#i also decided to Slim him. he scrawny.

[rot-wc-designs]

LL, BB, XoY, dd, CC, ww, AA, McMc, spsp, tata, Alal* *Altai / Dominant Blue Eyes A hefty, dark gray tabby tom with glittering, ice-blue eyes.

[freakinator]

theres a reason i havent drawn pentar yet and its cause i have no idea how to draw him lmao

[thecurseisinourblood]

Grey

I took the stereotypical PA picks out boss’s tie trope to the extreme. Yes, I've come to hurt you because I love you. Ok, but for real this just popped into my head the other day. Imagine this is set not long before Frollo breaks and confesses to Esmeralda that he loves her even if he doesn't want to. This implies Frollo never bought a striped suit. A reminder that Gregory is the man pursuing Esme at the theatre for a few months. He's successful, appropriately older than Esmeralda with dark hair and has a very amiable demeanor. 

Also-- Happy Holidays everyone! ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Gregory was suave, confident, with a gentle smile, and looked good in an array of palettes….

Mirrors at every turn, Lucy watched from an elegant sofa not far off from a shallow platform, stood upon by a notably tall and slim client. The fit of this new suit was not as precise as expected, from what was obvious by both the tailor and the minister. Unfortunate, considering this was the final product, past the final fitting.

Lucy never saw her boss in a mere dress shirt and tie except for these fittings, and if it weren’t for the tailor offering to take in the vest, she wouldn’t have scrutinized the judge’s body. Always attractively lean, he very clearly took it upon himself to maintain muscle. According to the elder judges, Claude had never just been skinny. She presumed he was always conscious of looking too thin because if he didn’t, that’s what he would be. Scrawny, even.

Watching more acutely as the tailor began remeasuring, it began to dawn on her how much the tailor was saying he must take in. Lucy’s gaze lifted back to Frollo’s face. His brow severe, his expression cold and indifferent, but she detected him bristle, even if he did not look at her.

Oh.

Staring still, Lucy perceived his frustration, not toward the tailor, but himself. It was like she could read his thoughts. He never would have brought her here if he had noticed the weight change himself. Never in the mood to be ‘talked to’, it seemed it was imperative that she did not today. The minister was terribly on edge recently, and it would be significantly worse if she mothered him.

Perhaps her eye was not as acute as she had always given herself credit for. Always trying to figure out what he needed, since he could never seem to very well trouble himself to share, she thought he just needed extra space. That is what he wanted, wasn’t it? He always came around in time. Simply having her along at the tailor was a rarer luxury than it once was. For whatever reason, her boss was even more distant than before. This entire year had been different and winter was fast approaching.

Whatever company he thought he wanted when he told her to come along seemed to turn into a decision of regret. She could almost see it, Claude chastising himself for not coming alone. ‘Just like he knew he should have.’

Disengaging, Lucy decided that it was best to remove herself. Pretending not to notice Claude’s black mood, she told them she wanted to browse the dresses since it would be longer than expected. Her eyes lingered just long enough to see him ease.

Exiting through a doorway lined with curtains, a gentleman from the shop approached her with a binder. Showing off the new styles that could be altered, he gave examples of the different fabrics they could be made with. Covering the modestly sized shop, Lucy noticed how much time had passed. Even for an alteration, the minister seemed to be taking longer than expected. Frollo was ‘one of’ this tailor’s finest patrons, but in the heart of hearts, Lucy could tell the older tailor held a fondness for ‘the boy.’

Once Claude set his eyes on the best option, there wasn’t another. He’d been coming to the same man for twenty years now.

Lucy reappeared in the private fitting room to see the judge alone. To her surprise, he was wearing a different vest, a dark, slate, neutral grey, that fit much better than the last. He was debating between two ties. One, a dark amethyst, the other, cerulean. She knew the minister had many ties like the first one, but there were subtle textures flecked across the surface, in a nearly unnoticeable pattern with diagonal lines. Looking to his right hand, she saw a sample of black suit fabrics subtle stripes of dark grey.

This grey vest looked like this one was supposed to be the commissioned and fitted one. If he had commissioned this one too? That would mean… he expected not to maintain his weight. Her heart lept. Did there always have to be something he was hiding?

“I have not seen you labor over a tie like this in years,” not since he was ambitiously attending dinner after dinner to prove himself worthy of the title of minister. Delice flitted threw her mind, but Claude had never gone too out of his way to impress her. He didn't have to do anything but be himself. She tilted her head and watched his face continue to stare at the choices as intently as if they were a ruling. Fastidious was normal, but obsessive?

“Have you been…” more anxious than usual. Lucy trailed off when he looked at her, his eyes warning and filled with an austerity that struck her with a cold gloom. “You don’t even like stripes,” she said instead.

Frowning, the minister looked back down and dropped the sample.

“I like stripes,” he said with a small sneer.

Lucy did not even want to blink. It was hard to notice his weight when she looked at him for so many hours every day-- for years. She missed the change, but she was determined not to let something else slip past. Whatever this was--

“You have not worn stripes once in your life,” Lucy pointed out.

Claude’s lips became this hard and grim line before turning back to a binder filled with lighter colors, any of which would look good with his grey ensemble. Her eyes scanned the selection, waiting for him to speak up.

“All of these would look terrible on me,” he gestured. Even his flourish was rigid as if his muscles were coiled. “And I don’t need something else aging me.”

Lucy’s eyes flew back up to his. It was the first time she ever heard him express an opinion, nonetheless distaste for his looks. Never had he been thrilled, but not once had she heard him complain about his premature aging. It suited him. He was so gloriously handsome, that even he managed to make her loins ache from time to time. Claude had always been vain, but this?

His accomplishments spoke for themselves. Lucy knew he could have looked like a balding frog and still been successful. Frollo knew that, too. The way he behaved when courting Delice was enough to tell her that he knew his worth, and although she saw his doubts, he never expressed them like this.

“The cerulean would look impeccable on you, sir.”

Peeling off the ocean tie from the counter, she threw it around his neck. She liked tying his ties. It was one intimate thing she allowed herself, despite his reluctance. After all of these years, his body still went rigid. She didn’t believe in crossing boundaries, but she believed he needed some form of physical affection. Despite being uncomfortable, he never protested. Mistaken for his wife all throughout his career, that was often how Lucy behaved. Except, he paid her. She was still an expert, even if they were family. It wouldn’t have mattered if he cared for her if she hadn’t proven herself to be a consummate professional, he would have fired her long ago.

Fixing the tie beneath his neck, she was aware of how he was watching her face, like a hawk.

Taking a small step back, she looked at him. The tie complimented his grey-blue eyes and she felt her heart skip a beat as she smiled. He didn’t look older, but he did look different. Whether that difference was good or bad was up to the minister.

He looked in the mirror, and while she was smiling, waiting for him to see himself through her eyes, his brows furrowed.

“I don’t look friendlier… I just look older... silly.” the disgust in his voice, it was like shrapnel in her chest. Her face fell in concern, a concern she knew he didn’t welcome.

But why after so many years was he looking at all of these new things? Why did he want to look… nicer? Lucy quickly recovered and squeezed his arm.

“Usually, if you want to look friendlier, you just relax your face and smile a little. It’s all about how you carry yourself.”

Claude’s frown deepened and his eyes pierced hers with an intensity that sent another chill through her. She desperately wished she understood what he was translating her words to. Why was he so upset?

“I suppose, people would rather have a shit-eating grin and pretend to enjoy each other’s company instead.”

The minister’s fingers darted between the knots of the tie, loosening the offending item quickly. Lucy continued her careful gaze, intrigued and wary of this restless behavior.

“Instead of what?” She dared to ask. “Instead of… how you act?”

There was no need for a response. The judge often displayed how adept he was with his silver tongue. Sharp and clever, he navigated social discourse like it was child’s play. Especially when it came to the prime minister, but she knew how he loathed doing it. Frollo thought everyone was a liar because that is what he was when he smiled and joked. If they weren’t lying, he didn’t understand it, because he didn’t feel the same way.

So… why did he feel the need to lie and manipulate someone’s perception of him? Who did he desperately want to lie to? Himself?

Watching in silence as Claude picked up another tie, not the purple one, but the one he had made with the vest, she saw how his eyes narrowed with scrutiny. Lucy could not deny that she preferred his usual palette. He looked regal, mature, and sharp, but he seemed even unhappier.

“Grey is just as boring and plain as people say,” he murmured, but she sensed the defeat in his voice. He wore so many dark colors, but most of them had a muted and ashy tone to them. Grey was one of the minister’s favorite colors. "And imposing.”

Lucy didn’t take her eyes off him and realized he must be looking at himself through someone else’s eyes. But whose? The public’s? If anything Claude spent his entire career orchestrating this untouchable persona. While he was outwardly proud of his titles and his status as the Marble judge, she did see cracks every once in a while. They all believed him when he said he wasn’t lonely…. But after she told him to break it off with Delice, he had given up entirely. It seemed his ambition to find a mate finally went out like a snuffed candle.

And she couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for it. Perhaps Remy was right, that she should have let him make his mistakes.

“I think you look even better in this color,” Lucy piped up. “You aren’t trying to make a statement with gaudy colors. This says: you are the statement, and that’s always what I’ve thought about you,” she paused, “and you like this color, don’t you? That’s why you picked this to be tailored,” her fingers pinched the grey vest at the top of his shoulders.

Those intense eyes flicked to hers on high alert because of the comment. That was the only insight she needed not to press him further. If the past was a lesson, she would have to until he was out of this fight or flight mode to figure out what he was going through. Yes, he must have expected to drop his weight, but was optimistic enough to think he could fit in the other vest. Perhaps this disappointment was the real reason he was upset. Well, and the fact that this was drawn to her attention.

As Claude turned back to preening, she saw him return to the sample of black fabric. The one with the dark stripes. A moment of long silence passed and Lucy decided she could no longer keep quiet.

“Sir… are you thinking about… courting again?”

To her surprise, he didn’t immediately get upset.

“Why?” he scoffed. “I’m already married,” he parroted what was always said about them.

Such a common misconception, but one that struck her again with that piercing kind of sadness. Her blue eyes glossed over, affected by his clear refusal to try.

“Claude… you know what we have is different.”

Although merely looking at his profile, she could see how he darkened. The room seemed cooler. The light behind his eyes dampened as he visibly left the present moment. Her heart sped up. He was shaken. Recovering quickly, he blinked and came back to her, she watched his crow's feet tighten and his lips press together in a nearly undetectable wince.

Lucy acknowledged how unwise it would be to goad him into telling her what he was feeling, but her mind was buzzing and she felt like if she didn’t reach out, he would just be gone one day. Because that is exactly how it would happen. There would be little warning larger than this. He would just decide, and she would get a call.

“Aren’t you the one who believes that people should just be themselves?” Her eyes were still glossy. “If they expect you to wear the blue tie, then they don’t deserve you in the grey one.”

A bit frenzied, Lucy felt like she was beating a dead horse as he just stood there, refusing to look at her. Each moment was an eternity as she watched his heavy, furrowed brow. Claude swallowed.

“It’s not about the tie,” his voice was so tight that his volume was quiet. “The grey tie isn’t working.” It didn’t work with Jehan, it didn’t work with Aurore, and it wasn’t going to work with Esmeralda.

Oblivious to his thoughts, a few tears slipped down Lucy’s cheeks as she wrapped her hands around his arm and squeezed, wishing to express her deep love for him.

“But it is. You have me, Remy, Jean-Pierre… we all love you. I know someone else could.”

Letting him off the hook, she stepped away from him. It was important to her that he knew she wasn’t holding him to a response. She grabbed the sample square of striped fabric.

“Monsieur,” Lucy called out to the back office, just loud enough to grab the attention of the elderly tailor. “If you have an example of this fabric prepared, Minister Frollo would love to try it on.”

“Of course,” the man smiled. “He’s always modeled the stripes well, perhaps he’ll finally order one.

Lucy’s mouth parted in shock, snapping her head back to the minister. She could see the amusement in his grey eyes and the faintest, coy smile.

[greenreticule]

Details on Dexter Jettster in The High Republic!

HE’S BACK, AND HE’S A REOCCURING CHARACTER IN The High Republic Adventures COMICS, STARTING NOVEMBER 30th, 2022!

[ID: Dexter Jettster, a four-armed alien with a boney crest on his head, a wattle on his chin, and a huge mustache, dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt with a tan cape, black pants, and four blaster holsters, on a stage sharing a rousing tale with an audience. End ID.]

From Daniel José Older (the writer)’s Twitter:

And here, of course, is the one and only Dexter Jettster. In this era, we meet him as a master storyteller — a side of Dex you had probably intuited from his too brief on camera moment, but I wanted to see more of. He travels the galaxy having adventures and telling tales 

also MUSTACHE!!!!!

was very happy to be able to include him as a full part of the team and not just a walk on cameo. It’s a big ass team, in part because I kept coming up with new guys and also getting the legacy guys I asked for, so that’s wild, but they need all the help they can… 

Also a note on Dex: one thing I try to be mindful of in my writing is how we represent different body types, particularly fat ones, because of the long history of getting it wrong.

But the issue with slimming down a fat character when they’re younger wasn’t on my radar until [another twitter user, unsure if they want to be mentioned here] tweeted about it in a thoughtful thread a few weeks ago. I went to look at how we’d repped Dex in issue 1, which was already done at that point.

And I really wasn’t sure if we’d done that. The folks I checked with weren’t sure either. Decided to err towards getting it right and reached out to my excellent editor Matt to discuss, and we agreed to ask Toni [the artist] to make sure Dex looks properly fat in the upcoming issues

the in-story premise being that he’s wearing some body armor in the first two issues that he finally gets to take off later. Don’t usually go this in depth on issues that haven’t come out yet, but I think it’s important to be up front about these things.

critique is a sign of a healthy community.

There are many ways to do it, many ways to receive it, many variables in the equation. But this to me is a really good opportunity to be up front about process and the things we can miss. 

Doesn’t really matter what the intentions are when it’s a comic that thousands of people will read. The effect is what matters.

---

I cannot tell you how delighted I am that we not only get Dexter Jettster as a reoccuring character, we also get him as a reoccuring character by a team who are explicitly looking to avoid fatphobia in their work.

Just... holy shit WHAT JOY!!! It’s the thing I have wanted most from a Dex story, and honestly the thing I was never expecting to get, because fatphobia is so ingrained and acceptable.

Now if only Older and Co. can confirm him as demi-panromantic asexual transmasculine... :P

(Hey, a book earlier this year got away with coding Obi-Wan Kenobi as aroace so like IT’S POSSIBLE)

---

For more general details on The High Republic Adventures comic:

The lead character of this run of The High Republic Adventures is Sav Malagán, a Jedi Padawan who sneaks out of the Jedi Temple on Takodana to party with the pirates in Maz Kanata’s castle.

[ID: Comic panels of a young, scrawny alien girl with green skin. Though a Jedi Padawan, she is pulling on distinctly piratey clothes, arming herself with a blaster. Her final outfit is a wide-brimmed metal hat, a poncho that nearly drowns her, and trousers that spill out of boots that are just a bit too big for her. She is ready for adventure! End ID]

Sav shows up for a few issues as a Jedi Master in the 2021 run of The High Republic Adventures. This upcoming 2022 run with Dex acts as a sort of prequel to the 2021 series. However, the upcoming run focusing on Sav’s Padawan years is supposed to be available to newcomers as well, so you can start off your High Republic journey with Dex, Sav, and the rest of Maz’s pirates.

But if you want more Sav (because she is awesome), please read the first run of The High Republic Adventures - available in full now - as well as the manga The High Republic: Edge of Balance, where she is a major character in Volume 2.

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 6 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.  

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: The following chapter is finally here! It took me a while to revise it because I wanted the action scenes to not suck super badly, so yeah. 

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood, injuries) (word count: 3K)

six: shield

You sat next to Sam as he typed in a computer and Helmut Zemo nursed his headache. Once he gained consciousness, he’d showered you in gratitude and niceties, and you were already close to knocking him out yourself.

T-minus what, four hours? The Dora Milaje would be there soon enough.

It’s he the one to break the comfortable silence, only filled by the soft clicking of Sam’s keyboard before.

“Were you ever offered it?”

“What?”

“The serum.”

“No.” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at you with an amused expression. You shrugged.

“If you had been, hypothetically, that is, would you have taken it?”

Sam’s mouth turned down, and he slowly turned to Zemo.

“No.”

“No hesitation, that’s impressive.”

You got up from the table, making a round so you could watch Zemo’s face as he spoke. He’d seen you usher Karli Morgenthau out of the factory basement, and you wondered what he had made of your actions.

“Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” His eyes met yours as he said that, and you looked away, circling a pillar and walking to be on the other side of the couch, by his feet. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone.”

You sighed. “You talk in absolutes. People aren’t like that, Zemo.”

He studied you again.

“And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst people. Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

Zemo spoke with such conviction that you were sure you’d be also be harboring a bullet if he knew who, and what, you were.

“Isn’t that how gods talk? And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” Sam’s eyes flitted to you, and you offered him a tight smile. “Blood isn’t always the solution.”

When Steve had talked to you about handing over the shield for the first time you were doubtful. He was grieving the loss of his own time – your time, too – and second-guessing his own claim to it.

You never stopped believing in Steve when he did. You and Bucky were war. Steve was… the end of it. And not just because of the serum. He was that since you all were small and scrawny, him a little scrawnier and a little smaller, as he stopped you and Bucky from butting heads.

For Steve, you, and Bucky as well, that shield meant everything. It meant the salvation of the world from true evil, that in the 1940’s was personified in the form of a little man with a moustache. Whoever carried it carried the responsibility of being the harbinger of that freedom. Of relief, justice, and most of all... hope.

So when Steve talked to you about handing over the shield a second time, this time to capable hands instead of a glass dome, you understood – it was time to pass the mantle to someone who was, indeed, a new beacon of hope.

Safe to say, the fact that John Walker now carried the shield you put so much importance into felt wrong.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky strolled in, seemingly in a sour mood. You chuckled, and watched as he discarded his things on the counter.

“You don’t say.”

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Sam quipped, and you patted his shoulder affectionately when you walked past him to get Bucky to make you a drink too.

You swiped his jacket off the counter and hanged it neatly on the back of one of the barstools. Bucky licked his lips and shook his head as you mouthed ragamuffin at him.

“Pour me one.”

“Can you hold your liquor now, sugar?”

You narrowed your eyes at him and grabbed the glass he had fixed for himself.

“Now you pour yourself one.” You took a sip, smiling into the glass.

Bucky glared at Sam. “Shouldn’t have given him the shield.”

You shot Bucky a disapproving look. He raised his eyes briefly at you while pouring his drink, and shrugged.

“Buck—”

“I didn’t give him the shield.”

“Well Steve definitely didn’t.”

“James Barnes!” Goddamn Bucky and his hard-headed self.

Bucky looked at you like he used to look at his mother, wide eyed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It only lasted for a second, his bewilderment falling into a scowl right after. Behind you, Sam chuckled.

You shook your head at Bucky, but you had no time to fall into an argument. The one and only John Walker and Lemar Hoskins were bursting in, demanding to take Zemo. Ordering, really.

“Hey, slow your roll.”  Sam said firmly. “Man, let’s be clear. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.”

You bottomed up your whiskey, knowing whatever was to come couldn’t be good.

“Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. And we’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

Walker challenged Sam next. He looked eager and ready for a fight, and as much as you’d loved to keep your real abilities hidden, you figured your time out of the spotlight was running out. Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eye, relaxed stance contrasting with the tightness of his jaw. Zemo paced behind Sam, still clutching his own drink.

The moment Walker put down the shield an iron spear cut the air and lodged itself into the pilaster, separating him and Sam.

No, not iron. Vibranium.

The Dora Milaje.

“Even if he is a means to your end… Time’s up.” Ayo announced in Xhosa. You grimaced.

You sighed heavily when John decides to one-up them, too. Ayo swings the spear at his arm when he touches his shoulder and a fight breaks out. You reached for the liquor again.

There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world.

The fight was only Walker and Hoskins getting absolutely overpowered by the warriors while you, Bucky, Sam and Zemo stayed out of it.

“We should do something.”

You swirled your drink, taking a small sip. “I am. I’m observing.”

“Looking strong, John!” Bucky shouted, making you have to hide a snort. Sam exhaled heavily.

“Such a diplomat, you. Bucky…”

“I’m a lot of things, Samuel.” You shrugged, but finished your drink anyways and hiked up your sleeves.

You, Bucky and Sam all ran to take one of the Doras each. As one kicked Hoskins to the couch you stepped in front of him, blocking the hit of her spear with your forearm.

You met her eyes and tilted your head apologetically. When she raised her weapon again you twisted your body and landed a back kick to her middle.

She staggered back a couple of steps but was back at you in an instant.

Hit. Block. Kick. Another hit to your shoulder.

Even if the fight was fairly balanced, Super Soldier against Dora Milaje, you knew you had a slim chance of actually winning. You hadn’t been in a fight in years, much less with someone this capable and trained.

After blocking another of your strikes with her spear, she hit the side of your left knee. It’s your bad one.

East Berlin, 1987. You had been undercover for nearly two weeks now, tracking a lead about the existence of a HYDRA lab that was conducting experiments with new Super Soldiers.

The wind that cut through the rooftop of the building you stood on testing the very limits of the overcoat you wore on top of your tactical suit.  So damn cold. You tried not to dwell on how frigid your toes were inside of your boots, instead concentrating on watching the sun slip behind the skyline.

You were waiting on a man that would give you the next lead. Intel said he would be there before you, but he wasn’t when you got there. 10 minutes had gone past the accorded meeting time, and you were starting to think that no one was coming.

A bullet ricocheted on the concrete pillar you were stood behind, and you realized why S.H.I.E.L.D.’s contact was running late. You grabbed your own pistol, still hidden by the concrete, and peeked in the direction the shot had come from.

A man and a woman, in full leather. You saw the red star etched on their left arms as they marched towards you. HYDRA.

You had two exit options, one that was across the rooftop or jumping down into River Spree. Either way, you’d have to deal with the two HYDRA agents that approached you.

You ran to another pillar, shooting at them. You hit the woman on the leg, and she buckled down. Her counterpart didn’t even spare her a look, continuing his way to you. You kept shooting, missing a few and landing the rest on the both of them, the guy barely flinching.

You didn’t understand why he wasn’t using his own gun. Maybe he didn’t feel the need for one.

There was no time for thinking. The man was onto you; swatting your gun away, blocking your punch, hitting your chest. You crashed into concrete.

The woman joined in, landing a hard blow to the side of your skull. Your eyes widened. They were just as strong as you.

Super Soldiers.

You crawled away from them, hand swatting at your leg for your knife. It landed in the woman’s throat with a squelch. One down.

The man was much stronger it seemed, you barely able to keep the fight balanced even with another of your knives. You cut and ripped, but it was like your blade was a feather on his skin.

He backed you up until the edge of the building. You could see the river below.

You groaned when he headbutted you, and you go stumbling down. The blood was hot against your face and metallic on your lips.

He stomped on your knee. Again. And again. You choked on your own agony.

His voice was all you heard before he kicked you off the ledge. You plunged into the freezing air.

Hail HYDRA.

Familiar pain laced through you, making your hairs stand on end. You cried out, nearly tumbling straight to the ground.

The clank of metal hitting the ground and a spear shot at the direction of the shield ended the fight. Bucky’s vibranium arm laid limp and detached on the ground, his expression even more perplexed than when you had scolded him earlier.

You straightened yourself up as the pain subsided. Ayo opened the doors to an empty bathroom.

Zemo. He has slipped right through your fingers while you were busy defending John Walker’s ass from the Dora Milaje.

You helped Sam to his feet as they were leaving, Ayo giving you one last stern look before leading the way out. It felt like a reminder of a debt.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam said, looking at a limbless Bucky. The arm seemed to snap back into the right place, thank goodness for that. A failsafe, then.

“No.” Bucky rotated his arm, an indecipherable expression on his face, even for your standards.

The room was filled with tension as the three of you gathered yourselves again and John Walker sat defeated on the ground, with only Lemar to check up on him. You walked past them to get inside the bathroom, frowning at the drainage hole Zemo had made his escape through.

“I can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo,” Sam murmured.

“I can.” Bucky clenched his jaw. “Come on.”

Bucky led you through the backstreet and to the back of the building, though you weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for. A lead, maybe, but neither of you knew if Zemo had made his way all the way to the underground or escaped to the streets once he was out.

“You okay? You got hit pretty bad back there.” Sam said, looking at you. You all had taken a decent beating, but the hit to your leg had taken you by surprise. Bucky frowned.

“I’m good.” Bucky frowned deeper, and you shook your head at him, clapping Sam on the shoulder. “I got a bad knee, it’s all. Replacement cap and everything.”

Sam laughed.

“You’re 106 and have a prosthetic kneecap? Wow, you’re starting to sound your age.”

“You know what, Wilson? I think you should respect your elders.”

Sam raised his hands, still laughing. “Okay, okay. But only ‘cause I saw you kicking ass back there. Girl, where the hell have you been?”

Bucky grumbled something, and threw an arm around your shoulders.

“Retired.”

You patted his cheek lovingly, and laughed a little when you caught him fighting a smile. Sam got ahead of you, sending you a look of mischief and wiggling his eyebrows.

You urged Bucky forward, earning a huff from him as you got to Sam’s side.

Compartmentalizing was necessary. Zemo was on the loose, Walker was verging on unhinged, and there was still Karli to deal with. Whatever was going on with you and Bucky – and the insistent feeling that tugged on your heartstrings whenever you looked at him – would have to wait.

You listened to Sam’s conversation on the phone, his tone growing more concerned at every pause. Sarah. Overnight bag. Take the boys.

“What happened?” Bucky asked and you slipped from under his arm.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.”

Shit.

“Sam, I got a safehouse in New Orleans.” You said once he hung up. He nodded at you, and you took his phone to get his sister’s contact.

Karli was entering dangerous territory. Before, you considered her a fighter on a rightful cause, but as if predicted by Zemo, she was escalating. You feared that it was a fight you couldn’t let her win, or run free.

“Karli wants to meet. She left a contact number.” Sam’s phone chimed. “She said come alone.”

“I’m comin’ with you.” Bucky looked at you. “We are.”

“Let’s gear up, boys.”

---

You were grateful you had kept your old tactical suit inside your closet for a rainy day.

The suit was carbon black, except for the blue-grey Kevlar plating on your chest, back and upper legs. It had a faint resemblance to an armor, and the amount of impact it could absorb made you protected and difficult to take down. You completed your gear with your trusty boots and hidden knives.

Sam had changed into his wings and Bucky into his peculiar one-armed leathers.

“Damn, you look cool.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “So do you, Sam.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “We should go.”

The sky was cloudy and the air dry, and still you could feel a storm coming. You walked into the empty building, you and Bucky tailing Sam.

“Karli!”

The redhead revealed herself, standing on the second floor. Sam went to talk to her, leaving you to watch them from a distance.

Karli looked at you and Bucky there, her eyes lingering on you for a few seconds more. You realized how menacing you must have looked, the three of you in full gear, and you wondered if Bucky felt as strange about your rigid stance as you did about his.

The two of you really had changed.

“I was gonna ask you to join me. Or do the world a favor and let me go.”

If only things were that easy.

Sam looked at the screen on his wrist and turned to you in alarm.

“It’s Walker.”

A trap. Bucky was the first to leap to the ground, colliding with Karli in the process. You and Sam landed at the same time, and you hoisted Bucky up while Sam clashed with the girl.

He sent Karli to the ground with a flying kick.

“I’ll send you the location, go!”

You and Bucky leapt into the street and broke into a fast sprint as Sam took off.

“You’re fast!”

You looked to your side at Bucky, smirking. He was just a little behind you.

“I’m lighter!”

“No fair!”

“You have a metal arm!”

Bucky led you to the location Sam had sent him. Riga had plenty of empty buildings, it seemed. You were running up the stairs when a Flag Smasher jumped on you, then another on Bucky.

The guy and you dragged yourselves all the way to the top, exchanging punches. You saw his eyes widen under the mask when you landed a boot on his chest and he went flying backwards.

Taking the free time you had bought yourself, you searched for Bucky below you. As soon as you found him the Flag Smasher tackled you, hoisting your body up. You hit his shoulder blade with your elbow and he bumped into the railing, quickly turning and hanging you over the edge.

“Y/N!”

Bucky was upside down. No, that was you.

He reached for you as the other Flag Smasher had him locked in a rear choke.

“I’ve got this!”

Tightening your legs around the man, you let yourself fall, taking him with you. You crash at the bottom of the building.

“You said you had this!”

Bucky jumped to your level.

“I do!”

You stared at his scowl for a brief second before roundhouse kicking your foe and finally putting him down.

Bucky returned to you after dealing with his own Flag Smasher. He looked furious.

“You’re so fucking reckless!”

Oh, Jesus H. Christ. You couldn’t believe Bucky, wanting to argue.

“I am fine! It wasn’t that high.” You huffed. “We have no time for this, James. Let’s go.”

You ran to the top of the building, Bucky trailing behind you. He caught a flying knife right before it lodged itself on your face. He glowered at you as if to say you don’t got this.

Not sparing him a response, you busy yourself with fighting another of the Flag Smashers, this time a woman. It was like all you needed was a little warming up, because you’re clearly in advantage as you blocked her punches and grabbed her torso, slamming her into the ground next.

You looked up. John Walker was staring at you.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on whatever he saw, one of the men coming from behind and immobilizing him.

Karli screamed as she ran towards Walker. She was in it for the kill. Hoskins tackled her before she could do it. All you could make out was the blur of an altercation.

Lemar Hoskins slammed into a pillar with a crack.

Your stomach churned.

Everything stilled as Walker ran to his partner, desperately trying to get him to wake up. He slumped sideways, his head lolled down.

He was dead.

Karli and her group took advantage of the tumult and ran, her shooting one last look at the rest of you as they took off. You couldn’t let her get away this time, though, so you immediately go into pursuit.

You shot one look behind you, seeing Bucky and Sam follow you as you whizzed through the streets of Riga. You’re the first to get to the square, making your way to the middle of the crowd hastily.

Walker stoop upright, holding the shield over the body of one of the unmasked Flag Smashers.

It was broad daylight; there were dozens of people around you.

The city was silent.

He was dead.

[builder051]

The talk

Chasing Ghosts

(I generally do not play in this arena; DO NOT ask for other stories with PMS, etc., as illness features. I do loosely plan to continue this thread, though. Or @mohini-musing might pick up for me.)

Warnings: weight (though not ED context), SA inc. prostitution, blood, emeto

____________________________

Tasha comes down the hall and stands like a ghost behind the sofa.

James is in the recliner across the living room, and he barely looks up from the textbook he's pretending to peruse. The quiet music he's had playing in one ear has long since captured his attention more than the multiplication of matrices. He's fairly sure he'll never use the skill lest he become a software engineer post-graduation, and the prospect of that's looking pretty slim.

He sees Tasha out of his peripheral vision, but doesn't move his head or lift his eyes for acknowledgment. She's probably drifted down from her weekend high, realized it's Sunday night, and gotten up for a Gatorade and maybe a glance at her homework.

Steve, though, who's lying on his stomach and taking up the whole of the couch, practically jumps to attention. He stands, scoots, and sits again in the amount of time it takes James to blink and make the first inhalation of a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve says, as if he's personally offended Tasha and just been called out. "I didn't mean... I was just, like, studying..."

Tasha shrugs. "Didn't come to sit with you," she says, in a voice that recalls the 'boys are gross' tone of young teenagerhood.

"What's up, then?" James asks, trying to bring back the balance of the room's atmosphere.

Tasha makes an ugly face. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. "Can I talk to you alone?"

James scoffs. "You think there's privacy in this apartment?"

"I can go, I don't know--" Steve looks around.

"Just talk," James says. He almost rolls his eyes, but the undercurrent of Tasha's affect seems to hold an air of seriousness. If there's something she needs to confess or ask for help with, he doesn't want her to feel less than secure.

Tasha lets out a breathy sort of sigh. "Blood," she says. "There's blood."

"Huh?" Steve responds first. "Where?"

James takes a little longer to contemplate the admission. Has she cut herself? There's no visible damage; Tasha's not holding an injury or howling in pain. Bloody vomit? That's nothing new, really, and even with vampire-red teeth, which she doesn't have, Tasha probably wouldn't come crying to him.

James is still thinking when Tasha points vaguely down the hall and to the left, which is, technically speaking, her side of the apartment. Or at least the bedroom and bathroom they'd parceled out for her when they'd unofficially moved her out of her dreary campus housing.

"What, in your room?" Steve asks.

"No." Tasha screws up her eyes. "I mean... I'm bleeding."

The cogs continue to turn in James's head, and just as he lands on an answer, Steve gives up, shaking his head and saying, "I don't get it."

"Fuck you," Tasha mumbles. "Both of you." She turns and starts to head back down the hallway.

"Tash." James jumps to his feet, his algebra book falling to the floor.

"You guys are fucking gay..."

"Hey!" Steve interjects.

James flaps his hand at Steve to shut him up. "Maybe we're gay, but I'm your big brother." He shoots a quick glance at Steve, hoping this won't surpass his no privacy promise. They've done some pretty wild stuff together: partying, puking, cleaning the carpet... Period talk shouldn't be too far out of their wheelhouse. At least, not if Tasha wants to talk about it.

Tasha huffs and rounds the edge of the sofa. She stands beside the arm, leaning her hip against it for a moment, before finally deciding to sit down, as far away from Steve as possible.

"I..." James starts, assuming it's his responsibility to keep the conversation going. "I assumed you hadn't been, um. You know."

Tasha's 100 pounds soaking wet. In her usual cutoff shorts and tank tops, he'd give her 95. Maybe 92 if she's detoxing. James assumes she has something like female athlete triad going on, except without the athlete. He doesn't like to think she's just too skinny to go through... normal biological processes. If he blames the drugs, sees them as wrecking her body instead of bringing her solace, then he'll have to turn eyes on himself, and there's no way in hell he wants to do that.

"Smart one," Tasha says. "And exactly how much thought do you give to the functioning of my uterus?"

Steve gives an 'oh shit' face, looking from James to Tasha and back again as if wondering how he's been so thick headed. James agrees, but is also relieved, in a way, that his boyfriend hasn't been thinking about his sister in, well, that way.

"Seeing as I have, more than once, pulled you out of an R-rated situation with iffy consent, and you have yet to become pregnant--" James starts.

"Yeah, ok, you don't have to..." Tasha shakes her head.

James decides not to stop his momentum. "Do you know how much sex you're having? How often you're using protection?"

"I said, you don't have to." Tasha glares at him. "I don't have one. A cycle, or whatever. I can't get knocked up."

"Well, I figured that, but you can still get an STD--

"I don't think you're hearing me," Tasha says. "I don't have one. I haven't. Like, ever."

"But--what?" James squints and cocks his head. "What about, what was it? Cheerleading camp?"

"That stupid summer program when I was 16?" Tasha bites her lip. "Yeah, that was a lie."

"You're losing me." Steve reminds them he's part of the conversation as well.

"What, didn't your mom send you to cheerleading camp when you were a sullen teen?" Tasha asks him, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Um. No." Steve withers a little under her stare. "There was a threat to beat it out of me with a bible when I was that age, but that never came to fruition."

"Mm. Fun times." Tasha scrubs her hair back from her face. "I told mom of the moment I started at camp, so then she couldn't go nuts about the moment I 'became a woman,' or whatever."

Tasha has always seemed like a little kid to James. Her stint at camp had only taken place... he quickly calculates... 3ish years ago. Tasha is a kid. She hasn't busted 20 years old yet. But, for the first time James wonders if other, more metaphorical factors are at play.

The idea quickly fades, though, when he remembers the actual topic at hand. "Ok, but Tash," James says. "What's actually going on right now?"

Tasha practically sinks into the couch cushions. She wraps both arms around her abdomen. "Blood," she says. "Kinda...everywhere."

"We'll clean the bathroom later," James says dismissively.

"And I'll do laundry," Steve offers. "I used to be the scrawny kid who got beat up a lot. I can do bloodstains."

"Not helping, babe," James tells him before Tasha can get a word in.

"Feel sick," Tasha admits, rather suddenly.

"Bathroom it is, then," James decides. "But, let's use mine."

Tasha seems to have turned into a shapeless blob on the corner of the couch, her chest meeting her thighs with her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her face is in her knees, which James has to admit, would be easier to clean than the carpet.

"Come on," he says gently, taking Tasha's shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, don't do it here, please."

"But I already diiiiid," Tasha complains, drawing out the last word and adding the hiccup of a fake crying fit.

"Sorry." James hooks his flesh arm across Tasha's chest and lets her cling to him down the hall. He takes her into his and Steve's disorganized yet bleach-shined bathroom. Cleaning was practically Steve's hobby. Yet keeping down the clutter? Not his strong suit.

Unsure of exactly what kind of sick his sister intends to be, he sets her down, fully clothed, on the toilet, which, of course, has the seat up. Then he dives for the trash can and shoves it into Tasha's chest.

She gives James an appreciative glare, then sets her chin on the edge of the trash can, ostensibly to wait for an upcoming retch. James can practically see it, rising from the bottom of her spine, up her back, to her neck and throat before finally pushing a pitiful amount of spit and bile out of her mouth.

"Ok..." James sighs. If she's down to just that, she's been at it a while. Lost a lot of fluids already.

"Gatorade?" Steve asks in a chipper tone, putting voice to what James is thinking without a trace of delicacy.

"Hmph." Tasha spits. "If it'll... make it stop burning..."

"Lemme guess, vodka last night?" James tries to make her laugh. Maybe cough.

"Fuck you."

"Eh, we'll talk about that later," James says, hoping he doesn't sound threatening. "For now, how about I go with you?" James pulls on Steve's arm and heads for the bathroom door.

"Hey, you said no privacy here..." Tasha's irritated and sickly voice trails after them.

"Yeah, well, puking people aren't allowed to leave the bathroom," James says. "That's the house rule that trumps all the others."

"But I puke on the couch all the time--"

"That's because it's too hard to get your fucking limp-ass octopus body into the bathroom in the first place." James rolls his eyes. "Just sit tight."

He quickly drags Steve into the kitchen. "Ok," he says. "You have to know about this stuff. You took health class in high school, right?"

"I've lived with a woman," Steve reminds James, a little shamefully. "But Peggy was super private. You know, like inhibited, about, like, um..."

"Yeah, I get it." James shrugs. Then, "Did you know you can stem a nosebleed with a tampon?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..." James shakes his head.

"Why do you?" Steve looks a little take aback now.

"The field. Desert air's pretty damn dry."

"Ah. Ok."

"We'd get donations of shit from the states. Care packages, Costco overstock, you know. Just, whatever. When we got pads and stuff, whoever was unloading the box would just hold them over their head and yell 'who needs them?'"

"And I'm assuming people would just raise their hands?" Steve postulates.

"Yup." James pops the P. "No privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's bathroom habits. When you're deep in the field, there's no men's and women's facilities. Half the time the privies don't even have doors."

"Ok." Steve nods. "Experience, then. You have lots of experience."

James shrugs again. "You have to be chill, ok?" He opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He holds one to either side of Steve's neck, as if to physically cool him. "This is, like, super weird and awkward for her. She's really scared, I think, and her brave face just looks...jerk-ish."

"Yeah." Steve takes the Gatorade. "I can be good with this. I really care about her, even if she doesn't think I do."

"I know you do," James says. "It's all in the presentation right now, though. She's skittish. But, also, for some reason, willing to talk. We have to tease it out. And you can't ruin it, ok?"

"Ok, ok." Steve seems to understand, even if he doesn't appreciate the words.

They head back to the bathroom, where Tasha has, for whatever reason, decided to heave into the toilet instead of the trash. She squats awkwardly, sitting on one heel. From the angle he's at, James can see a spreading stain on the back of Tasha's shorts, which has made an imprint on her ankle and the bottom of her foot.

"Don't move," James says, reaching for a towel.

"The fuck would I?" Tasha coughs, holding her stomach and moaning.

"Well, when you're done, stand up slowly and wipe your feet."

"...Shit..." Tasha spits. "Like I said. It's fucking everywhere."

"Yeah..." Menstrual blood, James has no experience with. But blood in general, yeah. It does get fucking everywhere. There's that first moment when the entire body and all its systems are still in shock, like when the arm is first blown off, and then all he can see is red. Even the bone that was white just a second ago is lost in a sea of scarlet--

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Steve says with a grin, clearly trying to be friendly, but missing out on one, or more, of the points. "You're not pregnant."

"Well, of course I'm not, you dingbat," Tasha replies, rolling her eyes so hard that James is sure it must give her a headache. If she doesn't already have one. "And besides. He used a condom."

"Wait," James says. He's been preoccupied by not looking at Steve. "You know that?" he pokes cautiously. "For sure?"

"...Yeah..."

"Every time?"

"To be honest," Tasha starts, spitting and pushing herself away from the toilet. She crab-walks to the towel, wipes her feet, then sits on it, criss-cross like a little kid. "I don't know if he actually gets off every time." She draws her mouth into a straight, defensive line.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" James asks.

Steve looks very much like he wants to get the bleach from the cabinet under the sink, pour it into one ear, tip his head, and see if it comes out the other.

"He pulls out," Tasha says bluntly. "And there's never any, you know. Gunk."

"Wait, he does both?" Steve's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "A condom and--"

"Ok, ok." James puts up his hands to shush them both. "And this is, what, this is your dealer we're talking about?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to call him that," Tasha says with a shrug.

"What else would we call him?" Steve now looks disgusted. "That'd be stupid to let him just, like, defile you every week."

"He doesn't--" Tasha starts, but then she hiccups, and maybe thinks better of what she was going to say. She still stares Steve down, though, then looks to James as if grasping at straws of support.

"He's, like, a manufacturer?" Tasha turns her gaze sideways.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James puts his hand over his face. He'd assumed Tasha was getting her stuff on the street, through a framework of various interlopers. Now he's getting news that his kid sister is taking substances thrown together in some coed's bathtub? This is too much.

"Tash--" James starts, trying hard to keep his bubbling anger and concern from spilling over.

"He's a PhD candidate," Tasha says defensively. In Chemistry. And--" her eyes flicker from side to side as she seems to wonder what's appropriate to spill. "I won't tell you his name. But... I'll tell you that he got kicked off the football team for being too violent, but he still wears his green jersey all the time to prove how much better and calmer he's become since that happened, which was only in the freshman year of his undergrad..." Tasha babbles on.

The more she defends the guy, the more James hates him. He feels bad for him a little, slinging synthesized crack to get by. He feels better for Tasha, knowing that what she's taking is most probably pure. But the sex thing is--

"It's kinda creepy," Steve says, taking the words right from James's mouth. "Like, how much older than you is he?"

"I don't know." Tasha shrugs. "Not that much, I don't think. Started school early, finished fast. And I'm not sure this is his first post-graduate program..."

"Maybe shouldn't've added that last part," James says, screwing up his eyes. "So he's had, like, however long to prey on girls who are barely legal. Who might not even be legal..."

"Well, I'm legal, and I can do what I want." Tasha crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah," James sighs. "Unfortunately."

"But what about the thing with the handcuffs? The gang rape? Losing your bra?" Steve blurts out.

"Wait, you..." Tasha's eyes flash with anger. "You told him?"

"What did I say about privacy?" James quickly reminds her. "The non-puking kind? And, um," He looks to Steve. "Maybe a little respect?"

"Sorry," Steve mutters. "But--I really do--"

"I don't really remember that stuff," Tasha says.

James studies her face, but he can't tell if she's lying.

"Probably just party stuff that got out of hand."

'You mean you were too stoned to know the difference between your regular and some random dude off the street,' James thinks. 'What do you do at parties? And how the fuck do you slip past me?'

"He's your pimp, too, isn't he?" Steve asks, pointing at Tasha rather accusatorially, in James's opinion.

"No!" Tasha leans forward and brings her arms down to cover her clearly still sore abdomen. "Bruce wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't-- You didn't hear--"

James hasn't been a student long enough to know who was on the football team 4, 5, 6-odd years ago. He supposes he could look it up, crossing the name with accounts of any violent incident that amount of time ago. He's not sure he wants to, though he'll probably wind up looking it up later. Either that, or Steve will. James still has his ex-mil connections, a few of which were absorbed into the local police force. Steve, on the other hand, is better with social media and navigating the niceties of such mysteries as SnapChat and TikTok.

"Ok, fine," James says, just ameliorate his sister's panic.

"He doesn't even drug me at parties," Tasha goes on, probably unaware of how terribly young and desperate she sounds, making lame-ass excuses so she can keep her boy toy.

"And you've had other guys who did?" Steve asks incredulously, even though James shakes his head frantically at him to try to get him to shut up.

"You know Rumlow?" Tasha asks, since apparently she's now all about spilling names.

James shakes his head, but Steve screws up his eyes and says in a disgusted voice, "him?"

"Yeah..." Tasha sighs and looks down at her fingernails, which are stained rust-red at the root. "Remember the night I didn't come home?"

"Yeah, and scared the living shit out of us because your phone was off," James fills in the blanks.

"Well, I didn't turn it off."

"You mean that asshole kept you overnight without any means of getting yourself out of there?" Steve looks downright sick. "I mean, I know he looks slimy, but that?"

"I think Maria accidentally slept on the couch and found me at, like, 6am trying to stick my head in the linen closet because I couldn't find the bathroom." Tasha laughs, though the situation is anything bur funny.

"And I was so pissed at her for having you out all night..." James trails off.

"Yeah, maybe respect my choices a little more?" Tasha glares at him. "I mean, Maria's studying to become an EMT now. You can't think that badly of her."

'Great,' James thinks. 'Someone who'll drug Tasha to the gills every weekend.' She'll be less likely to overdose, but James has seen it all too often in the field. Newly minted medical personnel eager to sow off their skills and rushing into action.

"Yeah," James says, trying not to smirk. "So you got a girlfriend and a boyfriend now?"

"Ew, no," Tasha replies. "Friends with...benefits, I guess. If you even want to call it that. Folks who look out for each other, using a barter system?"

"Did you recently take World History?" James can't help but poking at her vocabulary.

"Fucking-a, I don't know. Once I pass, it's in my past."

"That's actually a good motto," Steve points out.

"Anyway," James says, bringing the conversation back to topic. "None of your...friends... are invited to this house."

"It's not like I want to bring them over for dinner," Tasha replies. "I guess drop off and pickup might happen, since, well, you know now, and I don't have a car." She shrugs. "Cool?"

James hates the idea of someone inebriated driving a car in which his sister is a passenger, despite the fact that he's done it before. Regularly, actually. Maybe he just hates the idea of the driver being someone who Tasha just fucked. The air might be heavy between them. They might smell like each other's deodorant and musk. They might kiss each other good bye. The thought makes James's stomach turn.

But, "sure," he says. "That's fine.” At least she'll come home.

James shares a glance with Steve, which seems to confirm the same sentiments, "Yeah," Steve echoes, as if his opinion counts for anything. "Fine."

[sheirukitriesfandom]

A little something about Lumog, or rather, his grandma. Not particularly edited but I wanted to try and write my dear ex mercenary. Please note: Lumog's speech pattern is not meant to mimic any particular English dialect or slang; I imagine my characters speaking German. However, I wanted to transpose his voice, which in German is a bit of a Kodderschnauze.

As the traveller approaches, they can see an orc sitting by the campfire. He is sharpening a massive axe whose edges gleam in the warm light like thin crescents of molten steel. When he notices the traveller, he pats an empty spot beside him, beckoning them to come sit with him.

"C'mon, no need to be shy," he calls out. "There's still some sausage left, and a bedroll, too. Got some mud caked on the outside but, y'know, still better than the ground."

Nervousness bubbling in their stomach, the traveller sits down next to the orc. In the warm firelight, his skin seems olive green, though the tone must be cooler by day. His hair, shaved off save for a slim strip, is tied back into a loose, messy ponytail, whereas his beard is artfully woven into a single braid that reaches just above his chest. His arms are as thick as the branches of an oak, and his belly as big as its trunk. 

"Name's Lumog," the orc says, lets go of the whetstone and reaches out to the traveller. The traveller, however, doesn't realise. Their eyes are transfixed on the axe in the orc's -Lumog's- lap.

"Ah, 's an heirloom, that axe," Lumog explains, full of pride. "Pretty thing. Trusty thing. Served me well when I was still with the Merry Maces, though I s'pose the boys must've been blind - 'cause it's an axe, get it?" He laughs and also regards the double-edged battleaxe. An orcish masterwork in every regard, though marred with scratches. A pair of headbutting echateres adorns its silver cheeks.

"Lashga's her name, after my grandma, y'know, the bandit queen Lashga gra-Kagol. Long story, that one: She was good with the forge - but better still with the axe. When the time came to marry, she was s'posed to become some chief's forgewife. But my gran was a proud, independent woman - didn't want no chief, didn't want no forge to tend to. Not all the time, at least. 

So, after nightfall, under skies as black as tar, she made off with her axe -her dowry; self-made to show how good of a smith she was-, some coin and some elk jerky. Many years she spent travelling, bashing in heads along the way. Became infamous. Founded a bandit clan and terrorised the mountain passes between Wrothgar and Skyrim. Two things people knew 'bout her: She was a fearsome leader and she was filthy rich. Bandit Queen, indeed! 

When she decided she wanted a husband, she posed a challenge:

The man who'd best her in battle would get her hand in marriage.

Many challengers came and many challengers died. For years, none could beat her - and she even let 'em choose their own weapons. She did. And they all still died," he laughs gruffly and shakes his head. 

"Bloody fools they were. Then, one day, Makub, my future grandpa, arrived to challenge her. Scrawny lad, half her height and width - well, not quite - but a wimp, that one - not someone who could beat the terrifying Lashga gra-Kagol. When she saw him, she laughed and demanded that he choose his weapon and face death. 

And then - you wouldn't believe it -, then, from out of his backpack, he produced a game of 'Dragon's Duel'.

Ha! That sly fox challenged her to a battle of wits. He did! He really did!

Four days they played, my gran said; six, said my grandpa. I say they're both full of mammoth dung, but eh, let 'em embellish their little love story. They fell for each other while they played -fall hard, they did- and when Makub finally beat her, they got married but a week afterwards."

[cherryquitecontrary]

Elvira Casimiro

Decided to do a character bio for @arcana-echoes​ and because I haven’t made one since I first made this blog oops

Art by the talented @joeyhazell-art​​

Full Name — Elvira Casimiro

Meaning of name — Elvira: “foreign and true”; Casimiro: “peaceful”

Family — Ignacio Casimiro (Father; deceased), Camila Casimiro (Mother; deceased), Marina Valeriano (Aunt; deceased)

Nicknames — Evie, Starlight (by family & Asra)

Favourite meal — Pozole

Favourite drink — Honey lemon tea

Favourite flower — Marigold

Birthday — August 8

Age — 26

Height — 5′ 4″

Gender — Female; she/her pronouns

Romantic/Sexual orientation — Bisexual/ Biromantic

MBTI: ISFJ

Zodiac — 

Sun: Leo

Moon: Virgo

Patron Arcana — 

Major: Judgement

Upright: Judgement, rebirth, inner calling, absolution

Reversed:  Self-doubt, inner critic, ignoring the call

Minor:  Queen of Swords

Upright:  Independent, unbiased judgement, clear boundaries, direct communication

Reversed:  Overly-emotional, easily influenced, bitchy, cold-hearted

Familiar: Luna the Xoloitzcuintle

Appearance 

Plague-Era and Present Elvira (sans white hair) created via Artbreeder

Height: 5’ 4”

Hair: black, thick and wavy (2c hair type), white at temples post-resurrection, about mid-back length

Hair style: parted to the left, typically worn down

Eyes: emerald 

Build: slim, but wider at the hips, toned arms and legs (from climbing things)

Distinguishing features: strong nose, full eyebrows, full lips, birthmark under left eye

Skin tone: Honey Tan

Typical outfit: black dresses paired with a well-loved fringe shawl made of burgundy fabric, barefoot if she can help it

Languages spoken —  Venterran, Vesuvian, knows some Vesuvian sign language

Hobbies — reading novels and poetry, tending to her many exotic plants, playing the guitar. singing, dancing, telling stories

Love Interests — Asra, Nadia, & Julian

Background — UNDER THE CUT

Childhood —

Elvira was born to Ignacio and Camila Casimiro on a small farm in the Venterre countryside. The small family was not wealthy and did not have the help of immediate or extended family. Ignacio was orphaned young and Camila had no contact with her parents or her older sister Marina. However, they were a very close and loving family unit. Elvira’s parents worked their land and managed farm animals, selling the products of their labor to survive. Camila was also a seamstress, and would make and repair clothes for the people in the nearby village. When Elvira was young, her father was in an accident on his way to a village further away to sell produce. He died and left Camila and Elvira to fend for themselves. Camila grew depressed when her husband died, but she tried to hide it from her daughter and continue to manage the farm without him. It became difficult to manage a young child, a farm, and herself as she grew sick from an illness she didn’t know she had at the time. Slowly, her health grew fragile, and many of the farm chores that couldn’t be supplemented by young Elvira went undone. The crops went unplanted, the farm animals were slaughtered for food. Eventually, food became scarce and Elvira had to steal from the surrounding farms for survival. She spent much of those years tending to a bedridden Camila. At the end of her days, Camila wrote a letter to her estranged sister Marina, letting her know that she was dying and leaving her little girl behind, and sent it to the last known place she knew her sister to be: Vesuvia. When Elvira was 15, Camila passed away, not knowing what would happen to her daughter. 

A couple of days after Camila’s passing, a woman dressed in black came to what was left of the Casimiro farm. She was tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a striking resemblance to Camila. She told Elvira that her name was Marina, and that she was her mother’s sister. Showing her Camila’s letter, she informed the young girl that she was to come and live with her in Vesuvia, upon her mother’s request. Initially, Elvira refused. The years of struggling and watching her mother slowly die had hardened the girl. She didn’t trust her aunt, who was a stranger to her, nor did she want to leave behind everything she’d ever known. Eventually, she came around and left Venterre with Marina to live with her in Vesuvia. Initially, living with each other was not easy for the two women. Marina had spent her adult life living alone and she had no children, so she frankly didn’t know what to do with a teenager. Elvira was also wary of her estranged aunt, unsure of how to react to her and her new living arrangement. However, the two eventually grew close and changed each other for the better. They were both guarded people, traumatized by their pasts. But, they made each other open up. Marina became Elvira’s mentor and taught her everything she knew about magic- from potions, to spells, to fortune telling. Elvira adopted many things from Marina, like her fashion sense and her love of worldly topics- like romantic poetry and foreign languages. Eventually, Elvira befriended a young orphan named Asra that she had met a couple of times during the Masquerade and Marina took him in too. The three of them lived in happy bliss until the Plague came to Vesuvia.

The Plague —

At the start of the Plague, Marina dedicated herself to the research effort at the palace, leaving Asra and Elvira to run the shop. After months of working tirelessly to find a cure, Marina caught the Plague and died, never having the chance to say goodbye to her wards. After this devastating loss, Elvira and Asra started debating on whether or not they should stay in Vesuvia. Asra wanted to leave, but Elvira wanted to stay and finish the work that her aunt had started by any means necessary. After a huge fight tore the two of them apart, Asra left Vesuvia and Elvira offered her help to Doctor Julian Devorak as his assistant. The two worked closely together during the plague and managed to find comfort in each other while the Plague grew worse and worse (NOTE: this manifests as a romantic relationship only in Julian’s route). Eventually, Elvira, too, fell sick and died of the Plague. She passed away alone in her home, and was found with forget-me-nots tucked into the bodice of her dress and a book of poetry in her hand.

Resurrection —

When Elvira was resurrected by Asra, she had lost all memory, along with the ability to speak, read, and generally care for herself. She spent many tireless months with her former-friend-turned-mentor relearning how to perform essential tasks and how to perform magic again. While she regained some aspects of her former self- like remembering how to play certain songs on her guitar and how to care for her plants- she was no doubt different. There was only one physical difference: the hair at her temples grew out white as snow (Asra quietly remembers this as the way that Marina’s hair used to look). Personally, she had become a person Asra hardly recognized. She had guarded her heart, shut the world out like she did when she was a child and rarely ever ventured out of the shop alone. Elvira had also become fixated on regaining her memories. Even though Asra had to stop trying to help her access her memories through magic, she still had an aching in her heart to know who she was. 

When Asra left on his first trip without her, she had to learn how to tend to her own needs. Her first time venturing outside of the shop, she found a small dog shivering in the cool night air out behind the shop. The dog was still a puppy and was scrawny. She initially avoided the dog, not knowing what to do or how to take care of it. But, the dog stepped closer and seemed to be illuminated by a moonbeam. Elvira took this as a sign to bring the dog in. She named her Luna and decided to keep her as a pet after she felt a connection with her. When Asra came back, he told her that Luna was likely her familiar, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

Presently, Elvira still runs the shop and lives with Asra and Luna. She is now fiercely independent and has taken more of a partnership role when it came to running the household and the shop. She is still guarded and tends to keep other people at arm’s length by nature. But, she is learning to be more open to others and new experiences.  

[warrcats]

Designed a boy for my username on the Warrior cat website and I love him.

Also, I’m looking for communities since I haven’t been in the warrior cats fandom since I was 14!

Ahem, theres a little TLDR on him I’ve thought of while designing him. Feel free to read it under the cut :>

Born into Windclan midwinter Wrenkit was small and scrawny, the little kit tended to get sick quite easily - ending up in the nursery a lot of times through his first moon. His mother Dustpelt was a fiercely protective queen and she kept a close eye on her only son, with how weak he was she tended to dote on him a lot.. A thing Wrenkits father Ashenfoot was strongly against, he was under the impression that his kit should be able to do better. Afterall, the older tom was respected and revered in their clan for being a formidable warrior and Windclans deputy, as it were the tom was certainly expecting more from his first kit.

Wrenkit was made an apprentice and given the name Wrenpaw, his mentor ended up being a senior warrior by the name of Crookedtail, a jolly and hardworking old tom. Crookedtail didn’t have long before he’d retire and join the other elders in the Elder’s den, but he was determined to mentor his last apprentice. The moons flew by under the watchful eye of his mentor and Wrenpaw kept growing stronger by the day, he kept a slim physique but grew into his big ears. He grew close with the old warrior, forming a sort of father-son bond that he had never had with his own dad. The young cat was standoffish to most of the other cats in the clan, the only cats he felt close to was his mom Dustpelt and his mentor Crooked tail. Wrenpaw was an exceptional hunter good at stalking and killing prey, especially the different kinds of avians that inhabited Windclan territory, being able to jump high to catch the birds. 

He became a valuable hunter of the clan, so when it was time for him to join the ranks as a warrior at 11 moons of age, Miststar, the old and wise clan leader, decided that a good name for the young warrior would be Birdlegs. Both for his long legs and slight frame, but also for his talent to catch and bring home prey for the clan. ________________________________________________________________ Just so you know, he was castrated by a capture neuter release program while he was hunting in the humans neighborhood. Mostly because of drama involving future mates and the he’s aggressiveness going down, making him a more friendly cat.

[eddiemilkman]

- Random Writing Prompt #1 -

Hey there! I’m pretty new to this platform and just trying to find my way around it for now, but I do wanna make a quick low quality post just to fill up a bit of space. I went on this website https://www.servicescape.com/writing-prompt-generator (This one here) and decided a fun thing to do when entering this cite was one of those funky prompts. So I did! And here's a portion of it. It’s late and I have a test tomorrow so I don't wanna stay up too long, but here’s a bit of writing to get a feel of what I’m all about. Hope you enjoy. (Also an important thing to note: I’m not a huge spelling or grammar buff so there’s probably mistakes and I’m sorry.)

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #862: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ᴘᴏᴏʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ; ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ-ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ. ʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ (1/??) ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀꜱ

When we were young, my mother told me Gary was going to be a total tool. And I didn’t believe her at all. Gary was my friend so I couldn't imagine him growing older and not being good ole Gary. The Gary you could laugh and pig out with. The Gary who would holler and bark so loudly in class, the teacher would have to put him out in the hallway with nothing but his worksheet and pencil bag. He never acted like he was better than anyone else. When the washing machine would run busted, he would flip his shirt and wear it the next school day just like all of the rest of us. 

That's why when he was accepted into that fancy-schmancy college for scarf wearers and coffee drinkers, it knocked me straight on my ass. I was happy, and everyone strung up a plastic smile at his going away party, but when he left everything was so...colorless. I wouldn’t deem it tool behavior, but it did solidify my mother's suspicion of him one day up and ditching me. He was my other half and then just dipped out on me for prestigious people who read Shakespeare and go to those cafes where there's wifi. He didn't even know those people! He left his comfortable little river to swim out through the mouth into an ocean of unfamiliar specimens. Sharks and dolphins, all aggressively fighting for a reward neither of us would daydream of.

We both sort of assumed we’d be stuck sweeping the Quick Mart or selling rolled joints to middle schoolers until the end of time. Middle schoolers would never stop loving the abuse of weak drugs and the Quick mart floors would never not have puddles of vomit and booze. That sounds more like a secure job than something you can go to college for. You can turn around one day and boom, the stock market or something crashed (?) I don't know much about business. Anyways yeah, you get my point. Pickle chips and fake cheese the color of a school bus will never go out of style. Stupid businesses that make those fancy indoor bike things will. What if everyone one day woke up and said “wow, I can always just run outside…”. Then what would happen? Those who went to college and got that stinky degree would be thrown out on the street, eating away their stress by scarfing down pickle chips!

I never thought of Gary as a pickle chip eater rather than a pickle chip seller. I mean when we would scribble down our future on printer paper it was incredibly detailed and surprisingly dull for children. The fortune we manifested during a game of M.A.S.H read to us as a mere fantasy. When we reached middle school it was clear we weren't going to live a life of golf courses and acceptable day drinking. We sort of realized this a few weeks into middle school, when we would be lined up against a brick wall while tall beefy police officers with their beastly dogs raided lockers for weed and patted us down for pocket knives. We were treated like deadbeats so we sort of expected it from ourselves and assumed the only way out was if one of us won the Powerball or….if the other one won the Powerball. I thought that was the plan… Man, being a failure alone sort of sucks come to think of it.  

I wouldn't call myself a loser, just not a massive winner-ly type. I’m a goal-getter and I'll give myself that. I did land that job at Quick Mart restocking shelves, which is a little bittersweet now. 

Gary always popped into my head every other week. I guess I’m just hung up on the stuff I never got to say. Why didn’t he suggest we attend the same college? Why when it came to our future planning was he loud, but in reality, disappeared so quietly?

“CHAS!” A voice echoed behind me. So sharp and stern, mean and crippling. Ugh...Lester. “You’ve been sweeping that corner for 5 minutes! Quit bleeding the clock and go do some actual work!” 

I grip the handle of the broom and grunt. Fucking Lester. If there's anyone from high school I didn't want to land a job with, it's that joker. He was scrawny in size but a huge talker. It's crazy how the smallest of people always squawk the loudest. I do what he says because he’s a loudmouth and will probably rant and rave about me to the boss about how I leave all of the work on his tiny frame and he needs someone “competent”. Well, I need someone who doesn't act like a total ass-hat, but my needs haven't been accommodated yet so neither will his. I began toying around with some boxes of wafers on the shelf, just straightening them for no good reason. Sedated by boredom, I find my mind slowly drifting into other places. Where was he? Was he skipping around a college campus, holding onto his textbooks that he had to pay for?! Who pays for his pencils and books and highlighters? I bet he has that little bottle of white paint you slap over pen mistakes because your assignment is just too important for there to be scribbles on. 

“GET THE HELL OUTTA 'HERE!” 

My body suddenly jolts at the commotion from over near the cash register. Lester was using his thin little arms to violently push a grey round figure into the glass door. The man stumbled over his torn sneakers and gripped the doorframe. Lester used his small fist to pound on his fingers while simultaneously kicking him in the thigh. Once the man let go, Lester used the collar of his worn bomber jacket to throw him out onto the sidewalk. He shuffled from the door with hesitation, breathing like a wolf. 

“Damn” I whimper meekly through the gaps of the shelves. 

“That’s it, we’re closed.”

“Uh, Larry’s not gonna-”

“That meth head is gonna freak the hell out again. That joker comes in high as a plane every other day, and asks me if he can use his ‘coupons’ which I’ve told him a trillion times are fake and obviously printed out on a home computer-”

“Let him have it”, I squeak “he’s probably just really hungry”

“An iced tea, Slim Jim, and a loaf of bread should fill him up just fine! He treats shopping here like its extreme couponing. The worst part isn't the fake-y coupons, but when he wigs the hell out on me when I deny him. You weren't here when he sprayed me with fake cheese?”

“I think I was late that day”

Lester rolled his eyes. 

“‘Course you were. God forbid your 6-foot ass came and protected me from crazy meth addicts.”

“Can we give him the spoils in the back?” I ask as I make my move over to the back room. The pile of “spoiled” food had built up to a mountain of American waste. I was ready to cut a slice into my unofficial take-home pay to get a hungry guy some food. I mean at least he was crafty and wasn't trying to come to rob the place.

“He’s gonna come in here with a gun one of these days.” I from the back room. “And get sent to the joint for a 3 dollar slim jim and pack of Oreos?” Lester strolls in behind me.

“3 square meals a day...” I mutter. Prison never sounded so bad. Free food, chess, television if you’re good. I was a good guy. I'd probably be on kitchen duty or do something fun. 

“Well, I wouldn't put it past him...that crazy weirdo”

*Yah so this is the basic rundown of how I write and what maybe most of my posts will look like. As you can see its a umm....*ahem* easy read? I’m not that artistic with my writing sorry. Maybe ill improve one day.*

[hiddendreamer67]

Um.. if you want to- prompt 66 "Why me?" with Prince Valentine?

It’s my boi! We finally meet Valentine (and Cornelius). Also, Garth makes Cam agree to a promise not to murder people and Cam’s not happy about it.

Check out more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting​!

I’m also always open to questions or prompts for my OCs!

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Garth peered up at the archways towering above them, growing nervous with every step they took closer to the throne room and the source of their royal summoning. He had begun to grow uneasy, watching the way Cam bounced along in her furs besides him. They were far from the forest now- the people here wouldn’t know just how dangerous such an innocent looking girl could be.

“I need you to promise me something.” Garth murmured, and immediately her flouncing stopped. A promise was a serious thing when it came to fae; no fae could break a promise without risking their own life.

��....what?” Cam asked, her caution clearly overpowered by her intrigue. After all, Garth had never been foolish enough to try to keep Cam to a promise before.

“Do not kill anyone in the castle, do you hear me? Don’t even try to physically harm them. Not a soul. Promise.” Garth gazed intently at her, making certain the fae understood this was important.

“And what if I don’t promise?” Cam was bold enough to ask.

“Then the journey stops here.” Garth bluffed, not entirely certain what he’d do. It wasn’t as though he could completely ignore the royal summoning, and it was already a miracle that Cam had agreed to come this far.

Cam stared at him for an awfully long time, clearly gauging if such a promise would be worth her while. “I can’t promise that.” She decided finally. “I won’t disarm myself so thoroughly.”

“Disarm yourself?” Garth raised an eyebrow.

“What if an individual plans to do us harm?” Cam challenged. “It’s entirely possible we’re walking to our deaths. An interesting premise, to be certain, but not one to which I’ll go willingly.”

“Fine.” Garth relented, seeing her point. He was nervous as well, of course, but he imagined they’d be in a lot more trouble if Cam felt welcome to go on a murder spree should the urge hit her. Fae could be fickle like that. “New promise- do not try to physically harm a single living creature in the castle first, but if they attack first you are free to retaliate.”

Cam mulled over the words in her head. “Seems fair enough. But why must I promise?”

“Because it’ll make me feel safer in protecting us both if I know you’re on my side.” Garth shrugged honestly.

Cam blinked. “I am on your side.”

“For now.” Garth huffed. Cam seemed to have a habit of liking to antagonize him.

Cam was quiet for a few moments, doing that strange habit where she’d tilt her head like a curious dog as she attempted to understand. It was always a bit unnerving. “I agree to your promise.”

Garth gave a relieved sigh, leading the way down the path. “Then c’mon, we mustn’t be late.” He led her to the gate, where he presented the letter he had received not a week ago with the royal seal. The guards looked it over, their eyes lingering on Cam’s inhuman appearance with distaste.

Cam waved.

“Shouldn’t it be shackled?” One guard huffed, quietly enough that perhaps he thought the pair wouldn’t hear them. Garth elected to ignore it. Cam hummed.

“Where are we?” Cam asked, glancing around.

Garth gave her an odd look. “The gatehouse?”

Cam nodded. “And is this particular structure considered to be …. Inside the castle?”

Garth’s eyes widened immediately, catching on to what the fae was doing. She was marking out the territory, seeing just how far the promise she just made reached. It was a thinly veiled threat.

“More castle-adjacent, I suppose.” The second guard shrugged, not catching on to the danger he was in as he returned the letter.

“Excellent.” Cam grinned in a way that was far too predatory. Garth stomped on her foot, earning himself a yelp. The guards sent them funny looks.

“Thank you, that will be all.” Garth grabbed Cam by the arm, rushing through the gate before she could try anything. He pulled her close to his side. “I know what you were trying to pull. Knock it off.”

“Hey, you made the terms.” Cam growled, rolling her eyes back towards the gatehouse. “Did you hear his cheek? Shackled, as if I were a common farm animal-”

“Well, maybe they were talking about me.” Garth argued, hoping to amuse her a bit. She did let out a snort. “Look, humans don’t know to be careful with their words. They say things they don’t mean. And they say rash things out of bias, too. You might get a lot of comments like that out here because the people are distrustful of fae, but you’ve got to prove them wrong.”

“I don’t have to prove anything.” Cam stuck her nose in the air.

“Fine, then continue having them treat you with disrespect.” Garth argued. “They’re scared, alright? There’s a war going on and fae are kind of known for slaughtering humans for fun.” Garth had never thought to ask if Cam was one of those fae, actually. He just sort of hoped for the best and turned a blind eye.

“...they should be frightened.” Cam murmured, but she was quiet as she let Garth lead them along. Indeed, the guards had been only the first to send such looks their way. Several other comments were spoken beneath their breath, some that Garth could hear and all that Cam could hear. She tightened her grip in his hand, but otherwise Cam behaved herself. For an offended fae, she was being surprisingly civil. Garth was amazed a promise could do all that.

“Garth Thornton?”

Garth paused, wincing at the use of his full name. “Yes?” He asked, turning to the speaker, an old man dressed all in navy robes. “How’d you know who I am?”

The man glanced at the poorly concealed fae at Garth’s side. His lips twitched. “Lucky guess. My name is Cornelius, I trust you got my correspondence?”

“Er, yes.” Garth saw out of the corner of his eye how Cam was listening intently. “A word of advice, sir, but you should be more cautious about names around fae.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cornelius.” Cam all but purred, causing a shiver to run down the old man’s back.

“I- I see.” Cornelius took a step back. “Is it….?”

“Dangerous?” Garth guessed. “Only a little.”

“Controlled, is actually what I was going to inquire.” Cornelius corrected. Cam stiffened.

“Enough, yes.” Garth admitted. “She won’t be a danger here.”

“Excellent. I suppose that we will have to trust your word in this matter for the time being.” Cornelius waved them forwards, leading the pair down an extravagant hall. “I imagine it was quite difficult gaining trust.”

“Um, a bit, I guess.” Garth shrugged.

“How did you manage it?” Cornelius pressed. “We’ve been attempting to make contact for years, and several men have lost their lives.”

“I don’t know, I guess luck?” Garth winced. That wasn’t the answer they’d want to hear. “Patience, and gifts a bit, though you’ve got to be careful with those. Really you just have to keep on your toes and watch for the warning signs.”

“Fascinating.” Cornelius had begun jotting down everything Garth said in a notebook. “Though I imagine the young prince will be just as curious to hear your initial report.”

“...the prince…?”

It was at this moment a set of large doors were pulled open in front of them, revealing a large throne room. Atop the violent throne sat an extravagantly dressed young lad, with a slim golden crown atop his head. His legs were thrown over the side arm of the throne, but when the doors opened he gasped, sitting up properly and appearing most regal as he stood with arms thrown wide. “You’re here!”

Cornelius cleared his throat, ushering them inside. “May I present, his royal highness, prince Valentine-”

“Yes yes, as if anyone didn’t know who I am.” Valentine waved off the rest of his title, striding down the few steps. Garth was quick to follow Cornelius’ example and bow low to the ground. Valentine paused, looking at the third member of their little party. “Does it not bow?”

Garth’s breath hitched, wishing he had thought to educate Cam on more of the formalities of court. His blood pressure rose with every moment Cam was still standing there.

Cam’s head tilted. “It does, when the timing is pleasing.”

“Speaking out of turn as well.” Valentine clicked his tongue. “I ought to have your head for that.”

“Cam, please.” Garth whispered, tugging at her wrist.

Cam looked down at him, consideringly, before slowly she sunk to her knees next to him.

Valentine let out an uproarious laugh. “It’s true, then! Cornelius, are you seeing this?”

“Indeed I am, your highness.” Cornelius assured him, still pressed to the ground himself.

“How wondrous!” Valentine raised his hand, allowing the company to stand. “You know, when we heard the tale of the man who’s taming fae I sincerely didn’t believe it. And when you walked in I admit my first thought was ‘what, this fellow? But he’s so scrawny and weak!’”

Please stop talking. Is what Garth wanted to say, but he held his tongue, knowing how powerful a prince could be. Instead, the words out of his mouth were: “Why are we here?”

“What? Did you not get the letter?” The prince turned to his adviser. “Cornelius, you told me they got the letter.”

“They did, your highness.” Cornelius nodded.

“No, I- we got the letter.” Garth agreed.

“Oh, marvelous!” Valentine clapped his hands. “So what’s the problem? Is your family uneducated? I hadn’t considered that.”

“The problem? I- it’s just two pages of gibberish!” Garth put his hands to his forehead, trying to keep his temper even as his anxiety rose. “Could somebody explain in simple terms why we’re here? Please.”

“I suppose I would be able to provide the shortest explanation.” Cornelius spoke up. “The young prince has recently begun efforts for diplomacy on the war front against hostile negative forces. After hearing of your success, Prince Valentine believes you are our best hope at convincing these beings to see reason and listen to our demands.”

Garth had paled significantly in his short explanation. “I’m… being drafted?”

“In a manner of speaking, perhaps.” Cornelius admitted. “This is far less dangerous than an actual draft, we’re not sending you into battle.”

“You just said hostile negative forces!” Garth argued. “What, you’re planning on handing me over to a dragon or something?”

“Yes!” Valentine cheered. “How ever did you know?”

“No, no way.” Garth took a step back, shaking his head. “You’re insane, you’ve got the wrong guy. I am not equipped to deal with that sort of stuff.”

“Oh, we’ll equip you with the finest attire, you needn’t worry.” Valentine assured him, completely missing the point.

“I meant, like, mentally!” Garth continued to grasp at straws. “Just listen to me speak right now. Words I’m no good at. Everything with Cam is just blind luck, it doesn’t mean that I have some sort of silver tongue and can charm dragons and-and vampires and djinn-”

“What’s a djinn?” Cam piped up.

“Why don’t you know?” Valentine scoffed. “You’re the fae.” Garth groaned, hiding his head in his hands. To her credit, Cam didn’t even glare at him, but in a more worrying display she smiled.

“It seems I am lacking in some knowledge.” Cam put her hands behind her back. “Dearest Valentine, perhaps tempers would be lighter if we discussed this in the open air.”

Garth snapped his neck up. “NO!”

“No?” Cam sent him a bewildered look. “But Garth, you’re so tense. I’m certain this will relieve some of the pressure we’re all feeling.”

“And heap new pressures atop it.” Garth hissed, knowing exactly what was going on and feeling uncertain how to best warn the prince without putting Cam’s own life at risk. “No. Cam, no.”

“What’s it doing?” Valentine inquired. “What’s wrong?”

Garth took a deep breath, daring to meet the prince’s gaze. “You need to apologize.”

“What? Why me?” Valentine looked positively aghast.

“You’ve offended her.” Garth tried his best to remain calm in his explanation. “And an offended fae is a dangerous creature.”

“What could I have possibly done to offend?” Valentine scoffed. “I’ve been nothing but cordial.”

“While the prince has a history of a temper, I’m afraid I’m perplexed as well.” Cornelius admitted. “It’s a monster in the castle. Certain precautions should be made.”

Garth began to feel very sick to his stomach. “What do you mean, precautions?”

“Well, our knowledge of fae is limited, but they do fear iron, yes?” Cornelius asked, causing both guests to flinch. “It was suggested that the fae be locked up in shackles for the time being, to keep it weak and malleable.”

“No.” Garth was firm on this subject, knowing that if anyone came near Cam there was a high chance she’d take it as a threat and go feral. Of course, it was a threat. And this whole coming here business was a terrible idea. What had he been thinking, waltzing around with a fae in the middle of a crowded kingdom?

“It’s the only way my father will permit it in the castle.” Valentine explained. “You can do as you please when you’re off on a diplomatic mission.”

“Then I guess we’re starting one of those now.” Garth squared his shoulders. “Where is it, what are we doing, and how do we get there?”

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Sweetheart Alpha

I’m not going to put the full request but like whatever, also I tweaked the request a tad bit hope that’s alright!

Alpha!Midoriya x Omega!Reader

Also, Medieval AU because why not 

word count: 2,180 (about) 

warnings: Bullying, harassment, swearing, 

summary: you, are an omega a rarity, to say the least. and there is something even more peculiar about you, you’ve managed to attract the attention of the top three alphas, just your luck...

“I'm not going,” you stated firmly, quite literally putting your foot down. Sure stomping your foot might have been childish but, you didn't care. You were not going to go to the Mating festival, alone no less. You were too young, too inexperienced, too scared. You had heard stories about how cutthroat the Mating Festival could be. Not just the Alphas either. Every omega was out for the best Alpha, and the only way to do that was to crush the competition.

“I'm afraid you have no choice, your an Omega darling, you've already presented you need to find an Alpha,” your mother said fussing with the shawl on your shoulders. You didn't want to go, the idea terrified you. But the idea of having an Alpha of your own was, appealing, to say the least. The omega inside of you eventually won out, you climbed into your family's carriage. A few hours later you arrived at the arena. It wasn’t called the arena, you were sure it had a much fancier name but it was an arena to you. like the ones they had in Rome, you were sure it was going to be a blood bath. 

 Omegas and Alpha's alike were dressed in their finest clothing, their necks and wrists dripping with the most expensive of jewelry. You tried to hold your head high as you stepped from the carriage, but it was clear that you were wildly underdressed.

The first fight started almost as soon as you entered the high wall of the arena. An alpha girl with spiked red hair threw a boy, he must have been another alpha, through the air like he was nothing. You could see the fear in the poor boy's eyes, he was young and being made a fool of the poor thing. The redhead girl laughed as she tossed him in the air again. A few omegas joined her in laughing, you supposed some of them might actually be charmed by her display for strength. Something went wrong when he was thrown for a third time. He went sprawling into the crowd that had gathered the scrawny Alpha would have hit you square in the chest but you were yanked aside at the last second.

You were pulled into the warm strong embrace of a stranger. You looked up at him. He had two-toned eyes and his hair was half red and half white. “apologies, I should have asked before putting my hands on you, but I figured you would want me to save you,” the Boy wreaked of Alpha, it was almost overwhelming.

“thank you,” you whispered as his hands fell away from your waist.

“your an omega aren't you?” he asked, he started to move away from the crowd, without thinking you followed him.

“Indeed, your an alpha?” you asked already knowing the answer. He nodded and introduced himself. You had heard of the Todoroki Family before and it was hard to believe that one of the Todoroki sons was talking to you. You had lost track of time staring into his dreamy eyes, you for yourself on the outskirts of the enclosed space alone. He took a step forward, you took one back. It continued like this until you were pressed against one of the wooden walls. You were sure there were countless Omegas, betas even, who would have killed to be in your place but all you could feel was unbridled fear.  

“you must have quite a few Alpha's after you, your scent is quite intoxicating. I smelled you before I saw you,” he purred low and soft dragging his finger over the sleeves of your dress.  You wanted to run, or need to more like. But you were trapped.

“Not-Not as far as I know,” you stammered. Your eyes flicked around the space looking for a way out. He chuckled darkly  

“Really? Then you must be ripe for the taking,” he said, his mouth hovering over your neck. You shoved him as hard you could, but you were no match for him.

“You fucking bastard get your filthy hands off of her!” someone cried, but they were far away. Too far away to possibly help even if they did mean to help you.  All the same, Shoto Todoroki was knocked off of you. Maybe there were more alpha's who had their eye on you. Explosions and walls of ice surrounded the two alphas. Part of you wondered if they had planned this to show off even more. You slid away in all the commotion, you weren't sure you wanted an Alpha who was that violent. You just wanted to go home, but there was still a week of mating rituals before you. And you had to find yourself an alpha, even if it was that Scrany Blonde boy being thrown around like a ball. You could only imagine the look of shame on your mothers face if you were to come home without one.  

You stayed on the outskirts letting the other alphas fight and court the more, outgoing, omegas. A gong rung out, everyone, seemingly without question. You followed as well, you gathered in the center of the arena for lunch. The buffet before you was mouthwatering, Roasted Meat, piles of salad and bread, good lord the bread. It was warm and buttered. You ate until your stomach hurt, you couldn't remember the last time you felt this full. You wanted to horde this food and take it back to your starving, beta parents.  

You looked up suddenly not sure why until your eyes locked on to the alpha heading straight toward you. There was no way he could be going anywhere else. He was slim but still muscular, a light dusting of freckles covered his cheeks and his hair stood up in wild green spikes. He was attractive, the omega in you was drawn to him but there was another, more stubborn part, that had had enough of alphas for one day and was ready for some much-needed rest and relaxation.

You spun on your heal and headed towards the Omega quarters. Each of the rooms was labeled with the names of each of the omegas Invited to this event. Less than a hundred Omegas in total. You found the room with your name in no time. The belongings you had been allowed to take were set up in the room alongside a plush looking feather bed. You flung yourself on to the mattress and sighed. It was hardly noon and you were already prepared to go to sleep. Before you could relax even slightly or even pull out one of your beloved books, there was a thunderous knock on your door.

You flinched at the sound, you knew you weren't exactly supposed to be in here but had they really sent someone to yell at you for it? There was another knock. You got out of bed reluctantly and opened the door.  Three girls were in front of you. There was a fire in each of their eyes, it was almost comical because each of them was at least a few inches shorter than you.

“Can I help you?” you asked the other omega's

“Listen up you third rate bitch I don't know what Todoroki sees in you but he's going to be my mate, so you better back the fuck up okay?” one of them snapped. She was blonde, her face covered in a cakey makeup.

“I don't want anything to do with Todoroki,” you said blankly.

“What about Bakugou?” another girl asked, this one's hair was done in long earth colored ringlets.

“who?” you asked genuinely not knowing who she was talking about, then you remembered the violent blonde alpha, there was a chance his name could have been bakugou.

“And Midoriya! Stay away from him too,” the last girl snapped, a pretty girl with honey-colored skin.

“I don't know who you're talking about,” you said becoming frustrated.

“Look, If you see any of us-” the blonde girl gestured to her entourage “with an Alpha, then consider that Alpha off limits. Okay?” she snipped

“whatever fine,” you said before shutting the door in her face. It shouldn't be too hard of a promises to keep. There were about three or four alphas for every one omega here. You fell back on the bed.

You must have fallen asleep because you were being awoken by another ringing of the gong, it was the evening meal, you were so full you didn't think you could force down another bite. But you got up none the less.

The food continued to wow you. You did your best to avoid the alphas instead you listened to the gossip of the Other Omegas. As it turned out you were correct, Bakugou was the Violent blonde omega and apparently, the Green haired Alpha was named Midoriya. While Todoroki and Bakuoug got the message and left you alone, Midoriya was persistent following you for as long as he could until he was stopped by some outside force. This royally pissed off every omega that had their eye on him. The three girls from before had also taken to following you. The next two days were spent dodging everyone who was after you. Creative and sneaky ways to get to your meals, you had taken to sleeping in trees and in other outdoorsy places so no one could ambush you in your room.

By the fourth day, you were exhausted of everything. Why couldn't people just leave you alone? You were too tired to notice Mydoriya as he snuck up behind you. “Hello,” he said softly, but you still jumped. It was too late to run. “Please don't be scared, I wanted to apologize to you,”  he said holding his hands up showing he was harmless.

“I'm friends with Todoroki and Bakugou, I know they freaked you out and I wanted to say sorry on their behalf,” he said. “but you kept avoiding me, although I can't say I blame you I mean if I was an omega and some random Alpha was stalking me I'd be scared too-” he said starting to ramble, you decided to cut him off while you still could.

“thank you, your apologies mean a lot to me,” you said. You could see him brighten up. He was like a second sun.

“I'm glad I got to talk to you finally,” he said beaming. Your heart skipped a beat, you loved his smile.

“I should leave,” you said even though your Inner Omega was screaming for you to do anything but. His face fell.

“Right you probably have an alpha already huh?” he asked defeated.

“N-not exactly,” you were blushing and sweaty this boy who you had barely talked to, had turned you into a wreak. “it's just, there are a lot of Omega's after you and they warned me to stay away I don't want any trouble,” you explained quickly. His face grew hard and serious.

“Someone's threatening you?” he asked all light hardheartedness gone from his voice. You tried to formulate any kind of response but words failed you. “stay with me okay? I'll protect you,” he said, you should have said no but your frantic Omega wouldn't let you go a moment more without him beside you.

You spent the rest of the day by his side making chit chat with Midoriya until you landed on the subjects of  Heroes. As it turned out, you were both huge Hero fans. It was cute how excited he got. Your heart ached that night when you had to leave him, you thought about him all night. The moment the sun was over the horizon you were out of your quarters casually strolling around the arena. “good morning (y/n),” a soft voice said from behind you. You jumped and whirled around to see Izuku standing behind you. “sorry I didn't mean to scare you, I just didn't want you to run away again,” he said sheepishly.

“It's okay, I won't run,” you promised. His thousand-watt smile was back. You caught the jealous glares of other omegas as you walked, but you didn't care. If Izuku wanted to spend time with them then he wouldn't be with you. Today was the last full day of the festival, you wanted to soak up every moment with him that you could. Tomorrow afternoon your father would be back to take you home, and hopefully your Alpha.

“can I tell you something?” he asked, his breath tickling your ear.

“of course,” you replied ignoring the shiver that ran down your spine.

“I didn't just want to apologize to you when I tried talking to you, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you,” he admitted.

“Really?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah, I don't know just the moment I lied eyes on you I had to get closer.” he continued then stopped “I shouldn't have said that you probably think I'm creepy.”

“I felt really drawn to you too,” you admitted.

“Really? Then...what would you think about being my Omega?” he asked his eyes sparkling with excitement, and nervousness.

“I would love too,” you smiled. 

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Thirty-Eight: Hopelessly Romantic ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Haruno Sakura, Uzumaki Naruto ] [ SasuHina, NaruSaku ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

At first glance, Hinata has never seemed much like the other girls. Those like Ino and Sakura of her year have always been so brazen, loud, forward...but little Hinata is the quiet wallflower. While they have little more to talk about than the latest gossip about boys, Hinata never seems to partake.

This would lead some to assume that she’s simply never had any interest in such topics. Too shy, too reserved to fall to fawning over whatever pretty boy her school is on about that week.

But they’d be dead wrong.

Hinata, as it turns out...is hopelessly romantic. Just...in ways variant from her classmates. While they giggle and swoon, offer gifts and confessions, she’s always been a quiet thinker of her crush.

And what a crush it’s been, ever since she was small: Naruto. A class clown when they were young. Always causing trouble, making a ruckus, picking scraps with the other boys. But where most saw disruption and delinquency, she saw something else.

Confidence. Bravery. Freedom.

Naruto never shied from who or what he was. Never let words or actions get to him...but also fought against whatever he found unjust. Sure, most would call him a hooligan for such actions, but secretly - silently - Hinata has always admired him for it.

She wishes she could be so bold, so striking.

...but it’s just not her nature.

So, instead, she quietly reminisces about what she hopes for, but realizes will likely never be. Now that they’re in high school, their growth spurts slowing, Naruto’s become a stocky jock: beloved for his skills in all things physical. Football, basketball, baseball...he plays them all. Even those like Sakura - who had rejected him in the past - can’t help but admit...he’s grown into himself. Sure, he’s still a goofball. Still gets into scrapes. But he’s not the scrawny little anklebiter he was then.

Now...now he’s one of those boys the girls all gossip about.

That just leaves Hinata to her daydreams and drawing of hearts along the margins of her notebooks.

What would she give to be so brave...as to tell him how she feels. How she’s felt for so long…!

But Naruto has eyes for Sakura: captain of the volleyball team, cheerleaders, and the track and field team. Athletic, slim, strong...and pretty.

Nothing like Hinata. She’s been on the volleyball team all through high school, but she’s still short. Still soft. She could never dare to wear those short skirts, or do those fancy drills. And goodness knows she’s not a runner or a jumper.

There’s nothing about her Naruto will ever notice.

Nothing at all.

Elbow atop her desk and chin cradled in a palm, a pencil absentmindedly doodles as their last class of the day slowly drifts by. Spring break is coming up soon, and as usual, she has no plans. Several of her classmates are heading to the coast, but...she doesn’t want to go. Being seen in a bathing suit would leave her mortified - between her curvy build and her prudish nature, she’d rather just...stay home.

But that doesn’t mean a few people haven’t tried convincing her.

“Aw, c’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“We’re gonna have big bonfires every night!”

“And we can play volleyball in the sand! Real sand!”

“And watch all the boys in their suits…!”

She’d given a sheepish smile at the girls, insisting she had too much to do at home to spend the whole week off out of town.

Despite all her daydreaming, it wasn’t going to play out like she’d pictured in her mind: meeting Naruto under the moon on the beach. Him asking what she’s doing out so late. Her replying her mind’s restless. They stroll along, talk...and then he -

“What about you, Sasuke? You two are the only two sticks in the mud!” Sakura cuts in, hands on her hips.

“My brother’s coming home from college.”

“Ugh, so? He’ll also be back all Summer, right? You can see him then - come onnn. It’s just a week!”

The Uchiha just scowls. “So you can pester me for an extra seven days when I’d normally be free of you?”

“Hey, I’ve got other things to do!”

“More like other people,” he mutters under his breath.

“You both need to get out and do something fun! Hinata, you’re always giving excuses when we try to bring you somewhere!” Sakura insists.

“Yeah, you too, Sasuke!” Naruto, sitting nearby, gives his friend a friendly punch in the shoulder. “You can get some sun on that pasty skin, eh?”

Glaring half-heartedly and rubbing his arm, Sasuke sighs curtly. “Ever think those excuses were a hint?”

“Sakura n’ I’ll drag you guys there!”

“How inviting.”

“Okay, f-fine!” Hinata suddenly blurts, tired of the back and forth. “I’ll...I’ll go!”

Everyone stares...then looks to Sasuke.

Looking disappointed she gave in, he groans. “...fine.”

She’s going to regret this...isn’t she?

Several people decide to carpool, meeting at the school parking lot the Saturday break begins. Somehow, Hiashi agrees to let Hinata go. Muttering something about “senior year” and “practically an adult”, he grants her leave without any fuss.

...a miracle, really.

All packed, Hinata has Neji drive her down, agreeing to ride with most of the girls in Sakura’s car. It’s a few hours’ drive to the beach and hotel they’ll be staying at. Thankfully, she ends up in a rear window seat, headphones on and mostly just dozing as they drive.

When they arrive, she has to admit...part of her is glad to be here. The weather is perfect, sunlight glittering across the ocean as it shifts and shimmers.

They all check in, Hinata in a room with Ino and Sakura. Despite the day being half over, they insist on dressing down to suits and hitting the water.

Hinata...disagrees.

“What?! You’ve gotta come!”

“I...I don’t have a suit…”

“How could you not bring a suit to the beach?!”

She doesn’t have a reason, just fiddling her fingers.

The rosette rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine...at least come walk in the sand or something?”

“...okay.”

Most of their class has the same idea, most donning shorts, bikinis, or one-pieces as they wade into the water. A few linger on towels under umbrellas, some tanning in the afternoon sun.

Hinata tucks under a parasol, knees to her chest as she watches them. She’s donned a pair of shorts and a tanktop under a net-like long sleeve overshirt. Even that feels too exposing. Arms folded atop her legs, her chin rests on a forearm, eyes flickering over the beach.

Right in the center, Naruto’s tossing Sakura into the water with a squeal, the pair of them breaking into a water fight that ends with him scooping her back up.

And then, they’re...kissing…

The bottom of Hinata’s stomach drops like a cut elevator. A strange numbness seems to overtake her body.

...she knew. She knew, and yet she’d hoped against hope…!

On a strange autopilot, she abandons her seat and starts walking, turning her back on the sun and sand.

Nearby, dark eyes glance to watch her go.

The hotel grounds also have pools, gardens, and recreation areas. Hinata just...wanders among them, not sure what she feels. What she should feel. All her daydreams are officially a moot point...not that she ever truly believed them in the first place. Still...the sting of a broken heart doesn’t follow logic.

That’s the flaw.

Eventually she tucks herself atop a bench in a shady garden of trees and flowers, framed out by a little gazebo.

...she wants to just...go home. But her ride isn’t about to humor her. And she can’t call on Neji and ruin his evening to come get her.

Expression slowly crumbling, she tucks into her knees, shaking quietly.

“...here.”

Looking up with a gasp, her tear-stained face beholds none other than Sasuke. A hand extends a cold bottle of lemonade, his expression unreadable.

Immediately mortified at being seen like this, Hinata does her best to wipe at her eyes. “I...I-I’m f-fine…”

“You should keep hydrated. The heat’s deceptive.”

He nudges her knee with the bottle, not giving in until she takes it. Then he just...plops himself beside her, not reacting as she shimmies nervously away.

“W...what do you want?”

“Nothing. Just checking on you. Saw you get up and leave, you looked upset. Not hard to guess why.”

Her brow furrows.

“...everyone knows, Hinata. It’s...been pretty obvious.”

...oh. Looking to her knees, Hinata considers her bottle before popping it open and sipping sullenly.

“...for what it’s worth...I’m sorry.”

‘It’s n-not your fault.”

“No, but it still fucking sucks.”

She shoots him a look at his language, but he ignores it.

“Look...I’m not an expert at this stuff. But...you can do better. Naruto’s a nice guy, sure. But he’s a meathead. You’re a lot brainier than he is. You shouldn’t settle on someone who can’t even keep up with you.”

“That d-doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care if a person is...is smart or not. He’s kind, and...brave.” She tucks into herself, then whispers, “...I wish I was like him.”

“Naruto’s ninety percent bravado, Hinata. He adapted it. Had to. What you see isn’t all he is.”

“I k-know that. No one is. But…”

“I get it. I do. I used to be jealous of how easily he shrugged things off.” Leaning forward, Sasuke braces forearms atop his knees, watching the sun set over the distant water. “...but things do get to him. He just pretends they don’t. You can fake it til you make it...but until then? It still hurts. We all just...deal with it differently.” He gives her a glance. “...just like now. You’ll deal with it in time. For now, though...it hurts.”

Side eyeing him, Hinata asks, “...have you ever...ever had someone do this to you…?”

“No. Never liked anyone like that. Never really been my...style.”

“...then how do you know what it’s like?”

“I don’t. Not from personal experience. But I can still observe. I’ve seen Sakura break Naruto’s heart more times than I can count. And now he’s got what he wants. Or...what he thinks he wants.”

Hinata can’t help but find herself a little jealous. He’s never liked anyone? Never been consumed by daydreams and wishing and wondering? Never had that ripped out from under him?

...she finds it a little hard to believe.

“...why did you r-really come out here?”

“I told you why.”

“But why would you care? We’re...we’re not friends.”

“...no. But we could be. You and I have our similarities. Maybe that means we’d make okay friends.”

Her brow still furrows. “...I’m fine, Sasuke. You...you can go back now. I just...need some time alone.”

“You sure?”

Well…

“I’ve got about as much reason to go back as you do. I’d rather not see...that,” Sasuke replies. “So to be perfectly honest, here’s just fine with me. If...you don’t mind the company.”

“...that’s fine.”

They linger in their postures as the sun goes down, Hinata still sipping her lemonade. She feels like she should be crying more, but...she can’t bring herself to do it in front of Sasuke. That would be...weird.

Instead, she just feels a strange numbness. How is she supposed to go spend the evening and night in the same room as Sakura, knowing she’s taken all her hopes and dreams?

Wore out, she heave a sigh and just...collapses her shoulder against Sasuke’s.

He gives her a glance...but doesn’t object.

Maybe they’ll just...stay out here a little longer.

     This...got a lot longer than usual, and honestly it could have been a lot longer still, but...it's late, as usual, lol      Poor Hinata, losing what she's been hoping for. But, Sasuke has a point...maybe Naruto's not all Hinata's built him up to be. Daydreams are just that, after all: dreams. Rarely based in reality.      ...I'd say more but honestly my mind is mush - time for bed! Thanks for reading~

[missmeikakuna]

Chad and the Incel Chapter 1

Rated: M

Fandom: Original Fiction (but inspired by the Virgin vs Chad meme)

Relationship type: Male/Male with a bit of Female/Female (the lesbians are adorable, btw) and unrequited Male/Female (in other words, the guys are bisexual).

Description: Chad is, well, a Chad, or at least he looks like one. He’s got his sights set on the cool nerd Becky and enlists the help of her shy incel ex-friend Noah, offering to help him get the gorgeous girl (Stacy) he desperately wants. Noah is reluctant to help, believing that he will be stuck in inceldom forever, but Chad’s interest in his life gives him hope. When their plans go awry, they start turning their romantic attention towards each other.

Content Warning: Given the subject matter, you can guess that this story has dark themes in it, such as suicide and self-harm (plus the mental health issues that often cause them), sexism, slut-shaming homophobia, biphobia and transphobia. There is also swearing and some mentions of sex but nothing too explicit (hence the M rating as opposed to an Explicit rating). 

1st Post: [SuicideFuel] Talking to a Chad

Chad Beaufort wiped his forehead with his towel, which he held over his back like a tarpaulin. He kept in one corner as he changed. He didn’t need to, per se. For an eighteen-year-old, he was fairly muscular and lacked much excess body fat, plus he had the benefit of being one of the tallest students on the team. However, he didn’t want to face his teammates, and he certainly didn’t want to have to see them changing.

He gasped and felt tempted to nurse his back when a hand smacked it. He grit his teeth. He could already tell who owned that hand.

‘Hey, my man. You wanna go and get some Mickey D’s?’ 

He was right.

He turned his head. Tyrone Cooper. A short, scrawny black kid with a big mouth and an urge to insult every person he came across.

‘Or are you too busy chugging salads in fear of getting fat?’ He looked up and down Chad’s body despite most of it being covered by a towel.  ‘Good decision,’ he said. Case in point.

Tyrone reached up and wrapped his arm around Chad’s neck, pulling the poor sonofabitch to his level. ‘But surely you won’t sacrifice a friend for that, right? Come on, have some fun.’

Ah, yes. ‘Friend’. Chad and Tyrone? Totally friends. Chad definitely enjoyed spending time with him and certainly never wanted to punch his teeth out.

‘I’m busy,’ Chad murmured.

Tyrone let go of him and crossed his arms. ‘Fine. Enjoy your fucking salad.’ He left with a huff. Chad sighed in relief.

He finished changing and headed out the door. He looked at his watch and sped up his walking. She was probably gone by now.

His heartbeat became as intense and full of hype as an overture when he saw Becky White pass him in the halls. At least she hadn’t left yet. Her dark chocolate hair was pulled back tight into a high ponytail, making her soft facial features all the more visible. The icy blueness of her eyes made her stand out. Her slim arms, covered by a merino wool sweater, were somehow carrying several books without her face showing any signs of struggle from their weight. Her mouth was closed so her braces didn’t show, but somehow those braces were charming to Chad. Or maybe he just liked seeing her smile. 

For a moment she did, but then she hid her face behind her books. Chad’s face started to heat up but then he looked behind him and saw a girl he sort of knew.

Stacy Wells was a tall girl with a fake tan and a large chest, wearing short shorts, just long enough to avoid being chastised by teachers, and a tight top. When she saw Becky, she pushed a strand of her wavy bottle-blonde hair behind her ear and gave her a little grin. She stared at her with warm brown eyes.

Covertly following her was a short boy with greasy and messy short black hair, which had bangs long enough to almost cover his eyes, a shirt with some anime girl on it and a pair of glasses Chad expected a grandfather to wear. Noah D’Arc. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking away from Stacy but inched closer to her. Chad caught him taking a whiff of Stacy’s fruity perfume. 

Stacy held her hand up to wave at her. Becky noticed Noah’s presence and scowled at him. He scowled back. She whipped her head away from him, causing Chad to savour the sight of her ponytail bouncing, and continued walking. 

Stacy frowned and dropped her fingers, her hand still hanging in the air. Noah looked down at the floor and shuffled away.

The next day, Chad found himself staring at Noah in class, trying to come up with a possible reason why Becky glared at him. His thoughts quickly got distracted from this puzzle when Becky’s face entered his mind. Chad grinned as he wondered what she’d wear on a date. Would she still wear her usual simple attire or would she dress up? He had a feeling she’d look cute in a sundress with her hair down. Then again, ponytails were kind of hot-

He was thrown out of his mind by another slap on the back. Like a bull he breathed out through his nose and turned his head. Tyrone. Of course.

‘Hey, you know Emilia Graff? I heard she just got pregnant. I can’t imagine it, personally. I mean, is it physically possible for her to get fatter?’

Chad considered replying, ‘Shut up. No one cares.’ However, Becky’s face once again popped up in his head. He instead asked, ‘Hey, do Becky White and Noah D’Arc know each other?’

Tyrone scratched his chin and looked up. ‘Hm…. Well, I do remember them being friends in middle school. Don’t know what happened after that. Why?’

Chad shrugged. When lunchtime rolled by, he watched Noah head to the computer lab with his lunchbox and decided to follow him.

When he entered the lab, he leaned against the doorframe. ‘Hey, uh, Noah, right?’ he asked when Noah sat down by a computer. Noah didn’t look up. His shoulders rose, his hands curled into fists and his eyebrows met in the centre of his face. 

Chad put a smile on his face and his hands in his pockets. This was how it was done, right? ‘So, I was wondering if you could tell me about Becky.’ Noah remained silent but started moving, turning on the computer and focusing on the screen. Chad rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’d kind of like to know what kind of guy she likes.’

Chad’s eyes widened when Noah rolled his eyes. He heard him murmur, ‘Typical.’ Chad covered his mouth to suppress his laughter, releasing a tiny bit of spit into his hand. He wiped that hand against his jeans and held it out for a handshake. Noah looked at the hand like it was covered in maggots or, well, spit. Chad kept his hand out but curled it nervously.

‘Well, how about…’ Chad said, unsure what to do next. ‘You like Stacy, right? Let’s help each other out.’ Noah whispered something. Chad leaned down and put his hand against the back of his ear. ‘What was that?’ Noah tucked his lips into his mouth. Chad sighed. ‘I thought you’d be, I dunno, happy to get some help. Wait, I didn’t mean that in a… Sorry.’

Noah whispered again, but this time Chad heard it, though just barely. ‘No fucking point.’

‘Why?’

Noah tensed up even more. ‘I’m blughpild’

‘Huh?’

‘Blaghpeeled.’

‘What? I still can’t hear you.’

Noah took a deep breath. ‘Blackpilled.’

‘The fuck does that mean?’ Chad blurted out, though he didn’t apologise. 

Noah crossed his arms and turned his head in the direction opposite to Chad. ‘I realized the truth a few months ago.’

‘The truth? Is this ‘blackpilled’ thing a cult or something?’

Noah stood up and grabbed the collar of Chad’s polo shirt, pulling him closer. ‘You think someone like me would end up in a cult? I’m not dumb enough to believe in some sky wizard.’ After saying this, he immediately let go and sat down, sweat dripping down his face. The two were silent for a few moments.

Chad asked with a curious grin, ‘So what is it, then?’

A sigh from Noah. ‘Well, you would agree with me if I told you the world’s unfair, right?’ Chad shrugged but then nodded. ‘It’s especially unfair for people like me. No girls want to talk to me, no girls even want to go near me.’ 

Noah paused, considering how much information he planned on giving. ‘I’ve been deprived of love my entire life. Women just want Chads who treat them like shit, leaving behind all the ugly guys who’d treat them with respect.’ 

His face scrunched up with just enough force to stop his eyes from spilling tears. ‘When I gave up on trying to get a woman, I became blackpilled. Your world and mine are night and day. You get the bright blue day world full of love and admiration and I get the pitch-black night world full of, well, nothing.’

Chad asked, ‘Hey, wait, what did you say about me? Women want guys with my name? Why?’ Noah looked at him like a dog being told an unrecognisable command. ‘My name’s Chad.’

Noah scanned Chad’s body. ‘How fitting,’ he said as he tried to rip his eyes away from the lightly-tanned muscles that bulged out from underneath his crimson T-shirt and the tousled blonde hair that accentuated his strong jaw-

‘How?’

Noah coughed and turned away again. ‘You look like a Chad.’

It was Chad’s turn to cross his arms. ‘The hell does that mean?’

Noah’s throat closed up. His arms stiffened and his eyes darted everywhere. Chad exhaled and left the room, but not before seeing a tab on Noah’s computer entitled ‘Incels.me’. He just missed Noah groaning when the website was blocked by the school, taking out his phone and seeing only a tiny bit of internet data left.

Chad didn’t talk to Noah for a couple of weeks, but he did occasionally stare at him in the hopes of catching him considering the option.

Noah did consider it. In his mind was a constantly repeating video of him gathering the courage to talk to Stacy and her giving a cute little giggle before grabbing his hand. However, he remembered something someone on Incels.me said. 

Stacies don’t know what true oppression is. They’re able to use their body to get what they want. If I tried to do that, I’d be arrested for sexual harassment.

This comment kept battling with the fantasy of Stacy going out with him. Chad’s idea was useless. No, it wasn’t. It would never work. But Chad could give him some expertise. No girl wanted an ugly guy. But maybe this Stacy was different!

He finally made his decision as the lunch bell rang, though part of him screamed for him to reconsider. Instead of heading to the computer lab, the library or the cool-aired spot behind the gym, he walked up to Chad.

It took him a while to start talking as Chad put his pens in his pencil case. ‘If you give me some dating tips, I’ll tell you about Becky.’ 

After a moment of pressure at the thought of giving dating tips, Chad beamed at him and did something he didn’t expect to do. He gave him a little slap on the back. 

‘I knew you’d come around,’ he said.

What he didn’t know was that Noah had written about him on Incels.me.

[signutai]

Surprised kiss and Eyelashes/Glasses for the kiss prompts !!

[namjuicyy]

Three’s A Crowd - Chapter Four

Masterlist | Requests are open.

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut.

Genre of this part: Angst.

Word Count: 3k.

Summary: Your childhood friend shows you a whole new world, but no one expected what came afterwards.

Warnings: This chapter is going to get quite dark. If you are triggered by anything related to depression, low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, addictions and eating disorders, I would highly recommend not reading this chapter. I also want to add that I am not a doctor, and I am not seriously diagnosing Jimin with an eating disorder. This is just for the purpose of my story. Do not read too much into this.

Thank you. Please enjoy.

No one realised there was anything wrong until it was too late. It wasn't through lack of love because Jimin was surrounded by people who loved him. He was just getting good at lying to those around him convincingly. Jimin couldn't exactly pinpoint where everything was going wrong. All he knows is that he would look at himself in promotional photos and photos of him during childhood and see a person who looked like him, but wasn't him. He was bigger than he should have been. Everyone else around him was slim and well-built, but Jimin had puffy cheeks, and his abs weren't as defined as they could have been.

Take Jeon Jungkook, for example. Since debut, Jungkook had only been getting bigger but in the best ways. His shoulders were getting broader, his biceps were much thicker, his chest was more defined as were his abs. His thighs were man thighs, and his voice was so much deeper than Jimin's. Jimin envied that. Jungkook was a man, and next to him, Jimin felt like a scrawny little nobody. And on the flipside, though Yoongi wasn't exactly buff, he still looked good because he was small. Bigger was only better if you could see muscle. And Jimin couldn't see the muscle on him – not as he wanted to.

It started becoming out of control when Jimin would stay at the gym longer than his members. Jungkook would hit the showers, too tired to continue and would leave Jimin alone, believing his promise that he was going to finish this set and he'd join him too. Jungkook was at Hobi's studio long before Jimin had worn himself out and was standing in the shower. He could barely stand, could hardly wash himself. He was that tired and his muscles hurt. But it was fine, he told himself that it would all be worth it in the end.

"I ate earlier." Was the phrase that would often come out of his mouth when his members tried feeding him. When staffs would arrive at dance practise with snacks and sweets, Jimin would hang back claiming he'd eaten too much at lunchtime and that he needed to work on this one bit of dance anyway so he'd just continue with that while everyone else ate. Knowing he was a perfectionist, his brothers shrugged it off and continued eating, paying him no mind, believing that he'd eaten a lot. Jimin would do that occasionally. Sometimes he'd order three paninis for lunch instead of one, because he could decide on the flavour he wanted. Or he'd help himself to an extra bowl of ramen or rice because he felt like the first two helpings didn't hit the right spots. And Jin always looked at him so happily when he saw his dongsaengs doing that. It gave him a feeling of pride that everyone enjoyed his cooking that much. So, of course, they gave Jimin the benefit of the doubt and left him to it. But again, he would stay later than everyone else to practise the latest choreography just so he could get it perfect for Army – and for himself.

He'd learnt to fake a smile so convincing it was easy to trick his loved ones into thinking that everything was okay, that there wasn't anyone in his head telling him he was too fat, that he didn't see a monster every time he looked in the mirror. He had dropped his meals down to one a week, purely because he searched on Naver that that was the minimum a person could eat without dying – that was, of course, provided the person wasn't as active as Jimin. His trips to the gym frequented until he was going once in the morning and once at night. He was on the wrong machines, doing cardio when he shouldn't have been, but he didn't realise this. He kept dancing and dancing and dancing until he felt like he had nothing left to give. He was losing a lot of weight and noticeably so, as Army had commented on it. He was getting mixed reviews, but of course he listened to the wrong half of Army. The one side that praised his weight loss and commended him for his hard work.

Army had no idea what he was going through. Had they known, they would have sent him well wishes and told him that he looked perfect regardless of what the scales told him. Well, most of Army would have anyway. But, of course, Jimin had managed to hide it incredibly well from his members, who lived with him and saw him on a daily basis. If hiding it from them was easy enough, keeping it from Army was child's play.

His body finally gave out on him one day during practise. He'd missed too many meals, worked himself too hard. And in the mirror as they all practised, they watched as Jimin collapsed to the ground, falling unconscious before his body had even hit the wood. They were terrified. How could they not be? Their brother had just fainted on them and they had no idea why.

When Jimin woke up, he was lying in a hospital bed with his brothers around him, looking incredibly worried.

"The doctors told us you'd been starving yourself, Hyung." Jungkook said. He was angry, visibly so. But this anger was born out of pure, unadulterated fear for the health of his brother. This hit Jimin harder than the others being angry at him, purely because Jungkook's age was the same as his younger brother's. Jimin had always coddled Jungkook because of how much he and Jihyun were similar. "Why?"

"Jungkookie," Yoongi began, "anger isn't going to solve anything."

"Isn't it?" Jungkook's voice was a little louder now. "Because he almost died, Hyung. If we'd have gotten angry earlier then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"I'm so sorry." Jimin whispered. He was already starting to cry.

"You're sorry? We could have lost you today! Why, Hyung? Why would you do this? What good would it possibly do? How would we cope without you, huh?"

"Alright, big guy." Jin began. He wrapped his hand around Jungkook's bicep and started to pull him out of the room. "Let's take a walk, yeah?"

Jungkook, for lack of a better term, was dragged out of the hospital room kicking and screaming. He was livid. No one had ever seen him like this before. Hell, they hardly saw him cry. Yet there he was, himself in floods of tears, screaming at his brother for his reckless behaviour. Jungkook wasn't the type to show it easily, but he absolutely adored his hyungs, and this incident put in perspective just how fragile they could be, and that thought terrified him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jimin kept muttering. His heart kept shattering into a million pieces as he clutched onto Taehyung, who had taken it upon himself to rest on the bed next to his best friend and wrap him up in a protective hug. Jimin sobbed into Tae's neck, violent, choking sobs with his voice cracking as he tried to speak. Yoongi couldn't take it anymore, his own throat threatening to betray him. He took his leave, wandering into the bathroom so he could cry silently and not have to watch Jimin's heart rip to shreds.

Hobi had gripped hold of Jimin's leg and stroked it gently, tears forming in his own eyes as he tried to comfort his dongsaeng. Namjoon was holding onto Jimin's shoulder, trying his best to comfort Jimin too. There wasn't anything they could do, not until Jimin stopped crying at least. But even then, what could they do? There was obviously something going on in Jimin's head, and whenever that situation arises, there's nothing any outside source can do besides offer a shoulder to cry on and love. Words don't matter when you're breaking from the inside out, words can't save you.

When Jimin had calmed down a bit, they were all much gentler than they had been before. Jungkook had also calmed down, and had clutched onto Jimin's hand and refused to let it go. Even when Jin handed him a drink, he still refused to let go of Jimin's hand, opting for someone else to open the cap of the bottle rather than let go for a split second.

They were in the hospital for hours with Jimin, not talking about the thing that landed him in there in the first place. They wanted to cheer him up for a while. Or at least distract him until you came.

Jimin had no idea that you'd been called. He'd been out of it for about 12 hours. Not because of the initial collapse, but because his body lacked so much energy he just needed to sleep. So when he woke up, Taehyung's hand had been replaced with yours, and it was your face he first saw. He immediately started bawling again, completely disappointed with himself for letting you down like he did. You were his one pillar of strength. It was to you he usually turned to when he had a tough time. But even with this he felt like he couldn't talk to you about it, because he knew what you'd say. And he hated that he'd worry you.

You cried with him, hugged him to your chest and rocked him slightly like a baby. "Come on, Chim-Chim." You said gently. "Get them tears out. I've got you. You're safe."

The guys made fun of each other in an attempt to make Jimin laugh, and it worked for a while. He smiled and giggled along with you all. But, of course, the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.

You clutched onto his hand and rubbed it with your thumb. You looked him in the eye, and you softly spoke to him. "Chim-Chim, we need to know, why did you do this to yourself?"

Jimin, through tears, finally opened up and told you all everything. He spoke about the monsters in his head, the voices that told him he was worthless and pathetic and nowhere near as talented as everyone else. He compared himself to everyone, and clearly compared himself to Jungkook but refused to say his name because he didn't want to make Jungkook feel worse than he already did. He told you how he didn't look like himself – nor feel like it. And because of that he was scared of letting everyone down so he kept this to himself for months and months until his body keeled over and he almost lost his life.

Everyone cried as they listened to Jimin, and Yoongi even stayed in the room this time, something he never did. That really hit Jimin. He knew Yoongi was soft and sensitive, but he'd never seen Yoongi break like that before. He'd never seen you break like that before. The kisses you gave him were wet because your tears wiped off onto his face, all over his forehead and his cheeks. Like Jungkook, you didn't want to let go of his hand. You were too afraid that he might slip away so you had to keep him grounded.

Jimin, when he was released, went into therapy, and had you come in and sit with him during all of his sessions, holding his hand as he was diagnosed with bulimia and a gym addiction. And, within days, packages arrived at his house filled with books on his condition so you and the members could study it and get used to it so you could best help Jimin.

Numbers didn't exist to the house now, except for record sales and in regards to music. You all stopped letting Jimin go grocery shopping, and with every packaged product you bought, you blacked out the calorie count and the nutritional values so that he wouldn't see what he was eating. You started giving him small portions of the food that either you, Yoongi or Jin had cooked, and incredibly slowly, you gradually gave him more and more food to build his strength back up.

He was never allowed out of the house alone, and especially not to the gym. You, who loathed gyms, joined them so you could sit and watch Jimin, and discreetly timed him so that he still worked out as he needed to for his health, but did so at the bare minimum. You did this every day until Jimin could be trusted again.

And with the dance practises, you always made him eat something. Even if it was just a cookie or a handful of nuts, he was to eat something so that he could gain just that little bit of energy.

And when you found out, via Namjoon, that Bang Shihyuk wanted the boys to go on a diet, you flipped. No one, not even Jimin, had ever seen you that angry before. You stormed into his office and told him exactly what you thought of his plan and precisely where he could shove their diets. He was confused until a sheepish Jungkook pulled you out of his office to explain what happened. Bang PD apologised and abolished the idea of a diet for the time being, but couldn't lie that you'd made him pee his pants ever so slightly.

After that, to make sure that you'd stay in the country for longer than your tourist visa would allow, he hired you as the "Official Translator". He had to do everything above board like advertise the job and interview people, including you, but you got the job and bought a small bedsit not too far away from the guys so that you could see them every day and not have far to walk when they didn't offer you Jimin's bed for the night. Or Jungkook's for that matter. Though, to be honest a majority of the time you were in Jimin's bed cuddling him to sleep.

There were a few relapses to begin with. Jimin, being terrified of gaining weight, would look up the calorie intakes of branded food on Naver so that he could make the decision to attempt to skip meals. But his first attempt became his last as you threw the wooden spoon you were cooking with at him, and stole his phone while he was distracted. You put it in your bra, a place you knew he'd never get into so that he wouldn't have internet access, and essentially grounded him for his insolence. He was teased about that for weeks. Jungkook made comments about how he needed to watch his behaviour otherwise his mama would send him to bed.

"And for that, you little shit," you said, "no Overwatch for a week."

The smile on Jungkook's face washed away. "You can't do that."

"Watch me."

You went into his bedroom one day while he was out and disconnected his console, putting it in your bag and taking it home so that he couldn't sneakily plug it back in. When he came home, he wailed at you to put it back because he was so close to levelling up. For a week he moped and sulked like a teenager and Jimin was living for the punishment. He and Tae would purposefully sit and watch Let's Plays of Overwatch on the communal television, and turn the volume up whenever Jungkook was in the room. Each time he'd beg and plead with you, but, as you said, "one rule for one is one rule for all."

"Yeah and I'd like to see you lock Yoongi-hyung out of his studio for his behaviour." Jungkook stated as he threw himself down on the couch.

Yoongi, who was passing, chimed in. "She did. It sucked." He bit into his apple and walked out of the room again, not bothering to stick around for the rest of the conversation.

"Like I said, one rule for one is one rule for all."

"Angel, what did Yoongi-hyung do?" Jimin asked.

"He was working too hard and forgot that he needed to eat. So he hadn't eaten in three days. I kicked his ass and changed the password on his door. Let that be a lesson to each and every single one of you. No one in this house is dieting or overworking themselves, got it?"

Jimin had started to call you "Angel" one day out of the blue, and it confused you greatly. He never had a nickname for you before, so this was new territory and you didn't quite know how to feel about it.

"What did she say when you dropped that nickname on her?" The interviewer asked.

Jimin laughed. "She told me to shut up and stop calling her that. But, of course, I never listened."

"Is it true that Serendipity's about her?"

Jimin nodded. "I had no idea how to put what I wanted into words, so I asked Namjoonie-hyung to do it for me. I thought, at the time, he'd misinterpreted how she felt about me, because we weren't together then. He said," Jimin began to sing the lyrics:

Cause you love me, and I love you.

"I thought he was talking about either her platonic love for me, or even just that he misunderstood her feelings. Turns out he was right. She was just as in love with me as I was with her."

"But Yoongi was also in the picture. How?"

"Yoongi asked ___ out first. He, surprisingly, got the courage to go to her, and she accepted like I knew she would. They'd been sweet on each other since they met."

"When?"

"The MAMAs in Japan, 2018."

"It took him 8 years?"

"It took me about 13 years to tell her how I felt."

"So, how did it happen? What happened?"

"We'd just come off stage. Fake Love was a massive success as was Anpanman. We were all buzzing. ___ was there waiting for us..."