#i can be a force of nature with that deck if luck decides to be on my side u_u

[gamedevjourney]

Creating My Paper Prototype!

My paper prototype, which I will tentatively call Pushing Your Luck after its core mechanic, is primarily a card game that utilizes a standard 52 card playing deck, a checkered board, and 2 pieces representing the two players. Players face off against each other with the goal of pushing the other player's piece off of the checkered board. To do this, players draw hands of 5 cards and "duel" by simultaneously placing down cards. Whoever has the highest value card, wins the duel and their opponent is forced to move in the direction of the card's suit. Diamond means up, heart means left, spade means down, and club means right. There are also special cards like Queens and Aces which have special effects. Additionally, there is a shop feature where players can trade their hand for new cards at the end of their turn.

As alluded to before, "Pushing Your Luck" is the main mechanic of my game and it's baked into nearly every aspect. Players can decide to "push their luck" by saving all their good cards in the end or using them all immediately. They have no idea what their opponent could play so they could be wasting a really good card, or wishing they had used it a lot sooner. The shop mechanic also forces players to test their luck because of the "dispute" feature where both players bid over a card, but both players end up losing all the offered cards by the end. Through this dispute feature, players have the potential to benefit in many ways such as: earning a very good card, preventing their opponent from earning a very good card, or simply refreshing their hand for their next turn. However, if they lose the bidding, they could lose everything they bid and their opponent can still walk away with an amazing card.

Here are 3 of my most notable play logs which influenced the changes I made to my game.

Game 1: In this first game, each player had 3 cards in a hand and the directions of each suit differed: Diamond - North; Heart - South; Spade - East; Club - West. From this first test, I learned that the game would be more fun if players had a larger hand to better strategize and chain their moves. With a hand of 5, players could think more turns ahead and save their best valued cards and suits to the end. I also noticed how hard it was to remember what direction each suit matched to, so I rephrased the rules to be the current directions (up, down, left, right) instead of cardinal direction. With the direction changes, black piece would naturally want black cards since black cards would push the opponent down or right which would be the closest path to pushing off the opponent. Likewise, the red piece would naturally want red cards.

Game 2: In my second game, players had 5 cards and the directions are what they are now. From this playtest, I realized I needed to abolish my turn counter rule which stated that "the board would become 1 unit smaller at the end of every 6th turn." I decided to abolish this rule because I kept forgetting to count the turns and the games were ending rather quickly to need the rule. I also noticed that my sister wasn't utilizing the shop because there would be times when there wasn't anything useful for her to buy. So I created the rule that the least value card in the shop would be discarded and replaced with a new card at the end of every drawing phase.

Game 3: In this game with my friend, we implemented new, engaging rules for how to settle disputes in the shop. Originally, whoever won the last round gets shopping priority, but my friend had the idea that players can bid for the card. Both players can put facedown any number of cards. Then we flip them 1 by 1, and whoever has the greatest total value by the end wins the card. Both players must discard the cards they bid with. I think this is a much more fun, engaging feature that compliments the "push your luck" mechanic.

So far, I am very proud of my game and I think it's very fun!

Game 1:

I was the red piece and my sister was the black piece.

Both players draw 2 cards.

3 cards are placed in the shop: 2 of clubs, 4 of hearts, queen of spades.

I get a 2 of diamonds, 7 of diamonds, and a queen of hearts.

I put down my 7 of diamonds face down and she puts down her card.

We flip. She has a king of clubs.

I move to the right by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 3 cards.

Difference Rule: The difference between the cards was 6 so I draw an additional card.

I got a king of diamonds and an 8 of spades.

I put down my king of diamonds face down and she puts down her card.

We flip. She has a jack of spades.

She moves up by 1.

Jack Rule: I give her a card matching the jack’s suit: my 8 of spades.

I have 3 cards already so I don’t draw. She draws.

I got a 3 of clubs.

I put down my 2 of diamonds face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 8 of spades.

I move down by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 3 cards.

Difference Rule: The difference between the cards was 7 so I draw an additional card.

I got an 8 of hearts and a 6 of spades.

I put down my queen of hearts face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 8 of spades.

Queen rule: Despite the card’s suit, I can choose any direction and I choose up.

She moved up by 1.

I have 3 cards already so I don’t draw. She draws.

I trade in my 8 of hearts and my 6 of spades for the queen of spades.

I put down my 3 of clubs face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 6 of hearts.

I move down by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 3 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has a 10 of clubs.

I got a 9 of spades and a 8 of diamonds.

I put down my 8 of diamonds face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 5 of diamonds.

She moves up by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 3 cards.

I got a queen of spades.

I put down my queen of spades face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 9 of clubs.

Queen Rule: Despite the card’s suit, I can choose any direction and I choose up.

She is pushed off the board and I win!

Game 2:

I am the black piece. My sister is the red piece.

Both players draw 5 cards.

3 cards are placed in the shop: 6 of spades, 4 of hearts, king of spades.

I got a 9 of spades, 3 of spades, ace of diamonds, 10 of clubs, and a jack of clubs.

I put down my 9 of spades face down. She puts down a card.

We flip. It’s the 9 of diamonds. 

It’s a tie so we both move. She moves up by 1. I move up by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

I got a 10 of hearts. 

I put down the 10 of clubs facedown. She places a card.

We flip. It’s a king of hearts.

I move left by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

I got a 7 of spades and a 10 of hearts.

I trade in my 10 of hearts and 3 of spades for the king of spades.

I put down my 7 of spades face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 6 of diamonds.

She moves down by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has a 3 of hearts.

I got a 2 of spades and a 4 of spades.

I trade in my 2 of spades and 4 of spades for the 6 of spades.

I put down my 6 of spades face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has a 8 of hearts.

I move to the left by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has a 7 of hearts.

I got a queen of spades.

I put down my queen of diamonds face down and she puts down a card.

We flip, She has a jack of diamonds.

Queen rule: despite my card’s suit, I can choose any direction. I choose down.

Jack rule: despite losing, I must give her a card of the same suit (diamond). I give her my 8 of diamonds.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

I got an ace of clubs.

I put down my king of spades face down and she puts down a card.

We flip. She has the 5 of diamonds.

She is pushed off the board and I win!

Game 3:

I am the black piece. My friend is the red piece.

Both players draw 5 cards.

3 cards are placed in the shop: 2 of spades, Ace of spades, king of spades.

I got a 6 of clubs, queen of hearts, 3 of spades, 10 of hearts, and king of clubs.

I try to buy the king of spades, but my friend also wants to buy it. Current rules state that the person who won the last round has priority, but there hasn’t been a round yet. My friend and I come up with the current “dispute” rules to handle the shop and we implement it from this point on.

Both players put down any number of cards face down.

I put down my 10 of hearts, 3 of spades, and 6 of clubs.

He puts down 4 of his cards. 

We flip one card at a time. His total is 34 and mine is 19.

I noticed that he bidded with all black cards which are useless to him. A strong strategy for getting rid to make room for better cards.

He wins the king of spades.

We now duel.

I put down my king of clubs face down. He puts down a card.

We flip. He has a 7 of diamonds.

He moves to the right by 1.

I realized that I had wasted my king because I thought he would put down his newly acquired king.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

Difference Rule: The difference between the cards was 6 so he draws an additional card.

The shop refreshes and now has a 7 of hearts. The 2 of spades is replaced with a jack of hearts.

He trades a 5 of spades, 3 of clubs, and ace of clubs for the jack of hearts.

Then he trades a king of spades for the 7 of hearts.

We now duel.

I put down my 10 of spades facedown. He puts a card down.

He has the king of hearts.

I move to the left by 1.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has a 10 of clubs and a jack of diamonds. The ace of spades is replaced with a 10 of diamonds.

We dispute over the jack of diamonds.

I put down a 4 of diamonds, 4 of clubs, 2 of diamonds, and a 9 of hearts facedown.

He puts 2 cards facedown.

We flip one card at a time. His total is 16 and mine is 23.

I win the jack of diamonds.

We now duel.

I put down my jack of diamonds facedown. He puts down a card.

We flip. He has a hack of hearts.

It’s a tie. We both move. I move left by 1. He moves up by 1.

Jack rule: We both have to give a card of the corresponding suit to the other. He gives me his ace of diamonds. My only heart card is my queen so I give him that.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has a 2 of clubs. One of the 10 of diamonds is replaced with a 5 of hearts.

I got a 9 of clubs, 2 of hearts, 6 of hearts, and jack of spades.

I buy the 10 of clubs with my 9 of clubs and 2 of hearts.

I put down my jack of spades facedown. He puts down a card.

We flip. He has a queen of hearts.

I move to the left by 1.

Jack Rule: he gives me his 7 of spades.

We discard the played cards.

We both refill our hands to have 5 cards.

The shop refreshes and now has an ace of hearts. The 2 of clubs is replaced with a queen of clubs.

I got a 10 of clubs, 7 of spades, 3 of diamonds.

We dispute over the queen of clubs.

We both put down all of my cards. He beats me with a value of 34.

He wins the queen.

I am a fool and have no cards left. He puts down the queen and I lose.

[inherhouseshewaitsdreaming]

Queen of Coins

I'm going to be posting daily prompts to inspire writing, art or journaling. Use these as you would like to help keep your creative practices moving.

Key words/ideas:

self-made wealth

nurturing success

the abundance of nature

Some thoughts that occur to me:

A character who is connected to nature achieves success that is normally its opposite. How does she achieve this without compromising her morals?

In Rumpelstiltskin the titular character can spin straw into gold. Make a magic system based on this concept. How would a world in which this can happen be shaped by it?

Imagine a future where wealth is based on the abundance of nature in a positive way. Who is the ‘queen’ in this world?

A character has been carefully raised to succeed at something. What is it? How do they feel about it?

Note that cards are drawn at random and may be drawn more than once. In that case I will repost with an additional idea. I am going to cap the number of repeats at 3 until I’ve been through the whole deck, but other than this I let the luck of the draw decide. Coming up with more ideas for the same card will force me to be more imaginative and its something I strongly recommend.

[cyberphuck]

omg three card spread for me, please!! I'm curious about my physical health.

(note: I'm using this deck but using images of the Rider-Waite tarot because dad is watching tv right now and I don't want to use the flash on my phone and blind him.)

Card one: The Empress

The Empress represents nature, fertility, and nurturing. It can also indicate a mother figure, or a caretaker (either you, or someone else in your life). After establishing what it wanted to talk to you about, the deck coughed up...

Card two: VIII of Swords

The Swords suit is pretty volatile; it tends to indicate strong emotions and feelings, some good (intellect! leadership!) and some not so good (betrayal! crippling anxiety!). The VIII of Swords stands for a feeling of powerlessness, of being trapped, and feeling like there's no way forward. But it also hints that you might have put yourself here, and only you can find the way out.

Card three: IV of Wands (reversed)

When upright, this card talks about harmony and good feelings, and a reward at the end of a long day of work. Congratulations, yours is reversed, which means that there's a lack of communication, a lot of tension and instability, especially when it comes to personal relationships. You've put a lot of effort into a project and gotten basically nothing out of it, or you showed it to your loved ones with little fanfare. Your family doesn't feel like a family right now-- it feels like a burden. So, you asked for a reading on your physical health, but as usual, the deck decided we were talking about this now. It really looks like you're having some trouble with your family members, particularly your mom or some other mother-like individual. She's being a pain but you have no idea what to do about it-- it seems there is nothing you can do about it, and the whole situation surrounding her is causing no end of tension and bickering in the rest of the family. Out of curiosity (and because I felt bad leaving it at "that sounds like it sucks, good luck), I drew one more card, asking what you should try to do to fix things.

Temperance is exactly what it says on the tin: it represents balance, patience, and moderation. Looks like the deck is encouraging you to take the middle path, place your feet carefully, and try to be a little more patient-- not just with your family but with yourself. Quit trying to force things to go faster, or you're going to crack the engine block.

[want a free three-card reading? send me an ask.]

[cyborg-franky]

i love your yandere stuff so much!!

could you possibly do a yandere fic for Kid or Marco?

THANK YOU - I enjoy writing yandere!

I decided to go with Marco because -gestures vaguely- Marco.

Marco x GN Reader SFW YANDERE THEMES TW: forced dislocation/body trauma Word Count: 942

“A stowaway huh?” Marco looked down at you from your pained position on the deck, his hands on his hips as he gave you the once over. Your arm was in pain, you’d dislocated it from your fall, attempting to climb higher to avoid being spotted.

How did you end up on one of the most notorious ships of all time? Luck never was on your side a fact that was well and truly proven when the man with one of the highest bounties on the Grandline was now smirking down at you with a lazy expression.

“I didn’t do anything” You pleaded, trying to appeal to his better nature, did pirates even have that? You thought bitterly to yourself.

“You mean other then sneak aboard our ship yoi?” He tsked, the sound implying he was annoyed with your futile attempts at pleading your innocence, though his face remained the same.

He grabbed your bad arm and you let out a pained shriek, marching you to his office before anyone could see, the commander threw you through the door, you landed painfully on your back, staring at the celling seeing medical charts hung up above you. You felt dizzy from the pain in your arm, the rough treatment.

Hearing the door lock behind him you forced yourself to sit up, tears pricking your eyes as you clutched your shoulder, where the pain was at its worst.

Marco tilted his head to the side, his eyes focused on the way you held yourself. He said nothing as he sat down on the chair, long legs crossed, arm leaning on the desk to prop himself up with. You felt like a little mouse under the gaze of a hawk, you guessed that was a stretch given his zoan powers.

“Has my little bird got a broken wing yoi?” You frowned, scooting across the floor to try and avoid his gaze, his expression hadn’t changed, it was concerning and unnerving to say the least.

“You’re the ships doctor right?” an assumption you made from the way the room was laid out, the posters, the books, the mountain of paperwork at the man’s side. “Can’t you help me?”

“And why should I help you? Yes, I am a doctor but you aren’t part of my crew, what do I exactly owe you?” He hummed softly when you couldn’t come up with a reason he should help you.

“Please?”

“Oh, little bird, I like that voice, it suits you perfectly” Marco’s face changed, ever so slightly, his eyes getting darker, the lazy grin took on a more twisted quality.

“Say it again baby bird”

“Please… please help me”

“Again”

You didn’t indulge him this time, something wasn’t right in this man’s head and playing into his hands wasn’t going to do you any favours. He sighed, disappointed you’d given up on trying to convince him to show you some compassion.

Marco stood up from his seat, walking towards you, you scuffled as far as you could, hindered by the screaming pain of your shoulder, back hitting the wall. He crouched down, no less intimidating. He reached out, a finger under your chin making you stare at him.

“Honestly baby bird” He started and made your head turn from side to side, examining your face, deciding he liked what he saw “It’s in your best interest to keep me amused or I can find other ways of entertaining myself”

“W-what do you mean?” Your voice came out as croak, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I could break you and fix you over and over until you are nothing but a mess yoi” He moved his hand from your face, blue flames erupted from his palm, lighting up the dimly lit space, how they cast an eerie glow on his face, he looked intimidating, shadows dancing on the walls behind him.

He placed his hand on your shoulder, the warm pleasant feeling causing the pain to stop, your shoulder felt like it had clicked into place, the horrid feeling of being broken faded away. You wriggled your fingers; it didn’t send pain shooting up your arm anymore.

You were about to thank him when he adjusted himself, a hand in the right place, gripping your arm, he pushed, pulled, and the pain was back, you cried out, the bastard had dislocated it again. You tried to be brave, but the panic was taking over your entire body, tears started to fall form your eyes and you desperately tried to shut them.

“Will you beg me now, little bird? Want me to fix your broken wing?” The blue fire appeared once more. Your chest heaved, your breathing untamed, ragged as a sob broke out “F-fuck you!” you managed through grit teeth.

“Oh, shame”

Once again, he healed you, just to do the same. You hadn’t recovered from the shock of the first violent attack from the blond. Tears ran down your face, you cried out, desperate for him to just stop, to leave you alone.

“One last chance or do you want me to make you singagain bird?”

“P..please” You swallowed your pride, this man was insane, getting off on your struggles, the pain that was clear on your face. You leaned your head back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing steady.

The flames of the phoenix healed you once more, a large hand on your head, ruffling your hair as he stood up. You sniffled pitifully to yourself as you watched him return to his desk. The same expression never leaving his face.

“You are going to be such a good pet yoi”

[marveicinematics]

sabbatical (steve x reader, smut)

Summary : In a universe where Steve Rogers kept his youth but gave his shield away to Sam Wilson, he takes a well deserved break with you, in a farm far away from New York.

Pairing : Steve Rogers x female reader.

Words : 1,650.

TW : Smut. Unprotected sex, rough sex, touching, dirty talk, oral (male receiving), massage.

Note : First time writing smut with Steve, who is one of my favorite character. Please, feel free to send in more MCU characters you would like to read smutty one-shot with, because I would love to try new things. Enjoy!

I’m open for request, just check the submit new stories button on my page. ♡

Two weeks had passed and both of you were still here, a smile on your face, and lighthearted. Maybe that was what life was meant to be. Since your boyfriend stopped being everyone’s Captain America and started being yours and only yours, you had never felt so good. Long nights without nightmares, moments of isolation — when he was under the shower or at the groceries — where you didn’t have to worry about people from other planets and other timelines attacking him, and hours of pure love, unbothered. Yes, you loved this sabbatical both of you decided to share.

As Steve was fixing the broken deck chair in the garden, you stayed in the kitchen cooking his favorite meal, staring at him through the windows. You must have been one lucky woman, you believed. How many people would have wanted this? Wanted Steve Rogers as their best friend, partner and lover? Possibly the whole country, yet here he was, with you. As he caught you looking through the window, a smirk appeared on his face, visibly amused by your actions.

“How long have you been checking me out?“ He asked when he entered the kitchen, five minutes later.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Steve.“

He chuckled, stepping closer to you to wrap his strong arms around your waist, resting against your back as he watched you cook.

“It smells good, as always.“

Steve loved complimented you, and you loved when he did so. Staying silent a couple of minutes, you took time to enjoy this simple moment of life, in the arm of the man you loved, as you finished preparing the meal. Turning off the heater, you turned around to face the strong blond man.

“You know, seeing you all sweaty fixing that chair was really hot. And feeling your body against mine isn’t helping me getting all those dirty thoughts away from my mind.“ Eyes filled with lust, you tilted your head only to stare at him for a second. You loved how puzzled he always seemed at first, when you were being inappropriate with him. It had been months now, but he still wasn’t use to how dirty your mouth could be.

"I’m glad I can turn you on without even trying, doll.“

Steve knew how much you loved this nickname, and how old-school it seemed, coming from your World War soldier. Pushing him away from your body, you forced him to rest his back against the counter, as your hands move to unbuckle his belt.

“I’m going to show you how much you turn me on, Steve.“

That smirk appeared on his face again, and you knew he was ready for it. Taking his pants and boxers down, you kneeled in front of him, giving him those good-girl eyes he liked so much. Your hand massaged his cock slowly, feeling it harden under your fingers slowly as you started pressing harder and moving up and down his shaft. Steve had always been reactive to your touch, and you loved it. Locking your eyes with his, you moved closer to give a lick at the tip, owning a groan from your man.

“Do you want me to suck you off, Captain? Do you want me to make you cum in my mouth?“ “Y-Yes !“ He was already diving into the pleasure your hand was giving him, as you pumped faster. Finally taking him into your mouth, you bobbed your head up and down, making sure your lips were giving him enough suction to making him moan your name in pleasure. He loved it. Taking his cock off your mouth to catch your breath, your hand moved faster to wank him.

“Steve, you better cum in my mouth, okay? Tell me I’m going to make you feel so good that you won’t be able to take it anymore.“

“It feels awesome, doll. Please, don’t stop..!“

And it was enough for you to dive back, cock buried deep inside your mouth as he started bucking his hips to meet your thrusts.

“Fuck, I’m.. close..“ He moaned in pleasure, legs shaking from the pleasure your lips and mouth were giving him.

Making sure you would help him reach his orgasm, you deepthroated him, and he climaxed crying your name out. The feeling of his hot seed in your mouth made you moan, well aware of how wet you had grown while going down on him. You swallowed every drop of his cum, cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand as you stood back up.

“That is not how I expected the day to start, baby.“ Steve said, pulling his pants back up.

You chuckled, kissing his lips before going back to preparing lunch for you and your lover. As the sun was shinning today, you decided to settle everything down under the porch, on the wooden table. You loved how close you could feel to the nature, here. While you were eating, you took time to listen to the birds and the bees, and the sound of the wind in the trees, as Steve was taking time to admire the woman he wished to call his wife, someday.

“The food is great, baby. Thank you so much.“

You smiled again, loving the feeling of having a man that loved you for who you were, and that wasn’t underestimating who you were. You finished your plate and looked at your boyfriend for long minutes with a feeling of luck, again.

“Do you want to try this old deck chair, doll? I’ll take care of the cleaning.“

You chuckled and nodded. While Steve cleaned the table and the kitchen, you went to lay down in the chair, the sun caressing your skin softly. It was a pure moment of bliss. To enjoy the sunbeam, you took your shirt and jeans off, using your matching bra and panties as a sunbathing suit — it wasn’t like anyone else could see you, outside from Steve.

“Are you enjoying the sun, baby?“

Steve walked back towards you after fifteen minutes, with a soft smile on his face. You nodded again, moving to the side to make room for him by your side. Despite his rather big and strong figure, he fitted, your body cuddling up against him. In a moment of tenderness, the blond soldier grazed your skin, rubbing on the few spots on your back — he even earned a few moans from you. He massaged your shoulders and kissed the back of your neck, and just like in the kitchen, you started to feel a wet spot on your underwear, squeezing your legs together in hope that he wouldn’t notice.

“You’re okay, doll?“ He asked as he rubbed another spot on your back that made you moan.

“Don’t stop..“ You simply asked, eyes closed while you clenched your legs together harder.

Your boyfriend didn’t hesitate, massaging your back harder only to get you to moan for him again and again — it was becoming obscene to moan so loud when he wasn’t even touching you down there, you thought. Slowly, he moved his hands down to your hips, grabbing the hem of your underwear to take it off. “What are you doing?“

“Making sure my woman is satisfied.“ His husky voice made you shiver, and you felt him undoing his belt and pants again, pushing them down behind your back. When you tried to turn around, his strong hand maintained you in position, and you suddenly felt his cock slide between your ass checks a few times, making it harden.

“Oh, fuck—“ You moaned again as his cock finally found his way between your thighs, and then inside your core.

You clenched around him, his cock pulsating inside you, as you took a minute to adjust to his size. He already penetrated you so many times, but you always needed a minute to adjust to how big he was. Super soldier thing, you believed. He grabbed your breast with one hand, and started to thrust inside you, pulling your body closer at each of his push.

“Steve, god, you feel so good!“

Your back arched against him as he picked up the pace, feeling your wetness dripping on his cock and between your legs. You were soaked for him, and Steve loved it.

“Keep talking, doll.“ And so you did, interrupted by your moans of Steve’s groans, the pleasure building up for both of you.

“Fuck me harder, Steve! I love the way y—you’re taking me. You’re so big. Oh my… Steve, don’t stop!“

It seemed to arouse him more, and he turned both of you around before entering you again. Now on all fours, Steve behind you, you were glad this house was the only one in the forest, or else the neighbors would have been hearing the sound of his body meeting yours harder and harder, his hips slapping your ass each time he moved back in.

“I’m getting closer!“ You cried out, spreading your legs wider to feel him hitting that spot you loved.

When he did, you back arched again in pleasure, and you were nothing but a panting and moaning mess, close to reaching your orgasm on Captain America’s cock.

“Fuck! Steve, right there!“

He could feel you clench around his hard cock, knowing how close he was too. But he needed to make you come first, so he reached between your legs, massaging your clit with his strong fingers. There was nothing soft in his strokes, and that was exactly what you needed. You screamed in ecstasy, hips bucking against him as you came hard.

“Yes, —coming! Fuck, Steve, oh yes!“

Pulling out, your man grabbed his cock in his hand and gave it a few strokes before releasing his cum all over your round ass.

“Ah, fuck!“ He moaned loudly.

Once again, you thought about how lucky you were to be living away from any other human-being — you both were way too loud to have neighbors.

[hopeintheashes]

📝I looove the sweet, domestic/home-y sickfics, but I've also always kind of wanted to see your take on a sickBuck-in-the-field fic. Maybe he was feeling a little off, but some disaster happens -it's all hands on deck so, he jumps in (bc "a little cold isn't worth being a man down"). But then, something happens when they're out responding & Buck&Eddie get separated/lost from the group. Buck takes a turn for the worse & Eddie has to use his field medicine training to try to treat him best he can

Thanks for the ask! Things like field medicine are challenging for me because I don't know anything about field medicine... but basic first aid I can do. (I think. Please do not take this or any fic as me actually knowing what I'm talking about, lol.) So, here, have some illness + injury, with Eddie taking care of Buck in the field. :-) This was for the Follower Milestone Celebration. Prompts for that are now closed. Read it here or on AO3. Content note: discussion/description of wounds/wound care.

He could've called out today.

He shivers in spite of his long-sleeved uniform and the November sun and the steepness of the hill he's currently forcing himself to climb.

If he'd called out today, and someone else would've been called in. And it's Thanksgiving.

Well, not technically anymore, but when you work the kind of job they do, Thanksgiving falls on whichever day you've got off work. And for half the people on the other two shifts, that's today.

So no. He wasn't going to call out.

And hell, this isn't so bad. They'd been taking bets on which mall they'd be called to to deal with some Black Friday shopping-related disaster. Instead, they've been sent to look for two roommates who had, in a post-Thanksgiving fit of ambition, decided to hike a trail far above their experience level.

Or. To hike right off the trail, as the case may be.

God, he's tired.

They're out of sight of everyone else at this point; just him and Eddie following an old branch of the trail that's no longer maintained but that the hikers could have followed in their confusion. Dispatch has them on the phone, but their description of where they are sounds like every other square foot of the nature preserve.

His breath is tight in his chest. He's sweating, and shivering, and nauseous from exertion.

Eddie's focused, and steady, and looks like he's just strolling down the block.

Buck's next breath comes as a gasp, and his feet stutter to a stop of their own accord. Elbows on his knees. Trying not to heave. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

"Buck?" Eddie, doubling back, coming in close. Buck tries to wave him away. "You okay? What's going on?"

He gestures at himself, up and down, like that explains it all.

And maybe it does, because Eddie's sigh doesn't even contain a hint of surprise.

Buck looks up at that. "What?" Breathless. Hoarse.

"I knew it. Yesterday at dinner? You were too quiet." He's got a hand on Buck's back, and then on the backpack handle. Taking some of the weight. Buck almost drops in relief.

"I can be quiet." The words scraping his throat.

"No." The backs of Eddie's fingers brush over his forehead. Gentle and concerned and fond. "You can't."

It's Eddie's touch that does it, he thinks vaguely when he shivers hard, and then again, and again, and then things are a blur of Eddie taking off his backpack for him and setting it on the ground and helping him sit down beside it, and Buck protesting weakly and then not at all as he coughs and coughs.

"Shit," Eddie mutters, and Buck feels his eyes fill with involuntary tears.

"Sorry." Broken, barely heard. "I can—" He trails off. "Sorry."

"Shut up," Eddie says, but it sounds like you're okay, I've got you, and the first of the tears fall.

The radio crackles with the other teams checking in. No luck yet. They'd have to get special permission for a drone or helicopter because of the protected birds. Between the lack of immediate life-threatening injury and the fact that anyone who would usually approve these things is at home with their family, it's just them. On foot.

And the hikers, lost and scared, asking dispatch over and over, Are they coming? Are they almost here?

He stands up abruptly and Eddie makes a noise of protest and surprise. Buck hauls his backpack onto his shoulders. It weighs a million pounds. He's dizzy, off balance. He shouldn't've stood up so fast.

He has a stubborn streak a thousand miles long.

He starts down a dip in the path, Eddie scrambling behind, because he will not be the reason those girls don't get found.

He will not.

He will not.

He will not.

His lungs are spasming in a way that makes him feel sick and his head is spinning and all his muscles burn, but in the end, it's the gravel of the trail, loose like scree on the steepest downhill yet, that takes him out.

"Buck!"

He's flat on his ass, blinking in surprise, trying to take it all in.

"Buck." Footsteps closing in, slowing down. Eddie, hands hovering, looking him up and down. "Are you hurt?"

He opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it again. Is he hurt? Everything hurts. But that maybe isn't the answer Eddie wants.

"Buck." Gentle and close. Buck looks up at him, tears in his eyes again. Still. "Take a second, it's okay."

This bitten-off sob, which is fucking ridiculous, he is fine. He slipped on loose pebbles and landed on his butt. Like a five-year-old. He is fine.

His palms are stinging. He holds them up to get a look, and the blood doesn't quite compute. Blood, and gravel dug in deep, and the delicate curl of pale skin where it should be lying flat. Ow? He furrows his brow, and then something clicks. Ow.

"Oh," Eddie breathes, and his fingers are careful under Buck's hands, taking their weight. Then one hand supporting both of Buck's, and the other tracing over the damage, careful not to touch.

Something else clicks, and he starts to shake.

"Okay," Eddie says, steady and calm. "Hands. Got it. Anything else?"

Everything else. He pulls in a breath, which just makes him cough, turned into his shoulder as best he can while Eddie still holds his hands.

The movement is enough to bring one hot point of pain to the forefront, glowing through the fog.

"My…." He stops to swallow. Tries not to start coughing again. "My ankle." He gestures with his chin toward his right foot. "Rolled it on the way down." Or maybe rolling it had sent him down. Doesn't matter now.

"Hands and ankle." Still so calm. Then, when Buck's breath catches again and he has to bury his face in his shoulder again: "And that cough." His fingers are still gentle on Buck's hands. "And your fever." Passing both of Buck's hands back into one of his so that he can trace the backs of his fingers against Buck's temple. "Anything I'm missing?"

Buck shakes his head. Closes his eyes. Then, with the smallest hint of a smile: "I mean, my ass kind of hurts. But I think that's gonna be fine."

Eddie huffs a laugh, but he's already pulling out his phone to shine the flashlight onto Buck's palms to get a better look. "Okay. This part's not going to be fun." He carefully releases Buck's hands. "So let's take a look at that ankle first." Then, thoughtfully, looking around: "There's some shade right there, if you think you can make it before we take off your boot?"

Buck grits his teeth and nods, and then, with another nod, he's being pulled to his feet by the elbows, Eddie making sure not to run into his palms. A wave of nausea, sharp hot-cold, but he breathes through his nose and lets Eddie walk him down the hill. He tries to distance himself from the pain; to pretend that this is happening to someone else.

He feels every step.

Eddie sits him down on a rock in the shade. Unties and loosens his boot. Pulls it off as slowly as he can, but Buck still gasps. "Wiggle your toes?"

It sucks, but he can, and after some more unwelcome poking and prodding Eddie nods. "I'm guessing sprained." Buck nods numbly, because he knows what's coming next. "Let me wrap it, and then we'll start on your hands, okay?"

He nods again, because there is no alternative here. He can feel the need to cough building in his chest, and he hates it and dreads it and can't fight it anymore. Eddie braces him with a hand on his chest and the other on his back, rubbing slow circles as he gets his breath back. Buck slumps against him. The adrenaline of the fall is wearing off, and everything just hurts.

The crackle of the radio, and Buck has the sick realization that they're going to have to tell someone what happened.

Tell everyone what happened.

He groans quietly and Eddie shifts a bit so that he can get to his radio without making Buck sit up again.

"Cap?" Steady, steady. "We've got a bit of a problem here."

Buck closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him: the explanation, the worry, the planning, the "good luck."

The only upside of their current situation is that they have well-stocked medical kits, along with food and water and other supplies. But—

"What if the hikers need this stuff?"

Eddie looks up from where he's wrapping Buck's ankle. "They'll get whatever they need from whichever group finds them. Which, I'm sorry to say—" he secures the wrap— "won't be us."

"Right," Buck whispers. Eyes down.

Eddie pats his good ankle sympathetically, then rocks back on his heels. "You ready for this next part?"

"No."

Eddie doesn't fight him, just rubs his knee and then stands up. Stretches out his legs. Pulls the supplies he'll need out of the bag.

Buck swallows thickly and braces himself. "Okay."

"Okay?" Eddie's eyes search for his, and lock in, and he waits until Buck nods to say, "Okay."

Gloves on. Tweezers out. Bottle of saline solution. Packets of gauze for afterward.

"Your choice."

Buck hesitates for a second, then sticks out his right hand, the one that took the brunt of the fall.

There's something about the inside of you being exposed to the outside that is very unsettling indeed, but it's the saline running over those parts that should be inside but suddenly are not that trips his vasovagal response.

Eddie's hand is on his back and his head is between his knees and he's gagging; he's faint; he's shaking hard, whole-body tremors like an earthquake.

What was that earthquake, 7.1?

If there hadn't been the earthquake he wouldn't've met Ali.

That's a weird thought.

He hasn't thought about Ali in a while.

Ali-Taylor-Abby, thrown backward in time like your body against the seatbelt when the brakes get slammed.

Car crashes.

Chim, pinned. Chim, stabbed.

Maddie's blood in the white of the snow, in the white of the collar of his sheepskin coat.

Eddie, in the rain and the mud and the impossible odds. I thought I lost you.

I thought I lost you.

He retches again.

"Okay," Eddie's murmuring; "Okay, okay."

Hold onto that voice like a lifeline. Eddie's here, alive, in the air and the heat of the afternoon sun.

Buck tries to grasp for him, but that's a terrible goddamn idea right now, and Eddie stops him with a warning, shushing sound. "I'm right here."

Some kind of sound, frustration and sickness and fear, and then Eddie's smoothing his hair back again.

"I'm right here."

Eddie kicks dirt over the mess on the ground, and gets him to lie down in the shade a little ways away. Recovery position, just in case. Arm outstretched so Eddie can work on his hand.

It's sick, dizzying work. He can feel the tweezers digging out the rocks. He's panting with exhaustion, and pain, and the way the ground is rolling beneath him. Eddie is talking quietly. Mostly about Christopher.

It helps.

The first hand takes so long that the adrenaline fades, and then it's just sick awfulness, the fever magnifying every sensation and mixing them together until he's heaving again, bile and spit in the dry, dry dirt. Eddie's wrist meets his forehead, wiping away sweat with the cuff of his uniform shirt, blue-gloved hand angled carefully away.

"Sorry," he whispers, eyes closed tight. The headache that started yesterday on his drive over to Eddie's for Thanksgiving dinner is a vice grip now.

"You're okay," Eddie says, gentle, and Buck shivers and tears leak from his closed eyes, and the dig-dig-digging goes on and on.

More saline poured into the wound, the world spinning, and then Eddie's bandaging his hand. Buck lets his eyes flutter open, and Eddie gives him a little half-smile. "One down."

"Oh god." Under his breath.

"The other one's not as bad." Eddie gives his arm a squeeze, then sits back to check in on the radio. "They're gonna send an ATV," Eddie says, correctly guessing that Buck's tuned out the staticky chatter. "Once they find the girls." He tries to keep his tone light and hopeful, but Buck knows that means the timeline is still completely up in the air.

"Okay," he whispers, and holds out his other hand.

It goes faster, this time; less blood and fewer rocks and more of the skin intact, but it's still torturously slow. Eddie's telling him about Christopher as a little kid now, back before Buck met him. When he first discovered the wonder of creatures and planets beyond this time and place: dinosaurs and woolly mammoths and Mars and Jupiter and the asteroid belt.

And then both hands are wrapped and he's coughing weakly, curled in on himself for warmth, and Eddie's stripping off his gloves and repacking the first aid kits and the backpacks and coming around to sit behind him with his back against a rock.

"C'mere," he says, and Buck curls up with his head on Eddie's thigh, still shivering hard and coughing into the dirt. Eddie pulls out the space blanket covers him up. "Just for a little while," he says, and Buck nods, because he knows he has a fever, knows the air temp is perfectly fine; knows that medically, Eddie shouldn't be letting him trap all of his heat.

"Thank you," he says: for the warmth, for the comfort, for patching him up; for his endless patience and gentleness and everything else.

Eddie runs his fingers through Buck's hair, pausing with his palm on his forehead. "Think you could keep down some painkillers? For your hands, and your ankle, and to get that fever down?"

His palms and ankle and head are throbbing. He nods, and Eddie comes up with pills and water and half of a granola bar that Buck grudgingly eats.

"My throat hurts," he murmurs when all of that's done, half-asleep with Eddie's fingers still running through his hair. He shivers, but it's sporadic chills now, the space blanket doing its work. Amends, "Everything hurts."

"I know." Low and familiar and so perfectly Eddie."They're gonna find those girls, and then they'll come for us, and then we'll go get you patched up and then I'll take you home. My place," he clarifies before Buck can even contemplate going back to his empty loft, and then grins. Buck can hear it in his voice. "Christopher will take good care of you."

"Not as good as you." Slurred with sleep.

Eddie hums, and it sounds like agreement. "Sleep for a while. I've got you."

He does.

[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[shini--chan]

OKAY IMAGINE THIS - by some mirracle, s/o get teleported back in time to the pirate era and suddenly just drops from the sky as Antonio and Arthur are battling! Everything comes to a halt because a friggin woman fell from literally nowhere - Arthur is quicker and he captures s/o first, DEMANDING to know where she is from, how did she get here. Poor s/o tries to tell him the truth but it just isn't working. How stupid do you think Arthur is, huh?! He's not buying what you're selling love! (1/?)

Oh blazes, my dear. You’re trying to seduce me into writing a novel for you, correct. Well, not today (sadly) so I’ll be going ahead with my usual mixture of headcanons and snippets. Also, to everybody out there: Requests are still being accepted – I just can’t bring myself to close my ask box.

Also, I wanted to write Arthur’s and Antonio’s lines in an older English, but then I remembered what it was like having to read books from the 19th century for school and decided not to inflict the torture upon you.

Yandere Love Triangle: England vs Spain (Historical Pirate AU!)

As mentioned in the ask, you would be minding your own business, more or less, when you would suddenly be granted two of the wishes many harbour in their hearts: to time travel and have an adventure. Unfortunately for you, that wouldn’t happen with a forewarning and you wouldn’t have any chance to blend in. I wouldn’t say the battle would completely stop – with all the smoke and gunpowder and bangs going on only those close by would have a chance noticing.

Antonio was having a wonderful day. Yes, extremely wonderful. Life on the ship had been very good as of late, supplies running high and spirits even higher. They were reaching their climax now, with Spain showing England the business ends of sword and cutlas and cannon. It was a fitting sort of revenge being able to rob the lilly-livered bastard after he had stolen so much Spanish silver and gold.

The runt in question was baring his teeth and snarling like a cornered dog while their blades were interlocked, when Antonio heard a loud crash from behind England. It was probably just part of the ruckus of a sea battle, yet something – his fantastic intuition most likely – advised him to take a look. Of course, making the other combatant to move just how he wanted proved to be tricky, because Arthur had always been an uncooperative like blight and liked to fight dirty.

Yet he wasn’t a famed duellist for nothing. The sight that caught his attention when he got the opportunity to see it nearly caused him to lose an arm due to inattention. Men of both sides had briefly abandoned the battle to crowd around a failing figure that was desperately trying to free itself from a tangle of nets and torn sails. The onlookers whispered amongst themselves. The chorus of voices only grew louder when a very confused woman.

He found himself remarking: “It seems like you’ve finally started to develop a good taste in bed mates. Say, when did that happen, fishy. I always thought that you’d have luck to get a starved old tramp to warm your bed.”

“Shut up, Anthony!”, came the immediate reply, proving that the island nation wasn’t aware about what he was playing at. “Let’s not get on about you. Or should I tell your precious monarch about what you do in the stables when all the servants are gone?”

Pathetic little weasel. Enraged, Antonio brought the hilt of his sword down on that pale, cruel face and busted a pair of thin lips. “You should guard yourself from spreading lies, English pigdog. Or else the Almighty himself will smite you.”

Naturally, being the cunning demon he was, England used the opening Spain had provided him to barrel into him and send him flying overboard and into the sea.

That action would be quick to turn the tides, especially with so many men coming to aid their captain and help him out of water. This would result in Arthur then discovering you on his ship, probably when his first mate would rush to him and explain that a very strange women in a strange get-up had just suddenly appeared on the ship.

England would go and investigate and discover you surrounded by his crew, each of them having different responses to your presence and hence causing quite a commotion. He too would find you utterly alien – in your attire, in your mannerisms, even in your speech. But Arthur would be ever the pragmatic and reason that there would have to be another explanation to your appearance, one that doesn’t include miracles. But because he wouldn’t have either the time or the head space to deal with you at the moment, he’d have to thrown in the brig with strict orders to leave you alone. That would also be a way for him to torture you and force you to wallow in your worries and terrors.

The brackish water of the brig had long since made your feet wet, cotton soaks completely soaked through and chilling you. The stench it all emitted, and Arthur’s relentless questioning only further enhanced your discomfort.

He was prowling in front of your cage-like cell, like a tiger in the zoo. Only that he didn’t want to break out, rather that he was being continuously tempted to drag you out of your cell and onto the deck to be flogged for your insolence.

“At every turn you say to me that you’re from the future and that you don’t know how you came here”, he rehearsed the main points of your conversation with him. There had been a snarl on his face the whole time throughout the interrogation, his anger only making his voice curl tightly around the vowels and roll the r’s harder until you had to strain to understand him.

Mutely you nodded – you yourself had come to the conclusion that he understood you better when you kept your words simply, underlay them with gestures and expressions and spoke slowly.

In return, England shook his head and spat: “I do not believe you. Going backwards in time is impossible, it only goes forward.”

In any other situation you would have been inclined to agree with him. But you were living proof that there were glaring exceptions to that rule. Having unexpectedly landed in a long-gone era, you had first found yourself desperately grappling with your new reality. You had pinched yourself and read the letters on crates and barrel and closed your eyes and read them again to see if anything had changed – everything to assure yourself that you were dreaming.

You weren’t, nor had you taken any psychedelics, so this was painfully, gruesomely real. A fact that Arthur wasn’t excepting even with evidence right past the tip of his nose.

“Then how do you explain the ripped sails then? How do you explain my strange clothes?”, you questioned him. Then, after a brief pause, you asked: “How do you explain that I know who and what you are?”

You knowing that he was a personification of a budding Empire was a sore spot for him and made him even more suspicious of you. Something that was now backfiring on you.

He waved your words off with evident irritation and countered: “There are more reasonable explanation for all of that. That you’re a spy from a foreign country for example.”

Arthur would never cease with side-eying you and constantly be on the look-out for more logical explanations for your otherness. He would find them as well. Yet there would always be a little voice in the forefront of his mind nagging him that you are telling the truth and that he was wasting the opportunity of the millennia by blowing your words in the wind.

Those doubts would be the main reason he would keep you alive, along with his quest to extract the “truth” from you. However, there would be times when he would be tempted to fetch those thumbscrews from his quarters to see if you’d crack under pressure. Yet he would still restrain himself.

That wouldn’t mean your stay on his ship would be pleasant. You’d constantly be wet and cold, with rats crawling around the brig and your meals being a near inedible gruel that would be set aside for you.

Therefore, it would be an absolute relief when Spain would swoop in to rescue you. It would be an even greater wonder when he would actually listen to you and take into consideration what you would say.

“Tell me if I’ve got this right: In the future, you don’t send letters anymore that take months to reach another country. Instead, you send messages from small machines which the other person can read only after a few seconds, no matter how far away they are”, Antonio summed up what you had just cautiously explained to him.

You had been so shy when he had taken you aboard his vessel, so afraid he would just maltreat you like Arthur had. It had taken its time for him to convey that he was different from that godless brute, that he was civilized and patient. He wouldn’t disregard miracles and let them slip through his fingers. It had taken its own sweet time to coax you into telling the truth, but now you were sitting across him in his quarters, nodding enthusiastically.

“More or less, yes. There is a lot more to that, but that is the start of it”, you affirmed his words. You were relieved that you finally had somebody to talk to in this time were you previously had nobody. The food being served helped you weigh yourself into safety – fresh fruit and other perishable treats, an absolute luxury onboard a ship with a sizable crew. Indeed, you were becoming so comfortable with your host, your lifeline at this point, that you were betraying things about your future that you otherwise wouldn’t have.

And wasn’t yet about detail concretely concerning him, but you would both get there eventually. Spain was sure of that.

Meanwhile you didn’t notice the hungry gleam in his eyes when he purred: “Fascinating, my dear. What else can these things do?”

Being a Catholic, Antonio would be far more inclined to believe you on the time-traveling thing. He would also add two and two together on your strange clothes and their material, not to mention your different attitudes and behaviours and realise that you would be telling the truth. He would treat you kindly as a way of getting you to talk to him, eventually becoming the only person you could trust.

He would guard you jealously and ensure that you would only speak to him – having knowledge of the future would be a right he would reserve for himself alone. It would also cause him to become obsessed with you, keeping you in his quarters or leading you onto the deck at night for short walk. Of course, he would paint the whole isolating thing as he keeping you safe, saying that Arthur was after you.

The argument with Arthur would have far more validity then Antonio would even imagine. The wisdom that you don’t know what you really have until you lose it would be especially true in his case. It would finally dawn upon him that you were telling the truth the whole time and that would lead Arthur to beat himself up over it. A pursuit to recapture you would ensue.

Not to mention that it would make his blood boil to think that Spain would be courting you, persuading you to tell him everything he could ever want to know about the future. Besides  being a threat to his future existence and ongoing success, England would like to have all that knowledge himself and for himself only. Knowledge is power, after all.

Arthur would also miss you for your wit and endurance, fantasizing and dreaming of you to the point of obsession and never quitting his chase for you.

[writteninkat]

ii - rubies?!

word count - 1,903

warnings - mention of scars

"he's so tall and handsome as hell. he's so bad but he does it so well."

index

As you waited for April to come around, you spent your remaining days working out and training your quirk on your own. You didn't want to look for your father nor did you want to bump into him- the only time you wanted to see him was during UA's sports festival where you know he'll be watching so you can rub it in his face how good your life is without him.

As you work out in your apartment building's gym, you can't keep the blond out of your head. Was he doing alright? Should you have asked for his phone number at least? Where did he study? Was he even from this area?

Your mind races and wanders around thoughts about the blond, causing you to trip on your own feet on the treadmill. Before your hands come in contact with the running deck, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist, saving you from the fall but not from the embarrassment.

You take a few moments to stop and think about what just happened, allowing the whole thing to just sink in. I almost tripped because I was thinking about some guy. Stupid mistake.

Your savior puts you down beside the treadmill, hands immediately letting go of your waist. "You okay?" Despite having such buffed-up arms, he had such a sweet voice. You look to your right, checking to see the face of your knight in shining armor.

"My name's Izuku Midoriya." He smiles widely, extending his hand towards you. You take it, smiling back. "Y/n L/n, and yeah, I'm alright. Thanks for saving me, I could have attended my first day in UA with a bandage on my forehead." You chuckled, watching the guy's facial expression turn into excitement.

"No way! You'll be attending UA? That's crazy so am I!"

Your eyes widen, finally someone I can be close to in that new school. "What class are you in?" You move to turn off the treadmill, picking up your water bottle from the floor. You unscrew the cap, taking large sips as you looked at him, waiting for an answer. "Class 1A."

The water backfires, going down the wrong pipe. You cough out the water, rubbing your chest in pain as Midoriya pats on your back in worry. "You okay? Again?"

You wave your hand at him, coughing a few more times before clearing your throat. "So am I." Your voice comes out rough and broken but still understandable.

For the rest of the day, you chat with Midoriya, getting to know each other as you helped each other work out. Like whenever you needed help with your form, he'd guide you. When he needed more weight on his back as he did push up, you were more than happy to sit on him as you scrolled through your cellphone.

As the end of the day, before the two of you part, he asks for your number so it would be easier to contact you. You kind of regret giving it to him cause he wouldn't shut up about the heroes he looked up to. He was such a hero nerd you found it funny.

When he calmed down and told you good night, you hit the sack yourself, images of the angry blond with beautiful ruby eyes filling your head as you fell asleep with a smile. And honestly, that was the best sleep you've had in years.

You're walking yourself to your new school, heart drumming against your chest. The feeling was a little too nostalgic, it was the same feeling you felt back when you came to UA for the practical exam. It felt like time went by a little too fast. You calm your mind, remembering your mom's text to you earlier that morning, telling you good luck with your first day.

You try recalling your goal- to become a hero despite my father telling me I couldn't. To become a hero, to become a hero to become-

"Hey Y/n!" Midoriya waves at you, his smile as bright as the sun. It's sickening but you shrug it off, it suits his face. "Oh, I hope it's alright if I call you Y/n."

"Only if I can call you Izuku." You wink at him, smiling as you continue your way towards the building. As Izuku rambled on about how nervous he was for today that he couldn't sleep properly, your mind raced back to the thought of the school uniform being uncomfortable.

You were so used to wear pants that showing off your legs seemed taboo to you. Don't get it wrong, you like your legs, you think they're okay. But you've been wearing pants maybe eighty percent of your life that you don't like showing even your knees. You can't sit the way you want with skirts- especially if the way you want is your legs either parted apart as you sink onto your chair or your legs on the desk as you scroll through your phone lazily.

Given that it was school rules to wear a uniform, you decided to cover up your legs with black thigh high instead, cursing at the skirt for being a little bit too short for your liking.

"Here it is." Izuku points up at the board right above the classroom door that read 1A. "I just hope I'm not classmates with Tenya or Kacchan." He chuckles, reaching for the door.

"Tenya? That glasses dude who seemed like someone pissed in his cheerios the morning of the exam?" Izuku nods his head but your mind wasn't at ease just yet. Who the hell was this Kacchan?

Your mind wanders again but your thoughts clear away when you hear two people arguing.

"Take your feet off that desk now." You chuckle, recognizing that voice. You mentally send a sorry to Izuku's way.

"Hah?" And that voice too!

You look up, scanning the room and looking for your two new classmates who were arguing. Iida's back covers who he's getting mad at, forcing you to step inside the classroom to get a better look.

"It's the first day and you're already disrespecting this academy by scuffing school property you cretin."

"You're kidding me right? Your old school put a stick in your ass?"

As you thought, that voice belonged to the same guy who's been infiltrating your head ever since you met him. Day and night. However his attitude caught you off guard, he wasn't this rude when the two of you met.

"Rubies?" You say out loud, the blond, or as Izuku calls him, Kacchan looks your way, eyes widening at the sight of you in the same classroom as him. His once smug expression is wiped off his face as he stares at you, completely taken off guard.

Tenya and a brown haird girl who looked a little too much like Kirby approached Izuku and they began talking to him. You, in the other hand, are being pulled out of the classroom by the blond. His hand still as soft as you remember, his grip isn't even that tight around your wrist. Just enough to tug you to where he wanted to bring you without hurting you.

The two of you stand right outside the door leading to the back of the classroom. He turns around, smug expression completely gone and replaced by confusion.

"You never told me you went to UA." He says, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he leans his side on the wall. You cross your arms on your chest, leaning to the side as you rest most of your weight on one leg. "You never asked." The two of you look at each other in silence for a few moments, your heart going haywire in your chest as he keeps his eyes on you. Such eyes that could keep you in a cage of trance forever.

Bakugou opens his mouth but before he could get a word out, a tired voice cuts him off. "Get inside the classroom." He tired-looking man with unkept hair and peach fuzz tells you both. Was he the school janitor? Nevertheless, the both of you walked back inside the classroom, Bakugou's eyes silently telling you that the two of you were going to finish the conversation later.

You sat down on your seat, eyes following the same tired-looking man as he stood in front of the class. "My name is Shota Aizawa. I'll be your homeroom teacher from now on."

He hands all of you your PE uniforms, telling you all to quickly change into them. You follow the girls to the changing rooms and you hang your PE uniform on your locker, already unbuttoning your uniform but you stop yourself.

I can't show them that.

A girl with long black hair, similar to yours, looks at you from the side, her expression questioning. "I don't think Aizawa sensei is okay with late students. You should quickly change."

You wrap your hands around yourself, cringing at the thought of other eyes on your body. The girl's expression changes into a softer one and she smiles, "Don't worry, nobody here will judge. All bodies are beautiful the way they are."

Exactly, yeah. If these girls were going to be your second family until you graduate highschool, you shouldn't be afraid. You can trust them, right?

Slowly, with slightly trembling hands, you begin unbuttoning your uniform. Taking a deep breath in, you slip your long sleeve down your body, showcasing the many scars that littered all over your back.

You can feel the atmosphere change into a silent, much colder one and your thoughts begin to race. Was it wrong for you to show them this? You've only been together for a few hours, how could you show such a vulnerable side of yourself?

Your eyes squeeze shut, ready for the comments and snickers but instead you hear a squeal. "We have the same bra!" A pink girl squeals, pointing at her pink lacy bra. A smile creeps onto your face as the girl extends her hand towards you, "I'm Mina Ashido. Nice to meet you, twinnie!" She perks and as soon as you take her hand, she shakes it softly before pulling away.

You quickly dress up into your PE uniform, pulling your hair up into a ponytail. "Woah, L/n! The white streaks on your hair look so cool! Where did you get them done?" Mina asks, completely taken by your hair, her eyes sparkling as you flushed at her compliment. No one has ever complimented your hair so genuinely like that before, makes you feel kind of proud having it.

"It's actually natural. My dad has black hair and my mom has white." The girls begin to ooooh and soon after, you all have reached the fields. Aizawa stands beside a white square with a device in his hand, patiently waiting with lazy eyes on his students.

"You should put your hair up like that more. I think the white streaks are cool." Bakugou tells you, his eyes and face forward as he listens to Aizawa talking.

You wouldn't tell him, but his words had your stomach feeling weird things and you feel your face slowly heat up. You swallow whatever you were feeling and face forward.

"Don't tell me what to do, rubies."

You had to buy more ponytails.

[the-irken-pony]

Hi I wrote a self-indulgent copperright fanfic based on a daydream

I totally didn’t learn the rules of poker just so I could write this fic what are you talking about

Quick summary: (Takes place during Terrence Suave’s time) Four Toppats opt for an afternoon of poker, but the group notices their friend acting unusual after a brief conversation with the chief’s right hand man.

Word count: 1998

Warnings: Gambling

“Alright, Macbeth, how much are ya putting in?” Gordon Smith smirked, fanning himself with the playing cards in his hand. “Unless you’re doing the wise thing and dropping out now.”

Mr. Macbeth huffed, skimming over his current stash of bills. “Hold yer horses, I’m tryna think.”

The man directly across from Macbeth grunted. “Let ‘im take ‘is time. He wouldn’t wanna drop out if he didn’t ‘ave to.” He gave a quick glance down at his hand; luck had favored him enough to grant him a straight flush, one of the best possible hands. “Could afford to think a little faster, though.”

Mr. Macbeth growled. “Alright, alright, fine.” Macbeth downed the rest of his soda and pushed forward half of his current earnings. “$600.”

“You sure about that?” Sledge MacRush raised his eyebrows. “When did you get so bold?”

“When y’all decided that rushin’ me was a better idea than just waitin’. Six hundred, final answer.

“Hm. Very well then. I’ll match you up on that. What about you, Smith?”

Smith chuckled sheepishly. “Aw man. I’m gonna have to drop out on this one. Promised Charlotte I wouldn’t bet more than $500 at a time.”

“What!? Come on, mate, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner!”

“Haha, yeah, I guess…”

“Well, after this round we can establish a limit.” Sledge gave him a sympathetic smile. “That leaves you, Red. You droppin’ out, too?”

“Nah, might as well stay. $600 for me as well.”

Of course, Red wasn’t actually the man’s name. People only called him that because of his naturally orange facial hair. People called “Red” all sorts of things, since he never gave his name out to anyone, not even close friends. He had to admit that he was hoping to have gotten a more consistent nickname by now, much like other Toppats. Even so, constantly changing nicknames was still better than telling someone his real name.

“So then, everyone else has bet already, eh? Alright, then, reveal your hands… now!”

Everyone around the table booth (except for poor Smith) laid their hands out on the table. Seeing the straight flush that the mustached man had laid out on the table, Sledge and Macbeth groaned as the nameless man chuckled.

“Maybe don’t put in half your cash next time,” he sneered.

Sledge huffed. “Remind me why we invite you to these things again?”

“Because you wouldn’t admit defeat if it left you stranded on an island with no way off.”

Sledge glared at the ginger from across the table as Smith let out a small chuckle.

“Touché.” He gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “Macbeth, you goin’ first this time?”

“Ahem. Excuse me.”

The group looked up from their game to see who had spoken. Standing next to the table booth was the chief’s new second in command, holding a clipboard and pen. He had only had his job for a week, but some Toppats were already calling him “the chief’s only good decision”. Admittedly, it was easy to see why just from a glance; he always stood in a very dignified manner, and every aspect of his appearance gave a sense of formality and professionalism--save for the bags under his eyes.

“Oi, Reginald, can it wait? We’re kinda in the middle of somethin’ ‘ere,” Sledge said as he continued to shuffle.

“Well, can you put it on hold? This is kind of important,” the right hand man replied, tapping his pen onto his clipboard.

Red shot Sledge a glare from across the table, prompting the latter to set down the deck of cards.

“Ignore him. Whatcha need, then?”

“What? Oh, right, right…” Reginald flipped through a couple of pages of his clipboard. “Mister Gordon Smith, the leader is sending you undercover tomorrow, and would like you to spend tonight preparing.”

“W-wait, tomorrow?” Smith stammered. “Why!?”

“Don’t ask me, I wouldn’t know,” Reginald yawned, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t given many details, he’s just said that he’s sent one other person already.”

“Why not pick someone else!?” Mr. Macbeth snapped. “It ain’t like everyone else’s busier than he is.”

“Easy, easy. I don’t mind doing it,” Smith assured him. Macbeth grumbled something under his breath as he crushed his empty soda can in his hand. Sledge crossed his arms and pouted. Seeing how tense the table was, Red cleared his throat to speak.

“So… one week into the job already, eh? How’sat been goin’ for ya?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that,” Reginald muttered, looking over his clipboard. The redhead sat in uncomfortable silence, trying to think of a good response.

“…Cool.”

“Anyways,” Reginald said, “that’s all I needed from you. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright, thank you,” Smith replied. The group watched as the man left the table while staring at his clipboard.

“Guess we’ll leave it up to you, Smith,” Sledge said. “Do you wanna keep goin’ or would ya rather get an early start on prep?”

“Well…”

As the others discussed Smith’s plans for the day, Red watched the chief’s right hand pour himself a cup of coffee, drink the whole cup in one gulp, and then pour himself a second cup before putting in additives.

He furrowed his brow. How little sleep was the man getting? Given the chief’s current track record, it did make sense--other elite members often said that Reginald was eager to please, after all, but it seemed that the whole clan rested on his shoulders. He had only gotten brief glimpses of the right hand man in the past, but when he did he was always by himself hunched over a series of papers.

Yet, despite everything, a mere glance at him would give no indication of a struggle. He kept himself so professional-looking and neat; he always wore a fancy suit, and his mustache was styled to curl upwards at the ends. And that wasn’t even mentioning his delicate yet dignified posture whenever he stood or talked to--

“Oi!”

Red felt a sharp flick against the back of his head, yanking him away from his thoughts. He turned and glared at the man responsible, rubbing the spot where Sledge had flicked him.

“Ya awake over there, Foggy Eyes? We’ve been talkin’ at ya for like a solid minute now!”

“Oh, uh, were you?” “Foggy Eyes” sheepishly cleared his throat. “What’s up, then?”

“We were discussin’ plans with Smith.” Macbeth nodded his head in Smith’s direction.

“I’m good with going for one more round, if everyone else still wants to,” Smith said.

“Oh. Well, deal me in, then.”

“Alright, nice!” Sledge picked up the deck and began to shuffle.

“So what were you staring at over there, anyway?” Smith asked, lifting his head up to see over him.

“What? I wasn’t starin’ at anything.”

“No, ya definitely were,” Sledge chuckled as he combined two partial decks of cards. “You kept starin’ in the same direction since that guy left.”

“I-I just… zoned out, is all.” The ginger was starting to get nervous. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Macbeth squinted. “You’re actin’ awful strange…”

“Keep talkin’ and you ain’t gonna be actin’ anything,” Red snapped.

Next to him, Smith was deep in thought. “Sledge… say that last part again…?”

The ginger could feel himself getting warm. “W-wait, no, don’t--” 

“‘You kept starin’ in the same direction’?”

“Nono, after that.”

“Don’t--”

“‘Since that guy left’?”

“Yeah, heh. That.” Smith nudged the hunched up man sitting next to him. “That have anything to do with anything?”

“Uhhhh…” The man slightly lowered his hat to try and obscure his face, which was already turning noticeably red. Sledge snickered.

“Oh, I see what’s goin’ on here,” he said with a smirk. “You don’t happen to fancy the chief’s right hand man, do ya?”

“I-- O-of course not!” he sputtered. “I-I just-- M-Macbeth, c’mon, back me up here, will ya?”

“Man, you were red as a tomato ‘fore anyone even said anythin’.” Mr. Macbeth leaned back in his seat. “I couldn’t defend ya if I wanted to.”

“Shut up, I was not!”

“Come ooon, admit it already!” Smith gave the flustered Toppat a light shove. “It’s not like we haven’t already caught on.”

“I-I, um-- I--” He pulled his top hat down over his face, which had risen to an unbearable temperature by this point. “I-I don’t-- I dunno, I…” he mumbled, getting quieter with every word, “I-I guess he’s, uh… k-kind-- kinda… sorta… r-really… c-cute…”

Sledge burst into a fit of laughter. “Oh man, I knew ya had a thing for ‘im, but I didn’t know it was that bad!”

“I-it is not…” By this point, the man’s face had turned to a brighter shade of red than his mustache.

“Well, go on,” Smith urged. “Whaddya like about him?”

“Mmmmrrrmmmppphhh…”

Mr. Macbeth couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Gotta admit, never woulda ‘spected to see ya like this any day of the week.”

“Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…”

Smith laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “Well?”

“Ohhh my goood…” Red swallowed, trying desperately to compose himself. Knowing there was no way he was getting out of this, he forced himself to speak. “W-well, there’s, uh…” He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the right hand man’s various features. “Th-there’s his-- his mustache, I-I guess… and-and his voice…”

Remembering that he was with three other people, he cleared his throat.

“Alright, all of you, listen.” He glared at the three Toppats. “Word of this gets out to anyone, and I’ll blow all your heads off. Understood?”

“Alright, alright,” Sledge laughed. “Wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ anyone anyway, lover boy.”

Red froze. “I-- L-lov--!?” There were at least one hundred different insults he wanted to retort back, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a single word to come out.

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, man,” Smith said. “If it means anything, I’d say you’ve got a shot.”

“Would ya?”

Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sure. I bet you two’d be really cute together,” he sang while nudging the ginger, who buried his flushed face in his hands.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much…”

“Alright, you two, enough already,” Macbeth told them. “Y’all’re gonna kill ‘im at this rate.”

Smith giggled. “Okay, okay. Really though,” he told Red. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Take it from me--it took me years to ask Charlotte out on a date, and just last week we celebrated our second anniversary.”

The man smiled a little. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Smith looked down at his watch and frowned. “Oh man, I completely lost track of time, I gotta get ready.”

Sledge rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose that’s gonna mean you’ll need your phone back, then?”

“Yes, Sledge.” Smith crossed his arms. “Yes it will.”

Macbeth rolled his eyes. “I really don’t understand why ya keep takin’ it from ‘im.”

“It gets better signal than mine…” Sledge replied, hunching his shoulders defensively.

“There are better phones than his, y’know,” Red snickered.

“I can get his easier,” Sledge huffed. “Whatever. I’ll come along just in case it got lost in my room somewhere.”

“Thanks.” Smith glared. He turned to Red. “Anyways, keep your chin up, mate.”

As the group gathered their earned cash and got up to leave, Red’s mind drifted back to the chief’s right hand man. Whenever he saw him during work hours, he was always by himself. He didn’t ever see him not working either. Did he not have anyone else to help him with the workload? Or even to talk to?

Maybe Smith was right. Even if they didn’t start going out, he at least deserved someone to talk to and help him manage his workload. There was no good reason for him to have to do it all alone.

“Ahem.”

The group turned to Mr. Macbeth, who was standing next to the table, which was covered in scattered playing cards.

“Any of ya gonna help me get these?”

The group exchanged glances with each other.

“Nah.”

[inventors-fair]

Risky Business

So... I briefly mentioned in the contest post that there can definitely be such a thing as too much randomness. After all, chaos players are one of the most notoriously disliked EDH players, just behind stax and infect. But how much randomness is too much? I have a lot of thoughts on that question, and I have haphazardly tossed them below the cut. Read on, if you dare.

The first thing to consider is the inherent randomness of Magic as a game. Obviously card games need some level of randomness in order to function broadly. If players were allowed to stack their deck however they chose, we’d never see anything but the top seven cards of our deck. Therefore, even the most basic “draw a card” has a huge element of chance attached to it. Will you draw your game-ending bomb card, or your 15th land in a row? Magic is also a game of hidden information. While that’s not technically the exact same thing as random chance, it’s a similar enough concept that I’m fine with discussing it here. Just like you don’t know the order of your library, you also don’t know what’s in your opponent’s hand. Mechanics like morph and foretell play into this space too, forcing your opponents into a guessing game about what you might have at the ready. In the absence of all the information (like you would have in a game of chess), players must use what they have at their disposal to figure out what they can. If a player has two untapped islands, their opponent should be a lot more cautious about slinging spells. This was a bit of a tangent, but hey, it leads into my main point. Kinda.

Magic is a beast of a game, and it has carved out a really nice space for itself. Part of that success is how well it straddles the line between leaving too much up to chance, and not enough. The natural variance of deckbuilding, aided by the 4-of or 1-of restrictions, means that the majority of games are decided by a combination of skill and luck.

But why do players hate relying on luck? The easy answer is that it’s about a sense of control. In Magic, you can craft your deck around a particular set of cards, and increase your chances of seeing them by filtering your deck, or tutoring those cards, or including an additional playset of a different card that accomplishes the same purpose. Those are all knobs that you as a player and you as a designer can be aware of to help give players a sense of agency. On the flip (heh) side of things, there are few outcomes more frustrating than a player getting up from a game of Magic feeling like they didn’t even need to be there. Knowing that there was nothing you could have done to win makes for a very unfun experience, and that’s exactly what we try to avoid when designing cards. So the takeaway from this bit is that, as you design, try to make sure you aren’t overpowering the natural variance of the game with even more luck-based situations. Your card shouldn’t completely decide on the outcome of a game on a coin flip. It can nudge the game one way or another, sure, but be careful with the power level. Some custom designers look at a card and think “well, one outcome here is ridiculously overpowered, but it’s such a small chance of happening that it doesn’t really matter.” While it might be true that it won’t happen a lot, the few times that it does will really suck for the players involved. That one is more a matter of opinion than anything, but from my perspective, even a couple of the dice-rolling cards from AFR strayed a little too far over that line. But I digress.

The final thing I want to ask you to consider is the purpose of your card. Scrambleverse and Warp World are held up as two of the most annoying, egregious effects out there, because, well... they don’t do anything. Barring some insane luck, everyone involved will be worse off than when they started, and the game will proceed to drag on even further. Wildly random elements that take a long time to resolve but don’t have any major impact (or worse, a major negative impact) are exactly what I want you to avoid for this contest. Think about playing your card, and the energy it will bring to the table. Will the players lean closer towards the rolling dice, holding their breath until they see the outcome? Or will they groan as they realize they’re going to spend another 30 minutes trying to recover from the chaos that was just dumped on their laps?

The be-all end-all of this, I guess, is that Magic is a game. Which, I know, duh, but hear me out. Games are meant to be fun, and we wouldn’t all be here if we didn’t enjoy it. So the lesson I want to bring away from all this, for this week and beyond, is that your card should be fun. Obviously good designs incorporate more than that (much more than a single post could encompass), and fun doesn’t necessarily have to equal exciting (vanilla commons have their much-needed role as well), but they should contribute to the positive atmosphere of a game. After all, if we ever reach a point where there are more un-fun Magic cards than there are fun ones, that’ll be the point where the game probably dies out. We’ll never reach that point, but you get where I’m going.

Anyways, I’ve rambled on for long enough, and congratulations if you made it this far into my tangential rants. I hope this brings some clarity about what I’m looking for in this week’s submissions (and in the submissions for all contests, I suppose). As always, if you have any questions/comments/concerns, you know where to find me.

judge @naban-dean-of-irritation​, going to play some poker. (Not really, I’m just going to go play more Magic instead.) 

[inherhouseshewaitsdreaming]

Queen of Coins

I'm going to be posting daily prompts to inspire writing, art or journaling. Use these as you would like to help keep your creative practices moving.

Key words/ideas:

self-made wealth

nurturing success

the abundance of nature

Some thoughts that occur to me:

A character who is connected to nature achieves success that is normally its opposite. How does she achieve this without compromising her morals?

In Rumpelstiltskin the titular character can spin straw into gold. Make a magic system based on this concept. How would a world in which this can happen be shaped by it?

Imagine a future where wealth is based on the abundance of nature in a positive way. Who is the ‘queen’ in this world?

Note that cards are drawn at random and may be drawn more than once. In that case I will repost with an additional idea. I am going to cap the number of repeats at 3 until I’ve been through the whole deck, but other than this I let the luck of the draw decide. Coming up with more ideas for the same card will force me to be more imaginative and its something I strongly recommend.

[plumoh]

[SK8] whirlwind

Rating: G

Word count: 2341

Summary: Three times Kaoru gets into a fight; Kojirou is never too far away. / high school era.

Note: AO3 link. As usual, high school era means pre-relationship and Kaoru being a little bit oblivious to Kojirou’s feelings haha.

i.

Kaoru didn’t mean to punch him.

Well. That’s not exactly true. He did want to punch that smug smile off the bastard’s face, but he didn’t mean to knock him out. It’s not his fault that his punch landed exactly at an angle that made the guy’s head twist on the side and bang on the streetlamp, before collapsing on the ground and invoking a silence so loud everyone’s breathing felt like an entire storm.

And then all the guy’s goons start screaming and yelling for blood, pointing accusing fingers at Kaoru like Kaoru just killed someone (their boss isn’t dead, not yet), and most of them also start crowding around him with a palpable vengeful intent. As if that will ever intimidate him.

Nobody thinks that Kaoru is built to fight, which propels them into a state of shock and complete disbelief when he attacks first and manages to strike down two people by smashing their heads together and kicking them in the stomach for good measure. He doesn’t stop moving, always ready to spring back and to collide his fist with something breakable or crouching low to dodge and literally sweep them off their feet. He’s like a volcano being poked until it swallows everything around him.

His impulsiveness means he gets hurt too, mostly from his own moves that use more strength than necessary, but also from attacks he decides to go up against instead of avoiding, simply to get closer to his opponent. He ends up with scratches on his face and bruises on his legs or cuts on his arms, in a way that undeniably adds to his overall appearance of a troublemaker. He doesn’t give a shit; the messier and more dangerous he looks, the better.

It’s when most of the guys have fled, leaving Kaoru breathing hard and leaning forward with his hands on his knees, that Kojirou materializes next to him.

“What the hell, Kaoru?” Kojirou yells, not knowing if touching Kaoru will be a wise idea. “Did you pick a fight with random people again?”

“I didn’t pick a fight with them, they provoked me,” Kaoru growls, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. It comes away with a little blood. “Why do you always assume I’m the one instigating?”

“Maybe because two times out of three you’re the one who throws the first punch,” Kojirou mumbles.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

Kaoru makes a poor attempt at shoving Kojirou in the shoulder but he misses by a large margin and ends up swatting at his chest, which does nothing to abate Kojirou’s annoyance.

“Shut up,” Kaoru says.

Kojirou shakes his head and takes Kaoru’s arm to steady him, dragging him towards a less crowded and more luminous place to get a look at his injuries with supplies that seem to have appeared from nowhere.

ii.

Kojirou nearly lands on his face after failing a trick, all graceless and devoid of finesse, which makes Kaoru double over in laughter.

“That was really stupid,” Kaoru snorts.

“Yeah, I didn’t see you try doing that trick,” Kojirou scoffs.

“At least I don’t look like a limp caterpillar when I’m on the ground like you are.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Kojirou picks himself up from the ground and dusts off his pants, looking back at the track that he just descended from. Kaoru watches the way Kojirou is considering the path again, eyes focused on the last meters of the bumpy pavement. They chose this part of the track specifically because it isn’t well-maintained, full of holes and uneven ground that forces them to work on their stability. Kojirou, like the brainless ape he is, wanted to show off by doing some fancy trick that only served as evidence of his stupidity.

“Hey, you’re Sakurayashiki, right?”

Kaoru turns around and raises en eyebrow. He has no idea who the guy talking to him is.

“Get out of our turf,” the guy says on a tone that’s supposed to be menacing. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Your turf?” Kaoru repeats, unimpressed. “The hell are you on?”

“You thought you could swing by after sending some of our guys to the hospital?”

The words go in Kaoru’s ear and make a swift exit in the other. He blinks.

“I didn’t send anyone in the hospital,” he says, tone raising like a question as he turns around to address Kojirou.

Kojirou lifts his hands in sign of innocence. “I don’t know, I’m not there to watch you fight every single person in this city.”

“You would remember if I did anything like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I just said I don’t know!”

“Stop ignoring me!”

Kojirou shouts wordlessly and yanks Kaoru by the arm, saving him from a well-aimed kick that would have sent Kaoru sprawling, and suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped.

People say that Kaoru has a bad temper, an accusation that’s not totally unfounded. He’s quick to anger and he doesn’t mince his words—when he’s having a casual conversation with someone, many wrinkle their nose at his lack of proper forms of address, and others outright say he shouldn’t be so aggressive in his choice of words. One can only imagine how vulgar and straightforward he is when he’s insulting someone or spitting out a string of curses that are probably not yet in the dictionary.

Kojirou, of course, has a deep knowledge of the ways Kaoru can react before a taunt, a physical threat or a low blow to his ego. He’s not exactly a saint either, since he will without a doubt get into a fight if he’s provoked enough, or throw back cruel words when the situation calls for it, but between the two, Kojirou has less difficulty keeping his bad mood in check.

Kaoru twists around and is ready to swing his fist at full speed, but Kojirou is already scolding him while having a grip of iron on his arm. He’s also trying to drag him back, stopping him from making even one step towards their opponent who is, quite frankly, looking too fucking pleased with himself.

“What, too chicken to fight me?” the guy snickers. “Too scared of hurting your little hands?”

“I’m gonna punch a hole through your skull, you absolute buffoon,” Kaoru hisses, struggling against Kojirou’s grip. “Let me go, Kojirou!”

“Stop getting into fights, damn it!” Kojirou yells.

“He asked for it!”

“Same difference, you idiot!”

Kojirou loops his arms under Kaoru’s armpits and keeps him still, pressed against his torso, even when Kaoru is trying to pull forward with the sheer force of his will. Kojirou’s stronger than Kaoru, but Kaoru doesn’t give a shit when he is moved by rage alone, stomping and wriggling and squirming in the hopes of getting away.

The guy is watching them with the most self-satisfied smirk ever, as if Kaoru’s inaction is proof of his victory over a petty squabble that Kaoru himself doesn’t remember. It pisses him off.

He usually wouldn’t resort to such dirty tactics. In a fight, the more they use their fists and feet and entire bodies, the more gratifying it is. Sporting injuries and scars are simply a natural consequence of it, and everyone should wear them proudly—like real battle scars, resembling a physical history of their hard-won fights.

Kaoru’s skateboard is within leg reach. He has long legs, Kojirou keeps reminding him, so might as well make use of them. He makes one big step forward, grunting when he’s met with resistance due to Kojirou holding him back, but he manages to have his foot on the tail-end of the deck and brings the skateboard at his feet. He can feel Kojirou’s and the bastard’s confused and intrigued gazes on him; all he does is offer a grin, the sunlight catching on his lip ring like some wicked gleam of mischievousness.

Kaoru gives a harsh kick into his skateboard that goes straight towards the guy, hitting his ankle at full speed and tearing a cry of pain and surprise out of his throat. He puts all his weight on his other foot and cradles his injured ankle, glaring at Kaoru with burning anger. Kaoru isn’t sorry in the least.

“I’ll end you,” the man threatens, visibly shaking with fury.

“Good luck with that ankle,” Kaoru replies smugly. “You’ll fall over before you can land a single hit on me.”

Kojirou audibly sighs and shakes his head. And then, two things happen at once.

The first is that their friend bends down with difficulty, not wishing to put strain on his ankle, and picks up the skateboard. He gives it a long contemplative look, like he’s wondering if this object is worth his interest, before dropping it back on the ground and getting on it.

The second is Kaoru watching this with mounting irritation and rage, and he decides that stomping on Kojirou’s foot to let him go is less aggravating than letting some random prick steal his skateboard. So he does just that with minimal hesitation, causing Kojirou to loudly yelp as his grip loosens enough for Kaoru to slip out.

Skating all day doesn’t mean they can’t run with their feet. Kaoru pushes on his feet like his life depends on it and in a few large strides he catches up to the guy just as he starts skating away, and Kaoru, without a second thought, decks him.

Skateboard back in hand, a broad smile splitting his face in two, Kaoru leaves the track with a victorious fist lifted in the air, to Kojirou’s growing exasperation.

iii.

Kaoru presses his lips together and remains stubbornly silent.

“Kaoru.”

Arms crossed and a frown deeper than usual on his face, Kojirou is staring at him with disappointment so clear that Kaoru actually feels bad, for once. He shrugs.

“You’re lucky that it didn’t rip off your lip,” Kojirou continues. “Why did you get piercings if you know you’ll never resist fighting people? Do you want to risk permanent damage just because your brain is filled with a useless need to fight?”

“Shut up, Kojirou,” Kaoru mutters.

Kaoru winces when Kojirou presses something cold on his mouth, gently dabbing at it and being careful about the lip ring, whose presence alone did a number on his face. Having his head smashed into the ground would do that, he supposes.

Kojirou is silently working on cleaning and bandaging his various cuts and bruises on his face. Kaoru glances up, noticing that the tense line of Kojirou’s shoulders is heavier than usual, a bit more worried, as if today’s encounter could have ended in a disaster. It wasn’t any worse than the previous times. Maybe Kaoru got roughed up a bit more and maybe he got kicked in the ribs more times than necessary and yes, maybe he should have taken off his earrings and lip ring before going skating, but these are all possible factors disrupting his routine he always considers before doing anything. And it’s not like he knows in advance that someone will pick a fight with him. He just got unlucky this time.

Kaoru watches Kojirou’s brows knit together in concentration. This isn’t a rare expression on his face, but Kaoru has never noticed the way Kojirou’s focus is single-minded when he does this kind of detail-oriented tasks, or the way he purses his lips like he does when he’s trying to solve a complicated math problem. It’s the face he makes when something requires his entire attention, unperturbed and going at the pace he needs to finish what he started.

“Hm,” Kaoru says, partly because he’s thinking and partly because he shouldn’t open his still bleeding mouth.

“What?” Kojirou’s gaze never strays from Kaoru’s injury.

Kojirou takes Kaoru’s hand and guides it towards the compress placed on the corner of his mouth, and makes him apply pressure while the cleaning shifts to his ear. Kaoru’s lip isn’t bleeding as much as before, judging by the color of the compress that didn’t become completely red in five seconds, so he supposes talking shouldn’t make matters worse.

“Your precision is a bit surprising,” he admits, laughter in his voice. “I didn’t think you could be so calm while handling things that need careful maneuvering.”

“I’m not the one who can’t break eggs without dropping pieces of shell in them,” Kojirou snipes back.

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Breaking eggs needs practicing, and I can still pick out the shell pieces if I really need to. If you poke someone in the wrong place while tending to their injuries then you’ll make it worse, moron.”

Kojirou is visibly putting all his efforts into remaining focused on his task, trying not to get riled up by Kaoru’s comments. It would be funny to watch, actually, if Kaoru wasn’t the one receiving treatment.

“I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Kojirou asks.

And Kaoru can’t find anything scathing as an answer, staring at Kojirou’s bright eyes that never hide what he’s feeling.

“I suppose you haven’t, no,” Kaoru says lowly.

“You’re so much trouble, you know that?” Kojirou sighs.

But he finally meets Kaoru’s gaze and Kaoru is almost taken aback by the sincerity and raw emotion shining in it, like Kojirou is looking at a treasure he has locked behind a chest and kept the key close to his heart. Kaoru swallows.

“Not as much as you,” he replies with less bite than he intended.

“Says the one who is covered in bandages and band-aids.”

“I have to put up with your nonsense every day!”

“And I have to drag your ass back from whatever scuffle you get involved in!”

Kaoru shoves his hand in Kojirou’s face, and they start jostling each other, as if they weren’t being as still and cautious as possible to avoid complicating the process of patching Kaoru up. This familiarity, too, is something that will never change, no matter what happens—Kojirou has Kaoru’s back.

[fanmoose12]

Levi just couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe that his ship – a legendary Wings of Freedom, the pride of the British armada – was ambushed. He couldn’t believe that he – an experienced captain and famed veteran – along with his crew of the most skilled soldiers in the whole sea force was captured.

By fucking pirates. Stinking, dirty pirates.

Levi was enraged, he was humiliated, and most of all, he was confused.

How those fuckers managed to approach their ship undetected? How did they get on it unnoticed? And how could that woman, their captain, get inside his private chambers?

Levi was an extremely light sleeper. Years in army and, before that, years of living on the street had taught him that it was an essential skill. The smallest of noise, the quietest creak could wake him up.

But somehow this woman managed to open the door, walk inside his room and stand directly above him, as he kept peacefully slumbering. Only when she pressed a cold dagger to his throat, only then Levi woke up.

And as he opened his eyes, he was met with a face of a woman he had never seen before. She was wearing round glasses and her left eye was covered by a black patch. Her hair was haphazardly put up in a ponytail. Her lips were curved in a wide, almost crazy grin.

“Hi,” she whispered to him, pressing her dagger tighter to his skin. Her voice was soft as honey. “I really don’t want to hurt you, and I’m sure you don’t want me to hurt you. So let’s cooperate, alright?”

Levi bared his teeth at her. Like hell he would cooperate with someone like her. There was a dagger hidden underneath his pillow. He started to slowly move his hand, if he could just reach it—

The woman grabbed his hand, before it touched the handle.

“Ah, ah,” she shook her head. “Don’t move.”

She held his arm firmly, she was evidently strong. But not stronger than Levi. He could overpower her, he was sure of it.

“I wouldn’t do it, if I were you,” the woman said, seeing through his intensions. “Even if you can win a fight with me,” If? Who did she think he was? “My people are standing outside, and all of your people were already dealt with.”

Levi tensed, all blood leaving his face. Was his crew—?

“They are alive,” the woman assured him. Her gaze turned surprisingly soft. “And unharmed. And if you promise to cooperate, they will be safe.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“I am an honest person.”

“Pirates don’t know what honor is.”

“Then you’re in luck,” she laughed. “After all, I’m only a part-time pirate!”

 ***

Hange Zoe – a part-time pirate and a full-time explorer of distant lands.

That’s how she described herself to Levi. The name, the name sounded so familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember, where he had heard it.

Levi glared at her furiously, as she walked around the deck, talking about herself, her crew and what they were intending to do to their ship. Levi didn’t really listen, he was too busy, thinking of the best way to murder her. He could shoot her, or run her through with his sword, or, maybe, he could throw her off the ship and watch her slowly drown. He also could capture her and take her back to England. He wasn’t a fun of executions, but he would happily attend Hange Zoe’s hanging.

But first, he needed to free himself from the ropes that bound his legs and arms together. Levi was actually impressed – those pirates certainly knew how to tie up a person, he couldn’t move an inch. They probably had a lot of experience. He glanced to his right, checking on Mikasa, his second in command. She looked just as furious as he did. So, she couldn’t free herself either. Levi turned to his other crew members – Armin, Eren, Jean, Connie and Sasha – all of them looked as helpless as Levi himself felt.

Shit.

Levi turned his attention back on Hange. She was looking right at him.

“I asked where you are heading,” she crouched next to Levi. “So?”

He stared at her, letting her see all of his fury. If she was actually expecting an answer from him, she was going to be very disappointed.

Hange waited for a moment, smiling expectantly. When Levi continued to silently glare at her, she huffed and turned to the person next to him.

“You,” she pointed at Armin. The boy immediately tensed. “Where are you going?”

“Um…” Armin’s eyes darted to Levi, as sweat started to drip down his face.

“C’mon,” Hange’s smile grew wider. “Just tell me.”

“We are… going to Port Royal,” he finally whispered.

“See? It wasn’t so hard.”

Her voice was so gentle and her eyes were so soft, and it all looked so genuine, Levi felt sick. What a vile, vile woman.

“Well, you’ve heard him,” Hange got to her feet and turned around, addressing the three of her crewmen. “Moblit, set course to Port Royal. Nifa, go and help him. Abel and Keiji, stay with me.”

Once she was done with giving out orders, Hange turned back to Levi. She put hands on her hips, staring at him intently. She didn’t say a word for a very long time, continuing to watch him.

“You’ve said that pirates don’t have honor,” she said finally. “Members of the navy do?”

“Of course, we do!” Eren, another member of his crew, shouted.

Hange turned to look at the boy, her lips twitching in an attempt to hide a smile. However, when her eyes returned to Levi, all signs of amusement were gone. She gazed at him, grave and serious. “Can you guarantee that?”

“I can,” Levi nodded.

“Alright,” she sighed. “I’m going to release you then. You can walk around the ship freely, doing whatever you want. We will get you to Port Royal safely. We won’t harm you, if you promise to cooperate.”

“You won’t kill us?” Levi asked slowly. “What do you want from us then?”

“I just want your ship,” she answered simply. “And I don’t want to hurt you. If you give us your ship, no one will be hurt. That I swear to you.”

“And what if I won’t agree? What if we start fighting the moment you free us?”

“I could have killed you. I still can. But I don’t want to. If you’re as honest man as you claim, you will respect that. And honor our treaty.”

It was stupid. Foolish, reckless, senseless. Pirates can’t be trusted, they’re murderers and thieves. But something told him that this woman was different, that Hange Zoe, a part-time pirate and full-time explorer, would keep her word.

And Levi, once he gave his word, always kept it.

“I agree to your terms. I promise not to hurt you, or your men. Once we get to the shore, you will get your ship.”

Hange smiled, bright and happy. “And you will get your freedom.”

***

Sharing a ship with pirates was surprisingly… easy.

Hange and her trusty crew were nothing like the pirates Levi had previously encountered. They weren’t violent or greedy, and they didn’t spend their days drinking and cracking vulgar jokes. They were actually… quite pleasant and obviously intelligent bunch. Those words, of course, didn’t apply to their captain. No, Hange was different, she got on Levi’s nerves so frequently, he felt like he was slowly losing his sanity.

She was loud, brash and bold. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and she didn’t stop to think about her choice of words, always spurting out the weirdest, most inappropriate shit. Hange was absolutely infuriating, impossible in every way. And it angered Levi, made him fucking furious and just realizing it was painful, but she intrigued him. He was captivated by her unusual persona, by different, and often clashing, parts of her character.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Levi’s whole crew liked Hange. Armin and Eren were fascinated by her stories about distant lands, Jean enjoying listening about different cultures she studied, Sasha and Connie were stuffing themselves with exotic food she found during her travels. Even Mikasa, who, at first, acted hostile towards her, started admiring her, when Hange showed her the collection of bizarre weapons, which she accumulated over the years of exploring the many realms and continents.

All of them were in fucking awe of Hange, and Levi suspected that even if he decided to break his promise and kill Hange to save their ship, he would have a really hard time convincing his subordinates to go with his plan.

Luckily, Levi had no intention of going back on his word. As long as Hange was keeping her end of the bargain, of course.

The more Levi watched her, the more it seemed like his first impression of her was wrong. Hange didn’t look like the cruel, violent woman Levi thought she was. On the contrary, she seemed kind and even gentle. She fiercely cared about her own crewmembers and she treated Levi’s crew with warmth and good-naturedness.

All in all, Hange appeared to be a good, honest person. At least, that’s what Levi wanted to believe.      

  ***

Another thing about Hange that frustrated Levi so much was her name. It still eluded him. He was sure, absolutely adamant that he had heard it before, but he just couldn’t remember where. He even asked Armin to look into this, but as for now, the boy didn’t give him any real answer.

So all he could do now was to continue watching her from afar, hoping that with time he would be able to solve this mystery.

  ***

There were many aspects of Hange that surprised and bewildered Levi. But the most amazing part of her was how skillful she was. She was a great and evidently experienced captain, passionate and knowledgeable explorer, who knew a whole myriad of different languages and culture customs. And she was also a very good fighter. Whatever weapon she used – sword, musket, crossbow, spear or axe (Levi especially enjoyed watching her wield that for the reasons he didn’t want to think about) – she was always deadly efficient with it.

In her spare time, Hange helped Mikasa train and, from time to time, she also agreed to duel with some of Levi’s subordinates. Eren and Jean were the ones who liked to challenge Hange the most, even though they always lost to her.

Naturally, it hurt some parts of Levi’s pride. He was the one, who trained those idiots. And Hange won fights with them without much hassle. But he would lie, if he said that he didn’t like watching her. Hange was strong, quick and endlessly graceful. Even with patch, covering her left eye, she was swift and coordinated.

It was one of those times, when Levi watched Hange effortlessly disarm Eren that Armin sat down next to him.

“I think I found out the origin of captain Hange’s name,” the boy said, handing Levi a book.

He scanned through the contents of a page Armin showed him. So that’s where Hange was from? He would need to ask her about it. Finally, he gained some leverage on her.

He was so lost in that satisfactory feeling that he didn’t notice that Eren had clutched his arm and started dragging him upwards.

“Captain, please!” Eren lamented, as he continued to pull Levi up. “You have to fight with captain Hange. She always wins, it’s unfair!”

“Yes, you have to show her what we’re made of!” Jean agreed.

“We believe in you, Captain!” Sasha cheered, giving Levi one last shove in the direction of Hange.

Hange herself stood in front of him. She put hands on her hips, grinning at him. “You don’t have to fight with me. If you’re afraid to lose.”

Oh, so that was it? She was that cocky? Well, Levi couldn’t just let it continue. He snatched the saber out of Eren’s hand, taking a stand and smirking at her gloomily. “You fought those fools and think you can win a duel with me? Not in a million years, pirate.”

“Why won’t we spice it up a little, sailor? Want to start a bet? Whoever loses has to fulfill the winner’s wish.”

Levi scowled. “You didn’t start any bets with those brats.”

“Because I knew it would be an easy. But you… I think you are quite a challenge.”

“And what kind of wish are we talking about?”

Hange gave him an almost feral grin. “Anything that comes to your mind.”

“And if I ask you to jump over the railing and give me back my ship?”

“Um, yeah,” Hange chuckled. “Anything but that.”

Levi huffed. “Fine, let’s get on with it, then.”

Hange mimicked his stance, ready to strike. “Show me what you got.”

As soon as Hange stopped talking, she attacked. It wasn’t a mighty swing, she was evidently just testing the ground, and Levi blocked it easily. Hange immediately followed it with another hit, and then another. Levi had no choice but to step back. He looked at Hange closely, he watched her fight with Eren, Jean and Mikasa, and she used a different style then. In duels with them, she was more on a defensive, waiting for an opportunity to land her critical hit. But now, she was moving swiftly, attacking him again and again, forcing him to either block and give her an opening, or move back.

Oh. So that’s what she was trying to do.

Levi looked her in the eye. Hange met his gaze, grinning wildly.

He blocked her next attack and then countered it with his own. Before Hange could react, he inflicted another blow. Two could play this game.

So very soon, Hange had to start evading his attacks. She jumped to the side or took a step back. She tried to retaliate, but Levi didn’t give her even a chance to do so. And in a matter of a few minutes of furiously charging at her, Levi finally had her exactly where he needed. Cornered against the door of a cabin. With a heavy swing, he knocked the weapon out of her hand. Then he moved his saber up, pressing its tilt to Hange’s throat.

He took a step closer, until their chests were nearly touching. Hange was breathing heavily, and with a start Levi realized that he had some difficulty breathing too.

Was it because of their fight? Or something else?

Hange licked her lips, before curving them in another grin. Levi’s eyes traced that movement. Suddenly, he wanted to take another step closer. Move so close that he would be able to look into her eye. From where he stood, it was near impossible to see the brown color of her iris, almost all of it was taken over by the black of the pupil. Was she so excited because of their fight? Or something else?

And then, as Hange slowly lifted her hands in surrender, Levi realized. He could kill her right now. She was weaponless and helpless, entirely at his mercy. He could end it right there and then, get rid of Hange and then deal with the rest of her team. Take his ship back. But somehow, murder wasn’t the thing that occupied his mind.

Instead, for some weird reason, he couldn’t look away from her lips. From up close, they looked soft. If he touched them right now, if he tasted them, pressing his own mouth to them, would he like it? Would Hange like it?

“That was great, Captain!”

Eren clasped his shoulder with a smile, and Levi moved swiftly, as though his proximity with Hange had burned him. He threw the saber to the ground, hastily leaving the deck.

What was wrong with him? What the fuck was he thinking about? Hange was his enemy, a dirty pirate, who had stolen his ship, and what he wanted to do with her? Make out? Stupid fucking idiot.

“Levi, wait!”

Oh no, it was Hange. Levi tried to close the doors to his cabin, but she had already stepped inside.

“You didn’t tell me your wish,” she explained, smiling softly.

Oh, right, the wish. Certainly, there were a couple of things he wished to do with Hange. And those were the same things he shouldn’t even think about!

“Come out to the deck at midnight,” he said instead, ignoring the weird feelings inside his chest. And the almost irresistible urge to get close to Hange. “I want to talk with you about something.”

“Roger that!” Hange saluted to him, leaving his cabin.

Levi watched her go. She seemed completely unaffected. Was he the only one, who felt this? This tension, this atmosphere between them. It was intense, charged with something powerful and unnamable. It pulled Levi closer, made it impossible to look away, when Hange was in his line of sight.

He just couldn’t stay away from her. And the worst thing – he didn’t want to.

  ***

As soon as his watch stroke midnight, Levi walked out to the deck. Hange was already there, waiting for him.

She looked different than usual – she changed from her shirt, pants and long coat into a thin white shirt a light yellow robe. Her hair was free out of the familiar ponytail, and now the soft brown locks cascaded down to her shoulders. She looked weird, seemed almost innocent and fragile. Levi mentally scoffed, as that word came to his mind. Hange was many things, but she definitely wasn’t fragile.

“Did you want to talk?” she asked without looking at him. “Or did you come here to stare at me?”

Shit, so she noticed him. Levi felt his face burn. Damn it, he needed to focus.

“I found your family,” he said, thrusting a book Armin gave him into her hands. “Francisco Zoe, that’s your father right?”

“Maybe,” Hange shrugged, not even glancing at the book. “What does it matter, though?”

“He is a member Parliament, he owns a massive amount of lands and estates – he’s rich and very influential!”

“So what?” Hange lazily required.

“So what?!” Levi gasped. “You, his only child, are a pirate captain, who can’t even afford your own ship!”

“I’m not his child,” she retorted bitterly. “He is a cruel and heartless man, who doesn’t give a shit about me. He never did. The only reason, why he kept me by his side all these years was because he wanted to marry me off. And when I refused, he disowned me.”

“Your father kicked you out…” Levi stared at her incredulously. “So you’ve decided to become a pirate?”

“I’m not a pirate,” Hange reminded him. “I always dreamed of being an explorer – of studying and researching different cultures. But no university in England wanted to hire me, so,” she rolled her shoulders. “I stole a ship and decided to make my dream a reality.”

“And your crew—?”

Hange smiled, the gesture softening her features. “They’ve been servants at my father’s house. I used to read them my books, and when I was preparing to run away, they wanted to go with me. We’ve been together ever since.”

Levi shook his head, trying to make a sense of Hange’s story. She had it all – wealth, social status and a safe future, but she decided to sacrifice it, because she had other dreams, because she wasn’t content with her life. It was hard for Levi to understand it, or her. He grew up poor and struggled all his life, just trying to survive. His mother died, when he was a boy, his uncle left him, when he was barely a teenager. He would have given anything to be in Hange’s place, to live a comfortable and safe life. But she threw it all away and didn’t seem to regret it in the least.

“You seem troubled,” Hange noted with a quiet chuckle.

“I don’t understand you,” Levi answered truthfully. “You just left your comfortable life behind, became a criminal and an outlaw, who can be killed at any moment. Dozens of British officers are trying to capture you, send you to jail, or, worse to the gallows. Why did you do it?”

“To free myself,” Hange said softly, but proudly. “To get away from my asshole father and live my life the way I want it to. And by the way, you’re wrong,” she smiled mischievously. “There aren’t any British officers, who are trying to capture me.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure?”

Hange leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t cut my ties with London completely. I still have a few very influential friends.”

Levi’s eyes widened, as he realized who exactly Hange meant. There was only one person, who held such a high rank and was daring and reckless enough to conspire with pirates.

“And what that bastard needs from you?”

“B-bastard?” Hange choked. “You know Erwin?!”

“He’s my superior officer,” Levi grumbled, avoiding Hange’s curious gaze. “And you didn’t answer my question, four-eyes.”

“Ah, well,” Hange adjusted her glasses. “Pirates frequently attack ships. And sometimes Erwin points me to especially well-equipped vessels.”

“You spy for him!” Levi pinned Hange with a hard gaze. “Did he tell to attack our ship as well?”

“No! It was a mere coincidence,” Hange smiled slyly, playing with strands of her hair. “Or maybe fate?”

“There is no such thing as fate,” Levi huffed.

“So everything happens without a reason?”

“Exactly,” he nodded.

Hange elbowed him in the side, chuckling. “You’re a cynic.”

“And you’re naively optimistic.”

“Opposites attract?” Hange smirked.

And there it was again. That same electrifying tension, which pulled Levi closer to her. He tried to resist it, but the longer he spent looking into her eye, the harder it became to tear his gaze away. Hange stared back at him just as intently, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. It looked like a completely involuntarily action, but Levi’s pulse raced double time.

Was Hange’s heartbeat as loud and fast as his? Was she as affected by their sudden proximity as he was?

Without really thinking about his actions, Levi slowly lifted his arm. He didn’t know what he was trying to do – put it on her shoulder to bring her closer? Tangle it in her hair, so he could crash their lips together?

But before he had a chance to decide, Hange jumped to the side, escaping his arms.

“It’s getting late, don’t you think?” she giggled. The sound was so forced, it made Levi cringe. “I think I’ll head to bed now! Goodnight!”

And then Hange almost ran to her own cabin.

Shit.

Levi lowered his hand and tightened it into a fist. What was he even thinking? What was she doing to him, why couldn’t he control himself in her presence? It wasn’t like him at all, he was always in control. He controlled every emotion and feeling, every move of his body and word from his mouth. But when Hange was around, all of his carefully constructed walls crumbled and fell. One smile from her was all it took for Levi to lose his mind, to completely surrender to her charms or whatever it was that made him react so wildly.

He needed to get a grip on himself. He needed to stop thinking about the brown color of her eye, or the soft curve of her smile, or the way her laughter reminded him of warm, sunny days.

Hange was a pirate, his enemy. She stole his ship for Christ’s sake! He must hate her, not want to kiss her so hard that she would forget everything, but his name.

He needed to get her out of his head. To avoid her at all costs, until they part their ways.

***

Surprisingly, avoiding Hange wasn't as hard as Levi had feared. All he really had to do was to close himself inside his cabin and take as much books from Armin, as the boy had.

It wasn't an ideal situation, Levi hated sitting around and doing nothing, and Armin's choice of books was boring, to say the least. But. It gave him at least something to think about besides Hange and whatever was going on between them.

Still, even though he was spending all his days behind closed doors, it was hard to escape from Hange. The walls were paper-thin and so Levi heard her every laugh or exclamation. And every time he did, his treacherous mind filled with images of Hange's infuriating face. He'd think about her stupid cocky grin or her annoyingly sweet smile or her pretty brown eyes that seemed to sparkle, when she was excited or happy.

And it drove him mad, made him want to bang his head against the wall, because goddamn it, but he wanted her. He wanted her so much it was insufferable. It confused him, and, more than that, it scared him.

He had never felt like this - sure, he wasn't a stranger to sex, and sometimes, when he was on land, he'd seek some pleasurable company, but he never did it intentionally. He had never wanted it, needed it so much.

But when Hange was next to him, he could barely resist himself. He wanted to kiss her so much it almost pained him.

But somehow he knew— he knew that if he let himself kiss her, if he managed to taste her on his lips at least once, then he wouldn't be able to let go. And he couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

Soon they'll reach Port Royal. Hange would be gone from his life forever. And, hopefully, she'd be gone from his heart too.

*** Levi was reading a particularly thrilling paragraph about navigation, when his door began to shake with thunderous blows. He groaned, recognizing Eren's knocks right away.

"The fuck do you want?" he shouted, not bothering to get to his feet and open the door.

Unfortunately, either Eren didn't hear him or he misinterpreted his words for a welcome, because in the next second he tumbled inside his room.

"Captain!"

Levi tensed, as he saw that the boy looked absolutely wild - his face was flushed and his eyes stared at him with a desperate implore. Did something happen? Were they attacked or—

"It's an absolute disaster!" Eren cried out. "Captain Hange's crew, you have to stop them!"

What? Did Hange decide to break her promise? Levi felt his blood go cold. He believed her, fucking trusted her and she betrayed him?

"Eren," Levi walked to the boy and tightly gripped his shoulders. "What happened?"

"The tournament!"

The what?

"We decided to organize the tournament, to find out who is better - pirates or members of navy, and—"

"Wait," Levi took a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Headache started to form behind his eyelids. "You are this panicked because of some stupid competition?"

"We can't lose to them, Captain!"

"Our honor is on the line!" Connie added, materializing seemingly out of thin air. All other members of Levi’s crew appeared next to him as well. All of them had the same desperate expressions as Eren.

Levi sighed. The headache was rapidly intensifying. "Fine, tell me what happened."

"We were kind of bored, so Сaptain Hange proposed to find out who are the best fighters," Eren began. "There were four duels."

"I defeated Keiji!" Connie shouted proudly.

"But that horse Jean lost to Abel," Eren shook his head. Jean glared at him, elbowing him in the side.

"Mikasa won in a fight against Moblit," Armin said, smiling nervously.

"But Sasha couldn't defeat Nifa," Connie sadly finished.

"So now we have a tie!" the fire returned to Eren's eyes.

"And the fuck I have to do with your shit?" Levi asked, crossing hands on his chest and scowling at his subordinates. "You still didn't fight, Eren. Go and duel with four-eyes. Win that stupid tournament and get over it."

"But Captain! I've fought with her dozens of times! And I didn't win even once!"

"Guys," Levi tensed, as he heard that voice. Soon its owner appeared in his doorway. "Don't pressure your Captain so much. If he's afraid of losing, there is nothing you can do."

Oh, that's how it was? She was back to her insufferably cocky self?

"I won last time, four-eyes," Levi coldly remained.

"Doesn't mean you'll win this time too," she smirked.

"If you want to embarrass yourself again," he growled, pushing past his crewmembers.

He grabbed the saber from Mikasa, gripping it tightly in his hand. His grip became even tighter, when he saw the smug look on Hange's face, as she sauntered to stand in front of him.

She twirled her own saber, that damn smirk still plastered on her lips. Levi wanted to wipe it off with his fist, or, more preferably, with his own lips.

"The terms are the same as last time? The one who loses has to fulfill the other's wish?"

"You were the one, who lost last time," Levi reminded her again.

"The past is in the past," Hange shrugged, before taking a fighting stance.

In the next moment, she attacked. And even though, Levi was ready for it, he wasn't quite ready for the force of her hit. Hange swung her saber so heavily, Levi's own weapon had almost fallen to the ground.

He cursed under his breath, she changed her fighting style again. She didn't give him the slightest chance to adapt. What an irritating woman. Fighting with her was absolutely exhilarating.

Before he could perform his own attack, Hange hit him again. And again. Her swings were fast, but strong, and all Levi could do was try his best to avoid them. He blocked, ducked, jumped back, stepped aside. Soon he and Hange were dancing around the deck, going around each other in circles.

Hange was an excellent fighter, but not better than Levi. Dueling with her wouldn't be that hard, if he could focus on something else, except that exciting twinkle in her eye.

And, of course, because she wasn't just a good fighter, but an incredibly sharp person, Hange saw right through him. And turned his fault into her advantage. While Levi was so centered on her face, she swung lowly, hitting his wrist. It was an intentionally soft hit, Hange was evidently extra careful not to hurt him. However, the impact still made him drop his weapon.

A wide, victorious grin appeared on her face. Behind them, Hange's crew began to shout in triumph, while Levi's men groaned in defeat.

"I'll be waiting for you at midnight," she whispered, patting his shoulder.

And then, she went to accept congratulations from her crew, leaving Levi stare after her with a dazed and shook expression.

  ***

Levi knew it was a bad idea. To stand next to Hange on the empty deck in the middle of the night - he was practically asking for trouble. But he always kept his word, and he wouldn't break his principals now. He'd listen to what Hange wants from him, he'd perform whatever stupid task she'd ask. And then he'd leave.

Without looking back.

He got a sense of déjà vu, when he walked out to the deck and saw Hange there.

"So you came," she noted without turning to face him.

"You doubted me?" Levi took a few steps closer, but still stood a little distance away.

"Well," Hange shrugged. "You were avoiding me for three days."

So she noticed, huh? Well, he wasn't exactly subtle.

"What is your wish?" he asked gruffly, trying to mask his uneasiness.

Hange grinned, finally looking at him. "Kiss me," she said simply.

"What?!"

"Kiss me," Hange repeated sweetly, as though she was talking to a child. "On the lips."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Maybe. But you agreed to a bet. Or does honor means nothing to you?”

Levi let out a low growl. She was taunting him, he knew that. Telling her to go fuck herself and then leaving was the smartest thing to do.

Unfortunately, Levi didn’t consider himself to be a very smart person.

So her grabbed by the shirt and crashed his lips against hers. He meant for it to be brief, just a simple touch. But when Hange opened her mouth and a quiet moan escaped her, Levi knotted his fists into her shirt, pulling her harder against him.

He felt shivers run down his spine, his knees were getting wobbly, but he didn’t stop, not until he was completely out of breath.

“Jeez,” Hange whispered, when they broke apart. “I knew you were good, but I could have never imagined that.”

“You thought about kissing me?” Levi asked dizzily. His heart hammered inside his chest and his hands trembled with desire to touch her again.

“Yeah,” Hange laughed, not an ounce of shame. “Many times.”

“Then why—” Levi glared at her. “The last time we spoke, I wanted to kiss you.”

“I know,” Hange nodded.

“Why did you push me away then?”

“I got scared,” she answered simply and honestly. “No one has ever made me feel like this before, and I was confused about it.”

“And what changed?”

“Remember what I told you? About living my life the way I want it? Well,” Hange spread her hands. “I like how you make me feel, and I very much like you, so why should I deprive myself of that?”

“So that’s it?” Levi asked. “It’s that simple?”

Hange shrugged, her lips curving into a grin. “Yeah, for me it is.”

Levi raked his hands through his hair. “I need… to think about it.”

“Sure,” she softly patted his shoulder. Her understanding, kindness and acceptance bewildered Levi beyond words. “Take all the time you need. I’m not pressuring you into anything.”

“This thing between us— what if I agree to it?” Levi looked up at her, his eyes desperate for something he couldn’t name. “How would that even work? We probably won’t see each other again.”

“We don’t really have to say goodbye,” she mused. “We can… work together?”

“I’m an officer of the navy,” Levi reminded her.

“And I’m only a part-time pirate,” Hange said cheekily. “I mean we both work for Erwin anyway.”

“And I won’t have to give my ship to you…” Levi agreed, feeling uncharacteristically giddy. What if… what if that actually can work?

“I can help you get rid of violent criminals and—”

“And I can help you travel around the world,” he finished.

“Mm,” Hange smiled. It was the brightest smile Levi had ever seen on her face. “So does that mean you agree to cooperate?”

“Your terms don’t sound that awful,” a small smile tugged at Levi’s own lips. “I think we should seal our deal.”

And with that, he wrapped his hands around her and kissed her once again.

  ***

A part-time pirate was also an exceptional thief. However, it wasn’t Levi’s ship that was stolen.

It was his heart.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried. 

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now. 

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung. 

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police. 

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact. 

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions. 

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back. 

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either. 

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?” 

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing. 

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.” 

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure. 

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly. 

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.  

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos. 

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.” 

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan. 

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone. 

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly. 

“Well, do you know where she is?” 

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers. 

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.” 

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!” 

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.” 

A victim? 

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.” 

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he? 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest. 

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up. 

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days. 

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?” 

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge. 

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.” 

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.” 

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—” 

“No.” 

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do. 

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand. 

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace. 

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home. 

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life? 

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went. 

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well. 

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands. 

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.” 

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.” 

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.” 

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it. 

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you. 

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you. 

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees. 

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.” 

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole. 

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.” 

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much. 

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.” 

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them. 

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”  

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.  

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.” 

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.” 

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.” 

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.” 

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.” 

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.” 

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out. 

“So does your Jungkook do film too?” 

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.” 

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—” 

“God this is so weird.” 

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?” 

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.” 

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?” 

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.” 

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.” 

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.” 

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch. 

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt. 

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly. 

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely. 

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.” 

“Done and done.” 

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast. 

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.” 

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.” 

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you. 

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection. 

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“Will you… fall in love with me again?” 

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”  

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer. 

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.” 

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.” 

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.” 

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time. 

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face. 

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile. 

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.” 

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.” 

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

When you wake up, it’s loud. 

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals. 

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months. 

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand. 

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!” 

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice. 

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!” 

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that. 

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning. 

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.” 

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!” 

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion. 

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?” 

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.” 

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook. 

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed. 

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip. 

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.” 

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you. 

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you. 

[wickedmilo]

THREE, MIRROR | MILO & BEA

PLACE: A coffee shop near the university campus TIMING: 10:37 PM SUMMARY: Bea notices Milo being the worst vampire in the world, and makes a begrudging effort to help him.   WRITING PARTNER: @beatrice-blaze CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief mentions of substance abuse, mentions of emotional abuse

Milo’s mind was still reeling. From finally running into his killer, from being forced to accept the fact that he had allowed the man to escape Dani’s stake, from being given the chance to explore the space where he had lost his life, and really see it for the first time since waking up as a vampire. It was an awful lot to process, which was why he was feeling slightly idiotic, and simultaneously slightly desperate, as he waited in line to order a coffee. Of all the places he could be drowning his sorrows, searching for an answer at the bottom of the bottle, a coffee shop was probably the last place anybody would expect him to be. Maybe that was a part of why it felt so comforting; the unpredictability, the spontaneity of the decision. Also, he supposed, the mundanity. He was waiting in line alongside late night students, people working on screenplays, or trying to complete assignments that were dangerously overdue. He could hear scribbling notes, hear the tapping of keys, even the subtle whir of laptop machinery if he allowed himself to focus. But he wasn’t here for other people, he was here for himself. For the familiar scent of coffee. For the feeling of wrapping his hands around a hot paper cup. He could only assume that was what everybody sought when they visited a café after dark. 

He couldn’t count the amount of times he had stumbled into this particular shop with a bad hangover, or even still drunk. It had been a saving grace first thing in the morning. And it was proving to be a saving grace now. At least here he felt vaguely human, at least here he could pretend everything that had happened to him over the course of the past few months had been some awful fever dream he had finally woken up from. Something he could move past, and forget. Something he could wash away with the right combination of syrup, coffee, and oat milk. When he reached the front of the line, he placed his order, asking for far more syrup than he usually would in the hope of granting the beverage a stronger taste. A few more minutes of waiting, of forcing any unwanted thoughts to the very back of his mind, and he picked up his cup, making his way over to the wall lined with mirrors.  

It was a staple of any coffee shop trying to appear sophisticated. And he was so used to the décor that he didn’t stop to consider whether his favourite spot could still safely be his favourite spot. Pulling out the chair closest to the wall, he dropped down onto it, leaning back against the cool surface of the glass as he began to tap his fingers against the drink in his hands. It was a nervous habit, one he never could seem to shake. Taking a careful sip of his coffee, a quiet sigh managed to escape him at the dull, one-note taste. If only it would taste as strongly as it smelled. It didn’t seem fair that one sense had been heightened while he had essentially lost another entirely. Maybe if he mixed it with some blood? Could he do that? Would that work? So lost in his own thoughts, it took him far too long to realise he was being watched. Catching the eye of a stranger, when they didn’t look away he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Apparently he wasn’t even allowed to wallow without being interrupted. 

Bea had gotten used to sleeping when it was light out in New York. The habit had still lingered after her return, her night owl tendencies too much of a hassle to break at this point. It helped to sleep in the light, to wake up gasping and be able to see everything in her room. There was no fear that the Hunter stood in the corner of her room in the light. The ocean could not flood her room. She could see that Adam’s dead eyes weren’t staring at her, crawling to her and telling her he needed to come back. The day rid her of her nightmares far faster than the night did. There were no corners to hide in. She was safe awake at night and safe asleep in the light.  

Usually after a show, Bea would find herself at the Stacked Deck, martini in hand as she gambled. She was trying not to drink on bad days, on the days where memories tore at her. Partaking in another vice, that seemed safe. Her mouth was dry as she stared into the steaming coffee in front of her. This wasn’t usually her first pick of a café, but it was the closest she had been to when her walk started to turn into wandering, aimless. These moods, they hit like waves, battering her over and over again, small moments of reprieve falsely claiming the storm was finally over. It exhausted her, cement added to her bones, trapping in the cold, dragging her down further into the sea. Water slipped into her lungs, coughing it up, inviting more in, but there was no release of consciousness, no, she was forced to live it all, feeling herself drown, over and over again.  

A hand gripped the back of her seat and Bea jolted with the motion, magic rushing to her fingertips as she looked for an enemy. It was some college kid, punchdrunk from hours spent in front of a laptop. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse screaming that she was alive, they were safe. Find five things you can identify in the room. That’s what her therapist had said, right? She couldn’t remember, but she began to count. “One, coffee,” She forced her eyes around the room. “Two, table. Three, mirror.” Mirror… She could see the mirror clearly, could see herself from across the room, all too sophisticated looking for the wild look in her eyes to fit, but not the man in front of it. He was a vampire, he had to be. She had stood in front of a mirror enough with Kian to know. His eyebrows went up and now she was too. A tide pulled her to him, pushed her to do what always made her feel safe and take care of someone else. “You’re in front of a mirror,” She said, her voice stronger than she expected.  

Milo hadn’t been expecting the woman to approach him, and he stared at her as she closed the distance between them both. It took far too long for her words to fully register, but when they did he felt an irrational surge of annoyance. “What?” He snapped. Why should she care where he was? What business did she have trying to tell him something he already knew? The mirror had always been there, it didn’t exactly feel like an important piece of information. But as quickly as his irritability had risen to the surface, it was replaced by a sudden realisation. Oh shit, he was sitting in front of a mirror. A jolt of panic shot through him without warning, uncomfortable, and disorienting. Had he really just announced to the entire coffee shop that he wasn’t human? As if hoping to prove he hadn’t been quite so moronic, he glanced behind himself to be met with the reflection of the woman, the shop, and absolutely nothing else. “Fuck- shit-” He muttered, scrambling to his feet, backing away until he was standing beside a window. No longer within reach of the mirrored wall, he still felt nervous, and unsteady. Only when he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure did he fully understand what this stranger had done for him. But why? What had compelled her to care? 

Offering her a hesitant smile, still battling the anxiety clawing at his chest, he did what he could to calm down. Part of him understood there was a possibility this wasn’t the end. The person standing by his abandoned table could be a slayer who had decided to toy with him, or somebody who loathed vampires and was hoping to laugh at his lack of intelligence. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would deal with that later, for now he needed to focus on the present. “I-uh… thanks.” He muttered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. It was important to look unassuming, he knew that. Lest he be seen as a threat. But the sheepish demeanour came naturally to him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “It’s easy to forget sometimes… I just…” Glancing back down at his coffee, still sitting on the table where he had left it, he let out a quiet huff of frustration. “Hey- I don’t suppose you could pass that to me?” He asked. She was only going to say yes or no, he didn’t see the harm in pushing his luck. “That drink is… it’s me trying to stay sane. Apparently it isn’t working…” He added, gesturing vaguely to the mirror.  

Irritation rose swiftly in her chest as the man snapped at her. For a moment, Bea considered turning around and letting him suffer the consequences of his actions. The memory of her sister cradling Adam’s body swam to meet her anger, tempering her. This vampire was not Adam, but just like with Eddie, she had the urge to force him to take care of himself. Death had been a friend when she was the one reaching out to it. She understood who truly held the power now. No matter what she could do, there would be people who she lost. Death might be something she could circumvent herself, but that did not mean she would not witness the ramifications of it. She could still try to make others safer from it, even if after it took them, they refused to come back to her.  

Dull brown eyes watched as the vampire scrambled back from the mirror. “It shouldn’t be,” Bea said with reproach. She didn’t want this man to hurt, but she did not like him. She still remembered the taste of Kian’s disappearance in her mouth. She still felt the sting of rejection. The understanding of his goals with her, had come later in life. She had even truly realized that he had been using her until she spoke to her friends about their relationship. Abuse seemed like a terribly harsh word for it, but she could not think of something softer that described it correctly. Her lips pressed and for a moment she thought of saying no. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyeing him with suspicion. “Are you always so careless?” 

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t forget to eat sometimes, or put on lotion before you go out into the sun.” Milo countered. Self care, and self preservation consisted of so many little things, things that were difficult to remember when you were busy, or tired, or your life was getting complicated. Surely anybody could understand that. Pointedly ignoring the tone the woman had chosen to take, he was surprised when she handed him his coffee. It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was annoyed, maybe she too had come to the coffee shop for some kind of escape, and he was ruining it for her by being an all too present reminder of the supernatural. Focusing on her scent, on the sound of her heartbeat, she clearly wasn’t a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. So what was she? A spellcaster? A human who knew too much? “Thanks…” He said quietly, his demeanour softening. She didn’t owe him anything, and she had given him his coffee in spite of that fact.  

Hugging the cup to his chest, he watched her, unsure how they were supposed to move forward in such an unusual circumstance. But then she spoke again, and a laugh managed to escape him. He pushed his hair back away from his face, relief at only being caught out by one person was beginning to wash over him. Lowering his inhibitions, and making him all the more grateful for the stranger’s begrudging intervention. “Not always.” He insisted, feeling the need to defend his intelligence. “Sometimes…” Mirrors weren’t always an issue, and when they were he had proven relatively competent when it came to avoiding them. But he had an awful lot on his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on his many mistakes. He wanted to pretend, to enjoy the little bubble of safety the coffee shop felt like it was providing. “Look, it’s been a really fucked up week, okay? I just… I needed a break.”

Bea’s expression soured even further at the man’s reply, “Those things aren’t the same and you know it. I’m not going to have someone attempt to kill me if they notice I didn’t eat.” She didn’t know why she cared, maybe she didn’t actually but wanted the distraction, but whatever caused her to come over here kept her here, even with her mounting irritation. Hadn’t her therapist said something about this? She couldn’t remember it, not with her pulse roaring in her ears, but she knew that Miranda wasn’t going to be happy with her for butting into something again. She’d probably say that taking care of other people to ignore her own self care was a form of escapism or some shit. Bea wasn’t really all that willing to work on breaking out of that habit just yet, it’s what made her useful to the people around her.  

It was always a fucked up week in White Crest. There was always another building disaster. There was always something that ruined someone’s life. It was just how the town was. She bit her tongue and said nothing. Taking a moment, she looked away from the man, back to the mirror. She stared back at herself and her eyes lingered on the scar circling her neck. Wicked’s Rest always took something from the people who lived here, it was just how it went. She looked back to the man, “Find a place that doesn’t have mirrors to take a break then. Or one day a hunter will find you sitting in front of a mirror and they will try to kill you. They’ll make sure you stay dead too.” She certainly didn’t hate hunters, especially knowing the ones she did and how they were driven to make the world a better place, but she didn’t want to be a bystander to someone’s death.  

Milo was half expecting to win over the woman’s sympathy, convince her in some way to feel for him rather than see him as an idiot. The fact that his words only managed to irritate her further only managed to irritate him further too. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Whatever, I’m only saying it’s easy to forget the important shit. Especially when your life is a mess. So, bite me.” Taking a sip of his coffee, out of habit more so than in an attempt to calm down, he found the hot drink did manage to soothe him a little. It reminded him of why he was here. The desperation, and longing for an escape. He wouldn’t be able to find one while he was being yelled at by a stranger, that much was undeniable. Though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to escape this interaction. This woman had genuinely helped him, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. No matter how determined she seemed to ruin his night. 

Watching as she turned away from him, he saw her stare at her own reflection, but couldn’t follow her gaze without stepping closer, something he absolutely wasn’t willing to do. She would only berate him again, and he didn’t want to encourage her. “I used to come here a lot while I was studying.” He countered, glaring at her even as she ignored him. “Forgive me for wanting something familiar.” If he had chosen almost anywhere else in the cafe he might have been able to avoid the mirrors, but he hadn’t been thinking, too lost in his own pain. As far as he was concerned that was understandable, more than valid given the circumstance. Though his company would probably argue otherwise. “No shit,” he shot back. “I’ve met one or two, I-” He broke off before he could insist he knew what he was doing. How could he say that after such a ridiculous mistake? “I’m fine.” He answered instead. “Okay? I don’t need your help, or- whatever it is you’re trying to do here.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline that offer,” Bea sneered back. Maybe on another night she would have been kinder, gentle in her correction. The combination of bad night and an unshaken dislike for vampires was a potent one. She wouldn’t apologize for it, not when she felt she was justly annoyed. She took a deep breath in, Miranda’s voice ringing in her head. She had to keep her cool, they were still in public and she had a reputation to uphold. She kept her eyes off the mirror now, unwilling to see how her face had shifted as anger took over. She was better than this. She knew she was better than this. It was just that this vampire was in front of her and she could barely stand the proximity. The grief of her past had never truly been dealt with, pushed aside instead in favor of continuing on. That was the way of the Vurals, wasn’t it? 

Familiarity. Bea could understand that. She found that in the Stacked Deck and Coffee Plus after her death. A place to feel normal just for a moment. It was the most human thing a person could want. “Be more mindful about where you sit here then,” She conceded, her throat tight at the grim reminder that he was struggling with his own demons. A sharp smile took over her face, “You don’t need my help now, after I helped you.” That was the way of it though, wasn’t it? She never wanted help after she proved she needed it. She could, in a way, sympathize with that. “Look, I don’t like vampires, but I wasn’t going to let you get caught like that. I’m not in the business of watching someone make a fatal mistake, even if I don’t like them. That’s all I’m doing.”  

“You’re excused.” Milo countered, unable to think of a witty comeback. He was torn between gratitude and frustration. The fact that this woman had done something genuinely good for him, and then turned on him almost the moment he was safe, was pathetically causing his head to spin. Was it really too much to ask for a quiet night? He didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with such inconsistency. He had been polite, he had thanked her, and he had been met with a less than positive attitude. It didn’t feel fair. Raising his eyebrows as a few beats of silence passed between them, he watched the stranger as she turned away from her reflection. She was a difficult person to read, which only served to make the interaction feel more irritating, and unnecessary. “I don’t know whether it counts if you stick around to insult the person you helped.” He pointed out, although he knew she could argue against his statement. Regardless of whether she was being kind to him, she had stopped him from potentially becoming a target. Nothing she said now was going to change that. He and Deirdre hadn’t exactly parted as friends, but that didn’t erase the medical attention he had offered her.  

Letting out a huff of breath, unsurprised to hear she didn’t like vampires, he appreciated the reason for her behaviour. Even if said reason was bullshit. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you’re Team Jacob. I’m not about to fucking fall at your feet because you did me a solid in spite of what I am.” He awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to drop his coffee cup. His confidence was rapidly fading as he realised he didn’t always like vampires either. When he met them for the first time, he felt nervous, and scared. It was a product of his history with them. It was only after getting to know them that he became comfortable in their company, maybe this was something they both had in common. “Okay, shit. I get it…” He muttered begrudgingly. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he chewed on his bottom lip, steeling himself to be honest with her. “You think I like vampires?” He asked. “I was fucking killed by one… but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you already know who I am. We’re still people. There’s still good and bad.” 

“Asking someone if they’re always careless isn’t an insult. My attitude towards you isn’t an insult just because it’s not immediately positive.” Bea could feel the heat in her blood, felt herself simmering under the surface. The world was unfair, so why did she have to be fair to everyone she met? She was kind when she didn’t have to, better than other people had been to her. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to carry on with optimism and generosity at all times. Shouldn’t she get to be as bad sometimes? You’re spiralling, she thought grimly. Miranda had told her she did that, where all of her thoughts started to go too fast to logically go through them. She wanted to go home, but what waited for her there. Felix was in New York, Nell at their parents’ house, Luce at the cabin. The house was empty and it was too late to call anyone over to fill in the gaps that ghosts had left. 

Bea’s eyes narrowed, “When you spend three years of your life getting used as a convenient blood bag, I’ll listen to your opinion on how I should feel around vampires.” The relationship she had held with Kian was complicated, but she had grown to realize that their love had been toxic. She had begun to understand that they had only lasted so long because he hadn’t felt motivated to find someone else only a year or so ago. Her throat tightened, she had assumed that he was like Kian, someone who had chosen this life. She had never forgotten with zombies that many of them didn’t pick this. It was harder with vampires. It was hard to look at him now, the stripped truth of what was in front of them almost too much to bear. She nodded, such a small movement that it could have been lost with a blink. An apology stuck on her tongue, thick, hard to move. She could type apologies, but speaking them, that was a very different story. “You’re right,” She conceded. “I let my bias get the better of me.”  

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way that you said it.” Milo pointed out, although he strongly suspected the woman might already know. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to continue with this argument, but walking away felt too much like admitting defeat, like agreeing with her. “It is when you’re generalising.” He added, figuring it definitely counted as an insult if her mood was in relation to his vampirism. It wasn’t the first time what he was had managed to make somebody uncomfortable, and it didn’t seem to get any easier. But at least she was making it easy to be annoyed, at least she was making it easy to not feel guilty. Bex had been different, she had been soft, and regretful in a way that made him self-conscious, that made him want to apologise for being himself. His current company had an edge, one that as far as he was concerned, gave him permission to be less than content. 

Fully prepared to defend himself, he found his expression shifting once again when he registered what he was being told. There were so many details to her story that would change the context of it. Had she given blood willingly? Was it being taken by someone she knew? Was she being held captive? Or manipulated into sharing? But as quickly as his mind began to run through the possibilities, he was reminded of her obvious trauma. How it had happened wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how upset she clearly was, how deeply affected by the past. She had damage, same as him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said quietly, a frown creasing his brow. He had been used as a blood bag once, and it had cost him his life. He tried and failed to imagine how he might feel if he had been used for three years, if he was still alive, and vulnerable to another attack. He still felt vulnerable, though he knew nobody was going to drink his blood now. She couldn’t say the same. “Yeah, you kind of did… but it’s whatever.” He unfolded his arms, trying to assure her without letting her think she might have won. “That shit stays with you, I know it does…” 

Irritation continued to mount, but now it was focused inward. Bea did not lose control. She presented herself as a measured person, her actions had meaning. There was hard to find meaning with the pressure building between her ears. She had fallen from her path without realizing it, twigs broken from her blind tumble. Left behind her an ugly, broken mistake. Her jaw locked, unwilling to deny the truth of his words, unwilling to apologize or put herself in a worse position. She felt young again. At least there was no threat that she would break all the windows in the café, even as far she had fallen, she had more control than she did at nineteen.  

“It’s not,” She finally said. She had let him speak, let him apologize for what happened to her. She knew he deserved to be heard after she spoke to him as she had. “It’s not appropriate or kind of me to treat you the way I did.” The way, she knew, certain witches had in the past. The way her zombie friends had. “It’s not alright or whatever. I was wrong,” The words throttled her, the alarms in her brain begging her to shut up. She never enjoyed admitting she was wrong, it made her feel dizzy, out of control. But she was already there tonight, she was already spiralling, might as well dive in to fix something she had made. “I’m sorry too, for the little that it’s worth, that it happened to you. That you were killed.” She knew the feeling, the wrongness that came after that. She didn’t know how being changed into something else felt however. “White Crest isn’t kind. Just try to be careful and maybe it’ll avoid pressing its misery on you again,” She finished softly, weakly.  

Milo listened to the apology, taking a moment to really register the woman’s choice of words. He recognised the fact that she was trying, in the same way he understood how difficult it was to take responsibility for a mistake. He appreciated it more than he could say, so he offered her a hesitant smile, hoping to show her he was no longer offended, or upset. He was too tired to cling to so many negative emotions, too desperate to forget, if only for a little while. “You, uh… you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” He teased, careful to gauge her reaction. He was attempting to lighten the mood but he knew there was a possibility of pushing her further away. He wanted to move forward, he just didn’t know how to. “Look,” he said, becoming serious again. “I know how it feels, I really do. Or part of it, at least. I also know that’s weird because I guess I’m like, one of them now. But I didn’t ask for any of this… You were used by a vampire, and I was used by a vampire. Different outcomes but it still fucking sucks...” Catching the ironic phrase the moment it left his lips he laughed quietly, unable to help himself. “I mean, figuratively but…”  

Falling silent when his company warned him White Crest wasn’t kind, it made him wonder what else she had been through, how else she might have suffered at the hands of his hometown. His memory flashed suddenly back to Dani, and his killer, to the moment he had allowed the person responsible for his death to touch him. He couldn’t do anything to suppress a shudder. As it always did when he truly considered what had taken place, anxiety began to claw at his chest, and he swallowed, staring down at his coffee so that he could collect himself before looking back up again. It was a strange conversation to have, and maybe not one he was ready for given recent events. But he pressed on. “I’m Milo. I probably should have said that earlier.” A soft sigh escaping him, he pointedly ignored the pain still weighing him down, remembering distinctly why he had come to the coffee shop in the first place. “Hey, I don’t suppose you want to, uh… start over? Maybe get another coffee and find a table that isn’t in front of a mirror?” He asked. He didn’t have anything to lose, but maybe, just maybe, he could gain a friend. A friend who partially understood the way the aftermath of his attack was still affecting him. 

A snort left Bea, an amused smile lighting her face, “Trust me, this is me not being dramatic. I’m usually far more over the top.” She knew how to make a show, knew the words to say to get crowd reaction, knew how to dress and act to get the attention in a room. Her calm was often everyone’s dramatic. She watched his face closely, knowing that these conversations were never easy to have. Personally, most people didn’t know the details of her relationship with Kian. They didn’t know her history or how she felt dirty after it was all said and done. She had never gotten close enough to another person with ties to vampires to compare notes, see how trauma was different on other faces. “I find a lot of people turn into the thing that destroyed them, your’s just couldn’t be stopped.” She had become a killer after the Hunter, had walked this world with the goal of making sure others knew she could end them if she so wished. She had picked that, this man hadn’t. “It does fucking suck, pun intended, considering what happened,” She repeated back, that small smile still on her face. 

Bea considered her options. She could just walk away, this had ended amicably enough, or she could give him a shot, accept company and let herself get pulled from the hole she had placed herself in. “I’m Bea or Beatrice, either work.” She always introduced herself that way, even though she rarely went by Beatrice anymore. Her mother had loved her full name though and so Bea had never stopped. Maybe it was time to. “I know a spot here where there are no mirrors, should be pretty safe.” She had never really stopped looking for those safe spots, not after three years of it. “I’ll get us more coffee and meet you over there?” She offered, guard still up, but willing to take some time to pull it down. 

Milo watched the woman, pleased to see a genuine smile light up her face as she spoke. He smiled too, unable to help himself, but it didn’t take long for the expression to fade. He tried to imagine a world where he killed people so callously, where he was willing to take a life because it was convenient, and made him feel good. He refused to let himself become that, he was never going to forget the trauma, the unrest his experience had caused him. It might actually haunt him forever. He knew he could be selfish, knew on the odd occasion he put his own wants and needs before the wants and needs of others, but never to such a scale. That wasn’t him, and it was never going to be him. “I really hope that isn’t true…” He murmured. Maybe his company was right, and becoming a vampire was enough. Maybe she wasn’t talking about the murderous tendencies that apparently came as part of the package. Humming quietly in response to the pun, he glanced back up at her and was surprised to find she was still smiling. It made him feel better somehow, the knowledge that she might actually be enjoying the conversation.  

“Bea...” He echoed, committing her name to his memory. He didn’t enjoy being given a choice, not when names could carry so much weight, and be so personal. It only made sense to use the first option he had been given. A laugh escaping him at the mention of mirrors, drawing him out of his thoughts, he was struck by how ridiculous it was relying on a human to show him where he would safely be able to sit. He felt like a child, although he knew he was in no place to complain about that fact. She was helping him, and considering how their interaction had begun, that alone seemed like an outright miracle. Following her gaze to a handful of tables, he nodded before catching her eye. “Coffee sounds good.” He agreed. “With oat milk, and as much syrup as they can legally give me.”

“Sometimes hope can be enough, if you follow it with determination.” There were moments where Bea looked toward Luce and saw hope in a manner she didn’t with many other people. It was a Vural trait to never go down easily, but Luce always felt like the most hopeful somehow. She was by far the least optimistic, yet somehow when hope was introduced to a situation, the eldest sister thought of the lightning caster. She couldn’t completely explain it, but it felt right in her chest. Luce didn’t let go of hope once she found it, she held fast, a dragon with her horde.  “Oat milk,” Bea nodded, heading over to the front. “I’ll convince them to give you some illegal syrup too, don’t worry.”  

Milo grinned at the mention of illegal syrup before turning away from Bea, making his way over to their new table. He felt okay, he realised. Not good, and definitely not whole, but okay, and that was undeniably the best possible outcome of the evening. He had been expecting the drink to help him. Had been expecting the solitude, and the quiet sense of normalcy to ground his overwhelming emotion. When in actuality it was the company helping him settle. Bea may have been cold, and short to begin with, but he was really beginning to like her. Maybe there was something in that. He had called Evelyn, hadn’t he? To help him when he was catatonic. Didn’t he usually call Orion when he was feeling particularly miserable, or confused? Even Macleod and James on the odd occasion had helped him to organise his thoughts. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to cling to his old life, or wallow in it entirely alone. He needed to find somebody to be with, somebody who could distract him from his thoughts, and allow him a sense of freedom. He knew the clubs now, he knew the substances. But did he know anybody willing to get on his level? If he looked in the right places, he strongly suspected White Crest might finally deliver.