#i always love a most devoted follower being the farthest to fall but this is even crazier bcus hes doing both at once

[boygirlctommy]

anyways with all the christian parallels lumon has (kier as god, kier starting lumon as 'let there be light', the handbooks as the bible, the 9 core principles as the commandments, the breakroom.) its very interesting to me how they have a room of baby goats. i mean hey, they did say episode one that this is hell.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

I would like to make a songfic request with the song "I wouldn't mind-(s)he is we" with Maurice and his S/O plz

BOY this made me feel things XD

🎶 Songfic Meme 🎶

DISCLAIMER: This is a songfic to the song “I Wouldn't Mind” by (S)he is We! I don’t own the song, don’t claim to, and am not profiting off this piece at all.

Merrily we fall out of line, out of line I’d fall anywhere with you, I’m by your side swinging in the rain, humming melodies we’re not going anywhere until we freeze I’m not afraid anymore I’m not afraid

Really, MAURICE isn’t sure how he got so lucky with (Name).

They’re so kind to him, and even his behavior that would drive other people off hasn’t driven them off yet. (He’s waiting. Waiting for it to happen. Because it always does.)

It’s had the strange effect that, rather than them falling at his feet, he’s fallen at theirs. They don’t cling to him; he clings to them, desperately. He would follow them to the ends of the Earth if they asked him to.

It almost fills him with shame, the idea that he’s fallen so deeply in love that he’s become devoted wholly to them. This isn’t like him, is it? If his father could see him, the man would probably think Maurice was pathetic for acting so… soft.

But then (Name) gives him a kiss, and says something nice to him, and runs their hand through his hair, and suddenly what his father would think is the farthest thing from his mind. His reaction doesn’t terrify Maurice like it does when he isn’t with (Name).

When they’re not around, that worry consumes his thoughts as soon as he thinks about them. If they’re present, though, he doesn’t care. It becomes so inconsequential he almost forgets that it’s a concern.

He loves them so much, it drowns everything else.

forever is a long time but I, I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side

“Do you want to get married someday?”

It comes out of his mouth before he can even think about stopping it. This has been something that’s occupying his thoughts lately, so it’s only natural that he might blurt out a question like that eventually.

Apparently, all it takes is (Name)’s fingers sifting through his perfectly spiraled curls as he rests his head in their lap. That is what takes him apart. That’s so sad, isn’t it? It’s such a simple gesture. So full of love from them, no matter how undeserving he is of it.

They smile down at him and just continue playing with his hair. If they’re at all caught off guard, they don’t show it. “… Well, do you?”

carefully we’ll place for our destiny you came and you took this heart and set it free every word you write and sing is so warm to me so warm to me I’m torn, I’m torn to be right where you are I’m not afraid anymore I’m not afraid

The clever response was something he wasn’t expecting, however. Shouldn’t the very fact that he asked in the first place be enough of a clue to them that he does want to get married?

It’s just… that’s always been one of his goals. It’s a typical one for most people, he thinks. Lately, after finding them, something about that particular goal has shifted irreversibly.

No longer is this dream of his to simply get married. Instead, the dream has become that he wants to get married to (Name). If he had to get married to someone else — someone his father chose for him, probably — he doesn’t know if he could bear that.

“I think so,” he mumbles, turning to press his face against their stomach. He hates it when they see him blush, because he thinks he ought to be able to hold himself together better than that. “It sounds kind of nice, doesn’t it? Making a home together… having babies… being together forever.”

They tilt their head. “Together forever? You wouldn’t get bored of me, would you?”

Part of him wonders how they could even possibly think that, but then he remembers that he’s… him. He’s had quite a few lovers, and everyone views him as someone fascinating, worth getting to know, worth being with. Of course they’d be insecure, thinking of the relationship compared to everyone else who wants Maurice’s attention.

He gives a gentle rub to the side of their thigh. “No, not for a minute. I love you very much, my dear. Marriage is ‘till death do us part’, isn’t it? I know that’s a long time, but… you make me feel happier than I’ve felt in a while. I think if I got to be with you every day for the rest of my life, I still don’t think it would be enough. But it would be the best ‘not enough’ of my entire life.”

forever is a long time but I, I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side tell me everyday I get to wake up to that smile I wouldn’t mind it at all I wouldn’t mind it at all

When they lean down to give him a kiss, coaxing him out of his little hiding spot, he almost forgets how to breathe.

“I love you too,” they hum. Within seconds, he’s clamored up to sit with them instead of just relaxing, and he feels the need to hold them as close as he can. To their credit, they seem to thoroughly melt into the embrace. “If I make you happy… then that’s all I could ever ask for. You’d be the best ‘not enough’ of my life as well.”

He has to laugh at that, before leaning over to kiss their neck. How far could he go with this…? If he goes too far, could he wake up? There are times when he thinks this is a dream because of how happy he is with (Name).

He stays where he is, pressing his lips to their skin. (And, maybe in a moment, his teeth. For now…) “I want you to be the thing I wake up to in the morning,” he whispers. “Anything or anyone else… it wouldn’t feel right. Even if the day I formally ask you to marry you might be a long way off… would you say yes? When I finally ask you, will you be ready to spend your life with me, and perhaps even longer than that?”

Their eyes roll closed. Their arms are tight, secure, around his waist as if they don’t want to let go of him. Possessive; he likes that side of them. “Of course. I’ll say yes. Take your time in asking me, only when you feel ready, but… but I can’t wait.”

Actually, he can’t either.

He’ll just need to find a ring first.

you so know me pinch me gently I can hardly breathe forever is a long, long time but I, I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side tell me everyday I get to wake up to that smile I wouldn’t mind it at all I wouldn’t mind it at all.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Take Me Away

Relationship: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: slight angst, eventual fluff Summary: Royalty!AU - You and your lady-in-waiting Wanda have been in a secret, forbidden relationship but everything gets tested when your father, the King, announces you are to be wed to a prince from a neighboring country. A/N: i’ve been loving royalty!au stuff lately and wanted to take my own stab at it. it’s not the most complicated, spectacular piece but i enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

Wanda always arrived to your chambers right at the crack of dawn. Ever the punctual one, your lady-in-waiting never wasted a second once that bright light of a new day came through the windows. Sometimes she was even tasked with waking you up, ranting and raving about how your gown was going to take forever to lace up or that your hair wasn’t going to be dry enough to meet your family for breakfast.

Her frantic attitude always made you laugh. You thought her worrying heart was so silly and to show for it, you’d sometimes make it a point to shut her up with a kiss. One thing would lead to another until you two were lost among the silk sheets.

That all, though, had come to a stop today. Wanda was late this morning and you sadly knew why. Her heart must’ve been breaking, taking all her energy to pick up the pieces one by one this morning. You didn’t blame her, really, you felt the same break within you.

It had all fallen out last night. Your father, the usually benevolent King, had held a feast for your court and the royal family of a neighboring country. This wasn’t unusual for him as he very much loved to entertain. Everything had been going smooth. You were lost in the dancing and laughing with the patron, eagerly showing off the brand new dress your tailor had delivered that morning. You even got to sneak some cheeky glances at Wanda who stood off with the other servants, ready when needed.

Everything came to a screeching halt the second dinner had concluded. In between the refills of wine and arrival of dessert, your father had a surprise announcement to. It was as if a million bombs were going off. He revealed you were set to be married to the bordering country’s Prince. No one had told you, not even a hint from your mother, just this public declaration. You looked towards the king and his son — your soon-to-be-husband — and they were just beaming with joy. All plans and politics were falling into place for them while your world was crumbling.

You had excused yourself to the bathroom where you vomited profusely. Wanda, though, didn’t arrive to help. In fact, she didn’t arrive to your room for the rest of the night, sending one of the temporary servants instead.

You fell asleep feeling the loneliest you had felt in a long time. And those feelings certainly weren’t subsiding as you sat at your vanity the next morning, still waiting for Wanda.

You had been sitting alone for so long you thought she had abandoned her duties — or maybe she had just straight up retired last night and you were waiting on nothing — but then there was the unmistakable sound of your heavy door creaking open followed the gentle clicking of it closing. You peered into your looking glass, shifting it so slightly to show you the presence behind you.

"Wanda," you sighed, her naming falling from your lips as if it was the sweetest honey.

"Your Highness." While unsurprising, her cold and stoic response cut you. Your body tensed. Last time she had called you that was upon your very first meeting. Before she was the lover you kept in the shadows. Before there was ever a chance of losing her. The royal title felt like a death sentence now.

After a deep breath, you slowly placed the looking glass back on the table. You felt Wanda approach you from behind with caution. You didn’t know whether to turn around or ask her to begin her morning duties. If you were to be really honest with yourself, you just wanted to grab her and hold one another.

But Wanda seemed to have decided for the both of you. Hesitantly, she reached for the brush on the vanity and gently began on your hair. You wanted to cry.

"Wanda, please," you mumbled. "Talk to me."

"Talk to you?" She repeated, her fingers now running through your hair giving slight pulls as she fixed the curls. The actions reminded you of when she would… "And what would you like me to say?"

"Something, anything!" You were nearly crying, your words coming out in weak begs. "I didn’t know anything about it, you have to trust me on that. I—I don’t want… I could never—,"

"Never, what?" Wanda cut you off, the brushing motions in your hair suddenly halted. "You couldn’t possibly think we could ever be together fully. I’ll admit, I indulged in this fantasies but I’ve stopped. We weren’t meant to be and you sure weren’t meant to be a single princess forever." She cleared her throat. "This was bound to happen, I fear."

"No, no," you fought back, shaking your head insistently. Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, but you only jumped at the touch, feeling that burning connection between you two. You couldn’t believe how much hold she had over you. How much you had over one another.

"Your Highness, I’m afraid—,"

"We can run away." The words slipped out of you so fast you never had a chance to bite your tongue. It felt like the world stopped, like you had created your own bomb to set off. Wanda’s grip on your shoulder got tighter. You straightened your posture, meaning business now despite the tears still flowing. You placed your hand atop of hers and continued, "I really think we could do it, dear. I can access the family funds, we could pack a few things, then be off in the night. Wouldn’t that just be nice? We could go wherever, start whatever life we want. You’re not wrong to say this was bound to happen but that doesn’t mean we can’t escape it."

"My Lady… There must be some consideration for the prince, the kingdoms, your subjects—,"

"They’re better to have no ruler than one who lives in constant agony."

The declaration was bold but it was the farthest from a lie. You decided to finally turn and face Wanda, your hand now holding hers with the greatest, most loving strength. The first thing you noticed were her eyes. They were so red and heavy, no doubt from hours of crying. Her hair was a mess as well, complimented by the worn down servants gown she wore. She hadn’t put any effort in today, probably dragging herself about as you predicted.

Slowly, you pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. Wanda let out a breathy gasp. When you met her eyes again, it appeared the deal had been sealed. But you needed her to say it.

"We can really do this, can’t we?" She asked shyly.

You nodded, a little grin playing at your lips. "I think we could go anywhere," you confirmed. "Maybe we can start a farm, raise some chickens or cows. Or — Oh! We could start a nice garden. I loved the one here but father wouldn’t let me learn how to care for it."

Wanda sighed as she watched you get lost in a new fantasy, one way beyond just being together but having a life. "Speaking of your father, he will send people after us, won’t he? The palace guards will die trying to find us if they have to."

You simply shrugged. Sure, she wasn’t wrong, but this was a big place and who knew what bigger places were out there. "Let them," you finally said. "We’ll be so far long gone before they realize it they won’t know what hit them."

Silence fell between you two.

"You’re going to give up all this for a chance for us to be together?" Wanda finally asked, motioning towards the gloriousness of the castle chamber. She was a very thorough one, extremely detailed-oriented, which made her the best partner-in-crime you had decided before ever engaging romantically. Eventually, it was one of the things that made you fall head over heals. She noticed everything, always the sweet and cool observer. You didn’t blame her for using the skill now.

"Wanda, dear," you sighed as your hand crept its way to her neck. "I’d give it all up a million times over to be with you."

Your sweet lover looked like she was now going to cry so you took the leap to lean up, catching her lips with yours. After a stunned moment, she returned the kiss, your lips moving in a familiar sync. It was electrifying knowing you hadn’t lost her. Knowing she was most likely going to be it for you, forever. Completely devoted to one another, comfortably and freely.

Wanda’s hand begin caressing your cheek when she pulled away slightly. Your foreheads were touching now but it still wasn’t close enough for you.

"Let’s do it," she whispered. "Take me away."

Words seemed so hard, something only the presence of Wanda could do to you. Unable to figure what was right to say now, of all times, you nodded and wrapped one arm around her waist. You pulled her into you, hugging her with all your might. She didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, soaking each other in.

"Of course, dear," you eventually said. Such small words they held the mysterious beginning and marked the glorious end.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.

[all-might-blog]

Drinking Dulls The Pain

All_Greenie

Summary:

Inko doesn't usually drink. In fact, ever since Izuku was born, she had thrown away all of Hisashi's alcohol bottles and kdwpt herself away from any kind of alcohol in order to concentrate on her son. But pain, sorrow and fear can make one forget their vows...

Midoriya Inko never drank. Never. She had a son to think of, and she had stopped doing so ever since he had been born. She had even thrown away her late husband's alcohol collection, since he no longer bothered living with them. She kept anything and everything that would distract her to be Izuku's mother, anything that could distract her from her only job.

But then, pain, sorrow and fear could break one's vows.

She now sat at a bar, grasping a mug of whisky with one hand, the other pressed against her temple. She had chosen the table farthest away from everyone else, the football game distracting everyone from seeing the teary woman sitting alone in a small table. She had left Izuku in Mitsuki's care for the time being, and she didn't feel like she would be able to take her son back until the following day. She didn't need him to see her like this. She needed to keep him safe, not put any more stress in his life than he was already experiencing. Being quirkless... it had come as a punch straight to the gut. He had looked... quiet about it. But then, seeing him sitting at the computer, rewatching the same footage over and over again, then asking her if he could be a hero like his beloved Idol with tears in his eyes, hand trembling as he pointed at the screen.

And instead of telling him that everything would be okay, that he would somehow become a hero... she had apologized. She had hugged him, breaking down right there and then. She could have stayed strong, but seeing the tearful face of her son...

This made her even sadder, tears filling her eyes. She felt even worse, that she was going back on her vow about keeping away from the alcohol, but she still brought the mug to her mouth, taking a mouthful of the stuff and swallowing it, the liquid burning as it went down her throat. She vowed her head, green hair falling around her head to hide most of her face as the tears fell. That was… her… second glass? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. She gulped don the rest of the glass, ignoring the way her eyes were already losing a bit of focus. It might have been due to the tears, but she honestly didn’t know. She honestly didn’t care. Her mind was a muddled mess of thoughts in her head that she couldn’t get straight, and her head hurt. It hurt so much. She blamed the alcohol on that, but that didn’t stop her from ordering another glass from the passing bartender. He looked at her curiously, but complied to do so.

She held on to her empty mug, just to give something for her hands to hold on. The bartender returned with another cup.

“Are you really sure you want to drink this? It’s your second, and you don’t look that good…”

“Gimme,” she said. The bartender sighed, setting it down in front of her.

“As you wish. But be careful, miss.” she had already brought the mug to her mouth when he said “careful”, swallowing about half of it in one go. The bartender frowned at her, then left to attend to other customers. Inko shut her eyes tightly, setting down the mug with a sigh and staying like that for a minute or so, headache pounding. She heard the scrape of a chair against the ground and opened her eyes to find another man taking a seat opposite her, setting down his own mug of beer.

“Mind if I sit here? There are no other available tables and I just thought you could use some company, hmm?" he asked, tilting his head a bit. Inko grunted her reply, bringing the mug to her mouth and drinking most of the whiski that had been left. The man eyed her with a concerned expression on his thin face.

"You don't look like the person to spend her nights at the pub and I can tell something's bothering you. I know you don't even know me, but you can talk to me if you need." he said. Inko looked up at him, taking in his features. He looked... strange. Unusual. With messy, unkempt, blonde short hair, two tufts of it framing his face. He was wearing a trench coat, but Inko could tell that he was thin just by looking at his hands, neck and face. His eyes were surrounded by blackness, but the blue irises were immensely intense, as if he could tell exactly what was troubling her. As if they bore deep into her soul, seeing the pain, the fear and the worry she was smothering with alcohol deep in her. It made her hands tremble, mouth quiver, tears well at her eyes, overcome by all her emotions.

And looking at those eyes, that seemed to tell her that he could be trusted, filled with silent gentleness... it already had the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"I have a son. He's the one person I care for the most and nothing could ever replace him." she said, in a pitch changing voice due to the headache, the alcohol and her emotions. "But... yesterday he was diagnosed quirkless and all I can see is his face when he asked if he could become a hero. And it... I had made a vow not to drink, but all this- it's been so painful- I- I can't-" she dropped her head into her hands, sobbing her extremely pained heart. The headache was intensifying, and she had the feeling that it had nothing to do with the drinks she had had.

Toshinori was lost for words to say. It wasn't the first time he had seen a woman cry, but seeing this one in particular... it seemed to break, shatter and blow up his heart all at once. He was doubtful at what he could do about it, since he wasn't All Might, and he didn't look his best either. He was surprised she had even opened up to him, a total stranger to her. She must have been desperate. She must have nit have had someone to talk to, and instead had come to a pub to drown out her feelings with alcohol. He stood up.

"How about we get you out of here, hmm? I always do better with some fresh air." he said. She nodded, not wanting to get any other people to worry over her. She let the man help her to her feet, fumbling for her purse to pay for her drinks. But her hands were trembling so much that she couldn't.

"That's fine." the man said quickly, pulling out his own wallet and giving the bartender money for her drinks. She didn't have the energy to argue about it, which made it easier for him to help her outside.

The fresh air filled her lungs, and instantly it seemed to make her feel better. The soft breeze felt nice on her flushed skin, and she managed to wipe away her tears, smudging make up along with it. She honestly couldn't have cared less, letting her hand drop to her sides.

"Better?" the man asked.

"A lot." she mumbled back.

"I haven't intrudeced myself yet. Yagi Toshinori." he said as they began to walk away from the loud noises of the pub and into an empty street.

"Midoriya Inko." Inko replied quietly, rubbing her temple.

"I truly am sorry for you and your son. I know how it must feel like, since I am also quirkless." Not a lie, but not the truth either.

"Oh..."

"But enough about me. Anything I can help with?"

"… I don't know."

"Just tell me whatever's on your mind." he suggested. Inko tried to think, but her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts.

"… Why are you helping me?" she settled on that question.

"I just have this feeling that makes me want to help others." Toshinori explained. "And I can't ignore it."

"Oh. Okay. I just... I'm just really weak when it comes to emotions." she said, looking at her feet.

"Well, as my master used to say, all women are worriors, mothers doubly so. It was only natural for you to feel like that when your son wasn't happy." Toshinori said.

Inko sniffed, wiping at her aching eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem. If you need a buddy to talk to, I am here at the pub every Thursday night."

"Is there a reason to that?"

Toshinori smiled sadly. "I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders."

Inko didn't know it then, but what he said... it was quite literal.

Inko returned home that night. Mitsuki was in her kitchen, Katsuki at home with his father, Izuku in his bedroom. Her best friend gave her a hug before leaving for her own home. Inko wanted to got to sleep, slump in bed, but she walked to Izuku's bedroom first. He was asleep in bed, clutching an All Might doll to his chest, a content, little smile on his face. Inko tiptoed to his bedside, bending down to kiss his forehead, motherly, fierce love burning in her chest.

He was quirkless. But he was her son, the person she cared about the most. She didn't care that Hisashi had left, because that meant that she could raise him her way, keep him happy and safe.

She would devote herself to taking care of her son.

[malakia215]

For Home

@ohayohimawari May I offer you a Mei fic in these trying times? I hope you feel better

Summary: Mei questions if she could be Mizukage.

Mei stared down at the village of Kirigakure with a heavy feeling in her chest. From her perch on the balcony of the former Mizukage’s balcony, she towered over everything at the very epicenter of the place she called home. 

She turned her head away to look back at the office behind her. Her office, if what Ao and the others were saying to her about the politics going on. 

When she had first thought of the coup, the thought of the being the Mizukage was the farthest thing from her mind. She had only wanted things to end; for friends to no longer die over just speaking their minds or children being scared to walk the streets. What good was a village that was meant to bring people together if they kept killing one another or silly things like power? 

After the coup was successful, she would have been happy to serve whoever the next Mizukage was. As long as that person knew what was best for the village and not being like the former Fourth, Kiri could finally step out of the shadow of its bloody title. 

Yet the next challenge would be the Council of Elders as they were hard balls that were stuck in their ways. Surely they would overrule any sort of plan or compromise that Ao would have tried to come up with for the next Mizukage. But no; they were a stickler for rules apparently. And as such, by right, Mei would take over the position of Mizukage. 

Not wanting things to be the same, Mei had immediately protested against such a thing. Instead, with Ao’s better wording, had suggested voting democratically among those qualified for the duty. She, of course, would be on the list but doubted she would actually win. 

What she hadn’t counted on were the number of people who looked up to her. Sure, she had gained many devoted followers over the years in both lower castes, yet it was the upper caste that was going to be doing the voting (which, of course, would certainly change). However, the whispers had gotten back that even they were looking at her to be the next Mizukage.

The voting was still a few days away but it was basically a given she would get it. She wasn’t sure though if it was the right thing. 

She turned away from the village to walk back towards the office. Each step felt heavy as she trudged forward until she was inside. 

She crossed the room to where the Mizukage’s desk was back against the farthest wall. When she reached it, she hesitantly reached out to the desk and ran her fingertips over the resin wood. 

She turned her gaze to the high-backed chair behind the desk. She tried to envision herself sitting in it but it looked too odd for her to really capture the moment. 

With pressed lips, she moved around the desk and pulled the chair out a little just enough for her to sit in. Slowly, she lowered herself down until her bottom hit the worn cushion. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, so she shifted a moment until she found a position that wouldn’t bother her. 

Then, with faux confidence as if she was speaking to the most important people from around the world, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her head proudly. Only to nearly let go of herself laugh silly the next second later. 

“Yep,” she muttered with a sigh and a weary smile on her lips. “Feels wrong.” 

She leaned back in the seat and stared out the window. 

It didn’t feel right to sit here. Even if she was one of the strongest shinobi in the village, she didn’t feel she could lead it the way it was needed. Short term like for a coup? Sure. But for long term? Could she really do that?

She frowned and looked down at her lap with her fingers curled inward on the armrests. The heaviness in her chest increased as she let herself wonder about it. 

She didn’t really have a head for politics. All that paperwork and meetings just seemed too dull. She would have to placate people like the Council of Elders, who were still suffering from the fear of the last Mizukage. Have to actually talk to those of the higher caste and withhold the urge to punch some of them in their haughty faces. And would some of the things she would want from the village be even possible to do?

Without realizing it, an image of smiling villagers came to her mind. It was two days after the coup, and Mei had gone out to make sure people (mostly civilians) were receiving proper care after ensuring some internal village items (such as their defenses) were handled. Everywhere she had gone, people would always give her tired smiles and thanked her for what she had done. Of course, some of those thanks were out of misplaced fear but others were genuine in their delivery that it left her a little uncomfortable.

She had seen children playing by the river. They weren’t really doing much and when she had gone over to ask them how they were, their fear-stricken faces left her heartbroken. But when she encouraged them to continue to play, they were hesitant and quiet. Yet they soon began to get louder and rowdier when they realized no one would come and yell or threaten them. 

When she had moved on she ended up running into a mother and daughter that offered her to dinner. Not to be impolite, she had accepted. It was a lovely meal with the small family the mother and daughter were apart of as they all joked and smiled. But it was after dinner, when the mother and father pulled her aside, that she found out the real reason for the invitation. The family had a kekkei genkai and they were wondering what was going to happen now for them. Everyone in the village knew Mei had a rare one and since she had been one of the leaders of the coup, they felt comfortable to come to her about it. 

She had done her best to reassure that things would change. That people like them would be accepted. She said not to reveal anything for now, but when the time was right, she would personally be there for anyone that wished to no longer hide. She remembered the mother and father’s smile being so bright as they thanked her profusely. 

Mei looked up at the ceiling while her fingers unfolded. So many people… So many people that had reached out to her on just that one day…

She thought of them and wondered if someone else wore the hat, would they reach out to that person? Would they welcome that Mizukage as readily as they did her?

And that’s what it really boiled down to, wasn’t it? Would some else be able to gain the trust of the people around her like she had already had? Probably not. 

She sighed and closed her eyes. And that’s probably one of the biggest factors on why she was being chosen. People looked to her to lead. 

Many in her inner circle said that she didn’t properly credit herself. She was smart, charming, and able to play people the way she wanted them to fall into her hand. She was also deadly and efficient in the way she killed. Any number of the upper caste people could easily fill the position of Mizukage if that was the only qualifications that someone would need. But it was the trust that people had in her that really affected the decision.

The upper caste was looking to place one of their own since her family lineage ran all the way back to the founding of Kiri and also weren’t blind to the way the lower castes were looking to her. 

She opened her eyes and lowered her face. The heaviness in her chest had lessened and she took a deep breath to feel the air in her light lungs. She stood up and moved back to the balcony. 

Opening the doors to the outside, a steely sensation settled into her being. The same kind of emotion she constantly felt when she was secretly planning the coup. The kind that would demand change. 

Staring out onto Kirigakure again, she stood proudly and smiled. She was going to be chosen to be Mizukage. She would make the change that was needed for their society and the rules they had in place. Not because she wanted to take the hat, but because the people wanted her to be the one to lead the way. Because who else could do it but her? 

For Kirigakure she would do it. For her home, she would do it.

[devnicolee]

Snowfall (1 & 2)

A/N: This first chapter sets the stage for the series so it is a bit slow. I am anticipating this series will being kind of long. A lot happens in a short time span so far and I have a skeleton of the whole thing but honestly, I keep finding new things to add and change so we will see. Anyways enjoy! 

***Chapter 2 is now included in this and it is a flashback to what happens to Zarah while M’Baku is out. 

Warnings: None for this chapter, just slow burn-ish and angst

Word Count: 4,285

*****

Lord M’Baku had seen better days during his tenure as Chief of Jabariland. Long days were a part of the territory as a leader, but today felt unnaturally exhausting. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his chambers, snuggle up with his wife who had likely left her office by now. Instead, he found himself pacing by his window overlooking Gorilla City. 

He knew he couldn’t leave until he addressed the small stack of paperwork waiting on his desk. He tried, poured over the pages for all evening since he returned from dinner but he couldn’t concentrate on them. He spent thousands of quiet days in this office and today was the first one he felt such anxiety for no obvious reason. He worried about the future of his tribe and Wakanda like any good leader but the Jabari always prevailed, leaving him confident in his decisions. But today, anxiety trailed him like a ghost through what seemed to be an extremely boring and uneventful day in the mountains. As it loomed over him, he second guessed every decision he made and his wildest fears running rampant through his head. He dismissed it, as best he could, that is until his guards were alerted to two problems: a potential blizzard forming in the west and a fire in a village on the outskirts of Gorilla City. 

Neither were anything new for the Jabari. Snow storms were par for the course of living in the mountains. Residents knew how to prepare and hunker down when needed. Since everyone burned fires all winter for warmth, the occasional fire broke out as well if someone was careless. However, once he heard of the fire’s location and the potential number of victims, M’Baku rounded up his Kingsguard and headed to the village to help. The fire, localized in a popular pub, was extinguished quickly thanks to brave patrons and the warriors patrolling the city. It was a miracle there were no deaths, just some injuries and lost property. M’Baku and the guard ensured all injured Jabari were sent to the healing center, moving quickly to settle the incident before the storm hit and the roads became impassable for the night. Once everyone was taken care of, M’Baku headed home, figuring he could finally relax and put his anxieties to rest. 

Maybe I have a third eye or something, he wondered jokingly to himself as he settled in for the journey back to the Lodge. 

The Chief grunted impatiently as he glanced out of the carriage window for the 100th time, hoping to see the palace gates in the distance. But every turn on the winding road up the mountain concealed yet another turn and not the statues of Hanuman that promised him warmth and rest. He let the dark grey window curtains fall and hid the passing forest. He slumped into his seat and let out a deep sigh of frustration that this fire had to happen in the village farthest away from the Lodge.

And right before a snow storm, he whined internally. He hated that all the bad things seemed to happen right before a storm was barreling toward tribe. He could see the dark clouds headed their way, it would be at the western border mountains within half an hour, possibly sooner depending on how fast the clouds moved. 

The Jabari’s giant-sized chief resembled a toddler as he rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion from the day seeping into his body. After an emotionally-taxing day, the only thing on the chief’s mind was getting home to Zarah. His best friend. His chieftess. She was his solace, his beacon of light that guided him through the fog of leadership. M’Baku was fiercely devoted to his people, proudly taking the mantle of Chief after his father’s death. However, his reign became significantly easier since Zarah took her place beside him as chieftess. She was compassionate, intelligent, fiercely devoted to the tribe and beautiful… all the things he wanted in a life companion and needed in a chieftess. He knew he wouldn’t be half the chief or man he was without her and the people knew it too. Their love and loyalty for Lady Zarah ran deep, deeper than their love for M’Baku (though no one would ever say that to him). Thoughts of snuggling with her in front of the fire were the only thing that carried him the rest of the trip home.  

M’Baku silently thanked Hanuman when the carriage passed through the gates. I wonder if I can convince Za to give me a massage, he thought, feeling the tension and ache in his shoulders as he sat up straight. Well, she won’t need much convincing, he reminded himself, a small smirk on his face. Past experience taught him that massages quickly turned into something more. Usually with Zarah on her back with her thighs wrapped around his head as he feasted off her nectar. That is what the chief had to look forward to as the carriage rounded the final corner to stop before the Lodge steps: a massage and the melody of his wife’s moans and screams as he pulled an orgasm or several from her. Unfortunately for him, the world seemed to have other plans. 

M’Baku jumped out of the carriage before it could come to a full stop. His march up the stairs faltered slightly when he noticed someone waiting at the doors. A smile graced his tired features as he saw his best friend and brother-in-law, N’Danna. The lieutenant general of the Jabari Forces quickly ended a call from his kimoyo beads before shifting his attention to his approaching chief.

“Brother! What are you doing here so late?” 

He pulled his brother into a hug, his confusion growing when his enthusiastic greeting was not returned with the same energy. Instead, N’Danna only offered a stiff pat on the back and tight smile. 

“Evening, my Lord. There is… there is something I need to tell you.” 

His eerily somber tone filled M’Baku with trepidation. N’Danna’s formalities were not lost on him. He wasn’t talking to his best friend now, he was talking to his general and his tone did not foreshadow good news. 

N'Danna inhaled deeply, as if he had to summon the courage within to utter his next statement. 

“I am afraid to tell you that Lady Zarah is missing.”

There was a beat of silence before M’Baku let out a boisterous chuckle from the depths of his belly, amused by the absurdity of his brother’s statement. 

“Very funny N'Danna… She hasn’t left the Lodge all day. I just saw her a few hours ago. Before I got dragged away to deal with that damn fire. How does one set fire to Jabari wood anyway? It is practically indestructible - we will need to look into that. Well, actually… correction, Zarah will need to look into it. Hanuman knows she is the only one in this tribe that actually understands Jabari wood, the rest of us are just kidding ourselves. The guards say it was an accident but I don’t believe it,” M’Baku rambled, starting to walk inside. 

If M’Baku had been paying attention, he would have noticed the growing distress on his General’s face as he trailed behind him.

“But anyway… did she put you up to this? I know your sister is a practical jokester but she goes too far. I will get her back for this one no doubt,” M’Baku let out another hearty chuckle while shaking his head, not even considering the notion that his wife was anywhere but safe in their shared bed.  

He continued down the hallway before he felt a tight grip on his arm pull him backward. M’Baku’s eyes bugged out of his head at N'Danna’s behavior. He wondered if the man had drunk one too many glasses of mead, that was the only explanation for such reckless behavior. 

“What the hell has gotten in-” 

“M’BAKU! Shut the hell up and listen to me. This is not a joke. While you and the guards were across the lands, someone broke in and took her. We are trying to determine how they entered and escaped undetected. No one even realized anything had happened until I came to drop off the weekly reports. I found your chambers empty, her guards knocked out.” N'Danna had to pause to take a deep breath - to steady his tone and reel in his emotions. “This is not a game, brother. This is not a joke. She is gone.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, simply staring at each other, as the news settled in the air. M’Baku backed up from N'Danna slightly, his body finding and leaning against a wall to support him. After a few minutes, M’Baku started to shake his head. She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t. 

“No… no she… she can’t be gone. No,” M’Baku muttered quickly to himself, refusing to believe it. 

Of course, in his heart, he knew her own brother would have no reason to lie about such things. The tears in his eyes and undeniable emotion in his voice should have been enough to convince M’Baku because N'Danna was the least emotional person he ever met. Still, his mind was committed to believing she was still home and merely a short walk through the Lodge from him, not lost and in danger. His mind held tight to this delusion as if letting go meant the loss of his sanity. He didn’t care how crazy that made him look or sound. 

M’Baku raced to his quarters. Staff jumped out his way like the parting of the Red Sea, afraid of being swept up in the currents of his rage. 

N'Danna followed closely on his chief’s heels, not surprised by his reaction. His sister was the single most important thing in this world to M’Baku. Their love was one of a kind. So he knew this would devastate him. He was barely holding it together himself, he just did a better job of hiding his emotions than M’Baku. This destroyed every expectation he set for himself as her big brother - her first friend and fiercest protector until M’Baku. How could they live with themselves if something happened to the brightest, most crucial star in their skies? With no time to process his own thoughts before M’Baku’s arrival, N'Danna knew he wouldn’t have the chance. Someone had to be strong and logical, be willing to set aside all emotions to find her. M’Baku’s current reaction indicated that he would be unable to fulfill that task. That role and burden fell squarely on his shoulders.  

When M’Baku and N'Danna reached the Chief’s chambers, reality came crashing down all at once like a collapsing skyscraper. Despite the warmth emanating from the raging fire in their room, a chill overcame him as if ice water coursed through his veins instead of warm blood. His visual survey of the chambers forced him to confront the harsh reality surrounding him. 

There was clear evidence of a struggle. Zarah’s favorite white fur blanket, a gift from M’Baku after he proposed, was torn and tossed to the floor, the glass coffee table in front of the fire was shattered, Jabari mead and small blood stains littered various spots on the fur carpet, Zarah’s knobkerrie splintered and thrown aside. M’Baku’s body was on autopilot as he steered himself to his bed after feeling his legs grow weak beneath him. His head fell to his hands. He tried to calm his mind and the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. However, this proved to be a pointless effort. His rage was uncontainable and quickly burst from him. 

“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” He yelled. The chief was beyond anger, he was seething. 

“I have a team on the way to search the entire Lodge and pull the security cameras as we speak. I arrived here and realized what had happened only moments before you did. Her guards are still unconscious. When they wake, we will know more.” 

This explanation was wasted breath as his chief was not even listening. M’Baku’s mind was racing while he wildly paced by his bed.

“What are we going to do? We have to find her. Your team must have some leads... something. We should be out there searching for her now. She could be hurt. We... w-w-we have to find her,” he ranted. His rage morphed into pure panic as shock wore off and the realization of his wife’s predicament set in. No one ever kidnapped anyone with pure intentions. Whatever they wanted with her, it can’t be good. 

“First, you need to calm down. We won’t get anywhere without thinking clearly. We can send an initial search team out but without a plan or any indication of where to start? And where will they go? Half the Lands will be inaccessible for the night within the next two hours. Any search efforts tonight would be futile. We would be searching aimlessly. Let’s go to the throne room and wait for my team there. We will find her. I have no doubt in my mind.”

M’Baku nodded. He no longer thought about the blizzard about to dump multiple feet of snow on his tribe. He could only think about this, the storm already destroying his world. 

We will find her. I will find her. 

His eyes filled with determination as he grabbed his knobkerrie and marched out of his bedroom, not waiting for N’Danna to fall in line behind him. He was not going to rest until he found his wife, even if he had to move every mountain in Wakanda or destroy every person who stood in his way. 

****

[Earlier in the evening]

“Kasim?” Lady Zarah called out to the head of her Queensguard standing outside her chambers. He poked his head in to see his chieftess tying her robe around her waist.

“Yes my lady?”

“Any idea where Lord M’Baku is? He didn’t answer his beads… did he leave the Lodge?” Zarah wasn’t usually needy. But she had a long day and was expecting her husband home by this hour so they could cuddle by the fire.

Kasim spared a quick amusing glance at his second-in-command, Mosi. They found M’Baku and Zarah’s inability to go long periods without the other to be quite amusing and endearing. More than half of their time was spent sharing her whereabouts with the Kingsguard or vice versa because they couldn’t stand to be apart for more than an hour.  

“Yes, my lady. Lord M’Baku and the guard are in the East Village, responding to a fire. He will return before the storm crosses the border mountains.”

Zarah’s faced scrunched up in disappointment.

“Alright, thank you. That will be all, you and Mosi are dismissed for the evening,” she said with a soft smile, hating to keep her guard longer than needed.

“No, my lady. We are to stay with you until Lord M’Baku returns,” he responded.

Zarah rolled her eyes, flopping down on the edge of her bed. 

“You realize no harm will befall me in my own bedroom yes? It is late, a storm is coming. Don’t you all want to get home?” she questioned.

Kasim laughed, “While we appreciate your thoughtfulness Lady Zarah, neither of us fancy being thrown from Dead Man’s peak because we abandoned our post. And that is exactly what Lord M’Baku will do if we leave.”

“Touché,” she laughed. Her husband was known to be a bit overzealous when it came to her safety.

“We will leave you to rest my lady,” Kasim gave her a smile and turned to leave. He paused before addressing her again. “Apologies, there is one more thing. The maintenance staff asked if they could come by and work on the leak in your bathroom tonight? They will come back tomorrow to fully fix it but they said they can patch it up for the night and that will last until they can examine the pipes.”

Zarah sighed, she just wanted to collapse into bed, not wait up for the staff. But she also knew if the storm was bad, there was no guarantee the staff would make it in to fix it tomorrow. She hated leaving things undone and knew M’Baku would be happy to come home and not have to maneuver around the steady leak that started in their bathroom the previous night. It didn’t matter how many times they insulated the pipes around the Lodge, they always had an issue or two this time of the year. Zarah tried to convince M’Baku to install vibranium pipes, which would last forever and never freeze in the dead of the winter. But he refused to budge. So of course, the next pipe burst had to be one in their bathroom.

“Yes, that is fine. Thank you!”

Kasim nodded and bowed before exiting fully. Zarah decided there was no point in getting comfortable if the staff was going to arrive momentarily so she poured herself a glass of Jabari mead, pulled her favorite book off the bookshelf and settled on the couch. She shivered slightly, despite the raging fire across the living room space in their chambers, so she wrapped the white fur blanket from the couch around her. It was made of the softest fur Jabariland had to offer, a gift from M’Baku after he proposed. She only used it when she was craving his presence. M’Baku sprayed his favorite cologne on it so it always smelled like him.

She got comfortable, reading Jabari folklore. Tonight she decided to reread the tale of Chief Omarr and Chieftess Oba, two of the greatest leaders the Jabari ever saw. Their story was legend and Zarah’s favorite.  

Zarah pulled her long goddess twists into a ponytail, growing tired of them falling into her face as she read. She didn’t make it far into her book when she heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

“The workers are here, Lady Zarah,” Kasim announced before ushering two men into the space.

“Thank you Kasim. That will be all.” she said, lifting her eyes from the pages to greet the workers. “Thanks for coming. You all know where everything is. Let me know if you need anything.”

They both nodded and shuffled to the bathroom. Zarah’s head tilted slightly as her curiosity for the two men grew the longer she looked at them. Zarah wasn’t sure what set off alarm bells in her head. There were no obvious red flags with the two men or Kasim wouldn’t have let them in. They were seemingly average at first glance. But there were small things. First, Zarah didn’t recognize them. The tribe wasn’t that big and after becoming chieftess, Zarah made it a point to know every person who worked in the Lodge. 

Maybe they are new, she thought internally. Second, these men were seriously underfed, almost sickly looking, unlike most of the Jabari. Their uniforms seemed to be sizes too big, hanging off their thin frames, certainly unlike anything she had seen within the staff.

Individually, neither of these were that odd and could have reasonable explanations. But Zarah spent enough time with her warrior brother and husband to know that ignoring the warning bells in your own head was never a good practice. Zarah decided that she would rather be safe than sorry and got up to alert Kasim. At least he could wait in the room with her until they finished.

But before her manicured hand could touch the gold doorknob in their quarters, she heard a cold voice behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Zarah.”

She whipped around to see one of the two men, now standing right behind her with a spear in hand. Her heart started beating out of her chest, its strong thumping loud in her ears as she tried to quickly strategize. Her eyes glanced at the couch, where she knew her knobkerrie laid on the floor. She wondered if she could buy enough time to get to it or discreetly alert her guard that something was amiss.

“Looking for this?” the shorter of them asked as he walked over to the couch and grabbed her knobkerrie. Her heart sank into her stomach. There was an extra weapon in her closet but she knew she wouldn’t make it in time. The man twirled her weapon in his hand a few times before tossing it to the side.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked calmly.

The taller of the two men answered, “Who we are does not matter. We are merely servants of our master. And we want you. We don’t want to hurt you.”

His words were slightly muffled, drowned out by Zarah’s own heartbeat as she struggled to stay calm. Whatever they wanted, it couldn’t be good.

“You need to back away from me” Zarah demanded, pulling herself to her full height. The man cackled before wrapping his hand around her neck and lifting her off the floor. Zarah choked, felt the air running out in her body as she struggled to fill her lungs with more. Her nails clawed at his hand to loosen his grip.

“We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if you continue to be uncooperative,” the shorter man said in a slightly bored tone, as if the chieftess’s antics to save herself were an annoyance to him.

“Ka…Kasim!!” 

She tried to push her vocal cords to yell but they wouldn’t, not under the weight of his hands crushing them. The smaller man whispered something Zarah couldn’t hear as she continued to thrash under his grip and he let her go. Zarah didn’t have to be a military genius to know this was her one shot. She deduced that there wasn’t enough space to open the door and make it through with his body pressing hers against one door and the shorter assailant leaning against the other so she decided to make a break for the closet. At least that would give her time for her guard to come and save her.

“KASIM!” 

She screamed as loud as her vocal cords would allow. She didn’t look back to see if they heard her. Zarah made it to just past the couch before she felt a rough grip on her arm. She tried to loosen his grip on her as they struggled against the arm of the couch.  

“I… see… you want us to do this the hard way,” he struggled out as they fought. He used his free hand to strike her, the force of it caused her to tumble sideways to the floor and tip over the glass coffee table.. She let out a few coughs as her body reacted to the impact of hitting the floor.

Zarah refused to stop fighting and yelled yet again for her guards. She didn’t understand where Kasim and Mosi were, why they weren’t running to her rescue but she couldn’t dwell on it. Her hands went behind her and she pushed herself onto her hands and feet to crawl backwards away from her attacker. She didn’t make it far, his hand enclosed on her ankle and dragged her back toward him. She cried out in pain as he drug her over the broken shards of glass now littering the floor. Next thing she knew he was on top of her, both his hands closed around her forearms, forcing her into the ground. She thrashed and kicked, tried to buck his body off of hers but nothing worked. She let out another scream that quickly became muffled as a set of hands forced a wet cloth over her mouth. She was forced to breath in the disgusting taste of whatever liquid they dosed it in.  

Zarah knew immediately that all hope was lost. Whatever chemical she just breathed in, she could feel its effects immediately. She suddenly felt weak, too weak to continue her thrashing movements beneath him. The weight and pressure of the body above her was suddenly gone but all of her limbs still felt heavy as she tried to move. Zarah felt her body lifted into one of their arms as they moved. Her head fell back as the drugs started to affect her vision and tether to the conscious world. The last thing she saw before her eyes fell closed was the body of one of her guard’s on the ground, slumped outside her door.

The men made quick work of placing her unconscious body in a body bag, exiting the Lodge and loading her into a cart waiting at the back of the Lodge. They rode quietly through the mountains. They stopped once to pick up two men who were waiting at the edge of the Jabari territory. The men would have looked odd to any onlookers, their oversized clothes covered in soot.

As she lay in the back of the cart, the world was completely oblivious to the state of the Jabari’s chieftess. Jabari boarded up their windows to prepare for the storm, her husband loaded up his guard to head home and her brother finally wrapped up his work day three stories below her bedroom in the Lodge. Everyone was completely unaware of the plan that was just set into motion by five foot soldiers.

***

In a corner of the mountains just outside of the Jabari territory, a man sat reciting his evening prayers at his desk when he heard a knock at his door. He let out a grunt.

“I asked not to be disturbed. Leave me, now!” He yelled at the unknown person behind his door.

“My lord, it is urgent! They have her,” the voice called back to him, the excitement in his voice was undeniable.

His head snapped up, his eyes gleamed with anticipation. His chair let out a loud screeching noise as he stood up quickly, almost ripping his door of its handle to face his assistant.

“What?”

The man was breathless, having run through the compound to tell his master the news. 

“They have her. She just arrived. It is time.”

The man couldn’t believe it. Years of planning for this moment and it was finally here.

He grasped hands with his most faithful and devoted servant. 

“Yes, yes, it is.”

****

Tags: @muse-of-mbaku @dawva @great-neckpectations @destinio1 @missmohnique

[hoes4bangtan]

Remember Me | Part 0.5

Pairing: pjm x reader

Genre: lots of angst, fluff, eventual smut

Word count: 3,159

Summary: After being in an accident and being in a coma for months, you finally wake up. But you don’t remember this stranger next to your bed, — even when he claims he’s your one and only: Park Jimin.

(Snippet of) Life in Death

Life with Y/N in a coma

* ✦ . ⁺ . *

Your head was hurting so much. The talking of the doctors and nurses didn’t help your situation either. All day you heard them talked about you like you weren’t there. It gave you a sense of not belonging. As if you could be detached from the world with the flip of a switch.

You were ready.

I mean you felt ready…

Were you?

As you gathered strength, you thought about your life. You had already re-told your entire life more than a dozen times. You were getting tired of it.

Your name is Y/N L/N from [Hometown]. You moved to Seoul a little over two years ago to study. You were in the second semester of your third year of college. You want to become an author and permanently move to Seoul. Your closest friends are Albina Vanin and Lee Gael.

Albina is another foreign student at your university. She’s the very first person that talked to you. She’s a year older than you, social and quite open to people. As a matter of fact, she was the one that walked up to you confidently, asking you questions left and right. If you’re being completely honest, she made you uncomfortable in the beginning, but now you’re best friends. She had another best friend, Lee Gael, who she introduced you to one day in the dining hall.

Lee Gael is one of the nicest boys you’ve ever met. One of the most handsome as well, his features resembling those of a Disney prince. He was born in Seoul to a Korean father and a Spanish mother, and for majority of his life, he’s lived in Korea, except for that time when he lived in Spain with his grandmother for a year and a half. Since the first time you approached him in the dining hall, you’ve had a small crush on him. That crush only intensified when he started to show interest in you, bringing you flowers and buying you chocolates every chance he’d get. When he asked you on a date, you were over the moon. Now, it’s been 11 months, and you’ve created a beautiful and serious relationship. During this time, the only actual flaw you can give Gael is his jealousy and even then, he is still perfect.

A big throbbing in the side of your head, just above your ear. Out of reflex, you try to reach up to relieve some of the pressure but you find that you still cannot move.

Try again, Y/N. Try. Are you going to leave your family alone? Your friends? Gael?

C’mon.

Do it for him.  

Dark bags reside under Jimin’s sunken eyes. The guilt has been eating at him, swimming around in his head and following the blood stream down his body. It fills up his stomach, allowing him to go days on end without food. It doesn’t let him sleep. Haunting and devilish, it’s like Jimin is living in a nightmare especially designed to make him suffer. His reality is one he cannot escape, transcending into his unconsciousness.

His hair is matted and tangled, skin sickly pale, muscles just slightly deteriorated from all the time he’s spent sitting down next to her hospital bed. His clothes fitting a little bigger than they used to before, and he has to wear a belt now to stop his pants from falling down. He’s always tired. Oh, so tired, all the damn time.

He was broken. He is broken.

Completely shattered and utterly useless. He tries to make himself useful by bathing her and assisting her nurses as much as they let him. He had become a slave to his guilt. Free falling into endless darkness he is sure no one can pull him away from. He’s in too deep now for anyone to reach him, no one’s hands long enough to grab him and pull him up.

Most mornings he would open his eyes to see her face being kissed by the sun, her face glowing beautifully. Not today. The sky was gloomy, dark clouds unapologetically covering the sheening sun. The wind rattles with the trees, playing with the sticks and teasing the leaves. The hospital smelled of antibiotics and disinfectant and chemicals, as it always did. The quiet steps of the nurses, doctors, staff, and patients every once in a while.

Y/N used to love the rain. From the inside, not the outside, she would always explain. She would take a book, whatever she was in the mood for, and make herself whichever hot beverage, though hot chocolate was her preferred one. He loved laying in her stomach as she read the book, sometimes out loud for him to hear. Admiring her, from the tip of her nose to the end of her eyelashes to the base of her neck and the start of her collarbone. She was and will always be beautiful. He hated to admit it, but he was losing hope — had been for some time now. He long accepted his fate as well.

“Some patients are complaining about you,” Eunbi, a nurse with dyed orange hair and pierced nose stood by the door, “You should probably get a shower, your friend brought a different pair of clothes for a reason, didn’t he?”

Yoongi-hyung and Taehyung-shi were often in the hospital with him. They, together with Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, and Jungkook had become close friends with Y/N. Every few days, Namjoon would come and check up on Y/N and him, though his job didn’t permit him to come by as often. Every single time Seokjin would come by, he’d order the kitchen staff to get him the best food there is. Everyone there knows him, some trying their best to hide their distaste, while others outwardly show it. He only wanted the best for his brother. Hoseok is a lawyer, and he’s been trying nonstop to put whoever did this to his family in jail. Finding the guy was the easy part, the car being found within the first two hours of the hit and run, under the name of a rich businessman. The man paid bail and was out in the streets after a couple of hours, and now it was up to Hoseok and Y/N’s mother to fight for justice. Jimin hadn’t seen Hoseok in a few days, and thank God he hasn’t seen his mother-in-law in just as long. Jimin didn’t like to deal with those sorts of things, he simply thought Y/N was much more important, his mind much too occupied with her well-being.

Jungkook only went to visit once, when Y/N had been admitted into the hospital. He hated hospitals. He especially hated seeing Y/N like this, in a bed hooked to machines, barely breathing. The only way to not feel the sinking feeling in his stomach is by not seeing her, and so, he never went. Jimin hasn’t seen the boy in months, and though he should feel bitter that he isn’t present in such a moment in his and Y/N’s life, he understands that some people deal with hardships differently. The only difference between him and Jungkook was that he didn’t want the last time he saw Y/N to be in her funeral.

“I will not permit it.”

“Mr. Park, please, understand—,” the doctor tried to reason with the shaken man.  

“No, you will not be taking my wife off life support and no, you will not be taking her organs.” Jimin abruptly shakes his head, his heart thumping heavily in his chest, and hands shaking uncontrollably. No, they won’t take her from him. “That’s my final answer.”

“We cannot begin to understand what you must be going through, but please, give some consideration to the other people who she can save.” They want to let her die. They don’t think she’ll wake up. She will though. She has to.

“She will wake up,” Jimin says with his last bits of hope, “She will, she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever meet.” He stands tall in front of Y/N’s bed, serving as a protective guard dog. His head is high, once again the confident man he portrayed himself as before any of this had happened.

“I’m sure she is, but her assessment of potential recovery is too low for us to be confident that later, at some point, she will wake up.” The sympathy is clear in the doctor’s eyes, she understands where Jimin is coming from, how broken he must feel. Her heart goes out to him. Though he’s caused some ruckus in her time with his vegetative wife, she cannot imagine a person who loves someone more than Jimin loves Y/N. “I will leave you now, but please, give it some thought.”

Once the doctor left the room, Jimin uninflated. Shoulders dropping, head lowered. His hands still slightly shaken from what felt like a confrontation, a test of his devotion to his wife, to her life. How much longer will he be able to continue like this? To keep up? How much longer until he can’t do it anymore?

Not much longer, no.

‘Let’s make it more interesting, shall we’ the universe seemed to be scheming, as it always did with him lately.

He was exhausted, — mentally, physically and emotionally. His thoughts were all jumbled up, but one question stood above every other thought: can she still wake up?

He finally decided to take that shower, not entirely for hygiene purposes but rather to wash away his fears. Jimin walked to the small bathroom in the room — a small rectangle consisting of a toilet, sink, a small circular mirror, and a shower.

In the beginning, people used to constantly tell him not to lose hope, to keep fighting. After a month, nurses would silently look at him, giving him smiles of sympathy, full of pity, though rarely any empathy. As more time passed, people seemed to lose any shred of hope they had left. This was the third time this week that they told him that he should disconnect Y/N out of life support and for the first time, he was beginning to believe what people have been telling him. She might not wake up. She would want to help others, but he doesn’t want randoms fiddling with her organs. He wants her to be at peace.

Jimin felt his chest closing in, contracting as he tried to let air in. He couldn’t take the beeping of the machine, white noise he was previously immune to. The peonies in corners of the room. The blank walls, white with yellow outlines. The sealed window in the farthest side of the room. He became suddenly hyper-aware of everything. After 6 months, he’s never felt more alone. His glass heart filled to the brim with hope breaking into thousands of pieces, all of its contents leaking out so quick he can barely register the change. He no longer saw the point in talking with Y/N, when that had been his favorite past time just yesterday. No longer seeing the point in reading the books he brought in the bookstore downstairs. No longer seeing the point in life. A life without her.

No.

Jimin, don’t do this to yourself. She can still wake up. Don’t listen to what the doctor said. Don’t listen to them. Don’t listen to them.

Don’t

Listen

To

Them.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Go buy another book. Read. She loves reading. She’ll like it. Maybe she’ll like it so much she’ll wake up from her nap and discuss it with you. Say how much she loved the characters. Or get the worst book possible, make her so angry she’ll just have to wake to assassinate the author of such a horrible book, disgusted with whoever decided to commit the heinous act.

Gathering his wits as much as he could, Jimin exited the small shower. Without looking into the mirror, he splashed his face with water and with the towel, he dried both his tears and the tap water. He dried his body, changed into his clean clothes. He strode to the door leading to the hallway and closed the door behind him, silently as if to not disturb her when he wanted the exact opposite.

In-patients walk around in their hospital gowns, while a few sit with their visitors. Today was Saturday, and many families took this day to visit their family member without the worry of missing a day of work or school. Kim Minho was one of the patients, an older man with a daughter in intensive care for leukemia. He and Jimin would often play chess together in the recreation room, or sometimes just sit together in front of a window, simply talking about their lives. About Y/N, about Minho’s daughter. Everything, really. Minho was a dear friend, positive even when his daughter, Gayoon, doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

30 steps to get to the elevator, 50 to the bookstore. He was in and out quickly, considering one particularly uneventful evening he took the liberty of going through every single shelf and compiling a list of books that Y/N would love to read.

When he stepped out of the elevator on Y/N’s familiar floor, the first thing he noticed was the commotion in the usually almost-completely quiet halls. Involuntarily, his heartbeat quickened. Nurses rushed by, families staring while completely stiff as if someone had yelled “Freeze!” only their eyes betraying them from being the next champions of the old Mannequin Challenge.

“Someone page Dr. Yejin!” Jimin heard one of the nurses yell. That’s Y/N’s doctor.

His heart dropped. His feet were cemented to the floor, heavy and he had no control whatsoever. Time slowed. He found that he no longer had enough strength to hold onto the newly purchased paperback, legs buckling in place. His face paled even more, and he could feel the blood draining from his head, the oxygen leaving his body but not enough coming back in. He was getting dizzy. Ears ringing, empty palms sweating, eyes clouding, balance lacking. Disoriented and terrified, Jimin stood in the hallway three doors away from the source of chaos. Exactly 30 steps away.

Jimin barely registered the ring of the elevator, but as Dr. Yejin rushed past him, her eyes briefly meeting his, he fell from whatever cloud he was laying in simply to land harshly in the cruel human world.  

What the fuck is he doing, just standing there?

Go to Y/N.

NOW.

His feet started running without his consent, carrying in the direction of room 413 and past Dr. Yejin, who was speed walking, almost jugging. Too slow, Jimin reasonably thought even with his mind in the state that it was.

He didn’t bother stopping to look inside, he dove into the chaos, practically running over everything and everyone who got on the way between him and his love. Jimin takes hold of Y/N’s hand, focusing on her twitching face. Her hand shook out of his hand, making Jimin want to grip her hand firmly — and he would have if it hadn’t been for the nurse yelling at him not to touch the patient. How was he not supposed to touch her?

“Okay, so someone tell me what happened,” Dr. Yejin demands as she walks through the door, making quick work of putting sterile gloves. He watched Y/N helplessly, as the nurses rotated her to her side, and placed a pillow below her head for support. He tried to move forward to help hold her on her side, but the nurses glared at him not to. Was he really going to watch Y/N die right in front of his eyes?

Eunbi, a new nurse at the hospital, responds, “I was coming to check her vitals, but when I came, her ventilator was off, and I thought that Mr. Jimin had decided to disconnect her, but then she started having a seizure.” Voice trembling but firm. She was yet to be brave enough to speak up in front of the doctor, even after working there for more than 2 months. Jimin seemed to shrink into himself, just like Eunbi in this very moment, when the nurses demanded him to stop trying to get close to Y/N. He walked to the far corner of the room, next to a vase of peonies, and watched the scene before him unfold. In the hospital bed: his dying wife giving her last breaths.

“Alright, Nurse Eunbi, get the blood sample, check for blood count and glucose.” Dr. Yejin turns the information given by Eunbi in her head. “What are her vitals? And for God’s sake, someone get neurology in here.”

“Doctor, her heart rate is dropping.”

“Start CPR, Dr. Jaeho. Nurse Haeil, defibrillators to 200 joules.” Y/N’s doctor demanded as she lifted the woman’s hospital gown, a new one that Jimin had changed her into earlier in the day.

“200 joules.” Echoed the named nurse.

Y/N’s heart rate was decreasing by the seconds, and the electric shock didn’t help in the slightest.  

“Up to 300 joules.” The doctor went for the second round of shocks. The familiar pressure of eyes on her, as she tried to save the life of the woman in the bed.

“300 joules.”  

Nothing. The heart monitor veered into a lone line of death, symbolizing the worst fear of her husband. Jimin had been escorted out of the room by one of the nurses, but he could still peer inside from the small window in the door. He could hear the long beep, the absence of a rate, no contracting.

No.

He slammed his fist into the door, yelling for the doctors and nurses to open the door, to let him in. They didn’t. As a matter of fact, it was as if he wasn’t even there. Two staff members took him by the arms, taking him away from the thing he was already losing: his home. He felt her sliding right through his greedy fingers, into the floor and becoming a mush of nothingness. They can’t take her away. They just can’t.

“Don’t stop CPR! Up to 360 joules.” Inside, desperation was in the air. None of them wanted Y/N to die, they all had become very well acquainted with her and her husband’s story. It would be a tragedy, not only in the sense that every death is a tragedy. No, if anything, this story had to be one of the saddest story they ever have been a part of.

“360.”

Still nothing.

“Doctor, we need to declare a time of dea—”

“Not yet! Up to 380.” Recharging the defibrillator, the doctor was ready for the next round.

“But Doctor—”

“Do it.” With ferocity in her eyes, Dr. Yejin was willing to risk everything to not have this woman die and make her husband suffer more than he already has. She wanted to tell him that she tried everything she could, and that — she wanted to be genuine.

“380 joules.”