#but when it comes to the slums is different. it's almost like it has to be this 'animalistic' portrayal for those writers

[telenovelameta]

So, episode 1 of Mania de Voce aired yesterday... I thought it was pretty good, tbh! don't know yet if I'll commit to it. But so far, I'm intrigued. Despite a lot of people complaining about the amount of events in the first episode, tbh I don't think it truly a breakneck pace like Avenida Brasil. Maybe it's all the beach-imaginery and copious amounts of glare in the photography, but the impression I get is that it's gonna be a lot more of a slow burn experience. Luma, Mavi and Marcia all seem like they're gonna be doing Violent Crimes (tm) pretty soon of course, but it *seems* like they're the types to do them very cleanly, kinda hannibal-esque, to the soundtrack of classical music. The aesthetic in general is the highlight for me so far. Even if, again, the photography with the overuse of glare and weirdly cold coloring bothers me, overall the package. Speaking of music, one thing that did rub me off about the aesthetic is how much the soundtrack is composed of USian music :/ I think only the main track and 1 other song were actually brasilian, which i think is very disappointing tbh. Not only does it rob it of showing non-hegemonic culture, it also feels very... lazy and viralata, I guess? like, I mean, to this day I still feel "Set Fire To The Rain" was not at all appropriate a theme for Rita and Jorginho. Like think of a character dynamic most dissimilar to a sound, and it was that... but alas, it was a "hit" at the time, and gringo af, so they picked it. Sadly that seems to be the case with most of the music in this novela, so far.

[alexiroflife]

"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.

[strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt]

Summary: The difference in how he fucked during his different eras.

Warnings: NSFW, taunting, lying, manipulation, virginity taking, marriage, he smacks you, degradation.

Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

Please be aware of the content you read.

-University student-

University Coriolanus Snow kept most of his thoughts in his head during this time. He was a liar who just needed to keep up a good reputation for his name since that was all that he had.

He did not have the same riches as the other Capitol students.

So, when Coriolanus ended up having a sweet Capitol girl with a rich daddy fall into his hand, nobody said a thing. Everyone thought they were perfect for each other.

Coriolanus would have preferred to wait, but he needed the reassurance that came with taking your virginity. He felt that with being your first, he could somehow permanently plant himself in your mind in case you ever thought of leaving him and his lies.

And, as he had a thumb in your mouth, letting you suck on it while he ever so slowly eased himself into your virgin hole, he hoped he could somehow make you dependent on the way he made you feel.

His kisses were soft, as was the way he thrusted his hips. You'd call this making love with Coriolanus. At this moment, the two of you weren't two Academy students trying to get by while keeping their family names afloat. No, you were two lovers making love in the bed you've slept in almost all your life.

He made it all about your pleasure, wanting you to feel special, like he actually cared about how you felt.

With a slender hand, he reached down to thumb at your clit, making your back arch off of the bed and into his own body. "Shhh. I know, I know." He spoke softly.

If you paid enough attention, you'd notice how he'd momentarily get lost in his own pleasure and would speed up while holding your hips down onto the bed, neglecting whatever you needed in order to reach your peak.

-`♡´-

-Peacekeeper-

Peacekeeper Coriolanus Snow is still knee-deep in his lying and manipulation. How he treats you depends on who you are.

If you were a District 12 inhabitant, then he's more than willing to be rougher with you. You're disposable in his eyes.

Coriolanus finds that he can take you while pressed up against the side of a tree, and when he's done, all that he has to do is give you a few soft kisses on your face before disappearing because of "work".

He's able to just seek you out for a quick fuck, not that he's the type to just sleep around. If you were someone that he was actively manipulating and using to keep him afloat while in (what he considers) the slums, then he would somehow use romance and lust as a way to get closer and closer to you. To make himself seem like the good guy in your eyes.

It would be in a compromising setting, in some sort of missionary position, with your faces right up against each other's. It's a tactic he uses to try and make you feel like you're special and have some sort of soft spot in his life. He'll try to be sweet but lose himself in the process.

Against some building, lit by the moon, Coriolanus' hips thumped against the ligaments near your pubic bone. Your legs were spread, his torso stopping you from closing them, and his hands were holding the flesh of your ass.

"Come on. Just give me a fucking kiss." He whispered, digging his fingers into the fat he holds. His mouth is open, as is yours, the two of you are breathing in each other's breath. It feels intimate to you, and the way he jams himself inside of you makes your breath stop in your throat. He took advantage of that, licking your bottom lip before locking your lips together.

Or you could always just ride him because he feels like you're not worthy enough to have him put in any work.

Now, if you were the same Capitol member as before, and you happened to follow him down to District 12, then he would be more comfortable. Hidden away in the cabin you've been staying in, your face is shoved into the pillows you've slept on for the last few months. A stolen moment between lovers. He finally had a break from his duties, and he was going to take advantage of it.

His body was hunched over yours, and his hands were on your hips, keeping them held up. He was grunting into your ear every time he pushed forward and breathing audibly every time he pulled back. You could feel his dog tag sitting on your spine.

"You're going to get me in... trouble." He panted, leaning back onto his knees, using his hands to guide your hips back and forth. "Can't stay away, can you? You need me, huh?" He smirked, watching as you nodded hastily.

"That's okay. Need you too."

No, he didnt.

-`♡´-

-Post-Peacekeeper/Capitol official/New President-

President Coriolanus Snow only sleeps with the First Lady. Congratulations! You're married. Now you're a puppet that he controls.

There's no longer a need for lies. You're already trapped!

You slept together for his pleasure only, but he'll make sure you finish just so his reputation in bed is not tarnished.

He won't go down on you. He'll only give you a little bit of foreplay before he gets antsy and just dives right in. But he'll hold your hair while you're sucking his dick!

"I'm a gentleman." He defends himself.

Your bed is bigger and softer than it had ever been. It doesn't make your muscles stiff and sore like the one down in District 12.

With your legs hooked over Coriolanus' shoulders, he thrusted back and forth, listening to the lewd squelch your combined bodies make. When you let out a particularly loud cry, he gives you a smack to your face, berating you for breaking his focus.

"I shouldn't even be giving you this, my rose." His voice has an eerie stillness to it. "You've just been acting like a whore. Coming to my office like that? I should have just made you grind against my boot. Hell, I could have just taken you on my desk." He rolled his eyes before smiling. "But I take care of you, don't I? I brought you right back to our bed, where it's comfortable." His words and smile made you feel obligated to nod and give him a 'yes', despite how it felt like he was bruising your cervix.

-`♡´-

THIS WAS NOT MEANT TO BE POSTED YET‼️ I STILL NEED A SECOND OPINION ON IT!!!

Welp... I hope it's good enough for you.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three

Robin sucks on her drink through her straw, “why, exactly, are we here?”

Steve sighs into his own drink.

Robin looks around the yard from her perch on a lawn chair, “I can’t help but notice, Steven, that we are very clearly the oldest people here.”

Steve watches Eddie balefully. He’s trying and failing to light the grill. It’s almost embarrassing to watch; Steve can’t seem to look away.

“Steven, I am drinking something that was mixed together in bowl. I’m drinking it out of a red solo cup. I haven’t touched one of these in a decade. I require an explanation.”

“I don’t have one.”

“That is a lie. Your pants will catch fire and then you can use them to help that moron to light the grill.”

They watch for a little longer.

“Fucks sake Steve just go and do it for him. This tastes like paint thinner; I’ll need to eat some bread at some point or I’ll go into kidney failure.”

Steve gets up and lights the grill for Eddie. He’s wearing another butchered tee shirt and some black board shorts. He’s so pale, and all of his bony bits are on show. Elbows. Wrists. Ankles.

His hair is gathered up into a messy bun on top of his head.

He still has a smear of make up on one eyelid where it hasn’t washed off properly.

Steve knows exactly what he sounds like when he comes.

“Thanks man,” Eddie’s blushing. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. It reveals Eddie’s pale ribs. His dark hairy armpit-

Steve runs away before he does something stupid.

“Okay, so, step by step, no gory details please, what exactly happened last night, because I know damn well you didn’t spend the entire forty five minutes I was waiting hanging around in a gross bathroom.”

Steve sighs, rubs his forehead, then goes and gets them both refills.

“Coward,” Robin calls after his retreating back.

He’s refilling their cups with an honest to fucking god soup ladle out of the kitchen – avoiding the fly that has met it’s sticky end in what is, no doubt, highly toxic punch – when it happens.

“Hey man,” Steve is being addressed by an actual pimply teenager.

“Hey.”

“Nice car,” he sounds weirdly angry about it.

“Uhhh...thanks,” because Steve doesn’t know what the fuck else to say to a dude wearing a dungeons and dragons tee shirt over flaming basketball shorts. He has nothing on his feet. Outside. Steve represses a shudder.

“Look, you clearly have money, or whatever, and probably a fancy job and you’re like, forty-”

“Hey-”

“- or whatever, but this thing with Eddie, can you make it fast please? Dragging it out isn’t fair on him.”

Steve blinks. He’s getting a shovel talk from someone who probably doesn’t know what a VHS is.

Steve can remember playing video games with no save; if you were going to do it, you had to play the whole damn thing in one go. Steve didn’t have a mobile phone until he was fifteen. Steve is not going to take this.

“This ‘thing’ I have with Eddie is none of your business. Eddie can speak for himself-”

“No Eddie cannot speak for himself, because Eddie is the nicest guy I know and Eddie already thinks he’s in love. Don’t think I don’t see what this is for you, Eddie’s just another thing to play with until you get bored. Look at this place, look at us. Now look at you and you’re fancy friend over there,” the kid gestures and, yeah, alright, the difference is pretty obvious, “you wouldn’t be caught dead here, slumming it, if you weren't getting something out of it. Now hurry it along, Eddie only writes good stuff when he’s heartbroken. Which is a lot, by the way. We all know how this goes.”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“I just got a shovel talk from a kid who probably shouldn’t even be drinking yet.”

“Ouch,” Robin takes her drink back, “how does that feel?”

Steve shrugs, “not sure, actually.”

Across the yard, Steve watches as Eddie gesticulates wildly and hisses angrily at the pimply face DnDer. He catches Steve watching. Eddie grabs the kid by the arm and drags him away.

“The burgers are burning,” Robin idly points out.

Steve sighs, he loves this polo, grease stains are a bastard, and the chances of finding an apron in this place are none existent.

At least Robin comes with him. She half unwraps some cheese and generally pretends to busy herself, slicing buns and stacking paper plates.

“So, last night?”

“Right,” Steve sighs through his nose, shuffling some onions around on the flat plate. “So I was just going to you know, get him.”

“Get your man tiger,” Robin purrs.

It shouldn’t be funny, but it kind of is. Steve laughs.

“But he just...grabbed my hand. And he said ‘Steve! Come and meet the guys!’ So I...did.”

“He introduced you to his friends,” Robin raises that lethal eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“And you went along with it?”

“Well I kind of...he didn’t let go of my hand so I kind of…”

Both of Robins eyebrows are now in the stratosphere. She appears to spend a few minutes digesting that, “and then you got invited to...this.”

Steve’s already dug half a hole, and he still apparently has the shovel in his hand, so he keeps going, “he was just so happy to see me,” Steve admits, quietly.

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

Robin grabs Steve by the hair and forcibly turns his whole head, “that.”

There’s a blonde girl talking to Eddie. She’s wearing a white tank top and daisy dukes, “no idea.”

“Come on, high time you introduced me.”

Steve really tries, but he cant hide the fact that he is delighted by this turn of events, “why, Robin Buckley! Oh how the tables have turned-”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going to make her cry.”

Part Five

[sevikas-biceps]

[TLDR: me attempting to make sense of the Arcane's eldritchness, which sounds ironic in hindsight but hear me out]

Revelation after revelation aside, there are many pieces of foreshadowing that tell us why Viktor's commune wasn't as great as it seemed.

Visually speaking, all the clues are right there.

The first thing we see of the slums of Zaun is this.

Vi, leading their little group, is astonished to find such a thing—and to think that Huck was there, serving as one of its ushers! Huck, who she immediately calls a filthy traitor; having succumbed to shimmer the last time she saw him—meaning he'd turned to Silco both literally and figuratively—what with his use of the drug and the fact that he'd ratted her and Caitlyn out to the tycoon.

Miss Ma'am is bamboozled.

How the hell did he end up there? At this...paradise? At the slums, which, only a few weeks or months ago; was still dark, dusty, violet, and violent!

Something has changed, obviously; and Huck himself admits that his past was him 'at his worst'. Simply awful. But the Herald had saved him. And because of that, he was leading a better life, now. Naturally, at this point, Vi and Jinx seem wary.

There's gotta be a catch, no?

The landscape and the characters exemplify this.

Let's start with the land itself. Look at how empty it actually looks. Yes, there's a field of flowers. Yes, there's a community, teeming with life. Yes, it's literally heaven. But the lighting. The colours. It's so...bleak. Like a dream. The mountains are green, but they're cast in grey and white; and added with the negative space, there's an eeriness to it that contrasts Piltover's version of an eutopia.

You can argue it being the vast resource difference, as Topside is the superior city for a reason, but the commune is still filled with numerous individuals with just as much creativity as their counterparts. Intelligent and sentient beings—people, with minds to set to whatever task may be at hand.

Now, let's think of the people.

The biggest difference between the two communities is this: the 'healed' of Viktor's paradise wear only one mode of dress: white. It's almost uniform—which is notable, as, previously in the episode, Viktor speaks of 'chaos'. We see how fascinated he was by the mess that Vander's psyche had become, and in an attempt at detangling that chaos, he was 'setting things right' inside the man's mind. Bringing him back to something resembling normalcy. Order.

This is particularly significant for the fact that, in the game, he's remembered for his philosophy on glorious evolution (also mentioned in the show, as we know)—which is centred on the enhancement of the human body to transcend its fleshly limits.

Piltover, in contrast—and by extension the 'unhealed' of Zaun—go against this code. We see shimmer addicts, we see corrupt individuals, we see bigoted populations, we see conflict between the cities. We see human nature at its finest. Even the episode titles, all the way from Season 1, display this.

S1E1: Welcome to the Playground S1E2: Some Mysteries are Better Left Unsolved S1E3: The Base Violence Necessary for Change S1E4: Happy Progress Day! S1E5: Everybody Wants to Be My Enemy S1E6: When These Walls Come Tumbling Down S1E7: The Boy Saviour S1E8: Oil and Water S1E9: The Monster You Created S2E1: Heavy is the Crown S2E2: Watch It All Burn S2E3: Finally Got the Name Right S2E4: Paint the Town Blue S2E5: Blisters and Bedrock S2E6: The Message Hidden Within the Pattern

Again, human nature. Colourful, tumultuous, unsynchronised. A need for knowledge. A need for violence. A need for change. A need for exploration. A need for control. Everything that we can have, we take.

That's the point of Viktor's quote:

I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right—it's inescapable. Humanity. Our very essence. Our emotions—rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.

It's a paradox.

This is a sophisticated conjuration. A singularity, simultaneously self-replicating and self-annihilating.

He wasn't just talking about the Arcane. It wasn't just about that 'voice' he and Sky heard when gazing at Jayce through Salo's eyes. It's also about humanity.

So, how does that relate to his commune?

Here's the thing: it looks like heaven, but later on, when Viktor dies and everyone else follows, it's practically limbo. It's liminal. Initially, you only have the vague sense that there's something off about it, but you can't tell what. It's filled with people, yet at the same time, it looks like it shouldn't have any to begin with. Mysterious. Suspicious. Almost dreadful; something that makes you realise: if you think about it too hard, you'd drive yourself insane.

There's something intrinsically natural about the commune, something untouched by human hands; but there's also something intrinsically human about it, something unnatural, cultivated in a way nature itself cannot replicate. That's the catch. It should be a balance of both. An ideal community would show this.

Viktor's connection to the Hexcore tells us that he's, in part, transcended both humanity and the natural world. He's breached the ineffable and the incomprehensible, and brought it into the existence(s) of those who could know of and experience it. Bringing 'paradise' to those who were never meant to realise what it was. Forcing onto them the Arcane, even when done with the best intentions.

For the suffering Zaunites, they have everything they could possibly want: food, water, shelter, rest, belonging, peace, survival; the life that they once could only dream of having. It's perfect. They don't have to be in pain, not anymore.

But the commune is isolated. This is very much seen in the gate symbolism: all are welcome, but once inside, you'll never want to leave. You'll never have to. Because to be cured by the hands of the Herald means to bear his mark. To be saved is to bind yourself to him.

The open archway is also a taunt: the gate is open, it'll always be open, but would you ever risk going back out? Would you really trade this for anything else?

Are you truly willing to leave paradise? Are you truly willing to part with the Arcane?

The Arcane, which had given them everything they'd yearned for through Viktor.

Now, see here: Vi catches a glimpse of Singed exiting Viktor's abode. It's presumably the healing tent, as his main 'bubble' (the place where he 'recharges', so to speak) is the one in the distance.

The point is: Vi sees Singed leave the healing tent. What makes this suspicious is the fact that the man left unhealed.

Note that, prior to this point, the sisters have reconciled and were even willing to stay in this little underground haven despite their initial scepticisms. They, just like everyone else, have been lulled into the comfort the commune provided. So, to see someone else suddenly exiting Viktor's watch—someone with no traces of the Herald's touch, someone who's still bandaged and deformed—is a wake-up call.

Why else would you go into the healing tent, to the commune, if not to have yourself cured or seek respite? Why is this man, who'd obviously be easier work to deal with compared to Vander, not 'saved'?

Vi follows him. Then, Singed leaves the commune entirely.

In her eyes, someone had willingly turned away from 'paradise'.

Logically, this begs the question: Why?

Because that's where the fantasy ends.

Right as Vi comes to the gate, the camera cuts to that Noxian spear upfront. A threat to the 'perfection' that existed within the borders. A reminder that the world outside still exists; a world that Viktor hasn't touched in its entirety, a world that still begs to be saved, a world that is still human at its core brimming and simmering.

That's the reason Viktor's named a herald: he's an omen. He'd brought about a transformation to those he healed. To the slums. Providing a drastic shift in people's lives (or whatever 'life' still counted for those he'd influenced) that left many devastated when Jayce blew a hole in his chest.

By spreading the use of the Arcane through other agents (again, the 'healed'), he essentially reproduced the effects of the power that he had at his disposal, while at the same time allowed himself to better comprehend how the Arcane worked—and by extension, allowed that very power to adapt.

But at the same time, he himself is also the key to undoing it.

From Jayce and Ekko, S2E3:

Viktor hypothesised that there may be something he called 'wild runes'. Patterns that occur naturally when the border between our world and the Arcane is thin. Runes like the ones you use in Hextech. What's the difference between those and wild runes? Pass me a tome. So, I used words you understood in order to elicit your action. This is what Hextech runes are. Pass me a tome. Pass me a tome! There—you sighed. Still a kind of language. A sound, but not words. Something raw; natural. That's wild runes. In most places, the Arcane is dormant—but here and there, it's more active. Wild runes are— —sort of like its fingerprints. Exactly! ...so, you're telling me: that pattern is on my tree, because you pissed the Arcane off with all your demands?

Viktor being infused with the Hexcore—which we can reasonably assume is a wild rune, as can also be seen with its matrix—makes it so that he himself acts as what a Hextech rune would do to it (the Hexcore). Through Viktor, the Arcane is refined, and in a process that doesn't completely destabilise (compared to pure Hextech, as can be seen with the weapons). For Viktor to lose control or to be harmed means making that magic either go wild (the weapons) or make it dissipate (the commune).

That's why the fantasy 'ends' at the entrance of the commune: anything past that is out of Viktor's reach, and remains 'untouched' by the Arcane.

From Jinx, S1E5:

So, all about these runes: they form some sort of mathy, magicky gateway...to the realm of heebie-jeebies. And this turns it on!

Say it again: the runes make a gateway. The Hexcore was a rune matrix, an array of wild runes that formed a singular entity. An entity which is now 'one' with Viktor. It means being the 'Herald' is also being the 'gateway' for the Arcane. The traditional role of a herald is to proclaim and carry messages; we don't know what message the Arcane itself wants to send, but we do know for a fact that Viktor is at least doing its work in creating that commune in the slums of Zaun.

From Singed, S1E6 & S2E6:

The mutation must survive. You must survive, Viktor.

The Machine Herald himself is self-replicating and self-annihilating. He can 'cure' the afflicted, thus infusing the Arcane into other individuals and replicating its structure inside them. And at the same time, the Arcane is also what 'kills' him—with Jayce using (what looked to be a mutated version of) the hexcrystal of his hammer to blow through Viktor's chest, where we know the Hexcore was placed during Jayce's revival of him in Act 1.

This is why the commune, despite its purpose as a safe haven, also exists as a place of great danger. Why it really isn't all That™, even despite Viktor creating it as a safe space for many.

See this exchange between Vi and Jinx:

This place...do you think it could actually work? Underground utopia, run by a skinny tin Machine Herald. Maybe when Piltover slides into the Sump.

Jinx was right in calling it for what it is, despite the words being in jest. A utopia. Working 'when Piltover slides into the Sump'.

It's an impractical scheme. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

An impossibility.

Do you believe in fate, Doctor? Our paths carved before us. Guided by an invisible hand? Not fate. Evolution. Nature's greatest force, forever in flux. No. Evolution has a destination. Not to combat nature, but to supersede it. The final, glorious evolution. But he isn't a specimen—he's a man. And he needs my help. I will not sacrifice his humanity for your cause. You may leave. Very well. But I assume you understand already: if you perish, this community is soon to follow.

Viktor understands. He understands. He just wasn't ready to admit it to himself when Singed said it.

I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right—it's inescapable. Humanity.

Human nature and human essence aren't self-sustaining. That's why the Arcane was so effective in 'healing' all those people. Their humanity hampered them from healing themselves; both in the sense of the human bodily condition (the limits of the physical self), and in the sense of humaneness (of empathy, of choice). The human body cannot survive its own traumas without an artificial means of a cure (case in point: Vander). And the Arcane acted as its solution.

Mere instinct doesn't let you live—you need to learn how to direct your life after survival. To adapt. To grow. Humanity, self-replicating and self-annihilating; the escape from that cycle, that's the glorious evolution Viktor speaks of.

A utopia. Impossible and impractical. Humanity: that which inspires us to our greatest good, and the cause of our greatest evil.

[onskepa]

HELLO HALO HELLO! I SAW THE UPDATE THINGY AND NOW I HAVE ARRIVED WITH A REQUEST! Whew!

Okay so here me Out! I've been thinking about neteyam alot but I have yet to request maybe some neteyam and Aonung together falling for reader

My request is based of a made up Tribe I Made,

/backround information/

the tribe is called the Tawsyuram (Aurora Mountain) tribe who live on a mountain high above a sea of clouds.

The original Tawsyuram clan had almost gone extinct due to a destructive Na'vi clan, but was saved and had grown anew due to the help of a large close knit group of humans from the slums on earth. Due to they're now Tsahik, Mai a human woman who was a doctor trained in surgery and herbal medicine was able to regrow and heal the spirit tree using an earth seed (when I do my full info thing on my tumblr you'll learn more, but that's later!)

Due to the healing of the spirit that houses Mother earth's (daughter 'Rrta) spirit herself a plant had blossomed allowing the humans to breath great mother Eywa's air the humans along side they're now Na'vi spirit family live in harmony over many years.

(They live within the mountain caverns)

/the request/

The Sully's were originally traveling to hide away from the RDA and Quaritch, were going to seek uturu from the Metakiyan, that was until they cam across this young avatar driver? Na'vi teen? Saying her clan would be able to hide them from the RDA gladly.

Neteyam who was intranced by this strange bubbly and wild girl who (as his father called it) talked like an excitable hippie, was absolutely gorgeous... and it would seem his soon to be mate Aonung would agree, also just a little question but, how the HELL IS SHE FLYING AN IKRAN WITHOUT TSAHEYLU!?!?

\Basically I would like to request the Sully's and Tonowari's family having to go into hiding and stuff meet this Ki (a character from Mars needs Moms) like teen girl who finds the Sully's mid travel and offers to shelter them within her tribe since they'll be much more accepted there. They arrived at the floating Mountain, though quite dizzy since they aren't used to being this high above, and are welcomed by the Tsahik who is a bit ditzzy though very calming and understanding, high difficult to anger see's there strife and welcomes them wholeheartedly all the while kinda jokingly yet a tad bit seriously scolding her daughter (the reader) about how she wasn't supposed to leave the Mountain until she was 18 to pass her Iknimaya (since those in the tribe bond with they're ikran's just before they hatch at a young age, giving them time to learn how to fly and practice the bonding dance when they are 18.) Along the way Neteyam and Aonung fall pretty hard for the happy go lucky tsakarem.

Basically the Sully's coming to learn a different side to humanity than they're used to./

\a bit more info to help with the story/

That Tawsyuram's healing hut is sheltered between three gigantic curly trees with book shelves holding many medical records, medicine information and tactics. With a huge curly tree in the middle with glass jars holding glowing bug fireflies to light of the room, tables and comfy sleeping mats and big pillows on the floor in the open spaces of the room for the patients.

Little ones at the age of 6 to 9 will go up to the Ikran nest that house the expecting ikran parents to be with either a food gift or a nesting gift, That is only given when the the egg wiggles in the direction towards its chosen, sensing its soon to be rider. After the gifts are given the children will carry the egg in a type of bundle strapped to they're chest making it easier to carry to a large crystal that gives off heat, watching as the ikran hatches from its egg on a soft nesting near the crystal. The baby will then nip its chosen on they're skin too show they have chosen they're future rider.

Once a year has passed, the child and its somewhat grown ikran who know are coming into they're colors will learn to fly together as a part of their training. The child with a sky diving wingsuit and the youngling ikran, with jump off a not so high ledge gliding of floating above a somewhat deep lake.

The Iknimaya is quite dangerous, so the Na'vi and humans alike agreed that it will only be carried out when the child has become 18 years of age. To do the Iknimaya they must fly on the back of they're ikrans back and then are left to climb up the flat faced mountain, which is even high than they're home's mountain. They meet their ikran onto of it and then jump sky dive off the mountain with a special wingsuit material made to look like they're ikran, which is made by the parents as a sign of sending them off into adult hood. They will then fly with they're and must land on their back and bond mid flight, strengthening the already growing bond they had when they were little.

The humans planters who run the fields found ways to plant human food, while the doctors and a few scientists found ways to detoxify the pandora meat so they may eat it. Their cook fire has a huge round island like table where the cooks cook the food inside the circle. The cook fire room if big to hold many of the tribe with two stories with pillows on the floor to sit on. Even sweets like cakes and such are on the menu!

The Na'vi and humans also wear clothing like the Omaticaya and Metakiyan but also wear winter clothing using wool from a pandora like sheep that are taller than humans but only come up to a Na'vi's waist.

The Tawsyuram clothing

All the images were made from using Bing AI prompts I made.

(I hope this is an okay request? And not like too much, if the whole neteyam and Aonung thing isn't cool, then I'm fine with you just doing Lo'ak. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

I hope you are having a wonderful morning/evening/afternoon/night! Hun!

Helloooooooooooo darling! Honestly you have such a big imagination and vast ideas here. It took me a good while for this story to be as good as you visioned it to be. Unfortunatly some stuff was cut out but I hope that what stayed is good for you and everyone to read! So sit back and relax! Enjoy!

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

Tawsyuram clan

It wasn't easy. Leaving all that you know for somewhere that beyond what you are literally built for. And to look for a clan that is willing to welcome a family that seeks refuge from a way is even harder. There is a lot to gamble on. Child born living only the life of war, and to live a life of peace is very desirable but would be getting used to. 

So that is what Jake and Neytiri sully do. Leaving their home for the sake of their children. The question is, where? Where can they go? Who is willing to accept them? While Jake sully had an idea of heading to the islands of the reef na’vi where they are more isolated. He needs a plan B in case the reef clans reject them. 

If only by Eywa’s miracle can a open chance appear before him.

“Why not join us?” 

A human. With an ikran. A Human riding an Ikran was standing before the sully family. A Human, without a MASK. And very short too. Everyone was staring at the human in unbelievable shock. None uttered a word. 

“Hello…..? Is something on my face?” The human asks her ikran who only grunts in response. 

“Who are you?” Neytiri was quick to react, her blade ready to strike. The human raised her hands to show she meant no harm and didn't take another step.  “Easy, I am not here to bring you harm. My name is Danu”. 

“What do you want?” Jake asks/demands. 

“It's not what I want, it's more like what you need,” Danu replied. 

“And what would that be?” Kiri asks, feeling a slight irk prickling behind her head. 

“Protection from the RDA. My clan can help you with that and more” Danu adds. 

“What clan would have humans in it?” Neytiri hisses, not liking the young human by the second. 

“The Tawsyuram clan” .

The travel towards wherever the girl was leading them to didn't take that long. Only about a day. The family would have gone longer if they still headed towards the reef islands. Instead of going north, the girl led them south. Where neytiri can remember, is just pure open mountains and large bodies of water. No clan inhabits those areas. At least clans neytiri is familiar with. 

“We are here!” the girl shouts behind her. The family looks around, but all they see is thick clouds surrounding them. Cant see anything further than 15 feet of range vision. “Where is here?” *Jake asks. The girl didn't answer. The view did. 

High above, in the middle of vast floating mountains stood one massive floating island. Large and vast. As they get closer, more details are easy to see. The island has its own mountains, its own clouds! Everyone was in awe. 

“Welcome everyone! To Aurora mountain!” 

Words cannot even begin to describe the beautiful mountain. Wild ikran flying freely, clouds forming above the mountain peak. Plants grow in so many shades and colors. It was vibrant. And it felt so familiar yet new to the sully family. And as they landed on the ground of the mountain, the gentle breeze welcomed them. Everyone got off of their ikrans and looked all over at the new location. 

Danu happily jumped off of her ikran and skipped along. “Come on, there is so much to show you. My mother would love to meet you all” gesturing to follow her. 

The family all stuck together, still wary of this place. Unsure of what to think of it. “Ma’jake, what if it's a trap?” Neytiri suspects, holding tuk close to her as the child wanted to follow Danu. Jake reassured her by holding her close, “our ikrans are ready to take flight again, we are armed and ready to fight. We should be fine” he replies. 

Kiri and lo’ak on the other hand were admiring the new view and happily followed Danu as they entered the save. The entrance was hidden by massive leaves that can move by a single touch. Inside was a path full of colorful paintings and murals. So many details and no doubt so many stories it holds.

“Come on, don't slow down on me! Everyone is excited to meet you!” Danu’s voice echoed in the cave. Picking up speed, everyone followed Danu, where she stood in an open area, her smile big and bright and arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to our home!” she announces proudly. 

“Oh my Eywa….”

The inside literally looked like a whole new world. Ikrans flying high above the massive cave, hanging flowers from the cave sides or from smaller floating rocks. Waterfalls everywhere, little creatures flying or running about. And most of all, na’vi and humans were together. Many playing games, farming, chatting, anything they did together. What Jake noticed was that the humans were not wearing masks. And neytiri noticed that there was a mix of pure na’vi and what looks like hybrid na’vi’s like her children. It was a perfect utopia. Perhaps suspiciously too perfect. 

As they continue deeper into the village, the locals all stop to look at them, curiosity evident in their eyes. Some children even follow them closely. 

“This is so weird…” Lo’ak whispers, kiri was quick to shush him. 

“Come, my mom will be super excited to meet all of you!” Danu says, learning them through the village, and through another patch of forest. “I know the village must have overwhelmed you but it was to give you the view of your possible life here. Of course if you choose to stay” Dany informs, moving some plants out of the way without the need to cut them. 

“Who is your mother…?” Neytiri asks. 

She wasn't given much of an answer as Danu climbed a set of stone stairs leading up to an uphill. The family quickly followed and coming in view was a tree. But not just any tree, a tree so different yet so familiar. With a hue of glowing teal color and Atokirina floating about, this was the people’s spirit tree. However, something else floats alongside the Atokirina. Something neytiri has never seen before. 

“MAMAAAAAAAAA~!!” Danu calls out in a happy cheery voice. 

At the base of the tree stood a human woman. Long braided hair, the ends with what seem like white stone and beads spreaded around her braids. Her outfit seeming to tell she is of higher status. 

The woman looks over at danu and smiles, welcoming the girl in a tight embrace. “Mom! I have brought some new guests! Meet the Sully family!” Danu happily introduces and she points to the family. 

The woman looks at the family, and greets them in the na’vi way, with grace and elegance sewn in every movement. “Welcome to our home, it seems like you have traveled a lot. Perhaps some rest is needed before you can ask your question"

They were given a home. Looked like a mix of a marui and a hut if Jake could describe it as best as he could. It was spacious, the kids got to have a private spot each and the pit for a cook fire was in the middle. They got to settle down and gather their thoughts, until jake called in for a family meeting. 

“Look, I get this is all new. For you, for us. But it seems they are willing to take us in without even asking. So try to be on your best behavior, all of you. Especially you lo’ak” jake says, looking at his second son. Lo’ak wasnt making eye contact so neteyam grabbed him by the neck making him face his dad. 

“Will we really stay here…?” Tuk asks nervously. While it seemed very exciting exploring a new place and meet new people, it was also scary. Jake took a moment and answered, “if they let us baby”. Tuk made a whining noise, frowning “I want to go home!” she whimpers. Close to crying. Neytiri looks at her baby with sadness, “oh tuk…”. Jake holds tuk’s hand to comfort her. “This is most likely to be our home now…and we will make most of it” 

“What does your father always say?” Neytiri asks her children…

“I hope you have all settled well. Come, you must all be famished” the woman says with an unusual softness to her voice. The sully family were invited to her home, where danu happily helped in serving the food for the newcomers. 

“I'm sorry, but what was your name again…?” Jake asks, wondering of the lady. And the woman lightly taps her head, “oh where are my manners. My name is Mai, the tsahik of the Tawsyuram clan” mai introduces herself. 

Neytiri’s tail sways curiously, “tsahik? You? But you are a human” she says. 

“Indeed, but soon you will learn neytiri, that this clan, this mountain, is not like what you know” Mai says, giving a playful wink. 

Mai gestures to everyone to take a seat as Danu serves everyone their portion. The food looked and smelled delicious, and from long travel, all of a suddenly everyone was starving. Tuk was all too happy to dig in, lo’ak doing the same. Both humming at the welcoming taste on their tongues. 

“Hungry I take it?” Mai teases as she takes a bite from her food. Neytiri cautiously takes a bite, her ears perking up liking the taste. It taste familiar yet different at the same time. Kind of tricky to describe the taste. But it had meat and other nutritional pieces of food. 

Danu sat next to neteyam, the boy looked over at her, really taking in her appearance. 

“You can stare at me all you like, pretty boy, but later, it's meal time” Danu winks at him. Neteyam nervously smiles but looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He didn't say anything further and just ate in silence. 

After their hearty meal, questions flowed out like an endless river. But everyone asked so many questions at the same time, it was a mumbling mess. So, with a simple gesture of a hand, mai lowers the volume collectively. “One by one, all of your questions will be answered” was all she said. 

“Exactly, what is this place…?” Jake asks. A lot has happened in the few hours they have been exposed to something this strange. Even for pandora standards. 

“A floating mountain. Well, to be more specific, it is a mountain cut from the northern mountains. It is so big, it created its own ecosystem. I found it many years ago and settled in” mai explained. 

“Found it…? How?” 

“I was a scientist when the RDA arrived, much like many, I fell in love with this planet. It's precious and pure. I remember crying for seeing something so beautiful, so natural and colorful. To say, it didn't take a whole lot to change my mind. So secretly I planted my own ideas. Quiet literally” 

Mai turns to point at the spirit tree.

“That tree? It grew from a single seed that I brought with me from earth. Originally, the seed was of a red oak tree. However, when infused with the pandora soil it grew to something different. Something more beautiful. I see it as something from Eywa, her way of blessing the tree, blessing this mountain. And through this miracle tree, we humans can breathe the same air as the na’vi”

Once the na’vi were mentioned, it was neytiri’s turn to ask, “Why would na’vi come here?” 

Mai offered tuk a sweet treat as she continued, “why wouldn't they? After many raids from the RDA, many lands destroyed and their homes gone, where else could they have gone? Yes to another clan, but who is to say that clan won't be targeted next? They are tired of constant loss, so here is their answer”

Jake knew there will be many more questions to ask, so he thought of telling his kids to go out and explore, but mai beat him to it. 

“Danu my love, why dont you give the sully kids a proper tour of our home? Make sure they know and learn everything of their new home” mai tells danu. Her daughter nods in glee and leads the kids outside of her home. 

“Now, with them being entertained, lets talk about…”

“C’mon, this way!” Danu tells the four kids as they follow her closely. Neteyam being very close, might as well be at equal sides, lo’ak not too far and kiri carrying tuk as to not fall behind. Through the many plants, trees, and small bridges, they return back to the village where everyone was doing something. 

Tuk smiles as she gets to see the village life in a longer range. Everyone looked so busy, chatting, moving cattle from one place to another, people in stalls trading some items for others, others cooking and feeding those who are hungry. There is something going on in every corner. 

“It looks so……busy” lo’ak says as he observes the people. 

Danu lets out a short cackle, “of course! It is always busy here, wither hunting, weaving, trading, there is something going on and there is always something new! Come on, let me show you!” 

Once again Danu leads the siblings. Weaving a path through the busy crowd, neteyam follows easily, not losing sight of her noticeable hair. He and his siblings silently say “excuse me” and “I'm sorry” as they catch up to danu. They caught up to her as she stood in front of an older na’vi. Sitting on his seat as he fans the smoke of something he is cooking. 

“Welcome danu, are those the newcomers I see?” the kind elder na’vi asks, danu nods eagerly. “Yes, I am showing them around the village and soon the whole mountain!” she answers happily. The sullys introduce themselves one by one. While they chatted, tuk couldn't help but drool as the tasty looking food. The elder na’vi noticed and asks, “Would you like one young tuk?” 

Tuk hides her face behind kiri’s arm but shyly nods, the elder na’vi chuckles and hands her the most delicious looking treat. “Here, all yours, it is a fish kabab, but be careful. It is really hot” he says, tuk accepts and gently blows on it before taking a bite. Her big eyes sparkle with delight. 

“MMNNNNN~!! Its so yummy!!” she happily praises. The elder na’vi smiled with joy, then he handed a fish kabab to each sully. “Enjoy your treat” he says, everyone happily thanked him and soon they made their way again through the paths. 

“Damn, this is good” lo’ak comments as he enjoys the fish kabab. Danu turned to him, “trust me, that kabab is just the start. Our cooks are so talented and know just how to use everything and make a delicious meal!”. As she goes on to explain what each clan member does, of all the siblings, neteyam seems to hear but not 100% listen. 

He focuses more on danu’s voice and her personality. Something about her seems to draw him in. Is it her enthusiasm? Her boldness? Her extroverted ways? Neteyam doesn't know himself, but if they really are going to stay, he has time to figure it out.

“Oooooooohhh~!! They look so fluffy!!” Tuk says as she points at cute, sheep looking creatures that are being hurdled by a human farmer. Danu took her time to introduce the kids to many aspects of the mountain, To show them that here, it is safe. 

“What are they exactly? I have never seen or heard of them before?” kiri asked curiously. 

Danu snickered a bit, her shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh “they are called…..floofers. I am not joking, that is what they called”. Tuk looks back at the cute creatures, three yellow beady eyes on each side, 2 sets of horns curled backwards with six hooved feet and remarkably pure white floof as their fur. However small, they look tough. 

“I like it, floofers is an interesting choice of a name” lo’ak comments as he twirls a hanging vine nearby. 

“But why that name?” it was neteyam’s turn to ask, danu shrugged. “I'm not sure, my mom named them that. I guess because they are floofy? I really don't know but I like it either way” . 

They all admired the different herd animals in the massive farm land, until danu led them somewhere else. But as they keep on exploring, kiri notices that a few here and there are interesting glowing insect like creatures. They remind her of Atokirinas, they fly gracefully in a delicate manner. Close to a butterfly shape, they seem to be a bit see-through, almost as if they are either made of thin glass or thin fabric. The light they produce is beautiful, a gentle white glow. And for some reason they are getting closer to her, and kiri in return getting closer to them. 

“So pretty!” tuk notices the pretty looking insects, letting one land on her hand. 

“Awe, they like you” Danu coos as the glowing beauties land on kiri, taking interest. “What are they…?” Kiri whispers as to not scare them. 

“Tswatuhì” Danu replies slowly, admiring the little display in front of her. “They are like atokirina, little blessings of our great mother. And it seems they have taken you quite well kiri” 

The little butterflies then left kiri and landed on tuk, lo’ak and neteyam, giving each of them their own glow. “Oh ma’eywa, truly a lovely blessing” Danu says in awe. Humming a bit, Danu enjoys the scenery. 

“Truly, truly you guys are like disney princesses” she comments. 

“What's a disney princess?” Tuk asks 

“It's a Earth thing” 

“Ma’jake…are you certain?” Neytiri asks nervously. They have returned back to their new temporary home after talking with mai. They had a lot to think over. So Jake, rubbing his chin as he sits with his mate by his side. 

“You heard what mai said. This place is hidden in the clouds and aware from any RDA areas. It is just…too good. Too good of everything. The mountain, the environment, the people…” he goes on. 

Neytiri lingers on the people part. Yes, the people. Human and na’vi and the inbetween. As they made their way back, she noticed many romantic couples that were na’vi and human. If they are going to stay, this is something she has no choice but to tolerate. Yet the irony is there, to run away from humans they now have to live with the humans. 

“And our children…?” she asks more. But before Jake could respond, as if on cue, their children returned with baskets full of things and big smiles on their happy faces. 

“Mom! Dad! You won't believe what we saw!” Lo'ak said eagerly, tuk light slapped his arm because he beat her to it. 

“Look look, this fruit is called a watermelon! And it is so good! Very sweet and we can make all sorts of treats with it!” tuk showed the big green melon to her parents. Jake saw it and couldn't believe his eyes. 

“Watermelon…huh, this was long gone back in my time…” he whispers. 

“We had fish kebabs and we gotta try to make some! Oh! And some of the locals were kind enough to give us these….” 

The kids happily spoke of their little journey through the mountain, the people they met, the foods they tried and the overall culture thanks to their new friend Danu. But as they chatted away, Neytiri and Jake shared a look. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay.

As the sun sets below the horizon and darkness covers all sky and land, the mountain and the life inside comes to life. Bioluminescent colors glow in beautiful colors, and like any part of Pandora, the mountain was its own other word once darkness falls. 

Nocturnal creatures come out, and the daytime creatures lay in their nests to sleep. 

And the Tawsyuram mountain? They thrive. 

Like any tribe, the Tawsyuram clan was no different when it came to communal meals. Everyone went to the main center of the village, light hearted laughter, people dancing, singing, enjoying the moot. It was different yet it felt so familiar to the Sully family. The 5 gather together in a huddle like grip, many other locals surrounding them, giving their greetings and offerings to make them feel welcome. 

They appreciate it, Jake is neytiri still feel nervous but the kids have gotten more used to the welcoming treatment and more comfortable talking with the other villagers. Even tuk managed to chat with other kids around her age! 

“So…I take it you kids like it?” Jake asks his children, they all nodded eagerly. “Do you feel safe here? Welcomed?” Neytiri asks after him. 

“As welcoming as they can get mom” lo’ak grins as he presents her a basket full of unfamiliar fruits and flowers. Kiri snatches a mango from the basket and happily munches on it. “What about you neteyam?” neytiri turns to ask her eldest child. 

But neteyam didnt respond, not immediately. 

In the center of the moot, there was a ring of young teens, many around his and his siblings' age, dancing and enjoying the moment. Among the youth was danu, who was dancing in a very grateful way. The rhythm of the music flowed around her, keeping up with the pace and matching every beat and note. She looked so lovely with the lighting of the fire. Really hypnotizing really. 

Until danu’s eyes met his. Her smile widened more and she makes her way over to neteyam, grabbing his arm tugging him forward. “Come on, dance with me” danu invites. Feeling hesitant, neteyam respectfully tries to deny, “oh no, I dont know how” he says. Earning a little giggle from danu, she tugs him harder making him stand, “it is the way” danu said. 

She successfully brings him to the center of the moot where he begins to follow her moves and quickly gets the hang of the dance. 

Neytiri and Jake look in awe as they are reminded of their night. 

“I believe that answers your question” jake whispers as they take in the full warmth and welcome of the Tawsyuram clan. 

Okie this one seriously took me a looooooooooong time! There was so much re-writing and adjusting, I feel like despite how much I did, its not enough to truly cover what I envisioned but I did my best to fit everything in. So I hope you all enjoyed this one! Until next time! See ya!

[loliwrites]

August: Nice Girls Don't Stay For Breakfast

part one of fountain of sorrow

⇢ pairing: javier peña x f!reader  ⇢ rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  ⇢ chapter warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother!reader [child won’t play a massive role], canon compliant gun violence [starts with a snippet from s1e7], mention of canon compliant violence against women [javi remembers helena], terrible exes, mention of past relationship abuse [nothing specific or graphic], creepy guys [not javi], sassy chucho, alcohol consumption, brief SMUT, car sex, unprotected p in v sex, post-sex photos, cigarettes [are bad for you], javi’s gonna make a good girl dad, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, protective!javi, no use of y/n. ⇢ word count: 7.3k (woof, sorry. there was a lot of exposition to get out) ⇢ series masterlist  ⇢ a/n: switching pov’s in this one. very excited to share this series with y’all & would love to know what you think about it! as always, i’ve done my best to tag the warnings, let me know if you think i’ve missed one.

Two shots. One right after the other. That’s all it took before he managed to get his first shot off. Well, that and the sound of lead whizzing by his head. Clear and present threats to his life trying to break skin and shatter bone. In another lifetime maybe he’d have been a little faster. A little quicker to the trigger. When out on raids like this, he wasn’t sure why his finger wasn’t perpetually in a half pulled position anyway. What use was it trying to take these guys alive? They shot first and asked questions second. Why didn’t he? If they had no qualms killing a DEA agent, why’d he take precautions to save that of a sicario?

These are fanciful thoughts. Ones you can only think about after the fact. Ones only after you’ve almost had your life ended, when your adrenaline has played its role – when you’re no longer running through the streets of Medellín, praying that when you round the corner, some guy with a .38 isn’t going to clock you in the head. Bullseye.

Those are thoughts that have to come later because running after a guy nicknamed ‘Sure Shot’ doesn’t instill one with a whole lot of confidence that he’s going to get out of this alive. Hell, maybe it’s lucky Poison fired the first two shots through the window. Maybe it was fate that he’d had those couple seconds to shoot back and make a run for it before Sure Shot lifted his handgun. 

Not that anything that followed was lucky.

Murphy had gone after Poison. He’d run after Sure Shot, who, while on the run, seemed to disregard his nickname and the fact that he had a weapon in his hands. Before they’d separated too much, he could hear shots ringing off and knew Murphy wasn’t having the same experience with Poison. Rather unfortunately, the streets were crowded with people going about their daily lives, put right in the middle of the action through no fault of their own other than the misfortune of their geography. They were making it hard for him to keep pace. And should things go even more amiss, they would become collateral damage.

He rolled his ankle once while propelling himself over a wall. When he landed, he knew he fucked up. Not as spry and nimble as he used to be. And surely not as much as the man he was chasing. But they were leaving the crowds. Dodging the busy streets and trading them in for back alleys which left them virtually alone. That was when it really all went to hell. He’d gotten Sure Shot pinned in his crosshairs. One could call it a perfect sting operation as Sure Shot slid his gun over. But if there had been one thing Javier Peña had learned being in Colombia, it was that he should never count on being lucky, especially when it came to anything Pablo Escobar related. Because money spoke, but it spoke louder in the slums. 

And the child that had arrived pointing a handgun at him, demanding Sure Shot be let go? Sometimes twenty dollars looked too damn good. And to a child who’d been exposed to cartel violence for the entirety of his life; being handed a gun with the money was like a dream come true. They weren’t playing cowboys and indians. They were playing policía y sicarios.

Up until that point, the worst thing he ever had to do was point his government issued sidearm at that child. He didn’t know it at the time, but that would eventually lose its place on his growing list of ‘worst things he’d done’. He couldn’t even blame the kid who was only acting in favor of a hero, so he added it to the list of reasons to hate Escobar.

Javi blinked. He was no longer in Bogotá or Medellín, but in Laredo, Texas. His hometown. Gone were the days of chasing someone down and being shot at, for now at least. Now his days consisted of helping his dad out on the ranch or DEA desk work. That was the one perk to Laredo. It sat right up against the US, Mexico border with an international airport a stone's throw away on the Mexico side, in Nuevo Laredo. It was just the right place for a DEA field office to set up and watch drugs try to enter the US. But it was also the place Javi had run from. The first chance he got, despite conversations with his father about how he could run but he might not like what he found. Truth was, he didn’t. The world outside Laredo was… pretty terrible. But he never regretted leaving. There had been some remorse there for what had happened with Lorraine, but never regret. 

Javier closed his mouth and swallowed. It had run dry in his moment of blacking out. Honestly, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten into a car wreck. He rested his arm on the car door and drummed his fingers against the hot metal. It had spent the better half of the day baking in the sun while he sat at border watch. Now it’d bake a little longer while he helped fix a fence on his dad’s ranch. 

He glanced out his window, squinting despite the sunglasses over his eyes and had to do a quick double take. You gotta be kidding me. Going along the sidewalk, arms swinging haphazardly, a little girl walked all by herself. She couldn’t have been more than six. Pigtails bounced with each step she took. Little Mary Jane shoes buckled over white socks, a navy blue and white checkered dress. She looked entirely out of place in the horribly country town. An innocent little creature in a world full of wolves. And as Javi continued to watch her, slowing down to accommodate for a red light but also to keep in line with her, he saw the wolves start to come out. The little girl remained oblivious to all of it, as a child who doesn’t know the world is full of evil would. A stark contrast to a lot of the children in Colombia. 

Though she was able to continue on her way without notice of the world around her, Javi couldn’t. Not as she passed a group of boys on bikes – probably only a few years older than her – and how they tugged on her pigtails when she walked by. She waved her hands at them, brushing them out of her ringlets, the permanent smile not leaving her face for a second. The boys followed her for a few steps after she passed, probably thinking she’d pay them some attention if they teased her loud enough. But the moment they were behind her and no longer in her line of vision, it was like she had forgotten they’d ever been alive. Not once did she turn around to them, and finding this game now boring, the boys turned back and pedaled away. But those boys were the least of her worries. Sure, the boys were annoying but they proved to be no real threat. Kids didn’t carry guns here like they did in Medellín. At least, Javi didn’t think they did.

There was, however, a real threat. Or one Javi perceived to be a real threat. He doubted the little angel realized she was walking through a potential lion’s den. Now fully stopped at the red light, he kept his focus squarely on her. He didn’t want to think too hard about how useless he was while actually in his car, but regardless, he continued to watch. She skipped past a group of three men. Using the profiling skills the DEA had drilled into him, he figured these guys were around his age, though a little worse for wear. Each had a cigarette hanging from their lips and beer bellies hanging from beneath shirts. And every single one watched the little girl pass by. The conversation the men had been having stopped almost immediately, and gave way to what could best be described as ogling. Only once did one of the men manage to tear his eyes away to glance up and down the street. As if fully realizing this little angel was indeed alone they all started to chuckle.

The red light had thwarted the little girl’s advance. She reached up on tip toes and pressed her tiny fingers against the metal pedestrian button. Traffic in front of her and the group of men behind her, she was trapped in the middle. Javi almost thought he’d just continue on his way. That girl’s parents had made the decision to let their child walk alone. Prey to the world. And he had responsibilities to get through. His dad would tear him a new one if he was late. The fence had to be fixed by nightfall to keep coyotes from killing the chickens. He really thought he’d go on his way.

But they whistled at her.

And though not in the way Javi had been guilty of doing to a hooker or two, but in a way of trying to get her attention in lieu of candy. They whistled at her. And he prayed she’d continue to ignore the world around her. For just a second more.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Javi tore his eyes away from her long enough to look over his right shoulder, make sure he was in the clear, and then broke a few traffic laws to get to the curb. He threw his car in park, mumbled another profanity to himself, and got out of his car. Even breaking a few more laws to cross the street as the light turned green. But he had to get to her. Maybe to the public, he looked no better than the guys who had whistled at her. But he knew himself. He trusted himself a helluva lot more than he trusted those guys. So dodging traffic, he ran to her side of the street as the men advanced toward her. Despite the light now showing the little walking man, giving her the right of way, she didn’t move from the curb. Just stared at the street as Javi approached, “muñequita!”

The sound of his voice was enough to get the men to pivot on their heels and walk away from her. Javi was glad about that. He didn’t want to try to go up against three beer bellies. But the sound of his voice hadn’t been enough to get her attention. He tried again, now stepping up onto the curb beside her, “muñequita.”

Finally she looked at him. Hands clasped in front of her, head tilted back, and big, brown, soulful eyes looked up into his. The smile still on her face. Painfully unaware of the world around her. “Muñequita, where’re you going all by yourself?”

“Home,” she lifted one hand and pointed straight ahead.

Javi looked in the direction of her hand, finding that the light had already turned red again. He reached past her and hit the metal button again. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s working!” the little voice chirped. High-pitched and very clear. Obviously, strange man, mommy is working.

“What about your dad? Where’s he?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Javi pursed his lips and nodded. He must’ve been out of the picture. Surely wasn’t the first deadbeat dad in the world. Javier crouched down, wincing, and rested his forearms on his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. “It’s not safe for you to be out here by yourself, muñequita. Can I drive you home?”

The little girl shook her head but the smile remained, “mommy said not to get in stranger’s cars.”

“That’s right. Your mommy’s very smart.” He looked back at the streetlight. It had turned green for them again. “Can I walk you home, then?”

She nodded enthusiastically, probably just happy to have a ‘friend’ along for the walk that she could muse too. So Javi stepped off the curb and started crossing the street. But when he looked down to ask her if she knew her address, he found that she wasn’t beside him. He glanced back over his shoulder and found her standing on the edge of the curb. Her arm outstretched. Her delicate little hand opening and closing in his direction. Help, help, help. He took a breath and lowered his head sheepishly, he should’ve known, and made the few steps back to her. With his hand held open, she slotted hers in it and jumped off the curb with flair, skipping along to keep up with him.

It melted his heart. This sweet, little creature. A Lamb of God. And though she wasn’t pointing a gun at his face, she reminded him a lot of that little Colombian boy in Medellín. That boy had been given a gun and left alone. Sent to do the work of a drug lord who was far too willing to sacrifice a child’s life as long as it wasn’t his own. And this one… what was to become of this angelita left alone? If the crimes he’d seen committed against children in Colombia hadn’t been bad enough, the crimes he witnessed against women had been. At that moment, looking down at the little girl, Javier only thought of Helena. He wondered where she was. Where she ended up. Had she gotten to America? Had it been kind to her?

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Javi knocked on the front door and took a step back. He glanced down at the little girl, her hand still firmly gripping his. She hadn’t let go of it since they crossed the street. It also wasn’t the only thing she didn’t stop doing on the rest of the walk. She hadn’t stopped talking. About the clouds, every dog they passed, her school friends and their first grade-sized drama. He’d learned she was five and a quarter and one of the youngest in her class. Her favorite color was purple. And she liked her scooter because she was afraid of her bike.

And above all, she did not seem concerned that there was no answer at her house. Javi knocked again, but the girl pulled her hand out of his and ran back down the porch step, down the small paved path, and cut across to the lawn. Javi immediately turned and went after her, taking a couple steps in her direction before he slowed down when he saw what she had set out to do. Crouched down, singing to herself, she plucked a flower from the grass and came skipping back to him.

“Look!” She thrust the tiny flower in his direction.

He glanced at it, shifting his focus between the little, yellow flower and her. “Wow,” he feigned excitement.

She tugged on his hand again, “‘s a buttercup! Sit, I want to see if you’re good!”

Javi took a deep breath and looked around the neighborhood, wondering if anyone had seen him arrive with her. If they were suspicious as to what some random man was doing with a little child that wasn’t his. But she tugged on his hand again so he sat on the step and she curled in closer to him, resting her free hand on his leg.

“See!” She held the flower beneath her chin, “‘f’it glows lellow, that means you’re good!” She grinned and got impossibly closer to him. “Is it lellow?”

He ducked his head and spotted a faint colorful glow on her chin. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the sun was reflecting it. “Yeah, it’s yellow,”

“I’m good!” She shrieked and reached her hand towards Javi’s face, “lemme see if it’s lellow for you,”

Javier stretched his neck, raising his chin to give her access to the spot she needed for her experiment. There was a little pause, the petals brushing against the bottom of his chin as she inspected it. His eyes locked on her, watching.

“It is!”

She yanked her hand away and Javi lowered his chin, a new, wide grin spread across his face. “I’m good?” he asked, looping his arm around her back when she flung the flower away and scooted in closer to him.

The little girl nodded and opened her mouth to say something else but her attention was quickly diverted when a set of tires crackled along the gravel driveway. She hopped to her feet excitedly, but stayed planted beside Javier, her hand clutching his leg to steady herself.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Panic set in at the sight of an unknown man sitting, waiting at your house. The panic turned heart-stopping when you saw that that unknown man had his arm wrapped around your young daughter. Worse, he seemed to be smiling… beaming… at her. As if he’d found the greatest of prizes. Though his smile did vanish upon the sound of your tires crunching along the gravel driveway.

And the way you exited your car? With speed you didn’t know was in you. The story you’d heard about a mama bear instinct kicking in, in times of crisis had never exposed itself as fiercely as it did in this moment. It had only come in shades of gray before. Now it was full on technicolor. You were seeing it in living color and it felt as though you’d been removed from your body, floating above it all, getting a bird’s eye view. The way this man stood clutching onto your daughter’s hand, and the way she hesitated to obey your command to get away from him in order to give him a hug around the leg. A bitterness rose in your throat and only slightly settled when she finally bounded toward you. Still from your bird’s eye view, it was as if you watched yourself inspect her for harm done but found none. And temporarily satisfied, you suggested she carry on to the backyard. A gated safe haven and more importantly, far, far away from the strange, mustached man, staring at you both. 

She obliged, as she always did. She was an angel. And after your ex – her father – all but split at the pregnancy announcement, an angel was exactly what you needed. The expectation was never that you’d become a single parent, but you figured it was a better option than sticking around with that deadbeat. Which, as you approached the stranger on your porch, made you wonder… where was that deadbeat? It was his day to pick her up from school. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You spat, now in killing distance if you so pleased to do to this guy. “So help me, I will cut off your dick and balls, put it on a pike, and march it through town! She’s five for fuck’s sake!”

Javi to his credit, not particularly known for his abundant patience, didn’t yell back. Didn’t fly off the handle in a fit of anger. Didn’t even let his expression show the slightest hint of sorrow. In fact, he had a smile on his face. And if that didn’t piss you the hell off even more. 

“Is this your thing? You follow a little girl home, scoop her up, and poof! She vanishes. You fuck right off.”

Smile still plastered on his face, clearly finding some form of enjoyment from this spectacle you were putting on. But when the rampage simmered down, awaiting an answer, he lifted his hand, palm turned upward in an invitation to embrace yours, and grinned a little wider, “Javier Peña, DEA.”

You scoffed, staring his hand down and crossing your arms over your chest, “you think it’s better that you’re a cop? One bad apple…”

He rested his hands on his hips, “technically a Fed. For drug enforcement. And as far as I know, she didn’t have any coke-laced lollipops on her.”

You opened your mouth for another smart response, anything to show that you had the upper hand here. Concerning your kin. On your property. But Javi took a step forward, effectively forcing you back off the singular porch step, and there he stood towering over you, on the high ground. Though he would’ve towered over you anyway, even had you been on equal footing.

“If I were a cop, I’d be lecturin’ you about how it’s irresponsible to let your child walk home alone. And worse that she’s only five, as you so generously pointed out. You don’t need to be worryin’ about me, you need to be worryin’ about the fuckin’ group of men whistling at her. Tryna get her attention.” He stepped off the porch, now on even ground with you, and just as suspected, he towered over you. Broad shoulders straining against a button-down cotton shirt, square jaw and strong nose to boot. “You don’t have to believe this, but I’m the best thing that could’ve walked into your daughter’s life today. ‘cause in my line of work, I have seen kids go poof. And for the little girls, they’re lucky if they go poof. It’s usually a helluva lot better than the alternative,”

Despite the height difference, you stepped closer, coming face to chest. Doing your best threatening glare. “If I see you around my daughter again, I will parade your severed penis around town like it’s a fourth of July float. Do not fucking try me, Javier Peña,”

It wasn’t until you let yourself inside the house and slammed the door behind you, that the smile returned to Javi’s face and he crossed through the front yard to get back to the sidewalk. While talk about one’s severed penis was rarely a reason to smile, it was one of the least violent things that he’d been threatened with and he figured that sort of punishment was far better than the kind that he’d watched Los Pepes commit in Colombia. And, yes, the cause had been just – in the effort to take down Pablo Escobar. But he knew the ease with which Los Pepes murdered sicarios in Medellín would one day be turned against him. They would have found a justification for his murder. And that, mixed with the fact that what he was doing was definitely illegal, was the reason he was back in Laredo. And the reason he’d been able to keep the muñequita safe today. 

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

He knew he wouldn’t make it to Chucho’s ranch before sundown. No chance. And his dad, also not particularly known for his patience (at least where it concerned his son), wasn’t bound to be too pleased about his son’s absence today. Hopefully he’d managed to fix the fence without him.

Javier’s suspicions proved to be correct when he pulled up his father’s long, dirt driveway and came upon the main house just as Chucho and his longtime ranch hand, Pancho, were stepping out the front door. For the second time that day, Javi found himself murmuring, “fuck,” beneath his breath.

Headlights illuminated the two older gentlemen, who still donned their boots, cowboy hats, and dusty jeans from their laborious day. Javi threw the car in park nearly before he hit the brakes, surely stripping the gears, and hopped out of the cab, ready to plead his case.

Chucho held up his hand. The wrinkles etched deep in his skin after decades of hard work in the sun. “No mames!” He shook his head and muttered to himself, “pinche naco. You owe Pancho a couple beers.” The elder Peña rounded to the driver side of his truck with Pancho letting himself into the passenger side. But before he fully entered the cab, Chucho looked back at Javi with a shout, “meet us at the Tack Room!”

The Tack Room. One of a handful of watering holes in town that boasted a kitschy barn theme. But it had the distinction of being the only one that was actually in an old barn. It had been transformed into the bar in Chucho’s young adulthood, and it had been his go-to place ever since Javier could remember. It was nothing fancy. Just a small town dive. Truly a place for locals though it wasn’t as if Laredo had much tourist appeal. Drinks were cheap. Domestic beers hovered around a buck. The food was greasy. Perfect for soaking up the alcohol already consumed and making patrons believe they could tolerate more. To Chucho it was home away from home, and to Javier, it was the place he’d gotten hooked on cigarettes. And places like it had been the reason he’d been so keen on leaving town as soon as he could. In a town as small as this, the local dives harbored three types of people:

The townsfolk who gossiped and got into everyone’s business.

The rancheros who never thought about leaving town.

And the deadbeats who never even tried.

And he’d gone to school with a lot of those in column number three. It was the bubble. People settled down here with jobs that barely paid the bills. They got married and started families. Those kids grew up, and never having the care, ambition, or opportunity to venture outside of southern Texas, stayed put. They fell in line with the work they’d watched their parents do and eventually started having babies of their own. And the cycle continued. All Javier knew was he had to get the hell out of there. So he did… despite the lump of guilt in his stomach about leaving his aging father behind. And when leaving brought him all the way to Colombia, Javi never thought he’d step foot in The Tack Room ever again.

It never failed to smell like sweat, burnt oil, and sawdust. A unique odor that all but singed his nose hairs and left him thinking his sense of smell would forever be compromised. The taste of Tecate didn’t even help. Not even the second one they were all on.

“Did you get the fence up, dad?” Javier asked, side-eyeing the girls at the next table over. If they weren’t old classmates or old girlfriends, he’d have a chance at warming up his bed tonight. They both looked like strangers to him. He could take his pick… or perhaps get both.

“No thanks to you, pendejo.”

“Alright, pop,” He took another sip from his pint glass. “I said I was sorry. I got held up, what do you want from me?”

Chucho lifted his cowboy hat off his head and smoothed out his hair before placing the hat back on. “Don’t think askin’ my son to stick to his word is too much. Instead Pancho has to help and his back’s–” Chucho interrupted himself. Then, looking past his son, and with a tone that dripped soft saccharine, “hola, chiquita!”

“Hola, Chucho!”

“Ven acá! Come meet my boy,”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

The day hadn’t been great to say the least. No day in Laredo was great but thanks to a deadbeat baby daddy and an even deader-beat judge, it was where you were holed up. Traded in San Antonio for it and cursed yourself everyday. As far as you could tell, there wasn’t any getting out of Laredo. Not for you. Not for any of the townies you’d come to recognize. Everyone just stayed put. The reason as to why hadn’t yet revealed itself. There wasn’t anything great in Laredo.

Well maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

A deadbeat baby daddy for an ex was the reason you were here but without him you wouldn’t have had actual sunshine for a daughter. How she ended up like that while being genetically half of him, you’d never know. But if having chosen a different guy meant you’d never had her, it’s a mistake you would’ve made over and over and over again. She was just about the greatest thing ever planted on God’s green earth. 

And your job wasn’t so bad. Your first job, at least. There was some sort of cruel irony that job number one was as a clerk in the same courthouse where that deadbeat judge had told you it’d be “beneficial for the girl to grow up around her father”. He obviously didn’t know, or care to learn, just how terrible that guy was. Truthfully anyone – literally anyone – would be better off not being around him. But clerking was a job nonetheless. One with a steady schedule and pay. Easy to plan life around. Not like the second job. 

Very few good arguments could be made for The Tack Room. And even less for being a bartender there. Originally you thought a small town bar only full of locals meant that everyone would treat you kindly. But you learned people were pretty much dicks anywhere you went in the world. See, a small town bar full of locals meant that the patrons started to get a little too comfortable. And since no respectable woman would be caught dead drinking at The Tack Room, it meant the place was full with large, aggressively masculine men, who’d spent the day working in the sun or bumming it on the couch while their woman brought everything to the table. And those large, aggressively masculine men, when given liquid courage, started to think they were God’s gift to humanity. Glorified machines to move their penises from one room to another. A normal shift meant being catcalled, grabbed, hugged, or pinched more times than you had fingers. The other girls blushed and cowered and took that behavior. They were raised here – worse, they’d known some of the older men who were now pinching their asses, as children. 

Not you. You could thank your deadbeat ex for that. No man was ever going to lay a hand on you like that again.

“Hola chiquita!” The soundwaves drifted in your direction, wrapping the sing-song lilt around your atmosphere, and settling warm in your chest.

Actually, there was one good thing about The Tack Room. Chucho Peña. A quiet, aging gentleman from a bygone era; he was an unforeseen light. He’d liked you since the day he met you a year or so back, here at the bar. First shift, carrying a tray of empty beer bottles, Pepe Hernandez (that asshole) grabbed you by the back pocket of your jeans, pulled you back into him until you were seated in his lap and while he thought he was hung like a horse, you realized he was working with a chode. You told him as such – something mean and cutting since he’d already been rude with you – and instead of quietly nursing his bruised ego, he cocked a fist back and tried to take a swing.

Another thing to thank your deadbeat ex for. He taught you that fists were fast but your reflexes could be faster. You dropped the tray, beer bottles crashing to the sawdust floor, and dodged his hand. He may’ve missed but you never did. Landed one punch straight to his nose. With the commotion, you could hear your boss rumbling, coming out from the kitchen to see what the matter was. And before you knew it your little unforeseen light, Chucho Peña, was beside you. He nudged you out of the way and stood over Pepe.

Your eyes widened at Chucho, but your boss arrived at the scene you’d created but Chucho was taking credit for. He wanted to holler and cuss someone out. Crack some skulls for causing a ruckus. But finding Chucho (who, you’d later found out, had given your now boss his first ranching job as a teenager), your boss backed down and kicked Pepe out.

That first night, Chucho had given you his classic Peña wink and introduced himself. He didn’t like men around acting like fools and making his beer taste bad. But he liked you. Liked your grit. Your guts. And maybe because he knew you could rip him apart, he always treated you extra nice. To make up for the fact that no one else did.

“Hola, Chucho!” You yelled back over the noise of the bar.

“Ven acá! Come meet my boy,”

You handed your purse to the bartendress behind the already crowded bar and got an apron from her in return. Wrapped it around your waist and tied it tightly around your waist on your way over to the table Chucho and Pancho were sitting at. Chucho had mentioned his son only a couple times in passing. You got the sense it was a sensitive subject and never cared to pry too much. 

But this son… your blood ran cold at the sight of him. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, clean shaven save for the mustache…

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Out of all the faces he imagined coming up to the table per his father’s offering, he never guessed it’d be you. And that fact made a little chuckle erupt from his throat when he held out his hand for an introduction you didn’t need.

“Hey, chiquita,” he smirked, all charm and nerve. Even more pleased with himself when you shoved your hand into his and told him your actual name.

But less pleased after you practically ignored him after that. Only spent a couple minutes making small talk with Chucho, trying to remain polite despite wanting to get the fuck away from his son. Maybe one day you’d fill the elder Peña in on how his son was caught with a five year old.

After you politely excused yourself from the table so you could get to work, and Javier realized he’d been practically silent the entire time, he glanced at his dad and found him gearing up for a ribbing.

“Didn’t you used to have game with the ladies?” Chucho grinned and took a sip of his beer.

“She’s not my type,” Javi grumbled.

“Ah ha. You mean she’d take a bit of work,” Chucho nodded, easing his cowboy hat back out of his eyes. “Son, it’s the women like that, that you gotta hold on to,”

Javi shook his head absently, trying to write off his dad’s comments. But he still spent the rest of the night glancing back at the bar every now and again to get a glimpse of you. He wondered how much “work” it’d take him until you bent for him just like every other woman. To his dismay, you didn’t come back to the table the rest of the night. Instead, another waitress made the rounds and filled up the beers. She didn’t seem to have any problem with him. She’d be an easy one to get. But his dad’s words rang in his ears, and despite the waitress putting in a mighty effort to get his attention, he just kept looking back at you.

Until about midnight when he needed to close out. That waitress had stopped coming around when Chucho and Pancho left and she realized she wasn’t going to get any attention from him. He stood from the table and wandered over to the bar, pulling his leather billfold out of his wallet. Foot propped up on the kick step beneath the bar, and forearms on the wood bar top, he smiled when you made eye contact with him, practically forced to help him.

“Closing out?” you asked, noncommittally. 

He nodded affirmatively, waiting until you were back in front of him with the printed tab before he asked, “who’s watchin’ your kid now?”

And you could deck him. Really could. Put some serious thought into it. But he seemed to catch on that his little joke wasn’t too funny.

“Sorry,” he bowed and slid his credit card over to you.

You ran his card, taking deep breaths so that when you turned around to face him, you wouldn’t be seeing complete red. It worked just a bit, and when you turned to hand the bill back to him, you only saw shades of dark pink. “Chucho never mentioned his son was DEA. Sounds like a lie,”

Javier smiled again. While he slid his credit card back into his wallet, he simultaneously slid out the badge that got him into the local office. Presenting it to you and adding the same blank expression on his face as his picture on the badge, he figured you believed him.

“She talked about you all day,” you shook your head and ran a towel over the bar to wipe away lingering condensation. It gave you something to do other than get lost in his eyes. “The buttercups told her you were good,”

“Not sure who taught her that, but buttercups aren’t very good judges of character,”

“I did,”

He pressed his lips together and leaned a little closer to the bar. “Well, they’re not. But they didn’t lie,”

You nodded, relenting. “Then I guess I should thank you. And apologize for that stuff about severing your penis and marching it through town,”

“Trust me, I’m sure you’re not the only woman in Laredo interested in separating me from my penis,”

“It does some damage, doesn’t it?”

A flush worked its way up to Javi’s cheeks and he laughed softly. He figured he’d let that one go without response. Your brain could imagine for itself what kind of damage he could do.

“I’m off in a half hour. If you stick around, I can show you how sorry I am,”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Maybe this not so great day was turning around. That’s the only explanation you could think of as to why you were currently seated on Javi’s lap in the passenger seat of your car, knees planted on either side of his waist, pressing against the coarse seat fabric. Tight t-shirt pushed up as far as it would go with your arms still in the sleeves. High enough for your breasts to be exposed; lace bra hiding the last bit of skin you had to offer. His hands had a crushing hold on your hips, rocking your body along his length. He was perpetually bottomed out, the lack of space giving no chance for reprieve. You brought one hand to the back of his neck while the other flung up and pressed against the roof of the car, trying to keep yourself down despite your body involuntarily inching away from him. Not that the confines of the space, or his grip on you, would let you get too far.

“C’mon, give it to me,” he growled with a labored breath.

A moan ripped through your chest and throat. Thighs quivered around Javi’s hips, which he undoubtedly felt because a chuckle rumbled past his lips and into the space between you both. You lowered your head, looking down into his eyes which were already boring into your soul.

“Already?”

“Shut up, Peña,”

He snapped his hips upward, where the head of his cock pressed against your cervix, searching for entry into a depth your body couldn’t accommodate. But entry wasn’t the ultimate goal, it was just to prove to you that he could. So he wrapped one arm around you, keeping you pinned to him where every movement of your body on his created friction against your clit. 

“Javi, querida. It’s Javi,”

Your head lolled forward and tucked into his neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses. Despite you being on top of him, he seemed to be everywhere. His body encompassed yours like a weighted blanket. Arms snaked around you to keep you close, as if you had any intention of furthering yourself from the pleasure he was giving you. “Javi,” his name lingered on your lips, singing two syllables that had never sounded so sweet. “I’m gonna come,” you gasped into his neck, closing your mouth and suckling gently on his skin.

He smiled and licked his lips, trying to focus on the feeling of your mouth on his neck. Anything to not give in to the feeling of your anatomy squeezing him within an inch of his life. He didn’t need you to tell him you were close; he could tell. “I feel it. Feel you pulling me deeper,” he lowered his head closer to your ear, his arm doing most of the work to keep your body in its steady rhythm, thrusting along him. “Go on, soak me. Give me your best,”

“Javi, Javi,” you panted. Then quickly, your head was pulled away from his neck. Both his hands cupped around your cheeks, forcing you to look down into his heads. 

You tried to lose the eye contact by squeezing your eyes shut, but Javi shook you to attention. “Let me see those eyes when you come all over me,”

Eyes snapped open, pleading. Eyebrows furrowed and mouth slack. Javi lifted his hips to meet the shifting of your body and that’s when you went rigid. Hands curling into fists and shaking. Your body jerked on top of him, an otherworldly cry erupting through you. He held on tight, leaning over and biting into your shoulder as you continued to tremble through your high. The breath hitched in your throat and it took a few seconds before a new deep lungful air entered your body. By that point, Javier was flexing and shaking beneath you.

“Where–shit–”

He knew you heard him too late. No doubt the throbbing of the pulse in your ears had blocked off the rest of the world. Unable to hear anything over the sound of your own blood pumping through your veins and the shattered cry coming out of your throat. So that by the time you did hear his question, it was too late. And Javi, just as he wasn’t known for his patience, also wasn’t known for his restraint – and yet somehow had the presence of mind and the wherewithal to physically lift you off his member just seconds before he came with a groan; thick spend coating his stomach.

You stared at it, watching the droplets create a line down toward the base of his cock, slaves to gravity. Only when he wrapped a large paw over your thigh and gave it a squeeze, did you blink and look back into his eyes.

“Good?” He asked in the same moment you leaned forward, finding himself face first in your breasts, “hello,” he smirked against your skin and bit into the fleshy mounds.

You squealed, searching blindly in the backseat with your hand before your fingertips found what they’d be looking for. And pulling back, with your free hand latching onto Javi’s hair and giving it a playful tug, you produced a Polaroid camera.

“‘S’that for?” he cocked his head to the side. 

But you didn’t answer him. Just quickly held it up to your eye, peered through the viewfinder and snapped the photo.

“Hey!” He snatched the photo away as it printed, currently just a gray square, waiting for the final image to appear. “What is this? Blackmail? You take pictures of all your conquests,”

You laughed and grabbed the photo right back, placing it in your bra and lowering your shirt. “You’re not that special, Peña,” 

Leaning back while still on his lap to create more distance for the camera, you held it back up to your eye and inspected the frame. This time his face didn’t make the cut, but his chest, down to his stomach still donning his come with his member laid back against it did. Along with your bare thighs straddling him, one of his hands still had real estate on your skin. You snapped that picture, too, and flipped it over to its blank side. With a pen in the center console courtesy of The Tack Room, you wrote your number and handed the picture to Javi.  He was out of your car before the thing had even finished developing. And in the darkness of the parking lot, he wouldn’t have been able to see the image even if it had been. A cigarette was in his mouth by the time you peeled out of the lot, and his nerves were settling with the overhead lights in his car flicking on. That was when he saw just what you’d snapped the second time. Two bodies. Anonymous. His cock rested limp against his stomach. Your legs secured around his hips. And a phone number on the back with the instruction, call me, Peña.

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of arguing/fighting, make up sex, aftercare, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ officially writing for my pookie </3 please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day sixteen [ kanata yatonokami + make up sex ]

Kanata doesn’t apologize.

it’s not as if he thinks that when he says or does something incredibly stupid that it was the right thing to do, or that his pride gets in the way of him wanting to make up with you after a fight. it’s because he doesn’t know how to. he can’t form the words because no one’s ever said them to him. he doesn’t understand them, as if those three syllables were a different language entirely from his own.

Kanata doesn’t apologize.

not verbally, at least.

but you can tell he wants you to know that he regrets what he did after every argument; you can feel it in the way he pins you to the mattress, plowing into you from behind.

it’s always from the back after you fight, and you’ve come to understand that it’s because Kanata doesn’t want to look into your eyes and see any lingering hurt. he’s not supposed to be the one that hurts you, he’s the one that protects you. or, at least, that’s what he thinks he should do. so, the possibility that you might lock eyes and he would see an ounce of pain in yours that he caused was almost too much for him to bear.

instead, his hands wrap around your wrists, smashing your palms against the mattress as his slender frame rubs against your back, allowing you to feel every inch of his hot, sweat-soaked skin when he thrusts. his face is buried in your nape, and will occasionally dip between your shoulder blades to nip and kiss the area, leaving his signature in love bites across your flesh. your nails dig into the sheets, and you mewl into the pillow you’re chewing on. you can feel all of the passion and love he has for you poured into his fucking, but it’s almost not enough. you want to look up at your lover, and see the crimson tint his otherwise pale complexion takes on. you want to see the way his lavender eyes go hazy and heavy-lidded when you clench around his cock just right, and hear his faint, vulnerable whimper he lets out when he cums that you know only you have heard.

“K—“ you crooned, arching your back to give him a better angle, pushing yourself into his fervent rutting. your head rolls against your shoulders, tilting back, trying to catch a glimpse of him. his unruly, lilac tendrils were damp and sticking to his own face, and to yours as he nuzzles close to your cheek, panting and grunting in your ear, “baby, kiss me…” you plead with him for just a little taste, your lips parted, jaw hanging slack and your eyes unfocused.

instead of answering you, Kanata grunts and nests his face into your neck, where he kisses and sucks and nibbles on your pulse point as his hips slap against your ass in rapid, needy thrusting. he keeps uttering your name, whining it in between his ragged breaths, squeezing both of your wrists until your fingers are tingling. you can tell that he’s right on the edge, chasing his elusive high deep into your core, his sensitive tip twitching and throbbing as it daubs at your inner nerves. your stomach knotted up, as if he’d conjured a sudden orgasm for you out of thin air, and you croak in happy submission when it takes hold.

“Oh, fuck, K!”

Kanata wraps a gentle fist around your nape and guides your face back into the pillows, shushing you breathlessly as he does so. you know why— you could be so damn loud when he fucked you like this, and Kanata was a jealous man. the thought that any of the skeazy neighbors could hear your angelic screams of ecstasy through the shitty, thin walls of his apartment in the slums filled him with rage.

it was only after you’ve settled, trembling with aftershocks, that you feel him pull out with a long, shaking moan. your body reacts, too, butt pushing itself into the air to try and follow the cock that had abandoned you, but you roll over on to your back, panting and staring at the ceiling as he sits back on his knees.

for a moment after pulling the full condom off and tossing it in the wastebasket, he just sat there, staring down at his own legs and the twitching, satiated cock that lay over one thigh, his palms against them as he sucks in breath after heavy breath.

you look at him, and smile, albeit a bit sad for your lover. you would have to be the one to speak first, you knew that.

“Babe, c’mere.” you croon and open your arms, which is an invitation he gratefully and silently accepts, slithering right into them. laying his head on your chest, he avoids your eyes, even when you run your fingers through his wet hair and murmur softly, “It’s okay. I forgive you. I love you.”

[yokohamapound]

BSD Characters Catch You Reading Smut

No one asked for this, but I just had the idea floating around in my head and it was too good to pass up. &lt;3

Characters: Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Yosano Akiko, Nakahara Chuuya, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: smut references

Edogawa Ranpo

It doesn't matter how good you think your poker face is. Ranpo knows. You've spent years training yourself by reading fanfiction in public and using an e-reader to mask what you're doing, but there will always be a tell.

He pops his lollipop out of his mouth and smirks over at you from his desk while you're trying to read a few pages on your lunch break. 

"Whatcha readin'?" he asks, coy.

You take a moment to compose yourself, pulling your gaze away from the scintillating, graphic descriptions written in the text, and glance across at him. There’s something about his smile that makes you unaccountably nervous. Ranpo might act like a kid most of the time, but there’s a hint of knowing in his eyes that forcibly reminds you this man is a full grown adult, and far too perceptive for his—and your—own good.

“A…uh…romance novel.”

Perhaps if you confess to something mild like reading romance novels at work, then he won’t go after the big fish. But you know as soon as the words leave your mouth that it’s a mistake. Ranpo always goes after the big fish, not the small fry.

“Uh-huuuh.” He draws out the word, grinning at you, one green eye opens a sliver. “Good sex scene?”

Across the office, Kunikida spits out his coffee over his paperwork.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

As much as Akutagawa talks like a Victorian orphan and likes to collect antiques, we don’t know much about his reading tastes, if he has any at all. Don’t forget he grew up in the slums, so he’s had little education, if any, before coming to the Port Mafia. After which, it was probably left up to Dazai, god forbid.

Suffice it to say that if he does enjoy reading anything, it’s probably morbid Gothic horror, riddled with existential dread and people dying young, haunted by the ghosts of their misdeeds. So, Poe’s stuff, basically. 

All this is to preface the fact that I don’t think Akutagawa even realises there is such a thing as smut novels. He’s probably aware of porn, but dirty writing? Not something he’s ever bothered to consider in his relatively narrow purview. 

He doesn’t really think twice when he sees you reading, since it’s a familiar-enough sight. It might be a book in your hands or just some text you’re scrolling through on your phone. It’s only when he notices your rapt attention to the text that he starts to get curious.

You’re so engrossed you don’t notice him loom over your shoulder until you hear his breath catch, a cough spluttering in his throat.

“What…what are you reading!?” he demands to know, rearing back from the book like it’s going to bite him. 

Dazai Osamu

Oh god.

It’s very hard to hide anything from Dazai, but you’ve been trying to keep your spicy book collection a secret because once he finds out about something he becomes an incorrigible tease about it, and this would be no different. 

You’ve almost mastered the art of hiding your fanfiction tab when he walks past by using the old (ALT + TAB) manoeuvre, Or by flipping to an innocuous part of your book when he walks into the room, but this strategy has backfired. Because Dazai sees all and knows all, and the sneaky little bastard has noticed your shifty behaviour. He’s been watching for a while, waiting for his moment to pounce. 

So there you are, innocently reading your not-so-innocent novel on the couch, perhaps even on a break at the office, and suddenly there’s a presence behind you, warm breath against your ear.

“‘Her legs quivered like a newborn foal’s,’” Dazai narrates, his voice breathy. “‘Lord Fondezglimmer’s hands brushed up the insides of her thighs, her skin as soft as flower petals, reaching for—’”

You snap the book shut. “Shut up, shut up!”

Dazai is unrepentant. Even as you get up, he follows you around the room, hand over his heart, eyes glittering, repeating the scene word for word. 

“‘Primrose’s secret flower was his to taste! As he lay her down upon the bed of handwoven silk, her kirtle rose to her hips to reveal—!’” 

“Shut up, Dazai!”

Kunikida Doppo

The main book Kunikida is interested in is his notebook. He does, however, have a list of well-lauded self-help books, memoirs, and other edifying literary works that he intends to check out just as soon as he has the time. He admires you, actually, and how much time you devote to improving your mind through reading. He occasionally goes so far as to ask you for recommendations, and you have to scramble to recommend something that won’t make his glasses shatter in shock.

Little does he know what you’re really up to.

It’s only when he finds himself at a rare loose end that he finally makes his way over to your bookcase and leafs through some of the volumes. He goes for the last one he saw you reading. It seems innocuous. The cover is a pastel purple with swirly writing. A romantic saga of some sort? Well, he can indulge a chapter or two, just to see what you’re interested in. 

Ten minutes later, Kunikida is sitting on the edge of his seat, gripping the book so hard it looks like he’s about to tear it in half. His face is scarlet behind his glasses, his eyes hidden by the glare on the lenses. His hair is practically standing on end. By the time you find him, he’s as wooden as a statue.

“Ah, got curious, did you?” you ask, amused.

“...this is…” Kunikida starts. “It’s…”

“Erotica,” you inform him, tugging the book from his nerveless hands. “Poor thing. If you were curious I could have given you something a little softer to ease yourself in.”

“No! I’m good. Thank you very much. I’ve seen…quite enough.”

He’s lying. 

Yosano Akiko

Fairly sure that most of Yosano’s books are either medical textbooks or lurid true crime memoirs, complete with grisly photos of murder scenes and autopsies. She reads and rereads those until the covers are falling apart. She probably also reads thrillers and a little bit of horror. Like the Dexter novels, though she scoffs at the implausibility of some of the murders and gore.

Naturally, when she sees you curled up on the couch, your nose buried in a book, she wants to know what it’s about. It doesn’t matter how discreet the cover is, or if you’re reading on your phone/tablet, because she’ll just plop down and start asking you questions, or pause to read over your shoulder.

“What are you reading, you little pervert?” she asks, leaning on your shoulder. 

Her commentary is lowkey hilarious.

“Oh, my~” she teases, before leaning and reading further. “...that’s not biologically possible, but still the concept is kinda hot.”

“Anything more than like eight inches isn’t going to fit inside, you know that right?”

“Ooh, he’s choking her? Turn to the next page. What? No, I won’t go find my own filth to read.”

She does borrow a few of your titles, though her tastes always trend towards darker romance.

Nakahara Chuuya

As much as I love Chuuya, he doesn’t strike me as the type to spend all his time sitting around reading lofty tomes of high-brow literature. He’s a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. While he might pick up the odd book on the recommendation of people whose taste he likes, he enjoys poetry more, or short, punchy novels. If a book you enjoyed gets turned into a movie, he’ll go see it with ya.

Thus, he’s never been introduced to the secret world of spicy novels, from the softcore porn of the 1980s to the roaring trade of indie authors putting out entire sagas of smut today. Totally clueless. Didn’t even realise it was a thing, honestly. His idea of a romance novel is one with a woman in a fancy dress and a shirtless man on the cover, where the scene fades to black before they do it.

Poor, innocent Chuuya.

He just thinks you look cute and cosy when you’re all snuggled up with your books. It doesn’t cross his mind to wonder what you’re reading unless you laugh aloud or gasp or something. Imagine his surprise when he glances your way one day and words jump out at him from the page. Dirty words. And when they’re strung together, the context is even smuttier. He grabs the book from your unsuspecting hands and holds it over your head (or floats it if you’re taller than him, lmao.)

“Whatcha readin’, you little pervert?” he asks, a grin growing on his face. 

“Give it back!”

“Nah, don’t think I will. Is this what you’re readin’ all the time?” He flips through the book, whistling. “Damn, you’re a dirty little thing, aren’t ya?”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

If you think Fyodor somehow doesn’t already know everything you purchase and everything you browse online, then you are a sweet, innocent creature and should be protected from all that is evil and unjust in the world.

But let’s say you’re a little sneak and somehow manage to get your hands on some spicy books without your dearest darling Fedya knowing. You can certainly read them in the long hours that he is away working and perhaps even find a way to store them discreetly on the bookshelf. 

(I doubt you’d be forbidden to read those kinds of books, but it’s still a little embarrassing for you and you might prefer your smirking husband didn’t know about it.)

Ah, but you can only keep secrets from him for so long. One day he abruptly appears behind you. You didn’t expect him home so early, didn’t even know he was coming in, but then there’s just a pale hand reaching over your shoulder to stop you turning the page, and a low, accented voice in your ear.

“Not yet, my darling. I’m not done with this page.”

You yelp, flinging the book across the room, and Fyodor stands up, smiling down at you. He tuts at your treatment of the book, picking it up and dusting it off before he turns it over to look at the cover. His smirk is practically feline, satisfied and amused in equal measure.

“My, my, myshka~ I had no idea that this is what excites you so much.”

[saintsenara]

Thoughts on Tobias Snape/Eileen Prince and Eileen Prince/Tom Riddle Jr.?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i've answered eileen prince/tom riddle here - spoiler alert, i don't hugely back it.

when it comes to eileen prince/tobias snape - which also got its own shoutout from another mystery anon:

now... my view on this is informed by the fact that i simply don't accept the fanon that eileen is from an elite [whether we mean socially or financially elite] pureblood family - she can't be! her marriage to a muggle man is announced in the daily prophet! what purebloods are doing that?

the only person who ever suggests she might be is harry, who does so on the basis of no evidence, in order to force a comparison between snape and voldemort as a way of soothing his furious grief over dumbledore's death.

but one of the central jokes in voldemort's background is that he is - by far - the most aristocratic character in the entire series, in both the magical and muggle worlds, but is denied access to the social cachet this brings in the muggle world because he's raised in an orphanage and never acknowledged by tom riddle sr. and in the wizarding world because he has a muggle name which means he's denied access to the lineage-based hierarchy of wizarding society, even though he's descended from slytherin. it doesn't make narrative sense, then, for snape to be in the same position - the uniqueness of voldemort's parentage is the point.

[and also the point of harry's assessment of snape at the end of half-blood prince is that it's... wrong.]

i personally think of eileen, then, as a half-blood - but a half-blood with a magical father, which gives her the name-based protection we see in canon afforded to half-bloods like harry. i can just about accept her as a pureblood from a minor pureblood family, but only if - regardless of this blood-status - she's from a aspirational-working- or lower-middle-class background, rather than raised in ancestral majesty.

[after all, we have andromeda for that.]

i also like to think of her and tobias as childhood friends, from technically the same class bracket, but from very different sub-brackets within this group - so, tobias from a destitute working-class background which was looked at with disgust by the aspirational-working-classes to which the princes belonged; exactly as is the case with her son and lily.

i like this - the idea that they were once thick as thieves, with magic the only difference between them - because the canonical series does far too little interrogation of the fact that, for all dumbledore and the order's grandstanding over the inherent goodness of the muggle world, all but one of the mixed muggle-magical relationships we see in canon fail*, all muggleborn children extract themselves totally from the world of their birth, and the two worlds are as completely segregated by the good guys as they are by the death eaters.

eileen discovering that magic - which looked so unlikely to cause an issue when she fell in love with toby aged ten - causes the man she adores to despise her and subject her to appalling violence, the son she loves to resent her, and the poverty in which she lives to continue unabated is something i think is really valuable to explore.

plus, the idea that eileen - in her son's eyes - threw away her prestigious magical education to return to a cotton-town slum and marry a poor man provides the perfect explanation for why severus snape makes many of the choices he makes in his life.

[*we hear of four muggle-magical relationships in canon: tom riddle sr. and merope gaunt, tobias and eileen, dean's parents, and seamus' parents. we all know what happened to tom and merope, tobias and eileen are canonically a violent, unhappy marriage, dean's dad leaves his mum when he’s a baby, and seamus' parents may or may not still be together. jkr has added several more in her post-series writing... almost all of which are similarly unhappy.]

[gravedwe11er]

Prime and Protector

Dusted off my writing skills to try my hand at some of the rarepair event prompts! Big thanks to my beta @jayden-writes, sorry for making you read mecha lingo. I will do it again.

Pairing: Rodimus/Deadlock

Cw: none

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: In which Deadlock's plans get drastically disrupted within the span of a single cycle by the prettiest pair of blue optics he's ever seen. And also politics. Can't forget that bit.

If Deadlock had known just how utterly, mind numbingly, spark crushingly boring this job would be, he might not have taken it after all.

Well, no. That's a lie. He’d never be stupid enough to say no to that kind of shanix. When you’re an up-and-coming gun for hire and some noble bastard contacts you, shoving a datapad with the most zeroes you’ve ever seen on it in front of your optics, you’re going to take it, no matter how hard or unpleasant the gig is.

Even if the mech they want dead is the new Prime.

It’s not like Deadlock has some sort of a moral objection to it. As far as he’s concerned, Primus has never done a single good thing for him and neither have any of his chosen, so really, why should he care. This Prime’s a mech like any other, and he’ll die like one too.

That is, if Deadlock could ever get anywhere near the guy. He’s been here for a month already, employed as a guard for the primal residence with the help of the new squeaky-clean records his client got for him, and so far, he has yet to see the Prime anywhere outside a holoscreen. Being the newest mech on payroll, the understandably paranoid chief of security has had him standing outside one of the dozen nearly unused side entrances, out of the way of anyone even slightly important.

Probably until he proves himself to not be an assassin sent here to kill his charge or something like that. Hah.

He’s currently alone, his partner for the day having been called away to deal with an unspecified situation in some other part of the ostentatiously huge residence and leaving him to his own devices. If Deadlock were a betting mech, he’d put his favorite pistol on this being a test, so he stubbornly fights the urge to nod off right where he stands and at least pretends he’s keeping a watchful optic on his surroundings.

Something he turns out to be grateful for when, barely a few klicks later, the elevator separating the Prime’s tower from the rest of the senatorial residential district starts showing signs of activity. Straightening up further, he stands at parade rest with his ridiculous electric spear held up at a perfect angle just as the elevator opens, spitting out two mechs in the middle of a heated argument.

The first is undoubtedly some prissy upper caste bastard, his thin, purely decorative cream-colored armor polished to a mirror shine. But it’s the second one, his arm held by the fancy fragger in a grip so tight it’s visibly denting his plating, that makes Deadlock tense up.

The new Prime looks a bit different than on the holos, his paint nanites changed to blues and purples instead of the usual reds and golds, and he’s visibly scratched up. Reeking of exhaust and burnt rubber, Deadlock would bet he was just dragged away from a street race, which is a shock in and of itself. What really gets him, though, are the sharp, almost bitten off glyphs flying out of his mouth, colored with the strong and unmistakable nyonian slum accent.

Deadlock tries not to stare too hard as the two mechs keep shouting at each other, his presence going unnoticed for the moment. In the few official broadcasts he’s made since his appointment to office, the Prime had sounded like any other noble slagger, the I am better than you attitude oozing out of every polished, perfectly pronounced glyph, but now he’s guessing they must have been heavily edited to hide the mech’s less than stellar origins.Which just begs the question, how in the pit was some nyonian allowed to get anywhere near the matrix in the first place?

Shaking himself out of his inner turmoil and shelving his speculations for the moment, Deadlock turns his attention back on his mark and his enraged minder, having no trouble listening in on their debate with just how fragging loud they’re being.

“-an utter disgrace to the Primal line! Escaping your guard detail, engaging in illegal races and shirking your duties! Again!” scolds the noble with his grating, uppity voice, and Deadlock dislikes him immediately. “How many more times must I tell you to conduct yourself as a mech of your statute!”

The white mech closes his optics, attempting to calm himself while the Prime sulkily stares at the ground. “This cannot be allowed to happen again. If you are unable to behave yourself, then we shall endeavor to find someone who will make it so.” he adds, more quietly now, trying to stare his unrepentant looking ward down despite being a helm shorter.

“Like you don’t already do that?” drawls the Prime, causing the other to take in a slow, calming invent before speaking up again.

“Have you considered General Slipwing’s proposal? I believe he would be the ideal Lord protector for someone of your… temperament.”

That seems to bring some energy to the Prime’s frame, Deadlock watching the mech finally rip his arm out of his minder’s grip to gesticulate wildly. “What? Absolutely not! The guy’s a total bore, not to mention insufferable! I am not gonna deal with him for a moment longer than I have to!”

With a dainty flick of his wrist, the white mech waves off his leader’s protests. “Perhaps the proximity to someone calm and responsible would be beneficial for you, my lord Prime,” he says, tone deceptively mild, not at all masking the insult in his statement.

“No way. Nope. I’m saying no and that’s final, you can’t make me,” shouts the Prime, shaking his helm violently. “We’re done here. I can find a way to my own rooms just fine, and you can go back to all those oh-so-important other duties that you keep reminding me you have.”

With that, the mech turns away from the irate noble and begins stomping his way to the entrance gate, Deadlock quickly returning to parade rest and doing his best to look like he hasn’t just been listening to every single word to come out of these mechs’ mouths. The Prime only makes it a few steps before he suddenly looks up, meeting Deadlock’s gaze with the most striking set of blue optics he’d ever seen.

He finds himself frozen as the leader of the entire cybertronian empire stares at him with an odd, considering look, the two standing close enough for Deadlock to feel the mech’s field when it flares out. It’s unusually strong, and warm too, despite the undercurrent frazzle of irritation, with an echo of something ancient and powerful and other that makes him suppress the urge to shiver.

The moment lasts for a few nanoklicks before the Prime stirs to life, pointing at him with one brightly colored digit.

“You!”

Only vorns of practice stop Deadlock from flinching as he tries to quell a wave of rising panic. Could the Prime have recognized him from somewhere? Frag, has Deadlock killed someone close to him, maybe? He doesn’t remember seeing this mech before, but he could have had a reformat and Deadlock would be none the wiser. Hoping to salvage the situation, he forces out an almost calm sounding “Yes?” before remembering to quickly tack on a “my lord” at the end of the sentence.

Out of all the things Deadlock could have expected, “You could be my Protector!” rolling off the Prime’s glossa was not it.

This time, Deadlock really does twitch, a staticky wheeze coming out of his vocalizer. The Prime’s optics widen, seemingly startled by his own words, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly before a shout from behind him takes both of their attention away.

“Have you lost your mind?!” the white noblemech shouts, quickly striding to the Prime’s side. “You would reject dozens of proposals from Cybertron’s elite, yet this is who you would have as your Protector?”

“Well, maybe I don’t want any of them,” says the Prime after a moment of hesitation, crossing his arms defiantly. “Maybe I think, uh-,“ a quick ping against his ID pin, “Deadlock here would be better suited for the job. What about it?”

“What about- Preposterous!” yells the prissy bastard, gesticulating towards Deadlock, contempt obvious on his shiny faceplates. “What sort of jest are you making here? He is a nobody, a common guard, practically a gutter- ah.”

Practically a guttermech, is what that slagger meant, obviously. Deadlock can’t say it bothers him much – some of the things he’s heard aimed at him would peel this little mech’s paint right off, so all he feels about it is the urge to roll his optics, and maybe hit the guy a little bit.

The Prime, to his surprise, seems to take it much more personally.

“What was that?” he grinds out, leaning to loom over the shorter mech like some brawler in a bar. “What were you going to say, huh?”

The noble tries to open his mouth, but is quickly interrupted by the Prime’s finger poking him in the chestplate, the atmosphere quickly growing heated. Quite literally, in this case – Deadlock can see heat shimmering in the air, radiating from the Prime’s armor. A point one percenter ability, maybe?

“’Cause it sure sounds like you wanted to call him a guttermech. Did you forget where your Prime, Primus’ chosen, came from?”

“I apologize, my lord-“

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Just- Don’t let me catch you saying that again, or I swear I’m gonna find some way to make you regret it, understood?”

The mech turns to stare at the ground and nods, looking majorly displeased but sufficiently cowed for the moment, and the Prime steps away from him.

“Besides,” he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way over to Deadlock, “the Matrix approves of him, so there’s that.”

Deadlock’s helm is spinning. He’s having a hard time processing the mental whiplash of all he’s just heard, but he’s given no time to steady himself before the mech is right in front of him, his field stretching out in a friendly manner and mirroring the slightly awkward smile on his faceplate.

“So, what do you say? Would you at least consider it? I know it’s all a bit sudden,” says the Prime, accented words slipping quickly off his glossa. “But hey, you hungry? ‘Cause Primus below I’m starving, and maybe we could talk about all this over a cube?”

Deadlock doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. It feels like gravity has been turned upside down and he’s left floundering, spinning in the void of space. But the Prime’s optics are on his again, and they’re bright and wide and waiting for him to answer, so without really thinking about it, he manages to croak out an “Alright”.

As he’s led away by the excitedly chattering Prime, annoying noble left behind, his thoughts go strangely quiet. This could have been exactly the moment he’s been waiting for, the Prime distracted and vulnerable and alone; an easy target, really. Deadlock could have killed him in any of the empty hallways of the Primal residence, tucked his grey frame away into a random corner and escaped into the night, collecting his paycheck before running away to live out the rest of his days on a faraway colony in comfort and financial security.

With the Prime’s warm servo on his arm and those bright optics looking his way, it doesn’t even cross his mind.

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

In the time it had taken the two of them to wander through seemingly endless fancy looking corridors to find themselves in this lavish sitting room, Deadlock had managed to shake off the mental whiplash and really started thinking through what’s been asked of him. Deadlock, a Lord Protector? Setting aside his real job for a moment, he could just not wrap his processor around why in the pit he’d been asked in the first place. As far as this mech knew, Deadlock was just one of the dozens of guards constantly keeping an eye on his residence. And that mention of the Matrix- It’s not like Deadlock knew much about it or how it worked, never believed it to be much more than a shiny trinket, but if that wasn’t the case? Could it really consider him, him, to be a fitting Protector for this odd little Prime?

Which was why, when they sat down and the Prime handed him a cube, the first question to roll off his glossa was, “Why me?”

“Everyone here sure seems to think I am, but I’m really not,” mutters the Prime, or Rodimus, as he’s been invited to call him, lazily swirling around his own cube of the purest energon Deadlock had ever seen, let alone tasted. Forcing himself to sip it at a measured pace instead of knocking it down like the starving empty he’s been until recently, he can’t help but stare at the Prime’s ridiculously expressive faceplates as he speaks.

“They really don’t want me here. I was never supposed to be a Prime, pit, I was never supposed to get anywhere near the Matrix! But, well, I guess Primus had his own opinion on that,” says Rodimus, throwing Deadlock a cheeky grin.

“So, when it became obvious they really couldn’t pry the thing out of me,” he says, tapping the center of his chestplate, “the senate and the nobles started trying to control me instead. Lightfall has been throwing Protector candidates at me for ages, pretty much the whole time I’ve been in charge. Probably hoping one of them could beat me into submission or something.”

Deadlock rubs his free hand over his finial, helm aching. “That still doesn’t explain why me. We met today.”

“What, you’re saying I haven’t immediately won you over with my shining personality and even shinier polish?” the Prime jokes, spoiler wings wiggling in the most ridiculous display Deadlock has ever seen, and he unexpectedly finds himself fighting a smile.

“But really,” Rodimus sobers a bit, meeting Deadlock’s yellow optics with his own stunning, bright blues, making something inside his chest flutter, “I need someone in my corner. Someone without a political agenda, someone who knows how regular bots live down there, outside of all- this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the riches around them with a downward twist to his mouth.

Contempt colors the Prime’s voice, something very much unusual for a mech of his statute. Then again, if he’s right about his assumption, Rodimus’ origins are far from noble. Oh, and speaking of-

“You’re from Nyon, right?”

The Prime jolts at the interruption before nodding, a surprised smile spreading on his faceplate. “Guilty as charged. You ever been?”

“Once.” On a job. He didn’t stick around for long after the deed was done, would have been dumb idea, but-

Seeing the poor people of Nyon sticking together, helping one another, so different to the violence of the Dead End back alleys he’d crawled out of, made something feel tight in his chest. He tried not to dwell on it.

“Ha, nice! Now, I’m not the best with accents, but lemme guess: Rodion?”

“Got it in one,” says Deadlock with the tiniest hint of a smile, and the two share a look of mutual understanding, no further glyphs needed. There is a certain solidarity in hailing from some of the worst slagpits Cybertron has to offer and, Prime or not, it’s something that never really leaves you.

There’s a pause as Rodimus takes a sip of his fuel before turning back to Deadlock, expression grim. “So, you get it then. You know the slag that goes on outside the tower districts, the way the ‘worthless nobodies’ are treated by the same mechs that are supposed to be their benevolent leaders,” he scoffs.

“But I’m not gonna let them. I believe I was chosen for a reason, that Primus knew things need to change. That I could be the one to change them,” he says, stubborn determination shining through his field.  “But hey, surprisingly, the council is really not happy about that. They’ve been pushing back against everything I try to do, tying it down in complex bureaucracy stuff I don’t really get yet and nobody will explain to me. Pit, I honestly wouldn’t even be surprised if they tried to get me assassinated!”

At that, Deadlock has to suppress a wince, trying to chase away an unexpected frisson of guilt and failing.

“But you, I got a good feeling about you,” says Rodimus brightly, putting a now gold colored servo on Deadlock’s arm and making him feel even worse. “If you became my Protector, we could make things better! We could build better housing in Rodion and get more fuel to Nyon, or push for stricter safety regulations in the mines! We could really make a difference!”

Setting his cube down, the Prime reaches a servo towards him. “I know this is a lot, I know it’s unexpected, but please? Would you help me with this?”

Deadlock stares at the offered servo, thoughts flying around in his processor at light speed. This bot has to be terribly naïve, unbelievably impulsive and potentially mad to be suggesting the second highest government position to a someone he met a few joors ago and who is, unbeknownst to him, an assassin sent here to extinguish his spark.

But Deadlock couldn’t stop thinking about it. About all the times he felt hopeless, helpless to save himself or anyone else. About how the system chewed him up and spat him out, made him feel less than worthless, until he clawed his way out over the greyed-out frames of his targets.

About how this bright opticed, newly minted Prime looked at Deadlock as if he was the solution to all his problems, lovely and honest and maybe a tiny bit desperate. How it made him feel like he mattered. How, for the first time in his miserable functioning, he could maybe, just maybe, change something for the better.

“Did the Matrix really say I should be Protector?”

“Well,” hummed Rodimus, faceplates twisting up in thought, “not exactly? It doesn’t speak, not in words, and it can’t see into the future or anything. But it knows things, knows bots all the way to their sparks, and it communicates that through feeling. Or maybe song, I guess.”The Prime chuckles, waving his servo around vaguely. “It’s really hard to describe, you’d just have to hear it for yourself. But yeah, it’s got a really good feeling about you. Feels like I should do my best to keep you around.”

Reaching out towards Deadlock once more, Rodimus wiggles his digits with an inviting grin. “And honestly, I couldn’t agree more. So, come on! What do you say, Deadlock? Wanna give this better future thing a try with me?”

He thinks about it. He thinks about his paycheck, his plans for a colony getaway, the guns in a hidden subspace pocket he could pull out in a flash and end this fascinating, perplexing, unbelievable bot’s life. He thinks about Dead End, about Nyon, about Kaon, Helex, Tarn, about all the places full of forsaken mechs, mechs just like the two of them. He thinks about Rodimus’ optics, the brightest of blues and full of tentative hope.

Well then.

With a sigh, already dreading the inevitable helmaches that are definitely going to come from this, he accepts his Prime’s outstretched servo, and feels his spark spin faster at the broad, joyful smile on Rodimus’ faceplates.

Looks like he’s gotta inform his client about a change of plans.

Oh, and that reminds him-

“So. About that whole assassination thing you were worried about…”

Taglist: @showstopper35

[prying-pandora666]

On the Disconnect Between ATLA and LOK: Or Why Reactionary Centrism Ruins Everything

I’ve made it no secret that I’m no fan of LOK’s writing for a number of reasons. But today I want to focus on only one issue: its politics.

I am baffled as to why LOK is seen as being the more “woke” story. Just because the protagonist is a buff brown woman with a female love interest (only implied until the comics, really)? This is such an incredibly shallow reading focusing only on aesthetics and ignores the actual content and philosophies LOK espouses.

But let’s not get into religion, iconography, the effects of colonialism and westernization etc, or we’ll be here forever.

Instead let’s just focus on the politics.

The Forge

Part of the disconnect between ATLA and LOK are the cultural conditions in the USA when both were made. The forge from whence they came was quite different.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

ATLA criticized imperialism.

If this show had been made during the height of Manifest Destiny, or during our super fun times illegally annexing territories (like Hawaii), it would’ve likely struggled to tell its story as well as it did. It would’ve been far more controversial and likely would’ve needed to take a more “centrist” approach, making it seem like imperialism isn’t “all that bad”.

It might have even come out and said that it isn’t imperialism itself that is the problem, but that Sozin to Ozai were big mean dictators that did it the wrong way!

But because ATLA came out in the 2000s—during a time in which the world had widely come around to thinking imperialism is kinda some super villain schtick—it was easy for the story to focus on the perspective of the victims of such campaigns and tell it from this point of view.

We don’t get long segments of feeling sorry for Ozai, now do we? The closest we get is Azula, who herself serves as a victim of this war that has consumed her childhood and deprived her of a safe, loving environment in which to grow and develop, instead having been groomed into a living weapon for her father and nation’s war machine.

So now let’s compare this to LOK.

The Legend of Korra

What does the first season of LOK cover? Collectivism, social activism, civil disobedience escalating to acts of violent defiance against the state.

What was going on in the USA in 2012 when LOK came out?

Occupy Wallstreet.

Socialism vs capitalism, the 99% versus the 1%, civil rights and equality; these are all issues we are still grappling with today. They’re highly politicized and divisive. There is no universal agreement about them.

And so LOK had no “safe” villain or “evil” ideology to combat. Instead it had a complicated and widely divisive topic to tackle that was contentious then and continues to be today.

As a result? Too much time is wasted equivocating.

Both Sides Are The Same! (But Not Really)

We get some soft worldbuilding early on in Book 1 of LOK showing how the infrastructure of this city is built to benefit benders and box out non-benders, but this is never given real focus. We SEE how the trains and police are dominated by earth/metal benders, we SEE how factory jobs employ lightning benders, while non-benders live in the slums which subject them to violence. But none of this is ever the focus or the point.

Almost as if the show is afraid to make a real critique from the perspective of the working class or an oppressed minority group.

Instead the story quickly falls off a cliffside as every tired old pejorative thrown at communists is recycled for Amon.

His sympathetic backstory is a complete fabrication meant to hide that he is actually part of the oppressor class.

They pretend to be the powerless oppressed group, and yet have the funding of the richest industrialist in the city?

The rich industrialist is a member of this supposedly oppressed class but really he’s just a secret villain looking to change the world for his own personal reasons and not to protect his fellow nonbenders (these same accusations are thrown at Jewish people re: Marxism).

There are no sincere attempts to communicate their grievances sympathetically or build a coalition or garner public support. Instead The Equalists only use violence, fear, and other oppressive silencing tactics.

The desire to make everyone equal by “stealing” people’s individuality. (The old “make everyone equal heights by cutting tall people’s legs down” chestnut).

And more!

This is kinda bonkers propaganda if you’re looking at it from a left-wing perspective, right?

And it seems weirdly incoherent if you’re trying to look at it from a right-wing perspective, especially with Tarrlok standing in as the villain “on the other side”.

But it makes PERFECT sense as an enlightened centrist horseshoe-theory piece that can’t commit to either side and has to warp and undermine its own story to fit a “both sides are wrong” message. Heck, it’s so heavy handed it even made Amon and Tarrlok brothers!

This is the problem that plagues all of LOK.

Look at the other villains too!

Amon: Civil Rights Activist or Bad Faith Opportunist?

Amon

Pretends to be: A civil rights activist for an oppressed minority group.

Is actually: A bad faith actor whipping up a small or non-issue into a much bigger one and convincing people to turn on each other for his own personal gain/revenge. Once defeated, the problem disappears.

Electing a non-bender somehow makes everyone happy and the problem is never addressed again. Just like electing Obama ended racism! Oh wait…

Unalaq: Spiritual Environmentalist or Environmental Satanist?

Unalaq

Pretends to be: A spiritualist concerned about the environment and the spirits. Basically Al Gore meets Tenzin Gyatso but willing to start a civil war over it.

Is actually: An occultist weirdo who wants to fuse with LITERALLY SATAN and usher in 10,000 years of darkness or something, and willing to start a war over it.

In an attempt to make a spiritual foil for Korra, who struggled with the spiritual parts of being the Avatar, the story took a weird turn and made a choice widely regarded as “fanfiction on crack” by having Unalaq aspire to become “The Dark Avatar”.

But it’s okay, you see, because while Unalaq’s criticisms of waning spirituality and lack of protection of holy sites could be seen as a knock against environmentalism, by the end Korra recognizes that Unalaq had a point and that the spirit portals should be left open.

So why exactly did Unalaq want to be the Dark Avatar and usher in an era of darkness? How was that supposed to resolve the problem he presented and Korra ended up agreeing with?

It doesn’t, and once again we are left with a contradictory centrist message of “protecting the environment is good but you should be suspicious of anyone that actually advocates for it”.

Also thanks for demystifying the origin of the Avatar and ruining the original lore for where bending came from with your Prometheus/Christian allegory. Ugh.

Zaheer: Spiritual Guru Fighting Against Modernity or A Charismatic Dummy Who Learned Everything About Anarchy From a Prager U Coloring Book

Zaheer

Pretends to be: An anarchist seeking to bring down oppressive regimes, therefor resetting the world to a more egalitarian time

Is actually: An idiot who doesn’t even know the difference between an ancom and an ancap and has no coherent ideology. He just wants chaos, I guess, which isn’t whah anarchy or anything is about.

Perhaps realizing they messed up so badly with Unalaq that even the creators were unhappy with the results, they attempted the spiritual foil idea again with Zaheer.

This time they actually had a writing staff which makes this season the agreed upon best of LOK.

But the tip-toeing around making any actual criticisms and falling back on the “both sides are bad” cop-out are only exacerbated by how uninformed and nonsensical Zaheer’s actions are. Not unlike Amon, he takes none of the steps an actual activist would take. He never even speaks to the people of Ba Sing Se to find out what they need or want. He just kills their leader, announces it, refuses to elaborate, then bounces and lets the city tear itself apart in the power vacuum.

It’s an entertaining spectacle! Just like his later torture of Korra is visceral. But none of it has any real substance to support it and so the horrific acts he commits feel like senseless edgelord tantrums.

Even Bolin knows it. Once Zaheer is defeated, Bolin shoves a sock in his mouth, therefor cementing Bolin as my favorite of the Krew for all time.

Kuvira: Literal Nazi or Literal Nazi but she didn’t mean it!

Kuvira

Pretends to be: A fascist, putting people in labor camps and uses the equivalent of an atom bomb to crush her enemies under heel in the name of unifying the continent under her control.

Is actually: All of those things but she had good intentions! She just went too far! Give her a slap on the wrists because her and Korra aren’t so different, you see!

Perhaps the most bizarre writing choice was to make the fascist the only truly sympathetic villain of this series. The reasons become quite clear, however, when we recognize one thing.

Yes, she’s styled after the Nazis.

Yes, her actions in modern day are more reminiscent of Russia.

But who is the only nation to have ever used a weapon of mass destruction on the level of the atom bomb? The USA.

And here is where the unwillingness to make a bold criticism or take a hard controversial stance is the most apparent.

Kuvira acts like a fascist and has a lot of Nazi-vibes, but she is also a grim reminder of the USA’s own imperial history. Of our flippant use of a horrifying technology that still continues to have consequences for the descendants of the victims even today. It is one of the worst violations of human rights and decency in history. And the USA is the only nation to have ever actually used one.

So if you ever feel it’s weird that Kuvira was arguably the worst of the villains but got off with only house arrest and a happy ending with hugs from her family? You’re not alone. Kuvira has to be “not that bad” or else you’re critiquing the USA itself. And that is a level of controversy this franchise doesn’t seem interested in dipping it’s toes into.

It’s the reason they equivocate and justify by having the Earth Prince step down and choose democracy. This isn’t an East Asian ideal. This wouldn’t have been a popular or virtuous choice in that time period. Many would’ve regarded it as tyranny of the majority, or a disorganized chaos without a consistent central authority.

It’s only seen as the perfect solution in the Democratic West. So you see, it’s not so bad, because at least we have democracy! We aren’t as bad as Kuvira who really isn’t all that bad either! Or so the narrative tries to apologize for itself.

And this is even more apparent with everyone’s problematic fav!

Varrick: How Elon Musk Wants Us To View Him vs What Elon Musk Wishes He Was

Varrick!

Is presented as: A quirky, funny, Tony Stark-esque genius who made a mistake and deserves a redemption!

Is actually: A war-profiteer willing to escalate tensions and shed the blood of his own people with no remorse to make money. Also he builds the equivalent of the atom bomb for Kuvira and her allegorical Nazis. But he gets a happy ending with a weirdly westernized wedding anyway!

Isn’t it telling that the villain who is written to be the most loveable and sympathetic is, in fact, the capitalist industrialist?

And not like that yucky evil industrialist Hiroshi Sato funding the Equalists and their civil rights movement.

No, no! Varrick is the good kind of industrialist! The kind that is non-political and mostly cares about money and inventions! After all, he only built a weapon of mass destruction for the Nazis, not the civil rights protestors!

Which brings us to…

Our Civilized Poverty vs their Savage Poverty!

And hey, that’s fair because look at the differences between Republic City and Ba Sing Se!

Sure, both had destitute populations starving and without proper shelter due to the disconnected elite leaders who didn’t care about their plight.

But the homeless people of Republic City are presented as jolly and helpful and never state a single grievance even as they live in a tent city underground! Everyone knows that democratic poverty is better! Therefor Sato was totally unjustified in funding an equality movement!

The poor people of BSS, on the other hand, are victims of that mean old non-democratic Earth Queen and later of the power vacuum left by her assassination, therefor their plight is ACTUALLY horrific. Kuvira may have been bad but she and Varrick are justified because of the unAmerican conditions!

Looking at it this way, so many of LOK’s problems fall into place. It perhaps serves as lesson in not tackling complex problems with the intention of a clean solution unless you’re willing to take a controversial stance and stick to your convictions.

I don’t think the creators intended to make a libertarian criticism of every social movement and apologia for capitalism and fascism. It’s just a sad reflection of what is and isn’t controversial in our current society. Divorced from actual morality or perspective.

What a waste.

This Post Brought To You By: Viewers Like You! (or: Check out this thing I made)

All that said, if you want a well-written and more adult take on the ATLA universe, check out the Kyoshi and Yangchen novels! F. C. Yee doesn’t pull any punches and perfectly balanced the darker, more visceral elements an adult story can have, with expert worldbuilding and humanized characters that feel believable even when they’re in fantastical situations.

Or if you want more ATLA instead, kindly check out @book4air: A project creating a pseudo Book 4 using both the official comics and original materials, fully dubbed, orchestrated, and partially animated by industry pros who happen to be fans!

Some comics are getting rewrites too, so whether you love the comics and want a fresh take, or hate the comics and want a change, we are doing our best to make this accessible for everyone including people with disabilities who may not be able to enjoy the originals.

Check out our first episode here!

If you can afford to, consider supporting us on Patreon! Every episode is expensive to produce and we are a bunch of broke artists. Some which don’t even have consistent or reliable housing. Any little bit helps.

If you can’t, no worries! You can still help by spreading the word so our videos can overcome the YouTube algorithm.

With all my love for this franchise and its fandom, I hope you all continue to enjoy your favs regardless of my criticisms.

[its-a-pain-having-a-name]

So we don’t know we just had this little character in our head which made a fucked up little art project and we need to remember it. Gonna post it because why not, they are kind tma so yeah. (These descriptions are bad and rudimentary at best be warned)

The twisting halls-

Long halls of doors which branch off into spirals it has striped blue/white pink/yellow wallpaper

The dark room-

Painted with the blackest black with red coloured lantern and figures in the room

The moon pool-

Liminal space with repeating columns with snaking pools of glass and cyan light.

The room of isolation-

It is cold just a chair and glass all around however behind the glass is translucent white glass and the appearance of talking figures in the distance

Immensity-

Below is lit blue glass which goes continuously down, the surface of which looks like the ripples of the sea. Over head is wide and open, full of titan statues, forced perspective and orbiting planets.

The moon chamber-

Mirrors used to reflect any moon light down to a grasping stone hand

Impossible stairs-

A room of Escher like staircases most defying gravity and leading nowhere. Separate but similar to is large barely climbable blocks making the wanderer feel small

The liminal section-

A mash between different corridors with blue sky painted behind windows, massive arch ways and staircases

The watched library-

A place filled with bookcases which arch to the ceiling packed with books of gibberish. Like the library of babble however some parts of the books have diagrams, strange number systems, characters from made up languages and short spouts of paranoia, ideas about being so close to knowing and endlessly being watched. There is a throne of green in there and the walls are littered with all kinds of eyes.

The trinket room-

Filled with all kinds of curious and impossible mathematical objects

The fractal rooms-

A collection of rooms where the floor is large detailed carving of such things as trionskies triangle, the lichen berg pattern and the Mandelbrot set.

The decay room-

Looks dusty old beige, fungi blooming. There is a withered looking sofa

The proximal room-

You climb up through a trap door, which when put down is almost unnoticeable. It is like a classroom, the clock does not tick, the computers time does not change and where all doors and windows should be there is a recession but the wall is smoothed over.

The static room-

An animatronic model slums across a desk sluggishly moving. A coffee cup filled with a psychedelic looking pattern sits before the figure. In front of the figure the only light comes from many old tv screens which are filled with colourful static, bars of colour or neon smiling face with spiralling eyes.

The meat shop-

A butcher’s shop where you see candy coloured gore, a selection of goods sit on plates on display they are caked in resin made piles representing dripping colourful gore. Some are pink others neon blue. a model stands massive cleverer mid-swing the model of the muscular butcher who has too many muscles and extra parts.

The neglected mall-

A series of ruined shops situated in a concreted looking space devoid of customers

The puppets room-

With a massive chessboard floor , chess pieces, two large marionette figures playing while being controlled by a gargantuan spider puppet. Smaller model spiders and webs are scattered about the room as well.

The faceless auditorium-

A theatre stage with rows of seats slanting up and around. Model of performers’ on the stage mid act, audience members everywhere even up in the gods.

Most if not all audiences members have smooth blankness where a face should be, some may or maybe only some performers only have mouths. All performers have masks. The clothing is fancy in style.

The altar-

It’s hard to say how or why you’d believe so but this place was obviously of worship specifically for the spiral. The only room that seems to have directly worship in this place the others all seem like art installations or appreciation of the other factors of fear it was strange to see.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: homelessness, implied threats, food scarcity, implied loss of parents/family/loved ones

AO3 link:

NOTE: I know I said that the first two chapters would come out today and I am still hoping to get chapter 2 out later on today but I'm not 100% that will be possible as I have a lot more left to write than I initially anticipated, but it will at least be coming soon!

Chapter 1 - Inej

Some flowers bloom where the green grass grows; our praise is not for them, but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow. We raise our cups to them

- We Raise Our Cups, Hadestown 

This is an old story. It has been told many times, in many ways, with many different faces, and yet we tell it again. This is a sad story. And yet, we tell it anyway. That’s our role, in all of this, and we are nothing if we do not fulfil it. This time, it started - as Inej’s stories seemed to have begun to do so with concerning frequency - with getting kicked out. 

“No- please, wait-” her pleas were cut off by the dull, painful thud of a bag being hurled into her chest. 

She gasped, winded, and as she stumbled backwards her foot slipped from the top step. Hendrija huffed what might have been a short, breathy laugh as she watched Inej fall, but Inej managed to regain at least some of her dignity as she rebalanced on the gravel. She was shorter than Hendrija anyway, and glaring up at the older woman standing above her on the porch she felt incredibly aware of her smallness. 

“Move on,” Hendrija jutted her chin vaguely down the street, “You ain’t wanted here, girl,”

“Please, Hen, I swear I’ll get you the money-”

“No you won’t,”

“I will,” she promised, “Please, just a couple of days, I swear, I just need a couple of days, I’ll get you-”

“Three months. I gave you three months grace, and I haven’t seen a cent. You’re done, now get off my property before I call the stadwatch,”

“No, Hendrija- Hendrija!”

The door slammed in front of Inej’s nose and she screamed her frustration at the apathetic panels. That was it, then: she had officially been thrown out of every hostel in Ketterdam. Brilliant. 

There was, unbeknownst to Hendrija, almost one hundred kruge tightly hand sewn into an inside pocket of Inej’s jacket - but last time she’d tried to pay her with ‘that type of cash’ Hendrija had refused it. 

“You don’t come in here and give me someone else’s money, girl,”

“I didn’t-”

“You earn some money for a room here, or you don’t keep one. You got it?”

Inej wasn’t sure what else Hendrija expected her to pay with, though. There weren’t any jobs to find. Not now. Not ever.  

“Fine,” she’d said, “I’ll earn something. How’d you-?”

“You think I don’t know you ain’t worked a day since you got here?” Hendrija nodded to the purple bills tucked between Inej’s fingers, “Where’d you get it?”

Inej squared her shoulders, pretending not to feel the pit crumbling inside her stomach, as she told her where the money was from out loud and apologised, again, to her Saints inside her head. Hendrija’s cheeks blanched. 

“At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him. Nasty way to go, when he gets to you - and he will. Always does,”

Inej had given her a sincere nod, then brushed off the conversation without another thought. It didn’t matter what anyone she stole from might do if they caught her, because they wouldn’t catch her. No-one ever did. 

She lingered for a brief moment on the porch of the rooming house, as though Hendrija might open the door and say that she’d changed her mind, or that was only teasing and oh dear, Inej, don’t you take things too seriously. But, of course, she didn’t. Inej didn’t really want her to, she supposed, other than that it would be easier than trying to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. She shouldered her bag, appalled to feel herself stagger slightly beneath the weight. When had she last eaten? There was nearly a hundred kruge sewn into her jacket, yes, but she hadn’t dared to touch it yet. It had only been hers for a couple of days. Inej wasn’t exactly an expert, but she thought it might be best to wait a while before she used it in case someone got wise somehow. The last thing she needed was to end up in a prison cell. 

Although, an upsettingly convincing voice added inside her head, at least it would be a place to sleep. Somewhere dry, with a pillow and a blanket. Somewhere she could stay still, lie down and close her eyes, eat once - maybe even more than once - a day and never have to feel the wind. Inej almost laughed out loud at herself. What had she become? What had this city turned her into? She used to be good. Now she would do anything for a bed, for food, for a roof the weather couldn’t chase her through. 

A gust of wind prickled down the back of Inej’s neck, sending a shiver running over her, and she reached to turn her collar up against the breeze. It was going to rain soon, she was sure. Where was she going to sleep tonight? She sighed into her jacket, creating a brief pocket of warmth, and began to walk. Prayers first, then food, if she could find something. She had hours until sundown. She’d figure something out. 

The Saints didn’t require a Chapel to hear their prayers, but there was a small one in the North of the Warehouse District for anyone who preferred an organised service. Inej attended when she could - she tried to light incense for her parents at least once a week, but more realistically did so about once a month, maybe twice if they were lucky. She leant against the wall of the building next to the hostel, just out of sight if Hendrija was sticking her nose out of the window, and began to dig through her measly bag of belongings. Should she change her clothes to go to Chapel? Her only other shirt and trousers were probably no cleaner than the ones she was wearing, but she ran a comb through her hair and did her best to pull it into a quick, neat braid. At least she’d tried to make an effort. She didn’t think her Saints cared, but people definitely did. 

There was a little matchbox in her bag as well, but when she slid it open with trembling fingers she was overcome with the sudden desire to scream and hurl it into the street when she discovered it was empty. She settled for holding it so tightly that the thin card crumpled in her fist, then shoving it back into the bag. She could just leave it for the day; find something to eat and start looking for a place to stay, try to buy matches once the money in her pocket felt safe. But when had she last been to Chapel? Not for several weeks. She couldn’t not go, and she couldn’t afford to turn the matches into an excuse not to return. Her parents deserved better than that. They deserved better than any of this. 

She sighed again as she stood back up from the wall and slung her bag across her shoulders, then ventured slowly into the street. It was busy, or busy enough anyway, and she knew that everyone here would have just seen her and Hendrija arguing on the porch bare moments ago so she wasn’t really expecting much when she wove into the crowd, going unnoticed until she parted her lips to venture: 

“Excuse me? Does anyone have a match?”

People glanced down at her, or between themselves, all with the same expression as they stepped away and a ring of space was created around Inej. She tried to step forwards and, as though she were a drop of oil in water, wherever she moved the strangers stepped away from her, pace for pace. 

“Please, sir,” she tried, turning to try and focus her quiet appeal on the closest individual, “Would you happen to-?”

He shook his head, turning away. Inej dug her fingers deeply into the cuff of her sleeve as she watched him pull a cigarette from his pocket as he walked away. She tried again, and then again. 

“Please,” she said, again, as the crowd parted around her, “I’m sorry, but does anyone have a match that I could use?”

From behind the shape of someone’s dusty red coat as they moved away, a boy appeared in Inej’s field of vision. He looked up and caught her eye, then seemed to sigh as he beckoned her towards him with one gloved hand - the other remaining secure over the carved handle of the cane he leant against. He was taller than her but Inej would guess they were a similar age, though his face was aged by the little scars that crossed his pale skin.

“I can help you,”

Inej paused.

At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him. 

Inej had stolen from him twice. The first time nothing happened, except for Hendrija refusing the money - as if her boarding house weren’t full of criminals and as if she didn’t damn well know it - but if he’d gotten wise? What if someone at the house overheard something and passed it on? She swallowed tightly. 

“I didn’t ask for help. I asked for a match,”

“I can give you a match,” he said, reaching one of those leather-clad hands into his pocket, “I can also help you,”

Inej frowned. For a moment she studied the matchbox that he held out between them, and then it was in her hand and the boy was pulling away and she didn’t know why but it felt like something… something had happened.  The air felt calmer now. She was part way through sliding the box open when he said: 

“You have ninety three kruge in your jacket,”

Inej’s head snapped up. 

“Excuse me?”

“Ninety three kruge,” he repeated, “That’s how much you have, isn’t it?”

“Wh-?”

“That’s how much you have. That’s how much you took from me, three days ago,”

Alarm bells started ringing inside Inej’s head. There was probably very little point in lying now, and her brain was already trying to click through what to do, how she could get out of here, where she might be able to run - he probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with her with his limp, and he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to climb up a building after her. If she could just make it to a rooftop she could disappear, run until her legs ached, then find a nook somewhere in the skyline to fall asleep and pray the rain wouldn’t be too heavy. But what after that? If he knew well enough to track her here, to a house she’d been tossed from under the safety of a false name, would she ever be able to safely walk these streets again? Maybe if she found somewhere to stay on the rooftops she would be okay - there were plenty of nooks that could form a snippet of shelter, the stadwatch would never rouse her from them, she could steal food from market stalls and storefronts, and finally become fully invisible. No-one would ever have to know that she was there. 

But even as these thoughts occurred to her the boy shifted, ever so slightly but definitely intentionally, and a shape that looked very much like a pistol appeared and disappeared between the folds of his immaculate coat. She twisted her fingers around the little box of matches. 

“You’ve got the wrong girl,”

“Have I?”

His voice was rough, like two stones being scraped together to form words. 

“Believe me,” said Inej, slipping the matchbox casually into her pocket, as though he wouldn’t notice, “If I had ninety kruge I wouldn’t be hanging around here,”

She turned away. 

“Ninety three,” the boy corrected, “And I’ll have that back, if you don’t mind,”

Inej hid the brief, disappointed scrunch of her nose before she spun and tossed the matchbox back to him. 

“And the cash?”

“I told you, it wasn’t me,”

The boy shook his head. 

“I suppose Inej Ghafa must live elsewhere then,” he said, and she knew he’d noticed when she tensed at the sound of her name, “Shame. I was going to offer her a job,”

“Who are you?”

He smiled. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you tell me how you managed to get in and out of a house with no-one ever seeing you and yet only took ninety three kruge,”

Inej frowned, thinking of the rundown house and its leaky ceiling, up to three sleeping bodies pushed into every room but the attic. The attic was this boy’s domain, and he didn’t share his space with anyone, but it was still not the kind of place that looked prosperous; a door had been balanced on its back atop stacked crates to form a makeshift desk, there was no running water but a slender basin that must have been carried in and out to be refilled at least once a day, uneven and creaking floorboards, a worn down mattress with no bed frame or sheet, a blanket without a quilt. She’d thought finding an entire ninety kruge in those rooms was a miracle. 

“There was more?”

“If you knew where to look. A proper thief would have found plenty to take,”

Something in that comforted Inej, just the tiniest bit. She was not a proper thief, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be one. 

“How did you get in?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I was there,” he shook his head, “I didn’t hear you. I didn’t see you. Not until-”

“Until I spoke,” said Inej, the memory returning to her. 

She hadn’t known there was anyone close enough to hear her when she slipped the money into her pocket and thanked her Saints out loud. The boy nodded. Inej tracked through her movements in her mind, trying to work out where the boy must have been - outside the room, she supposed, on his way up the stairs perhaps? That didn’t feel right, though, because surely she would have heard his footsteps - at the least the sound of his cane. She drew the floorplan of the attic in her mind; it was barely smaller than the other floors of the house, partitioned part way through with a wall that stretched over half the width of the room to create a more private space for sleeping. Maybe he’d been behind the wall. There was only a very small window on that side of the room, it was where the slope of the roof divided it the most, and Inej hadn’t inspected that tiny slither of glass before she slipped through the larger window on the other side of the room. Idiot, she thought, fingers tensing as she tried to study the deceptive change in the boy’s eyes, what have you done now? 

“I had no idea you were there, until then. How is that possible?”

Inej shrugged. She’d wanted to be silent so she had been, why did that matter? The matter at hand, as far as she cared, was why he hadn’t apprehended her when he heard her - and what he might want from her now. There was some kind of angle here, of course, she just didn’t know what it was. 

“No-one ever does,” she told him, “Who are you?”

“Were you trained as a dancer?”

“An acrobat. My family… all of us are acrobats,” 

Were acrobats. 

“It’s your turn to answer a question now. Who are you?”

The boy smiled again. 

“You already know that. You just don’t want to say it,”

A beat passed. 

“Dirtyhands,”

“I prefer Kaz,” he said as he conceded a nod, smoothly but not quite relaxed enough to not raise Inej’s suspicions, “I found two names for you. I assume Inej Ghafa is the real one?”

She nodded. Why bother lying? She had not known, when she slipped through a window several months ago, who it was that she was stealing from. Would she have done it, if she’d known? She wasn’t sure it would’ve stopped her - it hadn’t stopped her three days ago, had it? She hadn't known he was in the building though, or she might have been careful enough not to part her lips. 

“Is that what you’d prefer to be called?”

Inej nodded again, without taking her eyes away from Kaz’s. 

“Is Kaz Brekker your real name?”

“Real enough. Do you feel like giving me my money back, Inej?”

Not particularly, she thought, as she released a small sigh and stuck her thumb into her jacket to burst the ugly stitches she’d made around her stash. As soon as Kaz had laid gloved fingers onto the notes they vanished in a smooth folding motion of his palm, and in their place a small card was raised between the pair. 

“If you want a more reliable income, come to this address for eight bells tomorrow evening. I’ve got a job for you,”

Inej shook her head. 

“You can leave the recruitment kit at home,” she told him, “I’m just passing through,”

“You’ve been here seven months,”

There was a pause. 

“I came to pass the winter,” she ventured, “but-”

“But it isn’t ending,”

Inej nodded. Winters had been getting longer in Ravka, the spring short and the summer unbearably hot, but it was worse here than anywhere she’d travelled to across the Eastern Continent. Seven months in Kerch had passed in a twist of frozen ground, dead flowers, howling winds, and endless storms. 

“There’s something wrong with the weather,”

The weather has no mercy.

Kaz gave no reply but a nod, as if that was an explanation all alone. He was still holding out the card between them, and after a moment Inej reached out. Her bare fingers brushed briefly against the leather of his gloves, and then the card was in her hand and his was dropping away. She forced her eyes away from the dark, endless pools of his, and studied the words on the card for a moment. 

“I don’t read Kerch,”

“You know where Bloemstraat is?”

She shook her head. 

“Meet me at the Slat, then - I know you know where that is,” he almost smiled as he added that, “Seven bells half chime, tomorrow evening,”

A moment passed. 

“I’ll be there. But you should know: I’ll leave when spring comes,”

Kaz laughed, short and coarse, almost taking her by surprise. 

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes,”

He shook his head. 

“You really don’t know Ketterdam, do you? There’s no spring coming, not here. Barely to Kerch at all; not anymore,”

Not at all? Inej faltered. 

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me,”

“Why?”

“Why does anything happen around here? The world’s been thrown off kilter,”

Inej shook her head. 

“You should get out of this city. There’s a storm coming; this place isn’t worth sticking around for. Not through that,”

Kaz laughed again. 

“No-one leaves this city,”

He turned away, taking only a few steps before he glanced back over his shoulder to say:

“Oh, and Inej? Don’t ever steal from me again. And definitely don’t sneak up on me,”

Inej watched him leave, clutching two matchsticks and a slip of paper between her fingers, wondering what had just happened. 

[miz-chase]

Important Rizzles community inquiry: Anastasia AU

Is it:

Maura the Princess: (setting: vaguely 1926 Boston)

Jane, Frankie, and Tommy are local ne'er-do-wells looking for a new scheme when local mob boss Paddy Doyle puts up a reward for finding his lost daughter. They run head-first into this prissy girl who looks kinda like her, all blonde and pretty-like (not that Jane notices, at all). Coincidentally, Maura is running away from her home and, as an adopted child, the story the Rizzolis try to sell her on strikes a chord. To her, Paddy Doyle is an interesting, community-loved local business man, much more interesting than her parents' old money and rigid societal rules. When she meets him, he's charismatic and fun and, most importantly, different. She's charmed.

Inevitably, Maura finds out Jane and the Rizzolis were just in it for the reward, feels betrayed and angry. Jane insists it isn't true, but can't (or wont) find the words to explain how she feels. Mob violence breaks out, Jane saves Maura, violence escalates to climax, etc etc Then gay shit happens.

OR

Jane the Princess: (setting: vaguely 1887 Boston)

Jane Rizzoli never had much, but she made do. She and her brothers did their best, working in the cotton mill to make enough to keep Ma fed and the family tenement in order. Ma didn't need english to boss them around and do business in town, but the junior Rizzolis made their way well-enough. It was a life.

When some Brahmin kid deigns to come visit the North End on some charity mission (charity! ha!), Ma eagerly shoved Jane in her direction to milk whatever she could from the situation. Turns out, the little blonde in the fancy dress and bonnet wants to set up a ladies reform school for the "indigent women lately arrived and inclined toward a life of immorality." It sounds like absolute bullshit, but with Ma egging her on, Jane goes along with it.

The experience is bizarre. Miss Isles ("Maura, please!" she insists, so sweetly) takes Jane dress shopping, takes her to froufrou dinners, teaches her to talk fancy. After a while, Jane almost feels like a princess, walking arm-in-arm with Maura along Beacon Hill. It's almost thrilling, and she has to admit, there's a charming woman under all that Brahmin veneer. Jane can't help but be charmed as Maura loosens up and laughs at her blue jokes.

That is, until Jane is brought to a committee of serious men in suits. Maura and the Suits talk as if Jane isn't even there. There are words like "scientific philanthropy" "indigent races" "slums" and a lot of shit that seems to boil down to "those people." In the end, Maura looks pleased. Jane feels like the cow that won a fair prize headed off to the slaughterhouse.

Maura takes Jane home that night and disappears for weeks. It's only with a happenstance glance at a discarded newspaper that Jane understands what happened. "ISLES SCHOOL FOR DESTITUTE WOMEN RECEIVES LOWELL FAMILY FUNDING" Jane's not stupid. Little rich girl needed proof she could tame one of those dirty foreigners into respectability before the Suits'd fork over the funds. It was about money. It always is. Jane pretends not to care, but snaps at Ma when she asks for the 800th time about every dish she ate at Parker House. None of that shit matters, anyway.

Something happens, maybe Maura gets caught being indiscreet with a gentleman, or the Isles' lose their fortune in a bad investment, or the school fails, or Maura finds out she's adopted immigrant riffraff, or maybe Maura finally feels guilty. She shows up one night on Jane's doorstep looking apologetic and pitiful. Jane, back to slouching around in men's work clothes, is not at all impressed. Maybe it's mean to kick a dog when she's down, but little rich girl gets a big reality check from Jane. Still, they make room for her in bed and she stays the night.

After that, Maura actually tries. She helps the junior Rizzolis get access to education and specialized job training, she shops at the local grocer, she (regrettably) helps Ma learn english, so that she too can be bossed around. To the dismay of her family, Maura spends most of her time in the North End. She gets mixed up with Paddy, wins Jane over and then gay shit happens.

OR

What's your permutation of Rizzles and Anastasia?

[xaeethebaee]

The Light in his Dark World

Minors DNI! 18+ Folks ONLY!

Synopsis: You're relentlessly pursued by the infamous blood-thirsty gangster by the name of South Terano, and you cannot figure out why he's so smitten by you.

Black Reader x South Terano

A/n: A while back, I did reblog a post and the OP explained they want to see a story like this, and I volunteered. This is my first time writing for South. Actually, it is my first time writing a slow-burn fanfic so let me know how it was. @sukunasbabymama Sorry it took so long.

Word Count: 7,270

Warnings: Mentions of brutal violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rokuhara. An infamous bar located deep in the slums of Rio De Janeiro. On the outside, it looks like the typical run-down shack adorned with rusted shutters and somewhat rotted wooden door frames. That is not the case upon closer inspection of the establishment. Almost every night, many people are drawn to its walls, and it is not because of the cheap beer and sexy bartenders. Once getting past those flimsy entrance doors, and down the derelict stairs that seemingly lead into a dark abyss, a whole new world has been opened up.

Over a hundred Rio De Janeiro residents gather around where the real fun is happening. A makeshift boxing ring lay as the centerpiece of the basement. Spotlights shine down on it, illuminating dried-up blood stains on the material and a pair of violent men trading harsh blows with one another. Rokuhara hosts one of Brazil's most intense underground fight clubs and this is where you begrudgingly call your place of employment.

There is not much opportunity to flourish in your poverty and crime-stricken city, and being from a financially struggling family, moving somewhere else was not a feasible option. You’re essentially making the best out of your unfortunate home life though you find that serving bottles of liquor to drunk men who enjoy watching other men beat each other to a pulp is a much better job than selling your body as a prostitute which is also a common practice here. Also, the tips you earn are a lot more than anyone could imagine which does allow you to live slightly more comfortably than many other people in your area and have savings for when you eventually decide to call somewhere else home.

Essentially, every night between 10 pm and 5 am, you witness brawls between different gangsters from hoods across Rio and even other parts of Brazil. Your primary purpose is to prepare and serve drinks to the rowdy guests during these optimal hours and tonight is no different. Men and women alike crowd around the ring, yelling obscenities, and betting hundreds - sometimes even thousands - of Brazilian reals on the fighters. It is not the kind of environment you enjoy being in and seeing these unsavory individuals take pleasure in this savagery causes you to lose more and more faith in humanity. Again, you press forward as there are not many options.

After placing the bottle of beer on your tray, you way through the thick crowd of patrons and towards a small flight of stairs. It’s a relatively quaint platform that’s only reserved for the VIP guests of the establishment. VIP guests often include unsavory business Mongols, gang leaders, cartel bosses, and in this particular case, a man with a spine-chilling reputation as being the most brutal fighter of Brazil’s underground world.

For the most part, the patrons and fighters are all faceless and that even includes the regulars for Rokuhara; however, this particular individual is different. You know him all too well. Because of his massive height, he easily dwarfs everyone he comes across which adds to his intimidating aura. Although reluctant, you put on a brave smile as you approached the scary man, who is sitting quietly as he observes an ongoing fight. You vaguely make out a smug smile on his face while he leans back in his leather chair with his long legs manspreading, obviously entertained by the violence before him.

You can hear your heartbeat pumping in your ears once you’ve arrived at his table. Nervously, you set the bottle of beer down next to him, attempting to avoid eye contact with him.

“Here’s your drink, sir.” You muster out.

Quickly, you turn your heel and begin to walk away, but you did not get to make it far when you feel your arm being grabbed, preventing you from leaving. Looking down, you notice a large hand wrapped around your arm, though it was not tight enough to cause you any pain.

“What did I say about the formality, sweetheart?”

His deep voice sent shivers down your spine as you slowly turn around to face him. What you see is the man’s piercing yellow round eyes and his grin that is now being directed at you. He has blonde hair that is being kept in a bun and despite wearing a white button-down shirt, his Brazilian tribal tattoo design sticks out from the rightmost side of his chest and runs up his neck. It is not surprising that many people shake in fear when they are in the presence of this man. Sighing, you gently try freeing your arm from his grip.

“I’m working right now.”

You mumble but the man nonetheless heard your soft voice. He can see the uncertainty in your eyes therefore he hesitantly lets go of you.

“I told you this before. You don’t have to be so scared around me.”

He says with a tone of voice that contradicts his outward appearance. You can hear the gentleness in his deep voice in addition to slight concern. You’re still not at much ease as you are fully aware of what this man is capable of.

It is not the first time you have come face-to-face with him. In fact, you see him almost all the time either in Rokuhara as one of the fighters or in the streets of Rio De Janeiro taking on gangs of hoodlums. Each and every single violent encounter with this man always lead to someone being fatally or mortally wounded by him. His strength and violent streak easily triumph over everyone he comes across, and he is even not above murder if it means he keeps his dominion over others.

Despite your many encounters with him over time, you somehow end up unscathed. On the contrary, you are often on the receiving end of the man’s rare instance of friendliness. You’re still unsure why you seem to get special treatment from him especially since you know that he knows you aren’t fond of people like him. You’re seemingly the perfect victim for him to play around with and destroy but in reality, the man treats you almost as if you’re a porcelain doll. You can’t even recall a time when the man has even said something mean to you.

“I am working, South.”

You repeat, this time uttering his name with a bold expression. Your assertiveness is felt by the man named South who just takes a sip from the beer bottle you brought him. After feeling refreshed from the sip, he just nods and then says with the same gentle tone:

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You quickly follow up.

Once again, you try leaving him to his drink, but what he says next stops you in your track.

“So have you decided on going out with me?”

An audible sigh past your lips before you swallow some of your fear. You turn back around to look South back in the eye.

“You asked me that at least five times this week.” You point out.

“Yeah, I know.”

Although you were anxious, you still proceeded to reject him in the friendliest way.

“I told you before. I am not looking for a relationship right now.”

South goes quiet, momentarily thinking over your response as well as his future response. There is no doubt in your mind that he is going to say that he understands how you feel and then reiterate his eagerness to take you out on a date. This has been the norm for the last few encounters you two had, and just as you predicted, he states:

“I get it. You don’t wanna date a guy like me who kills people for fun. It’s just you’ve been the only light in my dark world, and I can’t miss out on losing that light. I wanna keep you safe and happy, sweetheart.”

Desperation laces his tone; however, you’re unfazed by it. It is no secret to either of you that you find this man absolutely terrifying. You actually witnessed him at his most violent, and he knew you were there.

The sight of him punching a man’s face until it became a bloody pile of mush still haunts your mind, and South had the nerve to rationalize it by stating the man had ill intentions for you. You can’t deny that it was clear you were about to be attacked by the creepy man and South did come to your rescue but that does not change the fact that you saw the blatant enjoyment on his face. South claims he wants to keep you happy, but murdering people in your presence is certainly not how he should go about it. You’re mildly annoyed by his insistence but it obviously does not overshadow the fear you harbor for him. South can see it in your face. He can see you shaking with anxiety before you realized it yourself.

“South, I-”

You start to speak but a sudden uproar of cheering cuts you off. You’re then reminded of the environment you are in, seeing the crowd of people screaming and yelling as the match has reached its conclusion. South momentarily gets distracted when the winner gets announced, which gives you the perfect opportunity to slip away. He immediately noticed your retreat but just decides to take another sip from his beer.

You return to the bar to take a deep breath. For a moment, you did not realize that a group of people was waiting to place their order with you. One older man just clears his throat to get your attention.

“Ma’am?”

He calls for you though it was unusually quiet. Looking up, you see the faces of the people and you resume your work.

“Oh! I’m so sorry everyone! I’ll be more than happy to assist.”

You put on a brave face before proceeding with your duties as a bartender. You tried your best to fulfill each order promptly, but with the state that you are in and the time crunch you are on, it was inevitable that you made mistake after mistake after mistake. Though you are quick to fix these mistakes, no one bothered to mention them to you. You’re fully aware of how irritable people can get when their orders aren’t correct or when service is slow, so you expected someone to call you out. It did not happen, however.

Rio De Janeiro is a massive city but when it comes to infamous people like South Terano, words about them travel fast amongst the communities. That means your encounters with him are no secret. People noticed how differently his demeanor has changed when he is around you. Even a blind man can see how soft he is when it comes to you, and after everyone heard about him killing a man just to protect you, an unspoken rule was established. No matter what, nobody is allowed to bring any harm to you whether it be physical or emotional.

You did not realize just how much influence South has over your life. You’re off-limits for any and everyone, despite not having a single violent bone in your body you’re just as feared, and you unknowingly have dominance. It’s the reason why you can work in such a violent environment without so much as a single threat being thrown at you. In the eyes of the residents of Rio, you are South’s girl therefore you are being treated as such.

It took several minutes but you’ve finally finished fulfilling everyone’s orders and even made a sizable tip in the process. You take a moment to catch your breath, leaning on the bar counter and reflecting on your interactions with South. You know how dangerous he is. He’s a ferocious man who takes every opportunity to fight and kill. Not to mention his short temper which causes him to lash out at anyone who provokes him, but somehow, you’re his soft spot. You’re someone who brought light to his dark world but how? Where did these feelings for you come from? You nearly strain yourself trying to figure out why South is so smitten by you.

“Ma’am? May I have another bottle of Guinness?”

The same quiet man from earlier asks you, although he was nervous. Sitting up and presenting him with a smile.

“Of course!”

You answer back, grabbing another bottle of the requested drink from the refrigerator. After handing it to the man, you suddenly make a realization.

“That was the drink South ordered when we first met.” You think to yourself with a sigh.

Even before you two officially met, South’s name has already been circling around. Even before seeing his face for the first time, you knew just how dangerous this man is and when you two met, you felt your veins run icy cold.

You explicitly remember being behind the bar, cleaning up the dirty wine glasses. This night was any typical night with the rowdy patrons yelling obscenities at the fighters before them. It is a sound that you were starting to get used to since starting your job as a bartender. Almost immediately, everything went silent, and the atmosphere changed entirely, and you’re initially confused.

That is until you peer up and immediately see a massive man making his way to the boxing ring. He has a wide grin on his face as if he is thoroughly entertained by the fear that is radiating throughout the room. No one bothered to say anything as this man takes off his shirt, revealing his toned upper body and tribal tattoo. He indeed needed no introduction.

He stands opposite another man who presents a cocky smile on his face. Everyone is silent, too terrified to utter a single thing. You’ve heard countless stories about the destruction and chaos this man has caused since he was a child. South Terano: a name that strikes fear in the hearts of many and you’re no different. You had every reason to be afraid of him.

Finally seeing him in person feels like your nightmare has come true even though you should’ve expected that he’d make an appearance eventually. You do work at an underground fight club after all and all South does is fight so it was inevitable that he’ll show up. Too stunned to steady your breathing and shaking hand, you failed to realize the glass you were holding is starting to slowly slip from your grip.

Nevertheless, you watch as the fighters begin stretching as they prepare for their upcoming match. South’s grin never falters as he cracks his neck and due to the silent room, you heard every bit of the popping sound. With bloodlust in his eyes, he heaves out a breathy chuckle before stating with an amused tone:

“This is gonna be fun. You’re gonna regret challenging m--”

He’s suddenly interrupted by the sound of glass shattering on the floor. All eyes are on you as you stand motionless and embarrassed. The man’s grin dropped a bit upon seeing you struggle to gather your words to formulate a sentence.

“Sorry!”

You quickly shout before hurrying to a nearby broom. With the room still silent, everyone - including South - can hear your frantic sweeping. As soon as you’re finished sweeping up the broken glass, you’ve used the dustpan to take it over to the trashcan. Quickly, you opened the lid of the trash can before discarding the glass into it. Throughout all of that, the room was still silent save for the sounds of you cleaning up the mess.

Looking back up, you’re still the center of attention. The onlookers have fearful expressions on their faces while South remains to have his grin, amused by what he just witnessed. Overwhelmed with embarrassment, you just give an awkward thumbs-up before announcing:

“I’m finished!”

After that, you back away into a corner in shame which allows the match to officially begin.

Both fighters get into position and in no time, the referee signals for the match to begin with the sound of his whistle. Hastily, South’s opponent rushes to him and despite the obviously massive height difference, the man nonetheless reaches high enough to punch South in the face. The hit; however, only felt like a light touch to the large man who just laughs.

“Try again weak shit!” He taunts with laughter.

The smaller opponent grunts and then takes the opportunity to punch South again, this time on his abs but that hit was proven futile as well. In shock, he looks up only to find South’s prominent grin peering back at him. The man realized his mistake too late once the bigger opponent leans forward.

“My turn.” He simply says.

Before he knew it, he feels a punch that is equal to the strength of Hercules. That punch shatters his facial bones, resulting in the man stumbling backward and falling onto the cold and bloody floor.

“That’s it? You just wasted my fucking time!”

He yells before stomping the unconscious man’s chest, no doubt breaking his ribs and damaging his internal organs. A horror-stricken gasp escapes your lips due to witnessing his brutal savagery. That gasp did not go unnoticed by South who looks directly at you with the same amused grin.

“Did that scare you, sweetheart?” He directs his taunting to you.

You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as the terrifying fighter walks out of the ring and through the crowd of people. In no time, he’s at your bar, looking down at you as if you’re his prey.

“I asked you a question.” he reminds you.

Taking in a deep breath you respond sheepishly:

“Yes.”

“Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.”

South says as he reaches out to run his fingers through your hair. On impulse, you back away before his hand could make contact with you. You can hear audible gasps from the crowd when you rejected his advance. You can see the grin on his face drop ever so slightly, convincing you that it is your time to die.

The scary man just leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter as he checks out your body. He notices the way you nervously stand while also shaking like a scared puppy. Additionally, he notices your uniform perfectly accentuating your curves and the way your melanated skin glows from the basement lighting. Your e/c eyes look back at his yellow ones, nearly enchanting him.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

You think about his question for a few seconds, caught off guard by his sudden cordialness.

“Y/n.” You reluctantly answer.

“Cute.”

He simply says, showing a very subtle spark in his eye like he just realized something. The man just smiles more before requesting a drink.

“Guinness.”

Although you’re plagued with fear, you comply with his request. Immediately, you grab a bottle of the drink and hand it to him with a nervous smile.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You muster out.

Everyone is still looking in complete shock at you two’s interaction.

Thinking back on that day, you even noticed that he was nice to you then. You think to yourself when did South actually start to have a crush on you, and you’re having a hard time understanding why. You live a very unremarkable life, you cannot think of many special skills you possess, and you don’t think you’re the prettiest girl in the world - let alone the city.

So what made him so infatuated with you? Are you the only girl he pursues? Why won’t he give up his pursuit? So many questions in so little time. You’re stressing yourself with all the overthinking, so you decided to take another deep breath, purging your mind so you can relax for once tonight.

That brief moment of relaxation did not last long, however. The noise from the crowd seizes almost instantaneously and the tension rises once again. At this point, you are already aware of who has decided to approach your bar without even looking up from your spot.

“Sweetheart?”

His voice pierces your eardrum like a spear. You can feel his presence getting stronger and his footsteps getting louder as he goes through the crowd of scared people. With the help of his long legs, he reached your bar in no time. The people that were already sitting there immediately scurried away as if they were roaches when the light has been turned on. Just like when you two first met, the onlookers watch - some in fear while others with intrigue - your upcoming interaction with South Terano.

The very large man leans on the countertop, resting his elbows as he watches you hurry to the refrigerator to grab yet another bottle of Guinness. Swiftly, you set the beer down in front of him without bothering to acknowledge his presence.

“Sweetheart?” He repeats while cracking open the bottle. “Look at me.”

He demands softly, but you remain stubborn, adamant that maybe if you ignore him long enough, he’ll leave you alone. South’s stubbornness, on the other hand, is more potent than yours. His unwavering pursuit for you will not stop even if you don’t speak to him for the rest of your life, and you are fully aware of this. He’s a patient man indeed as he just sits and waits for you to finally give him a response. Your tenacity soon starts to falter after several minutes of dead silence. South is still leaning on the countertop as he finishes the bottle of beer.

“The end of your shift is approaching isn’t it?”

He asks, prompting you to look at the nearby digital clock. It’s just a few minutes away from hitting 5 am, thus you take the time to start cleaning. You’ve made sure to clean your entire bar except for one particular spot. The man just lets out a chuckle once he sees that you finally noticed his empty beer bottle and your reluctance to approach him.

Finally, you decided now or never to reach for his bottle, but that was the moment South took his opportunity to make his move. In a move too fast to back away from, South grabbed your arm and pulled you slightly closer to him. You released a surprised gasp upon the sudden movement. Shocked and terrified, you freeze up as you look up to see South’s soft expression.

“Just one date. It’s all that I ask for.”

“No.”

You quickly answer; however, that isn’t enough to discourage the strong man. He just squeezes your arm slightly harder than usual, prompting you to feel more petrified. Through a shaking tone, you muster out:

“I-I-I told y-you. Not interested in a r-relationship.”

At that moment, you did not realize tears are starting to roll down your cheek. You’re scared of this man, of course, but you’re feeling a slew of conflicting emotions at the same time. In spite of knowing everything about this man, there is a part of you that is very intrigued by him. That feeling of intrigue is also accompanied by attraction as the man before you is very easy on the eyes. It’s those feelings in addition to your fear that got your mind in a swirl. Now that he’s much closer than you are comfortable with, you are only able to ask one simple question.

“Why do you want to be with me so badly?” You ask with a cracking voice.

Seeing your emotional state, South uses his free hand to gently caress your cheek while simultaneously wiping the flowing tears.

“I told you already. You’re my light. You were the only person who gave me comfort.”

Confused by his answer, you shake your head in denial.

“All I-I did was tell you I wasn’t….interested.”

“Is that all you think you did for me?”

He asks you with a facial expression that tells you that he is unconvinced. You search through every facet of your mind trying to figure out what South means but the only things that come up are all the times you rejected his advances.

“You seriously don’t remember, do you?” He asks.

“Remember what?”

The man lets go of your arm, breathing out a disappointed sigh. For the first time, you can visibly see his grin drop from his face. Leaning up, South puts his hands in his pockets before he starts walking towards the flight of stairs essentially leaving alone at the bar.

“I’ll be waiting outside for you when you’re finished. Don’t try to escape.”

He demands, sending shivers down your and everyone’s spines. You only got to see South when he’s enjoying his life but now this is a mood from him that is completely unfamiliar. The terror within you goes nuclear because of it. You can feel the pitiful eyes being directed at you as you finish closing your bar.

Once finished, you take off your apron and hung it up on a nearby hook. You take in a deep breath before releasing it slowly in an attempt to calm your firing nerves. Anxiously, you walk toward the stairs feeling every single eye of the people on you. Turning around, everyone just gives you a sad nod, convinced that this is their last time seeing you alive and well. Seeing their reactions gave you no comfort whatsoever; however, you nonetheless ascend up the flimsy wooden stairs and into the raggedy above-ground shack.

Almost immediately, you see the extremely tall man waiting just outside for you. Having no other choice, you press forward through the entrance and out into the humid world to face Brazil’s most dangerous man. It’s still relatively silent as you notice him slowly getting on the motorcycle that has been behind him.

“Get on.”

He says to you however you stand there confused as you’re trying to process the odd request. You can see the annoyance in his eyes while he breathes out a sigh. Quickly, he grabs your arm again but he is very careful not to hurt you. South guides you to the vehicle and has you sitting in front of him.

“W-Where are you taking me?” You ask softly.

“My place.” He simply responds with a rougher tone than usual.

That answer made you feel more fear in your bones therefore you try getting off the motorcycle. Immediately, you’re stopped when South cages you in with his large arms as he grabs the handles, engulfing you with his massive body. You did not have time to process what is going on or even register his body heat when the vehicle turns on. The motorcycle revs, scaring you into being completely still.

“Hold on to my hands and stay still.”

He commands and since he is so close to you, you can feel the vibrations in his chest and abdomen due to his deep voice. Nevertheless, you comply as you’re afraid to make him more pissed off and you do not want to fall off the vehicle.

South gently accelerates and the vehicle moves though, he is mindful of the speed he’s going in. Therefore, he goes at a leisurely pace as you two traverse through the littered and cracked streets of the slums. You’re as comfortable as you can get while having a firm hold on the man’s hands, noticing just how large he is compared to you.

Though it is still dark outside, you can still see your poverty-stricken community. Houses are ransacked - some are even destroyed, graffiti line the stone walls of the buildings, and trash litter the streets. With you only spending most of your time either at your apartment or at the bar, you forget just how rundown your community is. Seeing that makes you feel sad.

That’s just from the appearance. Crime plagues your city. It is so bad that Rio De Janeiro persistently shows up as one of the world’s most dangerous cities by many different news organizations. One of the biggest perpetrators of the violence that is rampant is the man who you’re currently riding through the city with. That same man who spent a considerable amount of time trying to get you to go on a date with him. Well, he finally got his wish as you’re both on your way to his place.

You’re nervous to see what his living situation is like. You can imagine a large compound that is surrounded by his followers, a foul stench of death lingering in the air, and piles of trash thrown about. To your surprise, you see the downtown district come into your view. Lights from the bustling city and its skyscrapers leave you in awe once you’re reminded that not all of Rio is the slums. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world that boasts terrific nightlife and is home to many stunning beaches. It’s too bad the city’s natural beauty and rich culture are overshadowed by violence.

South continues to drive the motorcycle towards the downtown area, leaving you more perplexed and nervous, knowing the downtown area is typically home to more wealthy individuals. You want to question the man about where exactly is his home located, but the words are stuck in your throat.

Besides the loud revving of the motorcycle, there is still an awkward silence between you two. No doubt, there is a slew of things South Terano wants to say right about now, and you’re no different. Instead of speaking, you continue to gawk at the sheer difference between the downtown area and the area you call home. Poverty isn’t around every corner and the streets are significantly clearer.

Soon enough, you start to feel the vehicle decelerate as you two arrive at a high-rise building at the epicenter of the city. South turns into an underground gated parking and after inputting a code into the security panel, the large metal gate opens up. Inside are numerous high-end vehicles lining the parking lot, and South goes to a designated spot next to a massive black SUV. The man parks his motorcycle in front of and perpendicular to the vehicle before turning off the engine.

“Follow me.”

He says, getting off while simultaneously grabbing your hand, interlocking fingers with it. The sudden and intimate move catches you off guard momentarily which is the reason why you did not utter a single word as you’re escorted to an elevator. South puts the same code into another security panel and before you know it, the doors closed and you can feel the elevator ascending up the building.

Again, silence as you two stand in the somewhat cramped space with the only thing preventing you from hearing your pounding heartbeat was the classical music playing from the speakers. Though, that did not stop you from vaguely noticing the much larger man subtly moving his head in the same rhythm as the piano melody.

Deciding not to think much of it, you are caught off guard when the elevator stops at one of the highest floors of the massive building. As soon as it stops, the metal doors open up to reveal a long hallway. Casually and while still holding your hand, South walks, and after he passes by a few doors, he stops at one with a prominent 906 on it. After putting in the same code one last time, a clicking sound was heard letting both of you know that the door has been unlocked.

Entering, you’re immediately greeted by the most beautiful and luxurious apartment that you could ever imagine. Expensive furniture is throughout while stunning paintings adorn the perfectly painted walls and there is a massive piano towards the corner of the living space. All of that is also complimented by a large window that gives a magnificent view of Rio De Janeiro. You’re so in awe with the place that you did not notice South letting go of your hand. He just watches with a soft smile on his face as you continue to admire the apartment.

“Like it?” He asks.

Slowly, you turn to him. Your fear has simmered down somewhat which means you finally have enough courage to speak full sentences to him.

“It’s beautiful. This is really your place?” You asked with curiosity.

South chuckles at the sparkle in your eyes.

“Yes. It is. Being a gangster has its perks.”

Hearing those words quickly made you think of the worst. You imagine the malevolent things this man could’ve done to get such a beautiful place. How many people did he have to step over and kill for him to live in such luxury?

“Sweetheart, I signed the lease just like any other person.”

Almost like he read your mind, South just chuckles after giving that brief explanation. It did not do much to settle your nerves enough especially after it finally dawns on you that you’re completely alone with South - the very man you’ve been horrified of for a long time. Unsure of what to do, you just stand in the middle of the living room while holding yourself.

“Sweetheart, I-”

He starts to speak but is quickly cut off by you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You ask.

“Nothing.”

He says while approaching you. Not wanting to be too close to him, you just back away but you’re once again reminded of South’s long and quick arm. Gently, he grabs your shoulder before taking you over to the couch. Your mind goes haywire as you think of what he could be planning. If he chooses to have his way with you, you know that there is not anything you can do about that as he’ll easily overpower you. So instead of trying to fight a battle that you have already lost, you do not try altogether, figuring it’s better than being brutally killed.

Sitting you down, the man just smiles making a breath get caught in your throat. He’s still sensing your fear, so he just softly caresses your cheek again. For some odd reason, the action calmed you down slightly as you’re reminded of just how gentle he is with you. Just as quickly, he removed his hand and then he goes to grab the seat that is in front of his piano before placing it in front of you. That allows him to sit, letting him appear less threatening.

“I’m still really fucking pissed at you.” He suddenly says, completely catching you off guard.

“Why? What did I do?”

Your question comes out a bit shaky although it is clear that you are unknowingly becoming more comfortable in South’s presence.

“You still haven’t realized why I want you so bad, huh?”

He crosses his arms.

“I can’t imagine there’s anything about me that you’d like.”

“Really?”

His questioning is accompanied by a raised eyebrow and the same facial expression from earlier returns. You start to feel a cold sweat break out from the compromising position you are in and the fact that you’re still confused about what South is referring to.

“Think harder, sweetheart.”

He tells you and once again you try very hard to come up with a sufficient answer as to why he’s so smitten by you. Of course, there is no luck. Nothing. Absolutely nothing comes to mind. Feeling defeated, you shake your head, afraid of disappointing South again.

“I don’t know.” You muster out through your cracking voice.

“You’re the light to my dark world.”

He gives a slight hint but it still leaves you with more questions than potential answers.

“How when all I ever do is reject you because of how terrifying you are?”

South lets out another chuckle, confusing you even more. You’re wondering why hasn’t he lashed out after so many attempts to get you to answer his question.

“You have shit memory.”

His chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, at this point. Seeing your confused expression as well as your attempts to find the answer has left him thoroughly entertained. You, on the other hand, are still feeling confused and now that he’s laughing in your face, you also start to feel irritated.

“Did you bring me all the way here just to pick on me?”

You ask him, and it was enough to simmer down his laughing fit just enough so he can provide an answer.

“No, sweetheart. I brought you here as part of our date.”

“This is a weird date, South.”

He lets out one final chuckle before returning to his serious expression. Doing that essentially caused the entire mood to change significantly. Grabbing your hand and rubbing his thumb over it, he asks you:

“You seriously don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

The room falls silent and the only thing you hear is the man before you heaving out a sigh. Suddenly, he stands up while letting go of your hand. Your eyes follow his movement as he just walks away and towards the hallway of the apartment. You’re left completely alone, unsure if you should use the opportunity to leave or wait for South to come back.

You opted for the latter option, so you sat patiently as you twiddle your thumbs. You have no idea what to expect once he returns as there are so many possibilities. One final time, you try digging into your memory to at least find something that may be related to what South is talking about but once again, your mind draws a blank. Giving up, you just look over in the direction he went in, anticipating his return.

A few minutes later and you can hear his heavy footsteps getting louder meaning he’s coming back to you. What you did not expect was for him to be holding an object in his hand. Sitting back in the chair in front of you, he presents you with the object, which turns out to be a stuffed animal. A ping of familiarity sparks in your brain as you reach for it.

“It looks familiar, right?”

He asks, allowing you to hold it. You wasted no time examining the plushie, feeling slight nostalgia for your childhood. While doing so, you answer his question.

“Yea. I used to have one just like this when I was a kid. I named him Bubbles, and I remember Bubbles had my name stitched on the bottom of his foot…”

You pause once you look at the bottom of the stuffed animal’s foot. To your surprise, you see ‘Y/N’ threaded neatly.

“…just like that.”

It is silent momentarily as you try to process the fact that you are holding your childhood stuffed animal. Although you had many, Bubbles was your favorite as he brought you comfort.

“Where did you get him?” you ask South.

“You gave him to me a long time ago.”

Your body freezes up upon hearing his response. You gave Bubbles away many years ago and you remember that moment so vividly.

“I remember giving him away to a crying kid who just lost his mother.”

You follow up with your response as you think back to that day many years ago. You remember seeing a crying child who was upset about his bedridden mother dying. You remember offering Bubbles to him stating that the stuffed animal always helped you when you were upset. You remember the moment when that kid gave you a soft smile upon being comforted by you. You remember seeing that kid’s eyes, and despite being red and puffy from crying, you can see the yellow irises. Thinking about it now, those eyes look eerily familiar to the orbs of the man sitting in front of you now. Looking up, you see South staring back at you, and you finally notice those very same eyes.

“You remember now, sweetheart? Now you see what I mean when I say you are the light in my dark world?” he asks you.

For the first time since being in South’s presence, you smile.

“You were the only person who’s ever been kind to me. Not even the man who became my father figure brought me the level of comfort that you did. I couldn’t forget what you’ve done for me, and I’ve always wanted to properly thank you for it.”

“South, I-I am sorry for not remembering, but why did you keep him throughout all these years?”

You ask him as you’re confused about him holding onto a stuffed animal. You found that to be odd considering the kind of man he is. Nobody would expect a dangerous gangster who takes pleasure in fighting and killing would keep a teddy bear that was given to him by a stranger when he was a child. So again, why would he do it?

“So I’ll never forget you. Plus, I have plenty more in my bedroom. You were right, stuffed animals are comforting.”

He responds though you see red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Despite feeling embarrassed about his collection of plushies, South stares deep into your e/c eyes, finally getting lost in them. Everything goes silent once the tension between you two rises, and you’re unsure about how you should feel.

“South?”

You breathe out however, you barely had enough to process the man leaning forward. In no time, he presses his lips against yours and never in a million years did you ever think his lips would be so soft. The revelation and the sudden action made you forget about everything this man has done, and the kiss sent sparks throughout your entire body. Almost immediately, your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, touching him for the very first time.

Although you still fear him, you can’t help but admire him at the same time. In addition to being a very attractive man, you have to admit that he has also been the only person to show you kindness. Despite his murderous antics, you somehow feel safer with him than with any other person in the city as you know he would never hurt you. It took you this long to finally come to terms with that.

With the kiss getting deeper, you can feel your body heating up and South feels the same. Though it is difficult, he quickly separates from you, resisting the urge to ravage you on the couch. Instead, he opts for the slower approach, holding his hand out to you.

“Consider this as us making things official.” He chuckles.

You smile as well before setting Bubbles down on the couch. Without hesitation, you accept South’s hand standing up and quickly going onto his lap. Your face rests comfortably on his chest as his arms wrap around your much smaller body, engulfing you.

“Now that you’re finally mine, I want you to stay with me. I want to keep my light.” He says, rocking you back and forth slightly.

“I’m still scared of you.” You reply.

“I know but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Sighing, you just hug him a little tighter, finally feeling content in his presence.

“There are a lot of things you need to work on if you want me to stay.”

Looking down, he smiles again feeling true happiness for the first time since meeting you. Although he’s a bit unsure if he’s able to comply with what he thinks you’re going to ask of him, South Terano will try his damndest to keep you happy no matter what. Having you in his arms made him realize his new resolve and that is the be the best man that he can be for you.

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Scene!

Again, this was my very first time working on a slow-burn story so I am really curious about what you thought of it.

As for any future projects, I do have another one that I am working on. It is a slow burn as well. Toman will share their wildest sex stories, so if you wanna be on the taglist for that, let me know.