a half of a millisecond, his senses failing to fool him yet, and save your life. He could keep his promise to this awful society. His promise to you, and remain stuck forever.

Toji is inching out of the door, still pondering, leaning toward the latter hesitantly when a muffled scream rips from the open space of your window that has just been broken in. Your scream.

The dark haired man doesn’t know what takes over him as he drops his bag to the ground and rockets himself through his own window, foot first, to shatter the glass. His hands grip the rim as he flips himself over to face the exterior brick, digging his chipped fingernails into the crevices of the old stone to scale the side of the building that led to your room with swift agility. He claws his fingers into the ledge of your window past the grapple of a rope that was likely used to break in in the first place. A jagged edge of glass cuts his skin, but he hardly feels it due to the roughness of his callouses.

Toji kicks his feet up and piles himself into your room, rolling onto the floor within a matter of at least five seconds. He rises slowly, chest rippling into his tight shirt as he visually locates what harm is befalling you.

You’re on your bed, kicking out against the cloaked figure hovering over you with a dirtied hand pressing over your mouth, his knees kicking open your thighs and another hand holding a dagger to your throat. A bruise circles the eye of the intruder just above the cloth worn over his mouth, likely a result of your fist to his face.

When you look up and find Toji, your panicked eyes widen in relief, your brows pressed together desperately as you screech out against the attacker’s palm. Your hair, normally so meticulously pinned is sprawled messily over your silk sheets, your satin nightgown threatening to ride up your thighs, ripped at the hims, and sweat pools over your chest as it glistens in the moonlight with each heavy, anguished breath you take.

Toji’s eyes go dull, his face blank with something horrifying, yet familiar to him. You tremble, whimpering unintelligible sounds as the intruder turns to face Toji with foolish anger. “Get back!” he shouts through his mask. “Get back or I'll kill her!”

The knife’s tip presses further into your chin and you inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tight and mustering up whatever strength you have left to turn and push away.

Toji says nothing, staring emptily into your attacker’s eyes.

Toji finds that there is a certain coolness that takes over his body and mind mere moments before he goes in for a kill. He isn’t sure if it's a form of tranquility, or perhaps his fellowship with the act having done so many times over. His eyes gloss ever, and every muscle in his body smoothes out into a relaxed state. He is motionless, still as a sculpture, but his eyes are hungry with rage, flecks of red bleeding into the garden of his IRISES, honing in on his target before he pounces.

You don’t even see Toji move before your attacker is ripped off of you and you can finally breathe, scrambling to press your back to your headboard and stare ahead in horror. You swear you had only blinked, but by the time your teary vision refocuses, Toji is drenched up to his forearm in blood, a curved blade which seemed to manifest out of thin air clutched in his hand. His arm is curved over his mouth, reaching back over his alternate shoulder as though he had just made a slicing motion. His breathing is slow, smooth, and a headless body collapses onto your floor.

Wide eyes of fear-stricken (e/c) stare at the mangled corpse leaking out onto your expensive carpet, and you don’t even notice the splatter of blood that has reached your cheek from Toji’s nimble action. You’re hyperventilating, attempting to gather yourself after having been stolen from your sleep and held at knifepoint, and now suddenly your attacker is dead on the ground. It had all happened so fast. Your head is spinning, and you’re shaking terribly. You can’t even see straight.

With a heavy exhale, Toji lowers his twitching bicep to his side, tossing his weapon off in the corner with a resounding clang! He rolls his head on his neck, stretching it from side to side and cracking it softly, before opening his eyes to find you.

You stare at each other in heavy silence, you in grateful, terrified disbelief, and him with the knowledge of how you will react to his violence. He has seen it before. The screeches that follow, the running that ensues.

He waits for it, but… it doesn’t come.

Instead, you just stare at him like a deer in headlights.

He moves to ask if you are alright, to do something to break the air, when your door bursts open after hefty pounds at your door. Your parents and a few guards, who Toji now sees are quite useless, stand in the doorway, wide-eyed.

Your parents move to comfort you and envelop you in their arms while the guards run to the scene in shock, mulling over the body that lay before Toji. He gets an earful, angry reprimanding about having done such a horrible act right before your eyes, and Toji looks over at you, finding that your eyes are already in him.

You try to speak up and say that he had no other choice, to actually defend Toji in your shaken state, but the authorities around you hear none of it and usher to whisk you away while Toji and a few knights are left to take care of his mess. You look over your shoulder, gluing your gaze to him as you are pulled carefully away.

By the time Toji is finished, cleaned, and has been lectured by the guard, he finds himself rather exhausted, but all he can think about is whether you’re alright or not. He is told that he can find you in the library on the west wing. He ventures out and reaches the space, finding you seated in a lavish sofa before your fireplace with the room guarded by your father and mother who whisper urgently with more knights. When they look up and see Toji, however, they fall silent and immediately part to let him in.

He quietly approaches, shutting the door softly behind him. He doesn’t make a sound, but you turn upon sensing him in the room. You’re cuddled into a warm blank that is wrapped over your shoulders, eyes heavy and tears damp. You sit in a sullen state, a still mess.

Toji rounds the sofa to stand far on your left side, body half concealed by the shadows of the unlit side of the library. The fire kindles gently over your face and in your eyes as you stare. Toji thinks that you almost look like a child this way, so vulnerable and disheartened.

He’s seen things like this happen to women every day at home, only he didn’t always make it to help in time. For the first time since knowing you, he sees the same trauma in your eyes, the glimmer of innocence dimming ever so slightly.

The dark haired man is not good with emotions, and he knows for damn sure that he will not know how to approach your own. He isn’t even meant to be speaking with you, but something deep in his bones is compelling him to you after witnessing you in such a horrible state.

It’s his job after all.

“You hurt?”

The question is gruff, blunt, and you look at him but not with an expectation for more. You sit with your knees to your chest as well, a position he has failed to ever see the Princess herself in.

Eventually, you shake your head and look back to the fire crackling before you. “No.”

He hums, darting his eyes over you quickly. He sees a thin line of blood on your chin where the blade had been pointed into your skin. “You lyin’?”

You glance at him tiredly. “I am not injured,” you say again.

“Alright. You’re not injured.”

You look down, picking at your blanket as you chew on the inside of your lip. “…Toji.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you an assassin?”

The question catches Toji off guard, almost making him laugh. “That’s a little personal, doll.”

“I believe I deserve to ask right now. Forget the rules, the guards were not there. You were.”

He relaxes. You’ve got a point. “No. I ain’t an assassin. At least not every day.”

“But you have… done that before…”

“How else do you think I got the job?”

“Right,” you mutter as if reprimanding yourself for asking something so obvious. “You’re rather fast.”

He’s unsure where this stream of questions are coming from. You are still mellow, speaking below a whisper, but your eyes are in a different space away from what is before you.

“Fast’s an understatement,” he mumbles and you give a nod, at least agreeing. “But yeah. I’m fast. Among other things.”

“And how long have you been…?”

“Killing?” Toji concludes the sentiment for you. You clamp your lips, retreating into yourself. “You can say it. It’s not gonna hurt ya.”

“Well, how long?”

Toji shrugs. “A while now I guess. I’m not a killer, but I do what I need to do when I have to.”

You nod, unable to find a verbal response to his words. Your lips purse forward and your eyes still beam into the fireplace in a daze.

Toji crosses his arms. “You scared of me yet?”

You exhale, corners of your lips tugging to the side. “You saved my life,” you say. “I am not scared of someone who has been hired to protect me.”

“That wasn’t really a pretty sight for a princess to see, though,” Toji attempts to reason.

“Yet you were not the man with the knife to my throat, were you?”

Toji falters. Once more, you’re right, but he’s a bit confused. He would have expected you to turn away from him, to reject his violent nature after seeing what he could do. But here you are, complacent with his abilities. Is it because of the shock?

He looks at you closer, but does not see any lingering signs of unawareness, or any stupor that freezes your mind and body. While you still look like you are slightly in a trance, you appear to simply be contemplating instead of suffering from shock.

How are you so chill about all of this?

“I heard you’ve been attacked before,” Toji says rather bluntly. This makes you peek up, locking your eyes with his steely ones from afar.

An exhale shakes your body. “So?”

“So?” he echoes with a scoff. “That’s not a big deal to you?”

“I told you before that I did not need you,” you say somewhat gently. “What you have seen tonight has happened more than you think, and will continue to happen in the future.”

“I hate to break it to ya, doll, but it didn’t look like ya didn’t need me. You didn’t really have much of a choice but to let me help you.”

“I have gotten out of those situations before. I could have gotten out of this one.”

Toji looks at you oddly. “Not from where I was standin’, you couldn’t.”

“I’m not weak,” you frown.

“I didn’t say you were. Hell, I saw the black eye you landed on the bastard before I snuffed his ass out,” Toji grumbles. “But you’re the Princess. Fightin’ isn’t your thing, it’s mine.”

“Do not attempt to fool me into thinking you wish to fight on my behalf,” you look him in the eye as you speak. “After all, you believe me to be inexperienced, don’t you? Sheltered. Naive.”

A moment of silence passes as Toji stares at you intensely, face cold. “Yeah. I do,” he admits. “If you’ve seen enough shit I’ve seen, you’d get why.”

Your eyes dance over his face with a pensive expression of patience. Your brows are slightly angled, denting the spaces between them, yet you breathe so deeply that it almost fools Toji into believing you are at peace.

“When I was six years old,” you start abruptly. “A tutor of mine tossed a candle to my head because I could not complete my times tables correctly. The wax and flame burned my shoulder badly when I tried to dodge. I have worn long sleeve gowns since,” you confess.

The dark haired man frowns, befuddled while you proceed.

“My grandmother, who had been heavily involved in my bringing when I was a child, was obsessed with cleanliness. Every night before I went to bed, she would inspect my room to ensure that it was tidy. If a single spec of dust was found on my floor, she would raise the back of her hand and smack me clear across the face. ‘You are a princess,’ she would say. ‘Princesses do not behave like slobs.’ Then she’d make me clean the room all over again. If it was still not to her liking, she would continue to hit me, and so on. I had welts on my body for years. I would try to ask my parents to tell her to stop, but they ranked her authority over my own every time. They believed her to be teaching me discipline. Now I do not sleep at night without inspecting every inch of my room for anything that is out of place.”

Toji’s face smooths slowly into something unreadable as he listens to you.

“When I was seventeen, I learned that men sought to ruin me. Diplomats and countrymen would visit with the same look in their eye when they saw me as I grew, seeking to force their hand to mine. One of them was banished after having been caught throwing himself onto me when I was alone. He left bruises on my arm from gripping me too hard when I tried to run away.”

Toji falters completely now, internally guffawed by your revelations.

“Over the years, I have been beaten, assaulted, and almost killed by those close to me, by those envious of me, and by those who want but can not have me. And now, with the influx of assassination attempts, I can do nothing but what I have been doing all my life; stand strong and kick.”

Your eyes swirl with honesty and grief as they lock with Toji’s pools of torment. “I may not know who you are, nor do I know where you came from or what you have been through, but do not assume that because we do not share the same origins that I am a stranger to the world’s cruelty. The kingdom tricks you into believing that we are a perfect society, when in reality, we are tainted by dark secrets swept under the rug and generational traumas. I have seen enough of reality within these palace walls surrounded by people I am meant to trust, only I do not trust any of them but myself.

“I can see it in your eyes that you are broken too. You carry yourself in such a way, but do not allow that to blind you from any hardships I have experienced in my life. We are not the same, but I know inhumanity very well.”

Toji, rendered speechless for the first time in a very long time, watches as you lean over and reach to the other side of the sofa for something on the floor. You gradually reveal his satchel, the one he had dropped to rush to save you, and sit it on the cushion beside you. Toji’s eyes widen slightly when the contents of his bag clink together like wind chimes brushing each other in the wind.

“One of the royal guard found this in the hall,” you say calmly, lowering your hand back under your blanket. “I told him to let me hold onto it. That you must have misplaced it. Were you planning to leave tonight?”

Toji exhales, threading his fingers through his hair and glancing over the floor. Still moved by what you had told him about your upbringing, the man finds himself caught off guard once more by your confrontation. You’re smart, he has to hand it to you. Much smarter than he had previously given you credit for.

“Let’s face it,” Toji sighs. “You and I both know I don’t belong here. The whole kingdom knows. This place isn’t where I’m s’posed to be.”

“And still you took the job anyway,” you challenge. “This was your scheme all along? To take off with the first bit of money you acquire from watching over me?”

“Do you expect anythin’ more?”

“I expected you to be wiser,” you admit.

“I am bein’ wise.”

“By fleeing from the only life of luxury that you have ever known?”

“I don’t live in luxury here, doll. I’m your bodyguard.”

“Even so, your bag is full of enough money to buy yourself a home, and that is only the first monthly payment. That isn't a luxury to you?”

“Luxury, to me, is doin’ what I want when I want it without havin’ to worry about anything else ever again.”

“Then where are you supposed to be?”

“Far from here.”

“You did sign a contract, you know. The guard and my parents would not take well to your abrupt absence. You would be treasoned.”

“Which is why I’d be long gone before they could find me.”

You sigh, turning away. Toji monitors you for a sign of disappointment, of anger, of desperation, but instead you remain indifferent. “I will not stop you if you choose to go,” you say.

Toji cocks a brow, lowering his arms to his sides. “You won’t?”

“You are your own man with your own ability to make decisions. I do not fault you for wishing to leave. I do not know you well enough to do so.”

Toji eyes you harshly, stepping closer and breaking the barrier of a ten foot distance. He approaches the other side of the sofa, peering down at you heavily as if to piece you apart. “You’re just gonna let me go,” he tests. “The hell do you gain from that?”

“Must it be about what I gain?” you ask.

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not more pissed about this.”

“Toji, I was the Princess before you came and I will continue to be the Princess after you leave. I am not angry about what life you choose to live if it is separated from mine. I do not know what is best for you. That’s for you to decide.”

“And what about your guard?”

“They will be fine.”

“What about you?”

You soften. “I will be fine too.”

His mouth twitches. “I ain’t convinced.”

“Do you wish to leave or not?” you question. “You can not worry for my sake and desire to run away at the same time.”

“I ain’t-“ he stops himself, shaking his head and pressing his hands into the armrest. He wants to deny caring about what will happen to you, but his current hesitation over leaving proves otherwise. “You coulda died.”

“I could have died many times,” you counter. “I always manage.”

“And if one day, you don’t?”

“That will not happen.”

“Yeah, only if I’m there.”

You raise your brows and Toji catches himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He glances at his bag and reminds himself of his future, of his plans, of his life, and then he looks back at you, swarming in your wool blanket with such lovely eyes. Free of your jewelry, your crown, and your extravagant gowns and makeup, you look more human. You look softer, and Toji battles a newfound internal conflict - his growing desire to stay.

Slowly, a soft smile rises to your lips that does not reach your eyes. Your soft skin, aglow by the flames before you, illuminates the warmth of your expression. “Do not tell me you are beginning to feel a duty toward me?”

“Duty ain’t in my vocabulary,” Toji defends, looking away.

“Then why are you still here?”

He catches the testing look on your face and exhales in weary amusement. “Don’t get smart with me now, Princess. You won’t win that battle.”

“Just make up your mind, Toji,” you tilt your head and toss him a knowing look.

You carefully shift and maneuver your body around so that you are laying your head on the cushion with your legs curled up to you, Toji’s bag still sitting on your left. The said man’s eyes follow the motion. “What’re you doin?” he asks.

“I’m going to try to get some rest,” you murmur, though you do not close your eyes. You stare ahead in exhaustion, but no urge to sleep comes over you. “You may do as you please. If you are not here in the morning and your bag is gone, I will assume that you have left.”

Toji looks back at his bag, torn. He’s itching to grab it, to swipe it up in his grasp and make a break for it, but there you are. The Princess, soon to be Queen of everything Toji has ever resented, and suddenly he feels a human connection to you. The things you told him, the steadiness of your voice as you spoke, the maturity in your eyes, the hidden, harbored scars, the arrogant will you carry to proceed into this life alone despite your susceptibility to harm… it got to him.

And when he saw your face as you lay trapped under your intruder, how your body writhed with the involuntary will to fight despite your disadvantage, Toji was taken completely by an urge, a responsibility to protect you. To look after you. To kill for you.

Therefore, neither of you say a word when Toji moves to pick up his bag and toss it onto the floor. In its place, he sits at your feet and tosses his arms over the back of the headrest, legs sprawled out before him as he watches the fire beside you.

He stays there until the sunrise, and solidifies his fate.

After that night, Toji feels himself changing. Time goes by and you only grow stronger, approaching your coronation swiftly and taking on the role of Queen with regal pride. Toji finds himself staring at you when he’s by your side, which you have appointed him to after having a tense conversation with the royal guard, resulting in him no longer having to linger ten feet away at all times. He stands rather closely now when it is appropriate to do so, glaring ahead menacingly as he towers over your frame while you conduct meetings or speak with foreign princes and diplomats, who Toji keeps a sharp eye on with the knowledge of what you shared with him about your past interactions.

He thinks of the pressure that weighs over you, and studies how you harbor so along with your traumas with so much poise. You don’t allow the things you have gone through to weigh you down, to deter your path, and he grows impressed with the strength of your mind. Without such, you likely would not be where you are today.

Toji becomes one of the very few people you entrust your life with, if not the only person you fully trust to take your life into his hands. Despite his initial plans to leave you, he proves himself loyal to you, standing guard outside your room every night instead of retreating to his chambers and preventing disasters before they even happen. With his keen senses and hawk-like gaze, he catches suspicious figures in crowds, which he can recognize easily due to his upbringing as well. He used to be one of those lurking shadows, stalking packed spaces to find a target, only he was always too swift to be caught.

Toji now takes to disposing of the people who mean you harm in private, away from your vision. While you are well aware of his capabilities, Toji has a tendency to become borderline sadistic when killing for you. Inspired now by his respect for you and your budding relationship, the honesty in your eyes and the sanctity of your life in his hands, he is more ruthless than he ever has been before in private, and he does not want you burdened by the vision. The guard does not question him, taking to caring for your parents and watching the palace walls while Toji handles the direct threats unto you. No one in the palace questions him any longer, for you have grown close to him and he to you, and the proof of him risking himself time and time again for the sake of you forces all heads away and onto the next thing.

During the day, he is still and mute, a brick wall of eerie, bulky freight, but at night when you are alone, he’s making you laugh, sharing stories with you about gruesome bar fights he has been involved in and past jobs that have given him a run for his money. You always listen with curiosity, eyes bright with intrigue as a long forgotten book lay in your lap as you watch him, absorbing tellings of a world far from your reach. He does his best to leave out gory details, like the things that tend to keep him up at night, the things he is ashamed of having lived, but you always understand. You can always see more of him than he lets on in his gaze, how he stands and tenses, how he looks away after having held your gaze for too long.

The dark haired man finds that he has never felt such security that you bring him, that while he keeps you safe, he feels safe in your defense, in your presence, in your path. You ease his mind somehow with your gentle grace and your unearthly beauty, with your loud cackles that he draws from you after dinner when he walks you to your room, a far cry from the contained chuckles you allow to slip when cozying up to someone for diplomatic and political purposes.

You ease his mind with your warm grins, your soft hands that brush his arm when you get his attention, with the sweet breath that tickles his ear when you lean up to cup your hand over your mouth and whisper something to him. He always has to lean down for you as you reach up on your tiptoes, informing him of a task he must carry out in secret when all he can think about is the shiver that racks his spine when your coo of a whisper flutters directly into his ear.

Toji does not want to admit that you make him feel strange when he starts to notice the way his chest tightens as you brush past, the air of your perfume lingering in his nose. He does not want to admit that this foreign warmth he now feels takes over his entire being, melting his hardened soul after he believed it to be beyond repair. He does not want to admit that he recognizes this feeling as love solely because he has never felt it before, never experienced the visceral pump of his blood into his heart or the honeyed comfort that slips into his understanding of lust. He does not want to admit that you attract him as more than someone he wishes to ravish, but as someone he has come to cherish deeply.

He does not think it affects his job, for he has been at your side for nearly a year when you are finally appointed Queen and he still performs incredibly well. He stands at the upper corner of the grand hall, diamond chandelier twinkling brilliantly above your head in your wake as you inch your way down the aisle and up the purple velveted carpet. The kingdom watches you in awe, your gold encrusted gown dragging delicately over the floor, manicured hands clasped before you as you approach with your chin high and your chest puffed. You are a vision of artistry, of indescribable, unfathomable beauty, and Toji knows he loves you when he catches himself smiling gently as he watches you graze the room like fresh dew beaming on a crisp, sunlit morning.

There is no sign of an attack when your new crown is placed upon your head, thanks to Toji and the word of his talents spreading like wildfire across villages, lands, and kingdoms alike. The entire world by now must know of the Queen’s bodyguard, who sticks to her side like glue and wipes out anything that even thinks of creeping into her path. His reputation proceeds him once more, yet now, he is proud of who he has become. He is proud, now, that he is killing for the good that is you, a woman deserving of every goodness that comes to her in this world, instead of for his own survival.

You do not marry. You refuse once you gain the power to deny the visiting of any more suitors, much to Toji’s relief. He had never been a fan of watching men kiss your feet, take your pretty hand in theirs and look you in the eye with a bent knee. He would have killed them all if you had not frowned upon so, for he did not believe anyone to be as deserving of a woman working to rebuild the economy for the sake of Toji’s village and all those who suffered along with him with such compassion and selflessness, not even him - as much as he cared for you.

Somehow, Toji’s duty to you triumphs over his desire for you. While he struggles, he respects you more than he has respected any human being in his life. His job is to make sure that you live, and that you do so peacefully and happily. You have transformed him into a noble man, and how you did so, he barely knows. What he does know, however, is that he loves you as much as he honors you. You are his Queen, he is your bodyguard - your right hand. He would never interfere with the boundaries set between the two of you, with the responsibility he has to you.

Consequently, he stubbornly pushes away the telling looks that you share with him, your eagerness to jest, to press your touch to him and feel you near him, to remind yourself that he is still there.

He knows. He sees it in your eyes, the unspoken yearning, the reason why you do not wish to marry anyone else, and you know that he knows, but he says nothing. He breaks his gaze away, he guides you back with a gentle hand to your waist and upper arm, and he leaves you every night, redrawing the line, keeping you at such a close distance.

It’s been two years. The two of you now know one another better than you’ve known anyone, and Toji has been with you through thick and thin, through the death of you parents, the conflict with the council over the uncertainty regarding a future heir, your silent fatigue that only shows itself at the end of the day when no one else is looking and it is only you and him as he bids you good night. He’s seen it all, and you have seen him just as clearly.

Tonight is no different as you enter your room sluggishly, sinking into the edge of your bed as you gaze ahead, an emptiness in your eyes. Toji stands at your door, examining you sternly. You look beat, aged by the years and the burden of ruling. The veil of composure lifts from you, and you slump, gown crowding over the floor and your aching feet, which dangle over the bed.

Wordlessly, the dark haired man sighs and closes the door behind him. Within a second, he is kneeling before you, calloused hands grazing over the many layers of your gown to delicately cup your ankle. His touch pulls you back to reality and you look down, brows curling ever so subtly.

Toji cradles the back of your ankle and grips the stem of your glass heel. He slowly glides the cramping footwear from your foot, setting it to the side once it is free from its confinements. You watch him with ardor swelling in your gaze, his hands so rough when handling others, smoothing over your skin as though you are fragile.

He moves to your other shoe and glances up when he catches you staring in that way that makes his heart ache. “What is it, doll?” he murmurs, the nickname he bestowed upon you once condescendingly having stuck in a sweeter, more genuine manner.

You don’t answer. You only gaze gratefully, tiredly, while Toji sets your other shoe to the side. He stays down on his knee, looking up at you.

“You alright?” he asks and you sigh deeply.

“You are the only person in this world I feel I can be myself with,” you eventually say earnestly, gently. Toji blinks, shifting slightly and nodding slowly.

“Back at ya,” is all he can manage to say under your loving stare. He almost feels suffocated by the way your eyes swallow him whole. “I get what you mean.”

“Everyone is just so-” you lift your hands in an attempt to physically depict what you want to say, but the words fail you and your arms stall in the air. “So-”

“Shitty?” Toji fills in with his own words for it, and you smile with a light giggle.

“Yes,” you drop your hands to your lap. “Shitty.”

Toji chuckles, the sound of you cursing still so funny to him. “Don’t I know it,” he agrees. He looks over your gown before back into your eyes, preparing to stand. “I’ll go call for the maids so they can’t get you outta this thing. You need to sleep.”

“Don’t,” you shake your head the second he moves to get up. He stops, sinking back down. “Not right now. I don’t want to see anyone else but you.”

Toji clenches his jaw, your words so sweet it kills him. “Don’t you wanna change? You get cranky in this thing after dark,” he jokes.

“I know,” you say. Something flickers in your eyes as you look over his figure, a hint of desire swirling into weariness. “You do it.”

Toji furrows his brows. “What?”

“I want you to help me out of my dress instead,” you whisper. The green eyed man thinks he must have heard you incorrectly, his eyes going wide as he registers your request. “There’s nightgowns in that dresser over there. Bring one to me.”

“(Y/n),” he warns, heart fluttering and skin flushing over his chest. “I’m not gonna do that. It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you press. “As your Queen, I am giving you a task.”

“Yeah, but-” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna strip ya. That ain’t… I won’t do that.”

“Toji,” you lean forward, lids heavy over your eyes. You call his name sternly, yet still so quietly, and he can not help but bide by your will each time his name slips from your tongue in such a way when you need him. “I am asking you to help me. It is not wrong if it is what I want.”

“It’s wrong ‘cause I’m your bodyguard, not your-”

His words die in his throat before he can finish his sentence. “Not my what?” you mumble.

He gets lost in your gaze, in your scent, and he is struggling to find the words. His face is tense, brows knitted and lips curled, his scar creasing along with them. “I’m not in any place to do this stuff. You know that.”

“You are because I say that you are.”

“Anyone ever tell ya you can be a little cocky?” he smirks lightly to sway the mood.

“Yes,” you roll your eyes. “You have.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he snickers. “Well, you are.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Help me out of this dress.”

“Doll-”

“Now.”

Toji exhales, for he finds that he has no other choice once you have made up your mind about something. He pushes himself to his feet and stands over you, holding his hand out to you. “C’mon,” he mutters.

You slip your dainty handy into his palm and allow him to pull you up gently to your feet. Your face meets his chest, his height never failing to shock you up close, and when you look up he’s already peering down at you with heavy eyes.

“Show me how to undo this thing,” he says impatiently under his breath, and you can tell by his hastiness that his nerves are jumping.

“I will, but you need to take your time. It’s fragile,” you whisper and he nods slowly.

“Alright.”

“Can you remove my jewelry?”

He inhales sharply. “Alright,” he says again.

You turn slowly, moving your hair out of the way to expose your neck to him. He grits his teeth, seeking some sort of self control as his fingers move to unclasp your many chains of expensive necklaces. His knuckles brush your skin, and he watches as bumps ghost over your neck after he has touched it.

Your scent invades him as his hands lower over your shoulders to bring your necklaces down from your chest. His chest bumps against your back accidentally, brushing over your shoulders, and you both twitch at the contact. God, he feels like a teenage boy, losing himself over breathing you in.

You tell him to go place the necklaces on their stand on your armoire, then to find a nightgown for you to wear. Toji feels weak, rifling through your clothes as though it is a sin to even be seeing them. Your silk fabrics smooth over his fingers before he pinches one into his hand and brings it to lay out on your bed.

“Now, see the string tying my corset in the back?” you ask over your shoulder, Toji humming distractedly when he locates it and stands behind you again. “Unravel it.”

As though entranced by your demand, he does, despite every voice in his heading screaming in protest. He should not be with you like this, the Queen, so privately in your room lit daily by the kiss of candlelight and swarmed by the scent of patchouli incense and your damned perfume. Toji’s head feels hazy, thick digits tugging at your string and drawing it out slowly, watching as the ribbon unfolds and drapes down your train.

“Now what?” he murmurs.

“Loosen it so I can take it off.”

“Heh?” he scrunches his brows, looking over the weaving of the lace between your corset.

“Just peel either side of the corset back,” you clarify. “Now that it’s untied, it will come apart.”

He obliges with uncertainty, cautiously tugging back either side of the thick fabric, the lace stretching and pooling over your back. “Okay, I’m going to raise my arms so you can pull it over my head.”

“Jesus, this thing is so damn extra.”

“Be quiet and just do it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You lift your arms into the air and Toji catches the way your curves peak out. His eye twitches as he pulls the corset over your head, off your arms, and from your body. A second corset, thinner and more form fitting, graces your waist and exposes your bare back to him, as well as the healed burn on your right shoulder that you told him about so long ago.

He clears his throat, setting the outer corset onto the bed with his fingers stilling on your hip. “What now?” he asks.

“Do the same with the rest. This one’s connected to the bottom part.”

“...What about your… uh…”

“There’s another layer under it, don’t worry,” you assure him. “Why? Is my fierce and scary bodyguard nervous?”

“Don’t even,” he grumbles and your shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

The ruffle of your clothing fills the air as Toji works his fingers through the second set of lace, loosening it and pulling it from your body. You slide your arms from the thin straps of this layer and allow Toji to drag the fabric down. His eyes train on the way it smooths over your frame, a nude colored set revealing as he pulls, pulls, pulls until the fabric is pooling around your ankles.

All that you are covered in now is a hoop cage over your hips and sleeveless underwear the same shade as your skin tone that holds you sinfully tight. Toji’s heart is in his ears and the blood in his body is surging out everywhere, including toward his crotch. He’s biting down on his teeth so hard as he holds your arm and helps you step out of the net like framing for your gown, breaths labored.

Your dazzling (e/c) hues catch his as his hand lingers on your waist and your arm, his figure now before you again. He keeps a tough facial expression, but his eyes yet again give him away as he coolly takes in your body, the way your cleavage pools out of your garments and your skin milks into a breathtaking glow.

You feel his thumb swipe over the curve of your back, experimentally caressing the space as his other hand slides up your arm and over your shoulder. His thumb touches your chin, reels back hesitantly, then touches again, sliding delicately over your cheek. You welcome the contact, your hands raising to press against his lower abdomen as he lingers over you, so closely, so intimately. You can feel his abdominals, rigid and tense, contract beneath your palms though they are barely touching him, and you look down at how small your fingers look pressing into the wall of his stomach.

“Doll,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and husky as it breathes out. You hum, lashes fluttering when his hand slides to hold the entire side of your face. He melts before you, your beauty so striking that it almost scares him, and nothing has ever scared Toji Fushiguro before. “You need to get to bed.”

“In a bit,” you mutter, gaze wandering over his lips and back up to his eyes. You sink into him, inching closer until he’s surrounding you, swarming you. “Stand with me like this longer.”

“I can’t stay here much longer. You know that.”

“What I say goes. I say you can.”

“(Y/n).”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head as he looks over your features softly. “I do not care.”

“Well, I do,” he says, brushing a piece of hair gently from your forehead. You lean into his palm, a soft pout on your lips. “I’ve got one job, and that’s to keep you safe, y’understand?”

“And that is all this is?” you murmur, eyes darting over him. “That is the only reason you protect me? Because it is your job?”

He tilts his head slightly, smoothing his hand up and down your spine as you push yourself closer to him. Against his better judgment, against his instincts, he allows you. Even if just for a moment. Even if he never gets to feel you this way again, so plush against him, yearning and wistful.

“You know that ain’t true,” he tells you.

You bring your hands up, smoothing them up to his chest and you coo. “So stay,” you beg. “Please.”

“You’re killin’ me, y’know that?” he exhales, his nose brushing against yours as you close in on him, just centimeters away from his lips.

He holds you, shares the same breath as you, and in this moment he forgets about the barrier between you. He forgets where he came from, he forgets what your role in this world is, he forgets his duty to you and how complicated it is that it has now molded into some emotional connection. He forgets that you will need to marry one day to continue your legacy, that he himself is not a King nor a man of royalty, that he was born of hate and abandonment while you were born to be something. He forgets, as your warmth consumes him and the taste of you is so close he can smell it, that he could never take your relationship beyond what it already is. That he is not, and never has been, a man made for love yet somehow you have fooled him into believing that he is made for loving you.

“Why are you fighting me,” your eyes close, fingers inching over his shoulders and arms wrapping around his neck.

“‘Cause I can’t let myself do this to ya,” he grumbles.

“Why?”

“Stop asking me questions.”

“Do you love me?”

The question is a heated gasp against his mouth, and Toji, no longer harboring the willpower to push away from you, can only respond honestly.

“Y’know I do.”

Your fingers tangle into his silky black hair and his hand brings your faces together. “Then stay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips feel like a fluff of cloud melting into his, the rich, sugary taste of your mouth clashing into his own. You’re soft against his hard body as you crush into him, swooning and sinking as though you no longer have the strength to stand and he is catching you, bringing you to him as though it is the last time he will ever touch you in such a way, the last time he will ever have the privilege of tasting your sacred mouth.

Toji is a rough man, but he handles you gingerly, gradually as he savors you for everything his life has ever been worth. You overstimulate him with your mind numbing squeezes and the gentle sounds of satisfaction that slip from your throat into his. Toji thinks he can die blissfully happy as he encircles you, ravaging your lips with hard brows and a fuzzy mind. He crowds over you, so tall and big that you have no choice but to succumb to all of him in his embrace. He overpowers you, and you adore it, ruffling messily through his locks as his hands wander your hips generously, appreciatively, lovingly.

He guides you back, leaning over with his hand firm to your back to ease you onto your bed, lips still locked. His body is thinking for itself as his lips swarm you, tongue gliding into yours and searching every space of your cavern. You arch into him needily, sensually, and Toji pushes further though remaining mindful not to hurt you. He wouldn’t dare.

Your thighs lift to crowd his torso as he curves down into you, hovering over your gorgeous body. His lips crash into your cheek, over your jaw and down your neck, sliding his tongue hungrily over your skin with heady groans. Your lips part and your head tosses back onto your sheets, hushed gasps and contented sighs spilling from you, and even the noises you make are as angelic as you are.

His large hand cradles your head as he ducks down to care for your chest, hot lips sucking over your skin like he is enjoying a meal. Your hands tighten in his hair, his mouth easing you into astounding pleasure before his lips are back on yours, more desperate, more lustful.

“Toj…” you moan and he grunts into you, arms caging you beneath him and lower half pressing into your own. Your blurry eyes peer past strands of his hair as he consumes you, kisses you, worships you.

“Yeah, darlin,” he exhales into your mouth as your bodies writhe against the barrier of clothing. “Talk t’me. What is it, my girl?”

“Do not… mmm, don’t leave me. Not tonight,” you plead in between weighted kisses.

Toji pulls back to look you in the eyes, hands exploring all over you. “Nothin’ could take me from you now, doll,” he swears, pupils enlarged and shrinking the green expanse of his eyes. “I’ll take good care of ya, promise. I swear on m’life. I got you, baby, I got ya.”

You whimper and his lips find yours again, kissing into you his promise of devotion.

Toji swaddles you with love for hours on end, into the early morning, molding marks of his loyalty over your stomach and down your legs, kissing over your scars, and pulling release after release from your core. He’s tender, firm but soft as he makes love to you and molds the shape of him into your essence. Imprints of your fingernails into his skin and your teeth marks into his shoulder encourage him to drag every moan, every ounce of fluid from your body. And god, you feel better than Toji could have ever envisioned. You’ve ruined him with your passion, with your pretty entranced gazes and your loving kisses, your insatiable need for him to give you more and for yourself to give him more. You’re sweet. So sweet, and Toji loves you more than himself, therefore he promises to give you what you want tonight and to return to his responsibility tomorrow.

It is his duty to you after all, to protect you, to love you from afar.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fandom #jjk fanfic #anime #jjk #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fluff #toji x you #toji zenin #toji headcanons #jjk au #jjk au x reader

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sir-sunawani · 2 months ago

Text

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet) yeah we full blown yandere babes, dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 6: Not Quite

Your legs are parted wide, rough hands keeping them parted even as your hands paw at the mass of black hair between your thighs. You don’t have the strength to deny him, and certainly not the power to stop him, and so he drinks freely. Lapping, licking and plunging his thick tongue deep inside you, enticing your body to sate his endless thirst just a little more.

Each precious drop is a rumbled hum of approval and when you couldn’t be brought to orgasm fast enough he split you open with a thick finger, curling it inside your small body and sucking on your clit until your pleasure dripped down his arm.

He’d stop long enough to lick the sweet nectar from his forearm, harsh and focused eyes on your weak and exhausted form.

But no matter how much you came, he didn’t stop, mouth between your folds again. Fingers pressing into the tender meat of your thighs, teeth pressing angry marks into your skin. He was going to eat you, one of these times, you were certain his teeth would be too sharp. His hunger too desperate, and his appetite too insatiable and he could bite clean through-

You suck in a breath, legs and arms flailing, smacking into the mountainous form beside you.

Crocodile’s eyes are on you. Sleepy, but focused, he settles beside you after being sure you didn’t injure yourself flailing next to him. You are covered in sweat and slick, you can feel the thick liquid squish between your thighs.

“I don’t know if you had a nightmare or a wet dream,” his voice is soft, but his tone is aggravated. You’re certain he doesn’t like not knowing, and unfortunately you can’t clear things up for him. “Get cleaned up. Put what I taught you to use.”

“Y-yes sir.” You nod. You were too drowsy and too disoriented from the powerfully real - whatever it was - to offer up much else. Sweat and slick at least were easier to clean off than paint, so if you didn’t do a perfect job it wouldn’t matter.

You took enough time to wash your hair along with everything else, and put on the pajamas that the tailor had made for you. They were styled after the shirts you’d been borrowing from Crocodile, loose and silky, but a little more properly proportioned to your size. You weren’t sure why they needed to button down the front like his shirts did, but you didn’t argue.

It was free clothes, and they were your clothes.

They’d been skillfully made, and fit wonderfully, but aside from trying them on when they arrived, you hadn’t worn them since. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and there was no sense in getting dressed just to stay in the office room with Crocodile.

You haven’t been told you can’t wander the castle, but every morning you have breakfast, and then he has you sit in his lap while he works. You know the cage for what it is, but it’s still warmer, and more kind, than anything you knew before.

You weren’t paraded around the tents, surrounded by guards and attendants, a piece of art to ogled by everything with a pair of eyes. You weren’t covered in paints and forbidden from warmth, wearing thin, barely there clothing even when the winds blew. You were at a different extreme, perhaps, but it wasn’t bad.

What else would you do anyway?

Ask Crocodile, a pirate, for money so you, a priceless omega - a rare jewel even if you weren’t the Starling - could bandy about the Grandline hither and fro? You had no skill at either a trade or hobby. You had no way to find, or purchase, suppressants in some vain, and dangerous attempt to hide what you were.

It was a wonder he hadn’t bit you the day you were brought before him.

Instead he treated you more humanely than anyone else had. Maybe not kindly, and certainly not as an equal, but his touch was pleasurable. His voice was soothing, and his scent was alluring.

Omegas were meant to cry in desperation beneath Alphas. Alphas protected them, and made their heats bearable, and omegas gave Alphas a point of focus. Something to care for and protect, so that their desires didn’t drive them to folly.

Or maybe they were only driven to madness because of omegas.

You climb into Crocodile’s lap without him beckoning you once you’re done with breakfast. You can feel the relief in his scent. Regardless of the hows and whys of it all, you were grateful he was an Alpha. You were grateful your instincts knew more than your mind, and that you were beginning to understand the subtle differences in his scent depending on his mood.

He could control his face, and to some extent his tone, though he seemed to mind both less when it was just the two of you. Maybe because on some level he knew he couldn’t hide from you.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

His hand cups your jaw firmly and you still in his lap. You feel a soft shift and gasp as something teases your skin beneath the shirt. It settles at your nipples, and you know it has to be him, but he releases your jaw and his hook is resting on the desk.

“What…?” You sigh, the gentle caress making the flesh stiff.

“It’s just my sand.” He says evenly. “No one else will know.”

You sigh softly the smooth sand dancing over your nipples and sending pleasure into your chest. It feels good, and you want to squirm, but you’ve been sitting carefully before now. Sure you shifted and adjusted throughout the day, getting up sometimes to stretch, the action spurring Crocodile to take a break more than not.

And he did play with you, sometimes, but not like this. Not while he worked, and since the first time, it hadn’t been while people were coming in and out.

But the people came in, and the sand did not relent.

It wasn’t enough to bring you to the brink. It wasn’t enough to force you to make noise. It wasn’t enough that it was impossible to stay still.

It was enough that you couldn’t look anyone in the eyes when they came in. It was enough that you probably looked like a small little pet in his lap, more than you’d looked the days before. It was enough that your slick was definitely staining the seat cushion.

“Your chair,” you whisper as the most recent intruder into the room leaves.

“It’s fine.” He assures you.

“I… I…” You aren’t sure what you want to say, so distracting is the constant and unending pleasure against your chest. Never enough pressure to hurt you, and it’s not rubbing you raw despite the hours that have gone by.

“You were so distressed this morning, I wanted to be sure your pleasure was comfortable today.” He explains, tilting your head back until you were bent back and squirming beneath his gaze. “You don’t smell distressed.”

You shake your head as best you can in this position. “Not distressed.” You gasp, your thighs pressed together, rubbing back and forth.

“If you want relief, you can ask for it.” He sounds so bored, his tone, his eyes, but his scent is curled around your throat like a set of teeth.

“Please.” You whine and you feel everything shift. The soft shuffle of sand moves your legs until you’re straddling his lap, your back to his chest, and his tip presses into your leaking cunt. The swirling sands lower you onto his cock, his fingers in your mouth, letting you drool and whine against them as the simple act of penetration has your eyes rolled back in a subtle orgasm.

The chair scoots a little closer to the desk, pinning you between it and him. He reaches between your legs, teasing your pulsing clit with a single finger, making you shiver and tremble against him. Holding onto his arm you ride him as best you can in your position, the wet wriggling motion of your hips was nothing compared to the way you twitched and gripped him internally.

It was enough for you to cum harder, however, tucking your face against his upper arm and crying your pleasure into his sleeve.

“Good girl.” He hums softly, letting you suckle the tip of his finger. “Stay still. There will be more people, but as long as you don’t cum, they won’t know.” He lies so sweetly you’re willing to believe it. It was obvious what your position was right now, even with the desk obscuring the truth of it.

Your skin was flushed, and you couldn’t calm down that much. You had been in his lap for days before now, but this was the first time people would see you trapped so. You might not be up on his desk, riding his fingers with nothing more than the size of his shirt concealing your body, but none of his people were fools.

The clown maybe, but even he had uses enough that Crocodile kept him around.

Crocodile did not keep useless things.

Stuck between him and the desk, his throbbing cock sunk deep into your sensitive pussy, there was no place for you to hide from those that came in. They might not be able to see him speared inside you, but you couldn’t hide your face behind anything in this position. He helped you tuck against his chest, his hook arm pressed across your shoulders so he could easily work around you.

Everyone who came in knew.

As embarrassing as it was, no one dared to say anything, and most didn’t even dare to meet your gaze once they understood the situation.

Everyone was exceptionally efficient that day.

Once he was certain there was time enough before the next person, he’d tease your clit and have you cumming against his thick cock. The sands teasing your chest never stopped, no matter what, but he didn’t finger your throbbing clit unless the office was empty.

If you came, it was for him, and him alone.

By four o’clock, no one was coming into the office at all. Word had gotten around, or people could smell the thick scent of pleasure even if they were only betas, and no one was willing to risk stepping inside. But you had your hands on the desk, one of your legs carefully looped inside his hook, your right thigh in his hand.

He moved you like a toy. His hips hardly moved and he made you ride him, the sand still teasing you even as you sobbed from overwhelming pleasure. Everything from shivering little pleasures that barely felt like orgasms, to toe-curling delights that had you moaning like a whore between his arms, you felt them all through the course of the day.

No matter how hard or how gently you came, he could keep the same steady pace. Occasionally licking heavy strips against your neck and shoulders. He inhaled full huffs of your scent, alternating between growling and purring, seemingly edging himself as he forced pleasure from every inch of you.

The soft chime of the clock indicates the end of the day, and he presses you against his chest, large hand easily splayed out over your torso. He scoops both of your legs into the crook of his hook arm, nearly folding you in half before thrusting up into you.

Soaked in sweat, slick staining his pants, the chair, and pooling on the floor, you’re relaxed only because you’re too exhausted to be anything else. He pushes a moan from your dripping lips with every thrust, thick tears falling down your cheeks and you babble pleasure, hands pawing at every piece of him you could reach.

Your shivering limbs kick and curl as a pleasure you can’t deny floods through you. You’re almost sick from the exertion, the heat and euphoria of it pushing back the pain in your twitching limbs. Hot liquid fills you as Crocodile’s cock throbs against the sticky grip of your cunt.

You can’t clean yourself up afterward. Your limbs are limp and your brain is in a thick fog. You’re burning up, but the cool air of the office makes goosebumps rise along your skin. He cleans you up, so you assume, the deep melody of his voice is a soft tone, a praising song that soothes your heart as much as your aching muscles.

By the time dinner is brought to the office, you’re cradled in his arm, letting him feed you.

“Your heat will be soon.” He says, and an understanding dawns on you.

“You… it effects you?” You feel like your question is answer itself, but he nods.

“My… apologies.” He says gruffly, putting another bite to your lips. “I am not in the practice of denying myself that which I desire, and my attempt to soothe your nightmare did not go as I had planned.”

“Will this be your first time too?” You question carefully.

He nods, bringing the cup of water to your lips. “When the government started gathering up all the omegas they could, what was rare became even more so. Most Alphas never find an omega, and most omegas are never bonded, since the dragons shuffle even the lowliest of you around like borrowed pieces of jewelry.”

You go quiet and so still that he doesn’t try to get you to eat more, simply staying still with you as the seconds ticked into minutes.

“You’ll,” you swallow thickly, nerves dancing against your spine. “Claim me, during my heat, won’t you?”

“… Do you want me to?”

Tears rush up your chest, choking your lungs. Your face twists and he pulls you close, rocking gently back and forth. “I don’t know.” You sob softly.

He promises you nothing, neither removing your choice in the matter entirely, nor assuring you that he’ll leave you to have one. Instead he just soothes you, letting you cry for all the reasons you need. It’ll be your first heat with an alpha. It’ll be your first heat that isn’t attended by Celestial Dragons. It’ll be the first heat where your nest isn’t provided to you, where your location isn’t decided for you.

No one will bend the will of your instincts in the direction they want, and you’ll be navigating everything on your own.

It was terrifying to a certain extent, but… with him by your side there was something that soothed you. An almost manic thought that seemed absurd, but it was powerfully grounding. It didn’t matter how you thrashed against the inevitable, he would not let you escape, wouldn’t let you be swept away.

You were already between his teeth.

#reader insert #x reader #omega!reader #sir crocodile #one piece #mdni #yandere #a/b/o #omegaverse #Starling

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i-yap · 9 months ago

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Hi! You mentioned in a prev oneshot that you were Indian, as a fellow south asian it is so nice to have someone into the fandom as well !!! May I have a request if batboys with an south asian so who does Indian classical dance like bharatnatyam or odissi please?

Heyyy I have never professionally learned classical Indian dances but I love watching them so ill try my best. Im sorry if its offensive, Im doing fem reader cuz gn wasn't requested..hope that okay too

Batboys x Dancer!Y/N

Dick grayson

He loved the story the dances depicted. He learned all the meanings and history behind all the hand movements and music.

Dick had probably been to India for a mission so he does know a little about indian history but now he has a much stronger motivation to learn everything and anything about that culture .

Also we all know dick has a thing for strong powerful women. And Bharatnatyam or Odssi or any indian classical dance for that matter REQUIRES SO MUCH STRENGTH . The facial expressions, the precise movement and the beauty of it all..he is whipped.

'He also loves when you get in touch with your culture. Dick is like a culture connoisseur and having a beautiful south asian girlfriend who is proud and expressive of her heritage makes him so proud.

He for sure has videos on videos which he show or boast about to anyone- even at galas , his favorite thing to talk about you and he is just so proud.

Jason Todd

I dont think todd will take the time to look into the difference meanings or stories these dances depict.

I have mentioned how much he stares and now he has a new found excuse to stress. Its like those movie montages of the wife through the husbands eyes where there is like a light glow behind her and he is just laughing (and then she dies or something)- idk if you know what I'm talking about but that exact thing happens with him.

you are like his salvation , so beautiful, golden poised and graceful. Its like a beggar seeing a goddess , a murderer on the steps of church or a ray of sunshine in the cold cold dark city - it becomes his way to spirituality.

He doesn't talk that much about it. the whole experience feels too surreal for him and he loves to see that side of you. when your practicing and don't have the routine perfected, he loves seeing the side of you no one else would get to see.

Tim drake-

This boy probably went to the ballet as a kid and I mean western rich parents-gotham city- I don't think he knows anything about indian classical dance so when he sees it for the first time he is shocked

He Is so intrigued , It just makes you so much cooler. He will love dropping in the middle of his patrols to watch you train and bring you snacks

He also loves doing your makeup for you , and the whole outfit....it looks super complicated and he is good with assembling stuff so he'll be really into it.

He would tbh encourage you to use your skill to start and internet channel and use that to promote movements. Also if you are into the idea of teaching immigrant kids on how to dance, he'll help find the means because being connected to your roots are just so important.

Rather than boring ass ballet in galas , he will promote other styles of dance especially indian classical.

Will cheer like a madman after your performances , even if they are at rich gotham galas. "WOHOO THATS MY GIRL THATS REAL ART YOU SEE THAT YOU RICH PRICKS"

Yea just because you have this super serious super cool skill doesn't mean you both wont be sitting in a dinner eating greasy food in the whole costume+makeup after performances. Youre still teenage dirtbags after all

Damian wayne-

he will draw you . loves sitting and sketching you dance .

He too is really into strong women and appreciates the beauty and precise art of indian dance.

Itll remind him of his home, like up in the mountains. Maybe dance is taught as a way of developing balance and precision. So to him you look like a strong fighter.

It just brings nostalgia and you look so ethereal while you dance. I think out of all batboys he would be most appreciative of the art

these are comparatively shorter but i didnt have too many thoughts. hope its okay tho

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genericpuff · 1 year ago

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I'm not sure if you've answered this question before but what were some of the things that made you interested in Lore Olympus in the past and at what point did you lose interest?

I adored the art in the beginning, and just like, the really warm-feeling romance that just had me feeling so giddy reading it. There were some red flags in the beginning like the age gap, but I kinda fell for the same mindset of "well they're gods so what does it matter" (obviously I can't in good faith use that argument anymore because if the age gap didn't matter then it either wouldn't exist or wouldn't be brought up in the first place lmao but it took me a while to realize that).

Now, to be fair, LO was also one of my first introductions to webtoons as a format, prior to that I had read mostly manga and left-to-right indie webcomics (i.e. comics that were hosted on their own site) and I was still in the early years of my own development as a writer and artist (I still feel like I'm early in that development tbh) so of course there were undoubtedly a lot of obvious flaws that went over my head (and I was younger and inexperienced so I wasn't as critical of what media I was watching / reading as I am now) but that's been half the fun of catching them now - it's given me a lot more perspective and helped me hone my own skills in my writing by analyzing what's wrong with LO and brainstorming on how those problems can be avoided.

But then there was the Act of Wrath plotline and I was completely sold on it being gold. Anyone who's read my original work knows how much of a SUCKER I am for "dark alter ego" plotlines, I eat that shit up like junk food. But what I like about the dark alter ego tropes is when they're used to explore the subconscious, question one's morals and true identity, etc. That was what I was hoping for and expecting with the AoW plotline in LO - that her "dark self" was gonna be a reflection of how she felt "held back" by her circumstances in the Mortal Realm, and her wrath being something she could use for retribution (in a "do no harm but take no shit" kinda way). Especially with how naive and innocent she was in the beginning, I loved the idea of her slowly coming to terms with her "darker" side and learning not to suppress her emotions until they had nowhere else to go and exploded (which was how I interpreted the AoW).

So when it didn't do that, or even explore an ounce of nuance regarding her relationship with her wrath, I was very disappointed to say the least. When Eris was revealed to be the one who "blessed" her with wrath, that was when the rose colored glasses started to fall off and I realized "wait, does Rachel not have an actual plan for this whole Kore vs. Persephone thing???" And now her wrath is literally just there to... give her the power to bully people?? It just feels so disheartening to see such potential squandered.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna chastise a story if it doesn't go exactly where I want it to go, there would be no fun in that anyways (and that's what fanfiction is for lmao). But when a story is leaving very interesting but connectable breadcrumbs that are VERY clearly leading you somewhere and then just... doesn't, that's when it's disappointing and unsatisfying. LO feels like a "creator vs. the reader" story in the worst way possible, where it's constantly leaving breadcrumbs, getting pissed when the audience "figures it out", so then it overcorrects and tries to "subvert" itself to keep the readers "on their toes"... but the problem is that all it really does is punish the readers for paying attention and investing themselves in the story by giving them a worse story. It's like Rachel's getting mad at people for figuring out a story that she's writing and hinting towards.

And this has been going on for YEARS now, it's like a Shepard tone where it sounds like it keeps getting higher and higher in pitch but then doesn't actually resolve so your brain is just scrambling trying to figure out what in the world it could be "building up to".

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There's nothing. It's not building up to anything. It's just constantly putting down new plot threads that are slightly altered versions of previous plot threads and expecting you to keep following along while it makes a mess of itself. It feels like you're going somewhere but you're actually still just running in place. It's just Rachel never learning how to progress past the middle school writing level of "and then this happened and then this happened and then this happened". Not only is it disorganized writing, but it's just... it's so boring. Nothing's exciting or interesting anymore when it keeps distracting itself with shiny new plotlines and characters that never get resolved.

It's like when you were a kid and thought "man , when I grow up, I'm gonna eat nothing but chocolate cake and ice cream every day forever!" and then you get older and you realize you were being silly because eating nothing but chocolate cake and ice cream every day 1.) isn't good for you and doesn't feel good, and 2.) the appeal and novelty of it wears off if you can have it any time you want, it doesn't feel as special anymore as it did when you were a kid and having those things was a treat.

To compare this back to LO, none of its "reveals" feel like treats anymore, they feel like just another half-assed attempt to keep people interested. It's clickbait.

And don't get me wrong, you CAN totally subvert the breadcrumbs you put down for your audience and go in a completely different direction than where the audience was expecting, but it takes a shitload of skill and thought to do it well. Attack on Titan is one of the best recent examples of a story appearing to completely throw out its original script halfway through, only for that script to actually still be relevant in a very complex and thought out way. Especially when there ARE hints towards the big "twist" that make you go back and rewatch it and realize "WAIT, THEY'VE BEEN GIVING US THE ANSWERS ALL THIS TIME?!?!"

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(it would be TWO MORE FUCKING SEASONS before this ending would make sense, that's fucking GENIUS foreshadowing and in the CREDITS SEQUENCE LIKE ?? IT'S SO BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS IT HOLY SHIT-)

Evidently Rachel does not have that skill and is not willing to put in that thought; maybe she could some day, but I don't think she's learning it on the job as well as she thinks she is.

And it's disappointing as fuck because it could have been so much better than this. Rachel is literally the only one getting in her own way of LO being something truly great.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ama #ask me anything #anon ask me anything #anon ama

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 2 years ago

Note

Do you think you could do headcanons for the Papas and a reader who has their own band?

Aaaaa this gave me memories of when I used to write band fics 10 years ago and I felt such a wonderful sense of nostalgia bc of it so tysm for this request!!!

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

Primo loves that you also have a band!!

Even though he's retired now, he likes to have little writing sessions with you where you both write song lyrics

He attends as many shows as he can

Unfortunately with his age and his body being a little more frail than he'd like he can't attend every single show

Sometimes he'll sit in on your band's practice sessions and will simply watch and listen

He doesn't give any opinions or feedback unless you ask him to as he doesn't want to overstep

If you ever dedicate a song to him during a performance, get ready for a very emotional Primo afterwards

He buys all your albums, both on CD and vinyl, as well as t-shirts and merch for the siblings at the abbey so that they can support you too

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

There's a little bit of playful rivalry between the two of you

This was especially prevalent when he was Papa

It was never a serious rivalry. It was a silly but fun one that pushed the two of you to be the best you could be

Now that he's no longer Papa, Secondo will frequently attend your shows

Absolutely will pay extra to buy VIP tickets so that he can meet you backstage rather than using his influence to get what he wants

Wants to feature on one of your songs but he also doesn't want you to feel like he's trying to insert himself in your professional life

Anyone who tries to say that your band is only successful because of your association with Ghost will live to regret those words

Incredibly proud of you and everything you do. He's even got a few framed posters of your band in his room (though he'll never admit that to anyone other than you)

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

Probably met you and your band at an awards ceremony

Definitely became one of your biggest fans after he looked up your music and videos of your performances and live shows

Frequently wears your brand's merch around the abbey when he doesn't have to be dressed all smart and formal

Offers for Special to go on the road with you to act as like a spokesperson for your band like he was for Ghost before Terzo got removed from his position as Papa

You should probably expect to find him waiting for you in your hotel room after shows he attends because he always wants to congratulate you in person as himself, not with the makeup and the costumes and the persona he puts on for everyone else

Now that he's no longer Papa, he has more time to attend any awards shows with you or events you get invited to e.g. movie premieres

And let me tell you, the cameras and the paparazzi eat the two of you up every time you attend an event together

However, Terzo makes it very clear to anyone and everyone who'll listen that your success and fame is all because of the hard work you and your band put in and nothing to do with him or Ghost

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

You know how we're all simps for Copia and would die for him? (Work with me here if you don't feel this way)

Well that's Copia with you and your band

He doesn't write fics or make fan art because honestly he doesn't have the confidence in himself or his skills to do it

But he loves to see all the fan art that people post online of your band

Will send you links to some of his favourites because as Papa he knows how much that can boost your confidence and reassure you that your fans love you, no matter what pissy little haters hiding behind their keyboards may say

Will hum or quietly sing your band's songs while he works, even if you're in the room with him

Puts you in touch with the costume designers and stylists for the band any time your band has photoshoots or big events

Like Terzo, he will attend events with you but he prefers to let you have the spotlight. He already gets so much attention as Papa, he wants you to have your moment to shine and bask in your achievements

𝐍𝐢𝐡𝐢𝐥

I'll be honest, he gets a little jealous at first

Things didn't work out when he was the frontman of Ghost so of course he becomes envious of you and your band's success

This manifests itself a little as him being kinda snarky at first

But after a while the jealousy stops and he turns his shit around to become more supportive of you

Now he's a big supporter!!

Admires how your band have been able to be so successful where he failed in his youth

Doesn't attend shows due to his age, but he will meet you backstage at the ones closest to him to wish you luck and congratulate you before and after shows

Has vinyls of your albums in his office to listen to when he's alone

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violettavonviolet · 6 months ago

Text

Marvel Fic Rec's

All fics are finished and absolutely amazing! I've sorted these by ship and the word count goes up as you scroll. This is the first half of my Tony Stark fic recs, the second half is linked below.

Fics that haven't left my brain since I read them are marked with a star.

Gen

It Matters to Me

Shyane

Summary:

Tony doesn't like having an empty seat to his right.

3k, past character death

Inhale, Exhale *

Oceanbreeze7

Summary:

The Arc Reactor did so much more than what everyone had realized.

Or maybe they never thought to question how a metal cylinder could exist inside the sternum of a human being without causing any lasting damage.

The story that questions a little more on how the Arc Reactor would actually affect the biology of a human being.

9k gen

Amateur Theatrics

galaxysoup

Summary:

In which Thor’s primary problem-solving method (a mighty blow from Mjolnir) fails to have the desired effect on a magical artifact, and his secondary method (a mightier blow from Mjolnir) proves to be actively disastrous.

26k teen

Frostiron

The Perfect Height

The_Winter_Writer

Summary:

Thor wasn't really sure why everyone in the kitchen was staring at Tony, half-asleep and tucked against Loki's side, until he realized that none of their teammates had actually seen Tony standing without shoes on.

1.7k not rated

Dollars to Donuts

thespacelizard

Summary:

University AU. Tony texts Loki offering money for Loki to be his personal takeout guy. It’s weird, but so is Tony, and Loki is strapped for cash. The arrangement becomes something more when Tony changes the script and asks him for something else – a favour.

All human English University AU because that is all I know how to write. Ace!Tony, and Ace!Loki. AU fluff.

6k teen

Breathing Out Your Praise.

Michaelssw0rd

Summary:

There are seven Hebrew words for praise and worship. Even though Tony does not know the words, he worships his lover- the god of mischief- in the essence of each of them.

7.3k mature

The Golden Apple

orphan_account

Summary:

Prompt: "Offering someone mortal a golden apple, wasn’t just offering them immortality, it was synonymous with asking them to spend eternity together, which was basically a marriage proposal and a question to become a family in one go. Which yeah, someone should have told Tony that. Loki totally failed to mention it, thinking it was common knowledge. Tony just thought that it was a weird gift of art decoration. It was a fucking golden apple, it didn’t look like something to eat, he wasn’t all that informed or interested into myths, how was he supposed to know that having the apple sit prettily on his desk and not eating it just showed a painful and long indecision akin to rejection to everyone who knew what the offering of an golden apple actually meant?"

Tony had honestly thought everything was fine.

So why was Loki acting so strange after giving him that apple?

9k teen

Fighting, Flyting, Flaunting, Flirting *

Redring91

Summary:

“What’s flyting?”

“Tis a form of verbal battle performed in the courts of Asgard, where opponents trade insults in verse.” Thor explains.

“Offensive poetry?” Tony clarifies, because that sounds awesome.

Thor nods. “Loki was by far the best skilled at it – it was not for nothing he came to be known as Silvertongue. He ceased competing in official matches after a time though. He deemed there were none on Asgard who could claim to be a worthy match for his attentions.” Thor levels a thoughtful look towards Tony at this.

“So, you’re saying that Tony derailed the fight because Loki enjoys it when they’re insulting each other?” Clint says slowly.

Thor gives a rather helpless shrug. “Loki has always enjoyed flyting.”

9.3k mature

Accepted

Arkada

Summary:

Tony’s less of an Avenger and more of an Avenger for hire - and that means his services are available to anyone who can pay the price. So when Loki shows up and asks for a consultation, it’d just be bad practice to turn him down.

Loki doesn’t exactly pay by credit card. No, he’s offering something much more appealing...

21k explicit

A Supervillain’s Guide to Getting Married

LulaMadison

Summary:

Written for this prompt on Avengerkink: "Even though there's the frequent battles with the Avengers, and his plans are always being thwarted, Loki likes it on Earth. He doesn't want to leave! But Odin (and Thor) rather want him back in Asgard. Loki decides it would be a good idea to marry a local, and have an excuse for staying put. Maybe he tries meeting some new people, but they don't interest him much. Better to stick with the people he knows (and would never admit to maybe kind of respecting a tiny bit). So Loki decides to marry an Avenger."

41k mature

Tea with the Hatter (TGIF)

theorytale

Summary:

It's seven a.m., Thursday fourteenth November, 2013.

It always is.

61k mature

The Underwater Basket-Weaving Society of America *

thisiswhatthewatergaveme

Summary:

Loki's crash landed, which is great. Only what do you do with a powerless, power-hungry ex-god looking for retaliation?

130k explicit

tripping and falling over the red line of fate *

graveltotempo

Summary:

While trying to escape from an ambush in Afghanistan, Toni ends up on Asgard.

Things do not get easier from there.

Between prison stays, death sentences, and a secret that could kickstart another 1000 years war, she does find her soulmate. So maybe, it isn't all so bad.

131k gen

The Midgard Offensive

NamelesslyNightlock

Summary:

As Thanos begins to assemble the Infinity Stones, the universe cries out for its heroes. Tony and Loki have never quite claimed to be that, but they know that they’re still going to do a damn fine job of defending their planet regardless. There’s just no way they’re letting an angsty purple eggplant tear them apart and destroy everything they’ve built together. No way in hell.

143k teen

pink raspberry cosmo

graveltotempo

Summary:

It's the last night of the Millennium.

Tony Stark's plan is to score a night with Maya Hansen, listen a bit to her research and have a fun little night.

But then he meets Loki, a handsome Prince from a faraway land, and the timeline is veered completely off course.

269k teen

Stony

Follow in Your Footsteps

Sineala

Summary:

When Tony is twelve, his soulmate's name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it's hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers.

It turns out there's a reason for that.

6k teen

The Winged Soul *

inukagome15

Summary:

It wasn't until he was three that he realized he was different and no one else could see the wings.

14k teen

To Have My Time Again...

WilmaKins

Summary:

It's been two years since Siberia, and Tony Stark is still dealing with the fallout - personal and political. Life is quite complicated enough, without Bruce falling through a wizards roof yelling that Thanos is coming.

Thor and Loki are stalling, but time is running out. The fate of the universe is at stake. Steve Rogers is back in the picture. Really, the last thing Tony needs is for their plan to go horribly wrong and bring Howard Stark forward in time.

But his Dad *is* standing in his office, whether he likes it or not.

So, it looks like Tony will have to fix that mess too.

166k teen

marvel fic recs part 2

#marvel #tony stark #fanfiction recommendation #stony #frostiron #genfic #vio's recs

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beyondthefarthestreaches · 2 months ago

Note

Thank you so much for the playlist! I really enjoyed bloodstream, it sounds super good and the singers voice is addictive. Crawl away and Vermillion were also bangers.

If you have notes on your explanations of the songs I'd loveeee to hear it, wanna hear how you interpreted them!!

Okay so this is probably going to be a Wildly long answer so first let me say that I am SO glad you liked the playlist!! I had a grand time making it and I listened to it on repeat for a few weeks just to tweak and move things around.

Also: making the cover art let me flex my editing skills just a tiny bit. It's been so long since I've done anything like that haha.

Anyway! on to the lengthy answer:

Creep - Radiohead: This one is probably the most obvious one. Sort've the soft dipping of the toe into the idea that yeah this guy knows he's a little weird and feels like a loser and he really wants to be good enough for the object of his affection.

Bloodstream - Stateless: ngl I fucking love this song so much. The dreamy vibes, to me, feel like being high and - in this case - high off of another person. "I think I might have inhaled you" "you've gotten into my bloodstream" - THIS is the real start of the obsession. The first peak of elation and adoration. Their being together, part of one another is right and amazing.

Shameful Metaphors - Chevelle: Plainly, this one for me was all about "I fear your eyes closing." Now that he knows the elation of "love," the worst possible thing to him is losing the person he's obsessed with because nothing about his life up until them has mattered.

Breezeblocks - alt-J: This edges towards the darker side of things. He loves them so much, god he does so he's willing to do anything to make them stay. "hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks, germaline disinfect the scene." And of course "Please don't go, I'll eat you whole" - Vore, anyone?

Closer - Nine Inch Nails: Of course, this one is a classic. The kind of fucked up, borderline creepy, lust - "I want to fuck you like animal, I want to feel you from the inside" - and adoration. "I drink the honey inside your hive, you are the reason I stay alive." (Additionally, the concept of "You get me closer to God" in-lore with the concept of Sleep would be fascinating to explore but I actually haven't fully dipped my toes in that water yet).

High Enough - k.flay: He's up again. They're all that he needs - "I only got eyes for you." What else could he ever want?

Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana: And back down. There's some bitterness, some resentment, some acknowledgement that this "love" is a trap that he's fallen into. Maybe they've lured him into it, maybe it's one of his own making - he's not quite aware enough to be sure but they're getting the blame all the same.

Weak and Powerless - A Perfect Circle: This one is all about admitting that he knows that he's actually weak for them. Everything he is and does is about them - and maybe he kind of wants out.

Die4u - Bring Me the Horizon: So the part of this song that got me is uhh for sure dark but "'Cause the truth of it, you could slit my wrists, and I'd write your name in a heart with the hemorrhage" honestly had me on my knees about it. follow it up with 'This isn't love, this is a car crash" and the way it reminds me of the references to cars/roads/car crashes throughout Sleep Token Lyrics - yeah. ("If my fate is a bad collision and my mind is an open highway", "i was more than just a body in your passenger seat", "between the second hand smoke and the glass on the street", and the bit at 2:30 of Granite that sounds like squealing tires - anyway.)

Follow You - Bring Me the Horizon: This is worship and his desperation for them to stay (even if they don't actually know who he is or that he exists. oof). He would go anywhere and do anything for them.

Crawl Away - TOOL: Aaand right into the deep dark. The fracture in his mind when they refuse him and try to get away - because he doesn't fucking care if they don't want to be with him. They're his, no matter what they do. He loves them and he'd kill them before letting them leave.

Ana's Song (Open Fire) - Silverchair: He's a little sorry. He still needs them so badly, even if they're killing him. Even if they're killing each other.

The Greatest View - Silverchair: Honestly, this one's pretty straightforward. Little stalker guy, just following. Just watching. Deluding himself that they want him back, that they see him, too.

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones: This is the impact he's realizing he's had on them, in a way. Where maybe they were naive or carefree before, now they know. They know him, and they know the fear excitement. They think about him now; he's sure he's always on their mind.

Vermillion, Pt.2 - Slipknot: Something I think a lot about is the way many obsessive stalkers struggle with their self worth because it's so tied up in the object of their obsession, and that's where this song comes in. There's a faltering, a misstep, one that's not enough to send him into the rage of rejection, but one that triggers his lack of self worth. He needs them, he wants them, he hates himself.

liMOusIne - Bring Me the Horizon, Aurora: I was annoyed that I wanted this song on this playlist; I really tried to limit myself to a max of 2 songs per artist but liMOusIne just would not leave me alone. He wants them to love him back - to adore him back. "I hope that you wrote all your songs for me, kiss the ground i walk, I'm a fool for you" and then the last bit post chorus "so lock all the doors cause I'm insecure" ties back to his low self esteem. Of course, there's also all the shivery, squirmy, obsessive bits "do you like the way your skin crawls," "I'll swallow the bile for you," "I'll tickle that spot for you."

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk lmao.

#answers #sleep token rpf #st exchange

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kaija-rayne-author · 1 year ago

Text

Not going to reblog it in order to respond, but lets talk about piracy, specifically of books.

It's a fraught discussion. Many people take the black/white stance on it. I personally do not pirate, because I know the cost to authors. If piracy had been a thing in the xtian cult I grew up in, I probably would have. We were an hour away from the closest library. It wasn't safe for me to read the queer books I needed.

I've been poor enough (am now) where I can't afford books. I've been far enough away from a library that it wasn't a viable option. My library really doesn't have the books I want to read. I've requested them, but they haven't shown up. Some countries don't even have libraries. Some people can't read the works they want to because of external pressures.

There's more to it than good/bad.

Firstly, the most likely person to pirate a book is a cis, white, western male who makes 70k or more/year. That's just sheer entitlement and yes, it's wrong. Period.

But what about the poor people, the queer people who don't dare check out the queer books they need? What about, what about, what about... I get it. I really really do.

I'm an author whose books are pirated a lot. If I had a nickel/5 cents for every copy of my work that's been pirated, I wouldn't be edging on homelessness right now.

Some truths.

1. Most authors aren't wealthy. Most aren't even financially stable. Like any industry, there's the golden show ponies that make ridiculous amounts of money. Then there's the rest of us, who, if we're lucky, make 10k a year on our books. (I never have.)

2. It takes anywhere between 8 weeks of ridiculously long days to actual years to write a book. And these are niche, hard to acquire skills. Not everyone can write. I think almost anyone can learn how to write well, but it’s not inborn, and most people don't dedicate themselves to it. These are skills we've had to learn. So a person who pirates is also taking that from the author too.

3. Writing isn't easy. It's blood, sweat, tears, and so much time away from the people who love us to make that book. If there's no reward for us in it, why would we continue publishing? I wrote for myself far longer than I have for publication. People tell me I'm a great writer. If there's nothing in it for me beyond the joy of writing, why should I add the extra work of making my stories publishable? And there's sooooo much extra work and hours that go into that.

4. Piracy reduces the chance that that author can keep writing. It really does. We have to eat and pay bills like anyone else. Every single piece of great art we, as a species, have comes from people who had a place to live, money for supplies, and both time and energy to create. If you're living in poverty, like me, it can be nigh impossible to create. So you're taking that too. If you love an author's work, you're making it less likely they can either finish the series you've pirated books from, or even write at all.

5. Boycotting Amazon doesn't hurt Amazon, but it sure as hell hurts authors.

6. If you are in a position where piracy is your only option... email the author, their publicist, or their publisher and request a review e-copy. We'll usually send it in hopes of a review. It's likely to be cleaner and more readable than any pirated copy. Plus, it's legal.

7. If you have to pirate, at least have the basic decency to do something for the author in return. That can be a lot of things. Leaving a review at any site you can access that accepts reviews is probably one of the best. Reviews really do sell books for us. Good or bad reviews, it doesn't matter. Obviously, positive is better, but even a negative review can prevent another negative review by warning people of things they might not enjoy in the work.

Send them an email if you loved it. Writing is a lonely profession, and fan mail has absolutely kept me writing on hard days. It means a lot to get positive fan mail. (I've never even heard of an author who has asked where you got the book.)

Drop a dollar into their Kofi if you can. Or become a patron. Especially if you can afford it and love our work, you can help us keep writing that way too. If my patron were filled to the point where I could afford to write more, I could be easily getting 3 books out a year vs the 1 every couple of years I'm currently managing to do. And my books are free for my patrons.

Fan art can also be a nice thing to receive.

Important! Talk about our books with anyone who might possibly be interested (if it's safe for you to do so) word of mouth is still the best advertising there is. Mention them on your social media too.

8. Piracy is very far away from a victimless crime. You are (whatever your reasons) harming the author who wrote the book. Even if you weren't going to buy it, you're still encouraging people to rip the books and make them available illicitly.

9. I did mention most of us will send a copy out to those who ask for one, right? Especially if we're indie with little to no marketing budget. We're hoping you'll review it, but there aren't any reviews police. Most authors who are decent people will just send it and hope. (I've been harassed for reviewing a book before, so I'd be remiss if I didn't say there wasn't a risk of the author asking you about the review. It's considered incredibly rude to do so in publishing circles, but there's still some authors who will. Use a throw away email.)

10. Sign up for Netgalley and Edelweiss. These are sites where publishers put books up for requests for reviews. You request the book, (for free unless something has changed recently) then, if you get it, you're supposed to review it. But again, there's no review police. (Please do review if you can.)

11. If you do have access to a library, you can ask them to order it. A lot of the time they will. And libraries have to pay the author/publisher to license the work, so we get paid by libraries too. You're helping an author by using a library, not harming them.

12. Lastly, check your entitlement. The world we currently live in doesn't value art (and writing is art) enough to pay a living wage for it. If you want art, someone has to pay us to do it, because otherwise we can't pay the power bill. Or any other bills. Writing shouldn't be the sole province of the wealthy and well off. Yet, I've seen so many writers stop writing because they just can't afford to. I'm there right now. If you want a world where authors can afford to give our work away for free, start voting for things like social programs and UBI. So that we can create art without worrying about the bills.

I'll probably think of more later, but those are the basics.

Don't bother arguing with me. You know it's wrong to pirate. It's, as noted, something that some people need to do because of poverty or lack of access or, or, or. Unless it's a disability issue, just wanting the e-copy vs the paper copy your library has isn't enough of an excuse. You can email the author or get it legally from a reviewing site. And if you're one of the well off folks who pirate? Fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

You do not have the right to steal from authors for any reason, much less your convenience. Talk about privilege and entitlement.

There are extenuating circumstances, and there are also non-piracy ways to get books.

#piracy #book piracy

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justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 1 year ago

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hi hi!! i would love to request a matchup for my hero academia, genshin impact and legend of korra please :D

my name's mary, my pronouns are she/her, I'm straight and demisexual and I'm an Aries and an ISFJ :) my hair is super long, straight, and brown, and I'm 5'5. I've got a gap between my two front teeth and I'm a little insecure about my big nose, but I'm greek so it's part of who i am. i love painting, musicals , singing, writing stories, animals (especially cats), baking, acting and theater! I'm an ambivert but most would say I'm an extrovert because of my bubbly and friendly exterior. my aesthetic is 100% cottagecore, i love my frilly plaid dresses and my pretty dainty necklaces! people have often described me as too nice or too sensitive, and i am a bit of a people pleaser so i can't disagree. I can't stand being yelled at, anything mean, anyone that makes fun of others and injustice. i try my best to always see the best in people. even though I'm shy at first, as soon as you talk to me a little i will not shut up ever! i think that's all, thank u so so much for taking my request, have a lovely lovely day or night! <3

Hi Mary! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like your matchups!

In My Hero Academia, I match you with...

Midoriya loves that you’re such a bubbly person. He really bounces off the energy of other people so being around you brings out the best in him.

If you’re feeling insecure about your physical appearance, he’ll give you as much reassurance as he can. He loves every part of you and wants to make sure you know that.

Please bake things for him! Midoriya would eat anything you make for him out of principle but if it tastes good, it’s an added bonus.

Will very rarely yell around you. It takes a lot to get Midoriya stressed enough to yell and even then, he’ll do his very best to not take his anger out on you.

If for any reason he does yell at you, he will do everything he can to make it up to you. He’s getting you your favourite snacks, new art supplies, a trip to the nearest cat cafe, and anything else you could wish for as well as a very heartfelt apology.

In Genshin Impact, I match you with...

Like Midoriya, Thoma will very rarely, if ever, yell at you. He prefers to take any anger out on nearby enemies before it gets to a point that he would yell at you.

Loves baking with you! Thoma’s great in the kitchen so no matter how good or bad your baking skills are, whatever you make will taste amazing.

Thoma enjoys listening to you talk. He especially likes it if you talk to him while he’s doing his daily chores; it helps pass the time and he gets to spend time with you.

Very supportive of you in everything you do. Your painting? Wonderful. Your singing? Amazing. Your writing? The best he’s ever read. He’ll always give you genuine compliments on anything you do.

Same goes for your appearance. Thoma will always give you compliments on your outfit or appearance. And you can be sure they’re better compliments than a simple “you look nice”. He wants you to be as confident in yourself as he is in how much he cares about you.

In Legend of Korra, I match you with...

Your biggest cheerleader. Yes, even when compared to Midoriya and Thoma. Bolin will hype you up with anything you need extra confidence with.

Please teach him the basics of painting. He’s not great at first but he’s willing to learn and he enjoys it. When he gets decently good, he’ll paint something for you to give you for a special occasion.

Lets you play with Paku whenever you want. Paku loves anyone who is willing to give him attention and he especially loves you since Bolin cares about you.

Is this guy even capable of being mean? If he ever unintentionally hurts your feelings, he’s going to give you the biggest bouquet of flowers you can imagine, every flower picked by hand. If you’re allergic to flowers, he’ll take you out to the fanciest place he can afford for dinner.

Loves all your frilly dresses. He thinks they look great on you and he loves how they feel when he hugs you. The frills tickle him a bit but he doesn’t mind. As long as he gets to show his favourite person how much he cares.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #request #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #izuku midoriya #genshin impact #thoma #legend of korra #bolin

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valen-dreth · 2 years ago

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💋 🍊 💛 🌳 💤 🍆 and 🌺 for oc of your choice!!

let's do bels again! thank you (and sorry this is a lil late!)

💋 How affectionate are they with their friends? Their family? Their romantic partner(s) (if they have any)? Are they more physical or emotional when it comes to displaying their affection? Why?

She is a little reserved when it comes to being affectionate with her friends; she has very few people that she would trust enough to call her friend, and once she does get there she doesn't want to overstep and lose that. If a friend initiates first then she will be but she never assumes. She does not have any known family. With partners she's mostly physically affectionate but mostly privately! PDA's just not her thing.

🍊 What is your OC’s favourite meal? Snack? Dessert? Drink? Any reasons behind this besides liking how it tastes?

What is your OC’s most hated food? Stuff they can’t stand to eat or drink?

She's found that she LOVES traditional Dunmeri cuisine.... her fav is by far baked ash yam with scuttle.... so simple and delishes. For snacks she likes things that will keep for a while, nuts and nut treats are easy enough to come by in Cyrodiil and Skyrim. She doesn't get to indulge in desserts often enough to really opine on any. She's a rum and sujamma gal but won't turn down Surilie's wine (she used to have ambitions to become a vintner with them but it didn't work out.)

She doesn't particularly care for apples or pork, and she won't eat anything with radishes. She steers clear of goat's milk too though she does like goat cheese.

💛 In general, how in control of their emotions is your OC? Do they have a good hold on them or do their emotions control them, not the other way around? What do you think is the reason behind this and is your OC ever concerned about their lack of or good control?

I would say she's not good at... controlling her emotions she more just bottles em up and lets them fester. She was raised in an environment where her feelings didn't really matter and she never really learned HOW to express herself in a healthy way. It's not something that she was concerned about till someone else would have brought it up (probably the first person to do so was Cali) and even then she's still reluctant now to let anyone see how she really feels

💤 What was your OC like as a baby, a child and as a teen? (if your OC is a teen or a child, what will they be like as an adult?). How have they changed since then? What lessons have they learned and what things about their youth do they miss the most? Do they have any general regrets?

As a baby.... I mean she was regular I guess. Not really fussy or anything, if anything at all I think she would have been a little clingy. As a kid she started acting out; she was raised in a situation not unlike Honorhall Orphanage and didn't really get a lot of attention, more so because she is half Orsimer and that was seen as less desirable so far as finding a family. She left as soon as she could and immediately found that she had no idea how to really survive on her own, she didn't have any skills. Her teen years and early adulthood were spent doing odd jobs around Anvil until she left for Skingrad to look for an apprenticeship.

So far as change since then.... she's developed thicker skin and shut people out a lot more. Despite her outward easygoing and sanguine personality I think she's deeply lonely. She doesn't miss much from her youth and her only regret would be not standing up for herself and leaving sooner.

🍆 Tea or Coffee or Hot Chocolate? Sweet or Spicy? Fruits or Vegetables?

Tea / Spicy / Vegetables

🌺 Does your OC have any tattoos or other body art? Does their body art have any specific meaning behind it? Do they have any scars? How did they get those scars? Any birthmarks?

An early concept I had for her was that she would get tattoos like the markings that Dremora have! I could still see her doing that tbh, maybe sometime in the future..... for the time being she doesn't have any tattoos but she Does have stretched earlobes and recently in the timeline she's been growing out her brow horns! I've considered her having a bridge piercing too just for fun :)

She does have a few noteworthy scars, on each side of her mouth she has old scars from when her tusks were forcibly removed. She's missing the two teeth from her lower jaw but sometimes she wears metal-coated false teeth there. She has a long scar across her upper throat under her chin from an altercation with a former member of her Sanguine cult, and two on her right cheek from a past target after she joined the Morag Tong. Other dings here and there but they're not as important or noticeable.

#thank you again!! boy this got long #asks #oc talk #oc: belevel

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bunker024 · 4 months ago

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(note: Everything typed here is based off of notification walls and my interpretation of everything going on in the bunker. Right now I just speed up the time until the next day and slow down if interesting stuff happens but everything is mostly notification and pop up recaps and interactions. Because Dela is my main, I might also intervene only into HER life and choices to keep her taken care of. Everyone else is down to their own wits)

The Bunker Challenge - Week #1

Sunday Not much happened, everyone had settled down since The Event, and took to honing their skills as well as exploring the bunker. Relationship wise, forgot to mention since Dela, Mia, and Noah are Library characters, they kinda already have a thing going. Especially Mia and Dela, who are dating (letsgoooo) As much as everyone is shaken up by The Event still, Randy and Zayden have bonded over past memories. They're still at aquaintance level with each other, but with their past history of deviance.. who knows? I also forgot to mention besides the 3 Library characters the rest were randomized by the My Story system, so even I don't know their personalities or backstories besides the Library characters who already had descriptions. Randy is the only one I customized and specifically to be an asshole, so its funny he's managed to get on the same page with SOMEONE

Monday Everyone has tried working the computer, but when it came down to becoming a responsibility, looking and scouting potential areas for scavenging, Yusun was the first to step up to the job. Yusun is the only one in the Bunker now who has access to the Comms Room. Let's hope she keeps everything in tact As one would expect, things began to break after awhile. Dela (main) has taken it upon herself to repair the toilet. Not as a charity thing, more like she REALLY needed to pee and no one else was gonna do it. She's considering whether or not this might be a continuous thing, but.... Such a fall from being one of fashion and beauty to grime and filth... embarrassing. What's worse: all that handiness and she never got to use the toilet except where she wasn't supposed to. And the cherry on top was Mia and Zayden themselves were in the same room, wanting to resolve the same issue. A humiliating start for Dela for sure. Everyone has taken a liking to Randy. He's not the worse, to say the least. Yusun has definitely bonded with him over cooking, so that's good. As a matter of fact, everyone has bonded with him over cooking. Who knows, he might take a strong liking to culinary arts while he's down here. (next Gordon Ramsey ass/j) Everyone is pretty much on good terms with each other! Tuesday With the toilet more worse than a running fountain, Dela picked herself up by the bootstraps and went off to fix and clean up the mess in the bathroom, with the help of Zayden of course. She managed to fix the toilet! yay! (She's SO not happy abt it- girl I feel u) "Oh c'mon!!" Doesn't seem like the issues end there. With both the fridge and kitchen sink broken- AND the coffee machine?! Dela begans to loathe fixing ANYTHING in this bunker! how does this stuff keep breaking and when is anyone going to take accountability for it?! The fridge and sink are fixed but THATS IT! They can fix their own coffee machine.. Shoutout to Noah though for handling the bunker's trash on his own tho. We love you king </3 Also, sharing one bathroom between 8 people sucks. Of course, no one here has some sort of demolition skill or whatever so- the bathroom wars continue I guess. Mia hasn't been too good in the bunker- and certainly the past few days hasn't helped. With Dela suddenly tense and worked up about the current conditions of the bunker, she's found it quite hard to even talk to her about- well- anything! it's almost as if she's deliberately avoiding her..? Mia doesn't know, but the fear that Dela is seeing someone behind her back is eating away at her. It also doesn't help that she feels luck has been anywhere BUT by her side. It doesn't feel like there's anything to look forward to but....at least she's still alive...right? Wednesday

Dela has woken up with a bout of anxiety and existential dread that somehow..somewhere, someone is controlling her and stopping her from achieving her dreams... Well- she's half right. Not trying to knock down your parade though girlypop. She talks it out with the others at breakfast, trying her best to ignore the broken stovetop behind her. That's no longer her problem. After a feel-good talk, maybe that whispering voice might help her out now? Maybe.... >:3 She begins to feel a little less depressed sharing her ideas with the others. Whispering voice also tells her to MAYBE GO CHECK ON UR GF- After all that though, she's in a better mood! Not Zayden though. With how pent up everyone is locked in, he tried to give exercise a try to let all that pent up energy out. Not worth it. He's a sweating mess and he's feeling more tired than fulfilled. Everyone gets a bout of sadness however.. They try to remember anything from before The Event...Their livelyhood..anything. Dela takes a moment to softly cry to herself in bed, careful not to wake Randy. She can't really deal with him right now, anyways. Something he said earlier in a conversation had struck a nerve and she doesn't really want to be bothered with what he might say next. Thursday The toilet. again. broken. Isn't it supposed to have some sort of top tier plumbing system?? Dela again has to repair that and AGAIN couldn't hold it in long enough to finally reap what she's sowed, sowed, and sowed. She had to repair the shower again, and cant even use it because Devan won't leave, complaining to her about the nastiness of the bathroom. She KNOWS that. She would LOVE to at least shower if he wasn't in the way! Soon EVERYONE climbs in to stress about the cleanliness and repair issue, and it soon becomes clear they might need to assign someone these duties. Dela sure as hell won't be in charge of that. She stresses this to Mia, and sure enough she figures she'll address this to Yusun. After all, she is somewhat a leader now...right? She's the only one with access to comms. She might have some good ideas that everyone will be sure to listen to. Speaking of everyone, The bunker isn't looking too good. Everything is broken! Everyone stinks. There's mess everywhere! It becomes clear as day: They need to start giving each other jobs. But who's the one to do it? They decide they'll figure it out friday morning. Friday (First meeting) ok so do you know how HARD it is to have every sim in one room? Hard They kept leaving and even locking the doors occassionally didn't work SO eventually a meeting was held in the comms room at 10am (when it was meant to start 30 minutes earlier). Rashawn and Randy left before it could start smh But to be fair- no one was comfortable. A room full of hot sweaty smelly people was NOT anyone's dream meeting. Alas, what needed to be done needed to be done. The meeting was kept short to 15 minutes cause good GOD everyone stank. Dela shared some tips she learned about repairs to Noah, which felt like a huge weight off her shoulders now that she had someone to pass the torch to. Given that, she did not care if she had to hop on one leg and rub her elbows; She was free! and if sanitation was the only job open then she didn't mind handling that if it meant staying as far away from a wrench as humanely possible Yusun grows a bit annoyed that Randy and Rashawn were nowhere for the meeting despite what everyone agreed on. She grows a dislike for mischief It is then also decided who will go out to scavenge for resources tomorrow: (1) person will go out to look for resources. This outing will include (Zayden)

Everyone wasn't too fond of leaving I guess. To be fair, not knowing what The Event was anyways, I would be apprehensive about it too. Only Zayden volunteered, and so, He will be leaving. Let's hope he doesn't loose his head... Meanwhile Yusun has a Eureka moment! The group SHOULD hold meetings more often. Might be useful to know what everyone is up to or any future complaints might come about. No one is not against the idea either. Saturday (THE OUTING) Zayden will be leaving at dawn (6am) Everyone else will attend to their duties of course. Dela got trash and mess, Noah got repairs. Zayden does a brief stretch before leaving. He's energized and ready to go! He debates whether or not next time he should've woken up earlier to maybe gather his bearings. Mia feels unfulfilled in life, and that someone is controlling her... WHY ARE THE LESBIANS ONTO ME?/J First day for Dela and Noah's jobs and- Yikes. Noah got electrocuted He's fineeeeeeeeeeeee.... a bit dazed, but he's determined to get the job done...(He's now scared of dying, knowing that if he messes up again he just might die. His mind races with all the things he has yet to do and what he'll do once this is done and out of the way). Dela quietly debates whether she should properly help him out later. At least give him the ropes. After all, as much as she hates repairing things she's really good at it. But as Dela decides to go check in on Noah... Everyone is met in horror at his convulsing body on the kitchen floor Noah has died from electrocution Lol shocker, right? .......wrong timing? Everyone is in a state of horror and grief as the grim reaper himself....just chills lmfao. He chats with Devan briefly.....ominous..?? Yusun grieves HARD The news is enough to have her call Zayden and abort the outing altogether (I misclicked and brought him back </3) Everyone is either in a state of grief or...numbness? Some aren't too sure how to handle the situation (Fine: Around Death effect) Anyways

TL;DR - Week #1

Yusun takes on the role of controlling the Communications room Dela forms a love-hate relationship with handiness. She's terrifically good at repairs and hating everything about it (As stuff in the Bunker keeps breaking). Mia feels anxious about her place in the world and in Dela's relationship, as they are partners. Zayden is selected for the scavenging Outing

Noah becomes the Bunker Handyman, Dela becomes the janitor Noah dies of electrocution while fixing the refrigerator, leaving everyone in a state of numbing shock and/or grief. Zayden returns and aborts the mission after hearing about the death. Yusun grieves hard. Personal Note: I was NOT expecting this to be so fun actually. OFC there was some hiccups and rules had to be changed or modified, but this went smoothly. Hell- smoother than when I first created the challenge for myself years back eventually I'll edit the master post but establish some base rules if anyone wants to try this challenge too! Next time hopefully we can have a successful outing and no one dies, given I wasn't expecting one so early in the first week.

#the sims 4 #sims 4 challenge #made up challenge #Bunker 024 #Week recap

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wearethepotemkin · 1 year ago

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Roast Chicken Dinner with Julia Child’s Asperges au Naturel [Boiled Asparagus], Sauce Mornay, and boiled potatoes

Recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking used in this meal:

Sauce Velouté (57) Sauce Mornay (61) Asperges au Naturel [Boiled Asparagus – hot] (436) Roast Chicken pan sauce (242) (ack, never mind!)

Other recipes:

Ina Garten’s Perfect Roast Chicken

Frontmatter: So here’s a confession: I’m pretty hopeless with sauces, and a real dummy with carving a bird. I’ve been playing at roasting birds for 15 years, and making a complete cock-up of the final presentation the whole while. I’m afraid to cut into bone, and while I can roast a bird to perfection, the second I try to cut between the leg and the whatever, the drumstick bone rips out, or I shred the breast meat, or do some other stupid crap and then I lose my place and just start hacking away at the poor bird, and it all just looks like a giant pile of carrion remains in the end. And everyone’s really nice because it still tastes great, but then I get scared off it for a bit, and in my head, and then try again in a few months, and watch Jacque Pepin carve a bird, and a dozen other videos on You Tube, and look at old diagrams and drawings, and I come to my perfectly roasted and rested bird with a new plan and e voila, I fuck it up again and we eat a weird pile of delicious meat that looks like a drunkard shoveled it out of a gutter before it was attacked by wild dogs. Again.

Oh and I have no idea what wings are for or why anyone would care, so those just go in my next batch of stock. Which seems like a waste. But like who wants the wings off a roast chicken? Anyone? Someone must.

And I’ve never mastered the basics of sauces, so I follow recipes, but they’re not building on skills or knowledge. Every sauce is its own thing, not, oh it’s an ‘x’ but with vinegar instead of lemon juice. Like I can remember cocktail proportions that way. I know my Mai Tai in relationship to proportions of a Margarita, replace half the orange with orgeat, etc. So I know my brain can do that. But I’ve never learned my basic sauces, and so I can’t do it with sauces. Yet. Enter my cunning plan.

It’s to get better at stuff. My cunning plan is to learn shit and get better at stuff.

So, I’m going to spend some time with the OGFC, Julia Child to try to learn her basic sauces to build from there.

Toward that end, tonight I’ll attempt TWO, eh like 2.5, JC recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking: Asperges au Naturel [Boiled Asparagus] (peel that shit, the JC way, whether I think it matters or not {and I don’t}), a Sauce Mornay out of a Sauce Velouté which I think will be nice on asparagus and some simple boiled potatoes I’m making. I’m also going to roast a chicken, but I’m not going to do one of Julia’s roast chickens. Look, they sound great, but require basting and turning like constantly (like, I don’t know how you keep the oven temp up you’re basting it and turning it so much), and Ina Garten’s roast chicken turns out incredible for me every time and it’s a real leave-it-alone-and-let-the-magic-happen kinda deal which works for me when I’m trying to learn a basic ass sauce that everyone else already knows how to make. Plus I gotta lemon, head of garlic that’s getting old, and some fresh thyme I really wanna shove up there. There’s a certain catharsis to it. But I’m gonna use Julia’s pan sauce method instead of Ina’s gravy, which means adding carrots to the pan I’m roasting the bird in, then sauteing minced shallots in the pan juices while the chicken rests, deglazing with more chicken stock, reducing, and adding butter.

But I’ll try to carve it for the I-don’t-knowth time after watching Julia and Jacques and a bunch of other videos and I’ll see if it goes any better this time around.

So here we go!

Barefoot Contessa aka Ina Garten’s Roast Chicken

Sidebar: Links to my favorite relatively fuss-free roast chickens:

This one from Ina is great too, but Luke doesn’t so much truck with fennel, so I don’t do this one anymore:

If you don’t want to stuff your bird full of the aromatics, try Jacque Pepin’s Skillet Roasted Chicken with Natural Juices

Jacques Pepin’s Basic Roast Chicken | New York Times

or Matty Matheson’s easy-ass no-truss bird that cooks in like 45-60 minutes.

Matty Matheson: Winner Winner Chicken Dinner | It’s Suppertime for Munches / Vice: (7:19 for the roast chicken)

Just go to her site. It’s really one of the easiest and most consistently good recipes for roast chicken I’ve ever tried. Are there better out there, yeah probably. If I’m making simple sides, I’ll experiment with something more fussy, but this is the one to make if you want to focus on your sides or if you’re making other things that need to be watched closely.

I added some carrots to the pot, and I use the carrots and onions to lift the chicken off the bottom a little bit. Then I usually add a ¼ cup of water or stock to the bottom of the pot when it’s got about 20 minutes to go. Oh, and the cook time in my oven is usually about an hour 20 minutes instead of 30. That’s when my thigh temp hits 165.

Bird goes in the oven, 425 for 80-90 minutes.

Boiled Potatoes – no recipe!

The last of the garden baby potatoes for the year were starting to sprout. And these only lasted this long because I think they were small russet potatoes and the skins were ugly, so I peeled those, boiled them in salted water, threw in some butter and salt, chuffed them a little, and stuck a dish towel over them until ready to serve. Just tossed in the microwave for 45 seconds so I could get these out of the way early to focus on the other stuff. Served with some minced parsley and sauce mornay. Could have done without the latter, but we’ll get to that.

Asperges au Naturel [Boiled Asparagus – hot] (Child 436)

Julia says “We have tested every asparagus cooking method we have heard of—peeled, unpeeled, boiled butts, steamed tips—and can say categorically that the freshest, greenest, and most appetizing asparagus is cooked by the French method” (435). So…. There ya go.

Sidebar: Yeah, that wasn’t working, but the peeler did fine. Maybe not on really fat asparagus, but then just do another couple of passes on the super fat end. Have a good peeler, use that shit. Made quick work of it.

To do this, I have to peel. Julia says the peeler will do me no good as it doesn’t go deep enough. She says “hold the butt end up” and “peel off the outer skin with a sharp, small knife, going as deep as 1/16 of an inch at the butt in order to expose the tender, moist flesh” (435). Then “gradually make the cut shallower until you come up to the tender green portion near the tip. Shave off any scales which cling to the spear below the tip” and then wash the peeled spears in cold water, and drain.

Then you line them up so the tips are in the same place, and tie them in bundles of about 3 ½” with string in two places, and cut off the butts to even everything out. But leave a couple spears out of the bundles so you can test for doneness. (Which I forgot to do.)

And if you’re doing this ahead of time, which I am, set them upright in ½” of cold water, cover with a plastic bag, and refrigerate.

HOLD UNTIL THE BIRD IS RESTING.

Then in a pot big enough that you can put the asparagus bunches in horizontally, in enough boiling salted water to cover the bundles:

Sidebar: Uhm, I did this for 8 minutes, and I still think I over-cooked them a little. Can’t imagine what nearly twice that would have done.

Boil slowly, uncovered, for 12-15 minutes, until a knife pierces the butt end easily. The spears “should bend a little, but should not be limp or droopy. Eat the loose spear to test for doneness” (437).

Sidebar: Yeah, this was genius. I mean, I’m always scrambling to get green veg done in the end so it doesn’t get cold. Will use this again for sure. Probably could have worked for the potatoes too.

Cut and remove the strings. If not using right away, they will keep warm for 20-30 minutes covered with a napkin. Put asparagus on a platter, then place that platter on top of the water you boiled the asparagus in, then put a napkin on the asparagus. She says.

Sauce Velouté, medium consistency (57) and Sauce Mornay (61)

The great sauce journey begins here. Bear with me, I’m learning, and I’m trying to learn with Julia.

The White Mother Sauces “stem from those two cousins, béchamel and velouté. Both use a flour and butter roux as a thickening agent but béchamel is a milk based sauce while the velouté has a fish, meat, or poultry base” read: stock (54), which is the version I’ll be doing today.

Thin Sauce or soup 1 Tb per cup of liquid Medium, general purpose sauce 1-1/2 Tb flour per cup of liquid Thick sauce 2 Tb flour per cup of liquid Soufflé base 3 Tb flour per cup of liquid

And then the mornay sauce is a medium consistency velouté or béchamel with swiss cheese, or a combination of swiss and parmesan mixed in after the original sauce is completed.

2 T butter 3 T flour 2 cups boiling stock Salt and white pepper

Instructions for Sauce Veloute from Mastering the Art of French Cooking (57):

Sidebar: Maybe my low heat is lower than Julia’s. But I had to turn this up to a medium-low to get anything to happen here. Or maybe the time here really depends on the kind of pot. I was using an enameled cast iron pot, so I upped that temp a bit. Eventually there was some light frothing, but it took forever to get there at low.

1) In a heavy bottomed [at least] 6-cup saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. Blend in the flour, and cook slowly, stirring, until the butter and flour froth together for 2 minutes without coloring. This is now a white roux.

Sidebar: Is it supposed to smell like butter cookies? I’ve heard popcorn, but mine really smelled like cookies. Hmmm.

2) Remove roux from heat. As soon as roux has stopped bubbling, pour in all the [boiling chicken stock] at once. Immediately beat vigorously with a wire whip to blend liquid and roux, gathering in all bits of roux from the inside edges of the pan.

3) Set saucepan over moderately high heat and stir with the wire whip until the sauce comes to a boil. Boil for 1 minute, stirring.

4) Remove from heat, and beat in salt and white pepper.

Now we’re gonna turn that into the Sauce Mornay with the addition of the following:

¼ cup swiss coarsely grated ¼ cup parmesan finely grated Pinch nutmeg Pinch cayenne (optional) 1-2T softened additional butter (optional)

1) Take the sauce veloute you made, and right after it has boiled for one minute, while it is still hot, remove from the heat and beat in the cheeses until melted and blended with the sauce.

2) Season to taste with salt, pepper, nutmeg, and optional cayenne.

3) Off heat, and just before serving, stir in optional additional butter a bit at a time, if using. (I didn’t.)

If not using right away, you can pour a thin layer of melted butter, or stock over the top to keep it from skinning over.

Julia’s Pan Sauce for the roasted chicken (242):

½ Tb minced shallots 1 cup chicken stock Salt and pepper 1-2 Tb softened butter

1) While the chicken is resting, scoop the onions and carrots that are left in the roasting pan out, leaving as much liquid as possible.

2) Remove all but two Tablespoons of fat from the pan. Stir in the minced shallots and cook slowly for 1 minute. Add the stock and boil rapidly over high heat, scraping up coagulated roasting juices with a wooden spoon and letting liquid reduce to about ½ cup.

3) Season with salt and pepper

Sidebar: This is where I fucked up and just scrapped the whole thing. I was distracted trying to carve the bird, and added the butter in all at once with the pan still on the heat, and it never came together. Looked like a nice reduction until I added the butter. So yeah, do that part slowly or you’ll have a broken fatty mess. I did not serve this.

4) Off-heat, and just before serving, swirl in the enrichment butter by bits until it has been absorbed.

5) Pour a spoonful of the sauce over the chicken, and send the rest to the table in a sauceboat

It’s off the menu. Let’s say no more about it.

Carve my damn chicken.

So I think I watched all the videos again today, plus a few more. And I think I know where I’ve been going wrong, but I was focused on the task and didn’t take any pictures.

But here are my favorite videos for learning:

Jacques Pepin Techniques: How to Carve a Roast Chicken

But here’s the thing: so easy, so fast, watched it a dozen times, but honestly he goes so fast that I need some more help.

Chris Carves a Roast Chicken | From the Test Kitchen | Bon Appetit

This one may have helped me the most this time around because he really slows down to show you the parts where you’re exploring the joints with the knife to find those connection points.

Then there’s this:

At 21:26 you can see how a Fak carves a chicken, I guess.

Here’s some notes. I let this bird rest for 20 minutes, and I think it could have gone another 10. It was still very hot, and I rushed my pan sauce and fucked it because my bird rest timer went off, and I could have ignored that and saved my pan sauce. So 30 minutes is not too long for a 5 pound bird.

Dinnertime

Roast Chicken Dinner with Julia Child’s Asperges au Naturel [Boiled Asparagus], Sauce Mornay, roast chicken pan sauce, and boiled potatoes

So, how did it all go?

Well I think the chicken carving turned out way better than usual. I wasn’t serving it to a bunch of people, and Luke and I both wanted thigh and leg tonight, so that’s what I plated, and I didn’t bother to separate them, and I think it doesn’t quite look like a drunken monkey did it. The breasts came off fine, though perhaps I still left a lot of scrap behind, and the meat shredded a bit. The breasts were slightly overcooked as I let the chicken go in the oven the full 90 minutes, when I knew from last time I should have taken it out at 80. Not a huge deal. They sliced up nicely for leftovers.

Chicken was fucking great, even without the pan gravy. Good job Ina and good job me.

The asparagus was good, not great. I’m not sure why I would peel it, but Julia says it’s best that way.

Here’s the thing: we’ve improved vegetables a lot, even the ones we just get at basic ass stores. Has the skin on asparagus gotten less tough in the last 50 years? I kinda think maybe. I think I’m going to stick with sautéing nice thin asparagus in oil in a really hot pan. I’ll try this again when I can only get big fat asparagus. Or I won’t because I don’t love big fat asparagus.

The mornay sauce was pretty bland. I tasted it, and maybe it needed more salt, or maybe more cheese, but mostly I think it wasn’t a great pairing with the asparagus, which needed something with more vinegar I think. I thought the swiss would work with the asparagus and potatoes, but it didn’t taste like swiss. It seemed on the sweet side, and still smelled like cookies. I’ll keep working on it, and try to bring the leftover sauce back and incorporate it into a pasta with cheese, adding more cheese. Not sure what to use this sauce for, or if I made it right. But it wasn’t quite right for this.

I watched a couple videos. I don’t think my roux was cooking hot enough. I think I needed a more vigorous cook when it was the flour and the butter, but Julia said low, so low and slow I went. I’ll keep learning, but this wasn’t the shit, it was… I swear it was cookie dough. Luke thought maybe I used his Krusteaz pancake mix which we did totally have in an unlabeled Tupperware under the counter, but I know I filled my flour container from the bag and labeled it with my OCD labelmaker. Still, it was weird. And probably wrong.

Potatoes were perfect, and because they were tiny russet babies they soaked up all the chicken juices, just parsley and salt and butter. Great little potatoes I grew. Good job me again.

Nice fucking dinner, basically. But the asparagus and the mornay sauce were meh at best.

New Segment

I’ve been working on a sort of post cooking project emotional check in on a four point scale based on how motivated I feel to treat, challenge, or punish myself in the end. It goes like this:

4: Feel great, up to new challenges. I’ll make a new cocktail I’ve never tried before, and document it in another post here.

3: Feel pretty good, but not especially inspired. I’ll make a classic comfort cocktail I know by heart. Old Fashioned, Manhattan, Negroni, etc.

2: I’m OK, but whooped and can do no more. I’ll have a glass of wine or a beer, a straight whiskey, a Rum and Coke or a G&T.

1: I’m really feeling pretty fucked up about the whole thing and not good about myself at all. Like I don’t deserve good. I only deserve bad. I’ll take a shot of Malort. And I’ll have a good long think about what I’ve done.

0: I’m actually dead. The recipe finished me off. I can drink nothing and have put myself to bed. Done because me chefed too menny.

Tonight I had a beer. I wasn’t whooped, but none of the experiments turned out great. My chicken carving went better than ever before, so that was pretty dope. I still don’t know what the deal is with chicken wings.

Goodnight!

Citation

Child, Julia, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck. Mastering the Art of French Cooking. 1961. 40th Anniversary ed., Knopf, 2009.

Garten, Ina. “Perfect Roast Chicken.” Barefoot Contessa, 1999, https://barefootcontessa.com/recipes/perfect-roast-chicken

I’m not gonna keep doing the thing where I put the whole ingredient list down at the bottom. Y’all can read. It’s all up there.

0 notes

luveline · 3 years ago

Text

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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mothwingwritings · 3 years ago

Text

Special Treatment

F!Reader X Yujiro Hanma

Well, here is another Yujiro Hanma story. This time it’s from his POV and is a companion piece to In The Dead of Night, so it may be a bit confusing as a standalone. Regardless, now that it’s out of my system maybe I can focus on writing for other characters again. :D

WARNINGS: Stepcest, stalking, voyeurism, sexism, mentions of sex but no actual sex, use of the term daddy, trespassing, Yujiro being Yujiro, language.

Enjoy!

Yujiro Hanma was not a man you interrupted.

Not when he was speaking, not when he was relaxing, not when he was eating, and certainly not when he was training. Especially right now, when he had just started his morning routine, had barely finished his stretches, and was entirely in the zone. Anyone who did interrupt him in this state was either a complete idiot, or in this case, an ignorant child that didn’t know any better.

He could hear your tiny feet pattering down the hall from a mile away, knowing there was nothing in this wing of the house you could possibly need other than him. His irritation grew the closer you came, and he debated if he should intercept you and ingrain in your brain to never disrupt him again, or leave you to your devices and see if you had the gull to make it all the way to him. He leaned towards the latter, as he had to admit he couldn’t’ help being the tiniest bit intrigued. To the best of his knowledge, you were scared shitless of him. You definitely would not be seeking him out without a valid reason.

Yujiro had very little interest in his own children, let alone someone else’s. It didn’t matter if they were his sexual partner’s or the offspring of someone he respected, if the kid didn’t show some form of promise in the art of battle they didn’t register on his radar. Needless to say tiny, meek, insignificant you definitely fell into that category.

So he had no reason at all to have an interest in you. You certainly weren’t his flesh and blood, and to him your mother was just a glorified doll of sorts, someone to fuck around with and relieve tension. Wasn’t really his fault she got some cushy idea in her head that she was special, that with enough nagging and persuasion he’d settle down with her and become the husband and father to her daughter that she always dreamed of having.

Your mother’s thought process was deluded, but she knew not to push her luck and was skilled in attending to him in just the way he liked, which was more than he could say for most of his extracurricular conquests. You, her sole child, were tolerable as well, being someone who was overall quiet, obedient, and mostly just kept to yourself and out of his way. You were a pretty little thing too, sure to draw a crowd the older you got. He wasn’t easily charmed, but there was something undeniably pleasant about you. He chalked it up to novelty. He didn’t typically stick around for the birth and early stages of his own children, but the ones he knew of were all male. Having a little girl around was something new.

Yujiro’s back faced the entry way, but he could feel you presence lingering behind it as you worked up the courage to come in and tell him whatever you needed to say. Did your mother send you? Most likely, and if that was the case you were sure to have something annoying to request of him. She liked to send you to do her dirty work, thinking he would be less irritated if her foolish demands came from the lips of a child.

Annoyance was turning into mild anger at how long you were taking. It was radiating off his body when he heard the door squeak open, swiveling his head a fraction to monitor your entrance. From the corner of his eye he caught half of your tiny face peaking up at him from behind the door, you small hands gripping it like a lifeline. It was almost endearing that your child mind felt a door could act as protection from him.

However, the fact you even had the guts to make it this far was in and of itself amusing. He wasn’t going to acknowledge you, not yet. He wanted to see what your next course of action would be.

He proceeded with his training, paying you no mind. You remained quiet as he moved fluidly, practiced motions executed with the utmost precision. He could feel your eyes follow his movements, taking him in as he honed his body. A quick glance back noted a look of awe, reverence even, had overcome your young face. He smirked, pleased by your reaction. You seemed to know your place better than even your mother did.

After several minutes of this had passed, you caught on that he wasn’t going to address you. At this point you had snuck your way inside and plastered yourself against the back wall, doing your best to shrink down your already miniscule form, frightened of encroaching even an inch on Yujiro’s space. He noted that you had something in your hands, a small wrapped up box you were clutching protectively to your chest.

“Um, e-excuse me?”

Your quivering voice called to him, but it did not stop his stride. You took a small step forward, but didn’t drop your guard.

“I’m really sorry to bother you…”

Your words were once again met with a prolonged silence. With careful footing, you inched yourself a few feet into the room. He was curious to see how far you were willing to go before you fled.

“… D-daddy?”

The word sounded forced as it stuttered from your lips. Yujiro had never directed you on how to address him, but in the past you had always either used ‘Sir’ or ‘Mr. Hanma’ (he preferred the first). This was a new development, something he was sure was another brilliant idea your mother had forced upon you. His body halted, and he turned slowly until his eyes locked with yours. You flinched under his piercing gaze, but otherwise remained still.

“What?” He barked, causing you to jump. You gripped the package a little tighter to your chest, but you remained silent, wide eyes staring up at him blankly. Yujiro frowned, “You forget how to speak? Spit it out, I’m busy.”

“I have a present for you,” The words spilled from your mouth in a flurry as you jutted the package his way. He noticed your small arms shaking as you held the box out to him, fingers pressing into it so hard it was warping the packaging and crinkling the paper it was encased in.

Today was just full of surprises.

“Why?” Yujiro commanded, turning his full attentions your way.

“I-it was your birthday,” you explained, a red hue coming to your round cheeks, “I’m sorry it’s late, I didn’t see you until now.”

It was true. Yujiro’s birthday had been several weeks ago. He didn’t spend it with your mother, or even in the country where you resided. Your mother had started to make a fuss about it a solid month in advance before he forcibly shut her up. She had nagged on and on about a party, decorations, catering- all shit he didn’t request or even remotely desire. It was his damn birthday so he spent it how he pleased, which just happened to be as far away from your harpy of a mother as he could get. Afterwards he had received a gift from her of course, but wasn’t expecting anything from you.

He stalked his way towards you, yanking the extended box from your hands when he approached. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and wrapped well with an attractive looking dark red paper. He wondered for a moment if you had done that on your own or if your mother had helped. A child’s scrawled handwriting on the tag denoted that the gift was for him from you. He held the box to his ear and shook it once, hearing nothing but a dull thud against the cardboard.

“Don’t,” you called, sounding flustered, “It could break!”

He snorted, “You sure you didn’t do that already with how hard you were gripping the damn thing?”

His comment made you blush harder, and he smirked. Maybe this whole situation was a ploy, some kind of tactic to try and lure him more towards your mother’s lofty goal of a family. You were certainly presenting yourself as an ideal daughter. Dressed to the nines, poofy dress matching the large bow sitting primly in your (hair color)ed tresses, pure white knee socks complimenting the jet black of your mary jane shoes. Red remained on your round cherubic cheeks, long doll-like lashes framing your expectant (eye color) eyes. You looked like you just walked out of a family photoshoot, and by most people’s standards, the way you were presented now was nothing short of adorable. Unfortunately for your mother, Yujiro wasn’t most people. Your beguiling appearance would not work on him so easily.

“Trying to suck up to me?” he spoke, ripping the paper from the box, “Would have been better to start with something that isn’t threatened to break at a tiny shake.”

You frowned, looking deeply uncomfortable as he ripped into the box. Yujiro realized how nervous you must be feeling, you were well aware the next moments that played out would either end amicably or with you deeply regretting interrupting him to begin with.

He dumped the contents of the box into his hand, his eyes traveling from your gaze to the gift. A small, handmade clay bowl now sat firmly in his palm. The sides of it were lumpy, too thick in some places and thin in others. There were intentional divots of varying sizes along both sides of the rim, and the depth of it was negligible, far too little for most everything you would need a normal bowl for. Despite its flaws, it was sturdy with some heft to its foundation. It had also been painted in varying shades of blue, small lines etched into it to simulate waves, and an even coat of glaze was applied to it which gave it an appealing shine.

“What is this?” Yujiro asked plainly, looking bored.

“It’s an ashtray,” you offered softly, “I made it.”

“I can tell. No one would pay money for something this sloppily constructed.”

Your entire body deflated at his comment, your clear (color) eyes glossing up and bottom lip quivering, but no tears ever spilled.

“If that’s it, leave,” he commanded, his voice harsh as he made his way back towards the center of the room, “And next time think a little harder before you interrupt something important with bullshit like this.”

You bowed, a garbled apology rushing from your down turned mouth. Skittering as quickly as you could to the exit, your foot caught on a small rug on the way out. You caught yourself before you could fall, the tips of your ears turning bright red in embarrassment as you exited the room, door shutting softly behind you.

Yujiro had received many gifts of varying importance in his illustrious life. Things were given him to appease him, praise him, celebrate him, or bargain with him. He’d tasted and experienced some of the best things the world had to offer through these gifts.

But no one before you had ever hand made him something.

He scoffed, pocketing the ashtray. “Mine as well make use of it.”

And now, years later, here he stood in your apartment.

You hadn’t invited him, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need permission to get in most places, why would his daughter’s home be any different? Besides, it happened on a whim anyway. He was bored, in town, and it had been awhile since he looked in on you. Yujiro was a busy man with a lot on his plate, the majority of his children he didn’t even bother to know the name of let alone drop by for a visit. But for whatever reason, when moments would get quiet and he’d be completely alone, his mind would often travel to you.

It wasn’t as if Yujiro went out of the way to check on you after he departed your life all those years ago. You were an afterthought, if anything. But somehow Baki got tangled up with you and keeping an eye on him would occasionally bring news of you. When Yujiro had gotten indefinitely tired of your mother he figured that would be the end of you in his life as well. However, he caught wind that you were alive, contacting Baki, and had even tried to get the cops to go after him for what he had done to your mother, and he couldn’t help but find it hilarious. Little docile (name) who always did what you were told and never stepped out of line, trying to get some form of revenge against him? Consider him amused.

With newly formed interest, he began to watch you grow from afar, from child, to teen, to adult. He ended up being right too, you did grow into a beautiful woman. If only that beauty extended to your personality, as you had become quite the wiseass when you reached adulthood. You couldn’t help but seem to run your mouth in the rare chances he spoke to you, shooting him dirty glares and just all around being a brat. He could fix that easily, but there was something appealing to him about your little attitude problem. He took a sense of pride in being a constant thorn in your side, someone you tried desperately to shake, but just couldn’t quite do so. He knew your vibrato helped mask how truly frightened he made you. The main reason you were so adamantly dodging all contact was because you were worried what might happen to you once he got you, right?

So he let you and run your mouth for now, it was something that would be fun to fix. And since you seemed so hell bent on avoiding him, he decided to go out of his way to visit to you. Weren’t you special?

It wasn’t the first time Yujiro had been to your apartment, but it was the first time he had been in its interior. He had scoped the place out numerous times in the past and concluded it would have been easy enough to get access inside, but he had found another complex a block down from you that just so happened to be newly renovated, so plenty of apartments were open for lease. As it worked out, the building also had a few more stories than yours, and one of the apartments in particular gave a nice little peek right into your apartment, as long as you had binoculars (or the keen eyesight Yujiro had). Lucky for him, you liked to keep your windows open, giving him a full view into your private happenings with you none the wiser. He usually wasn’t one to creep around and watch from afar, much preferring his presence to be known. But there was a reward in seeing you unguarded in your natural habitat, unwittingly baring your true self to him. It was exciting knowing that at any moment he could disrupt that peace in an instant. In those moments of vulnerability, he would relish watching you so at ease and blissfully unaware. His hawk like gaze would hone in on your form as you graced him with his own private strip show, peeling off layer after layer until your body was bare, a wolfish grin plastered upon his face as he mused over how you would respond if he were to barge in on you right then and there? When he did decide to stop by for a visit, there was no place to run off to when you were already safe at home, was there?

Needless to say, he rented the apartment.

It was interesting how the world worked. Some kid who by all means he had no reason or desire to have any form of bond with, was now an adult he was actively keeping watch over. Go figure.

On this particular night, he’d busted in your back door, figuring overall that would cause less of a scene. It was almost comical how easy the locking mechanism crumbled with the tiniest amount of force. Was this supposed to protect you? He snorted, making a mental note to ask Strydum to replace it with something stronger.

Initially he wasn’t sure if you would be home or not. But based on how late it was he leaned towards discovering you nestled on the bed or couch, relaxed and ready for a calm night before bed. When he was only greeted with silence, he decided he mine as well make use of his free time before your imminent arrival.

Your apartment was on the smaller side, but neat and properly cared for. He could tell that you put time and effort into decorating it, little touches here and there marking the rented space as your own. It was cozy, inviting, and everywhere he looked so reminiscent of you. He would have liked something more spacious while he waited for you, and overall would have preferred to not have to wait at all, but was glad he decided to stop by and the extra time gave him the chance to make himself at home.

He made his way through the apartment, scrutinizing gaze sweeping over your domain, taking it all in. He gave no second thought to barging into your bedroom, and he wasn’t shocked to see that much like the rest of the apartment, it was compact. You utilized your space well though, your bed and other furniture arranged to give you as much space as possible. This room in particular seemed to ooze you, a little microcosm of various physical belongings catered to your tastes and personality. It was a bit messy, with clothes strewn about and empty water bottles on the dresser, but it was not dirty. A pleasant scent hung in the air that didn’t seem to be in any other part of the apartment. Floral and feminine, is that what you smelled like? You never got close enough to Yujiro for him to tell.

Walking around the room, he rustled through your clothing and belongings with a bored disinterest. You had quite an extensive wardrobe, but any article of clothing he saw would be much more appealing either on your body or destroyed and littered on the floor pre-coitus. Not that he had any true desire to know of your fashion, to Yujiro it was enough just to look, disrupt a few things so that later on you would be aware he had been there.

Immediately exiting your bedroom, his attentions were drawn to a wall of photos. Colorful frames brought life to the cream colored walls, the pictures within them of varying topics drawing him closer. Here you were before him, preserved in various stages of life, capturing you on trips and spending time with loved ones. His eyes stopped on an image of you and your mother. Seeing the two of you together made him realize just how much you took after her in looks. You weren’t entirely her spitting image, but the family resemblance was undeniable. He didn’t know what your birth father looked like nor did he give a shit, but he couldn’t help but try and search for some of his own features in your young face, regardless of you not truly having any of his genes. He mused momentarily on what it would be like if you were truly his kin. Would his feelings towards you be any different? He snorted at the asinine thought.

His eyes darted down to a smaller picture directly beneath the one of you and your mother. Not much bigger than a Polaroid, there wasn’t anything particularly flashy about the photo itself that would have made him take notice. However when his eyes fell upon the subject’s in the image, he began to feel agitated.

You were in the picture, and you were beaming. By far the happiest you looked in any of the other photos on the wall, the smile on your face radiated warmth, sincerity, and pure joy. There was only one other person in the picture with you, a boy. He looked equally as pleased, a delighted grin befell his lips while his scrawny arm was draped snuggly across your shoulder. You were leaning into him (or was he pulling you?), your head resting snuggly against his chest as he in turn rested his cheek on you head. Captured forever in time this way, the frame that surrounded it was dainty and pink, highlighting the romantic feel of it all.

Yujiro frowned as he plucked the photo off the wall, it dawning on him that this had to be your boyfriend. You looked much the way you do now, meaning that this was taken recently, and judging from the background foliage it could even have potentially been from this season. He tutted in disappointment, this ‘man’ hanging all over you was scrawny, pathetic, and weak. If you were going to go for a man he needed to be just that, a man. Not some little bitch that would fall over if the wind was too strong.

He glanced up at the clock. About a half hour had passed. Is this idiot who was keeping you out so late? Was he really stuck here twiddling his thumbs while you were out fucking around with some two-bit twerp? You were honestly making him, Yujiro Hanma, wait for you while you what, sucked off some kid at his even smaller apartment?

His agitation turned to anger. Effortlessly, he crushed the photo in his palm, frame and all. He reared his arm back, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the memory flying through your back door. Good riddance.

Pissed off, he stormed to your couch. It audibly groaned beneath him as he flung his body onto it in a rage. Kicking his feet up on table before him, he glared daggers at your front door. As much as he hated waiting, expending time and energy by going out and hunting for you irked him even more. He shouldn’t have to go after you. If anything you were the one who should be seeking his company and approval.

So he would sit and wait patiently for your arrival, stewing up suitable punishments in his head the whole time. He scoffed. Here he was, the strongest being the world, waiting like a goddamn dog for their owner to come home. The fact that he was still even in your shitty home was perplexing. He was even confusing himself with this bullshit.

But then again, you were his only daughter, so maybe you deserved some special treatment?

Yujiro was brought to attention by the sound of your footsteps on the outer stairs. He must have dozed off, as glancing up at the clock it was now very early in the morning. He sighed, stretching his body a bit to shake off the residual sleep. His little nap helped cool his head, which was good for you. He was no longer ready to unleash his fury as soon as you stepped through the door.

But that didn’t mean you were getting out of your transgressions easily. He waited a long time to have some quality time with you, and it was only right of you to answer all of your concerned father’s questions and give him your undivided attention, wasn’t it?

Yujiro hadn’t turned on any of the lights in your apartment, but he could still see you clearly as you squeezed past the doorway. With eyelids so heavy you were struggling to keep them open and heavily drooping shoulders, you looked absolutely exhausted. And you must have been to not even be aware of his overwhelming presence perched several feet from where you stood.

He smirked as he watched you yawn and bolt the door closed behind you. With your guard completely down, now was as good a time as any to make his presence known.

“Isn’t it a little late to be slinking back home?” Yujiro called out to you, a condescending air to his voice.

You whole demeanor instantly changed. Your slouched body jerked to attention, a slight shake relaying a shiver had passed through you. You remained turned from him until you hesitantly flipped the light switch, turning your gaze his direction painfully slowly, not wanting to face the reality you knew was behind you.

As your eyes locked, a rush of excitement coursed through him. Dread, despair, confusion, bits of anger, all swirling around in your (eye color) gaze as you took him in. He did a quick once over, noticing nothing amiss about your appearance or attire that would insinuate you had any kind of sexual encounter, but also not trusting that moments ago you weren’t giving your body to some nobody and were just good at putting yourself back together.

As his focus traveled back to your eyes he noted how conflicted they looked. Your mind was probably running a mile a minute, scrambling to come up with a reason for why he would be in your apartment unannounced, especially at this hour.

And that question reflected the strongest emotion you were currently feeling, fear. True unadulterated fear was staring right back at him as you mentally questioned why he was here, and what he planned on doing to you. Yet even with the terror, you stood your ground. He truly was pleased that you didn’t try and run the moment you realized your fate. With how timid and fidgety you could be you always managed to surprise him with the amount of backbone you exhibited. Much like all those years ago when you were the little girl with the gift, you didn’t give in to your palpable fright. Maybe things weren’t so different as they were back then, it’s just that now your gift to him was going to come in a different, much better, form.

When you neglected to verbally respond, Yujiro spoke again.

“How’s my (name) tonight? Or maybe at this point I should say morning.”

This seemed to break you out of your trance, your confusion and fear waning in favor of irritation, your haughty little attitude starting to peak through. How was this going to play out, he wondered? How much longer until he would have to do the fatherly thing and teach you a lesson in respect?

Whatever course the night took, it was sure to be fun. He went out of the way to come here so he would make it worth his while.

Being your daddy did have its perks, after all.

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